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vettelsvee · 23 days ago

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SÍ... ESTAMOS SALIENDO | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Pérez!Reader

SUMMARY: Scared of everyone to find out, Y/N Pérez and Oscar Piastri decide to hide their relationship from everyone until Checo starts wondering how Piastri learnt to speak Spanish so good... and specially why he has a Mexican accent ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe one were she is checos daughter and they hide their relationship from him. And also maybe she teaches oscar some Spanish. At the end they end up telling checo about their relationship

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: Use of Spanish. Important to say that even Spanish is my mother tongue, I may have some mistakes because it is Mexican Spanish and I don't know much about it, so I had to do some research. Otherwise, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, unprotected sex, drugs and alcohol

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Not writing related but I’m obsessed with a K-Drama I started watching yesterday and I just wanna write Come What May series since the main characters’ personalities are the same as Seb and Y/N (Di in case you read the OC Version) there lmao. Anyways, missed a lot writing about Oscar (I definitely will be writing about him more as he's my second fave on the current grid) and this one got me so happy with how it turned out! Hope you like it as well, and remember that I'd love to see your comments <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

“What if you taught me some Spanish?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“That's it, Y/N. Teach me some Spanish.”

You, completely absorbed in looking at the pictures you had taken during the date you had with your boyfriend that same day, lifted your gaze from your phone and raised an eyebrow, fully taken aback by Oscar's proposal.

“Spanish? You? You already speak English! English is the only language that matters to you all…”

Oscar shrugged, nervously playing with the steering wheel. At that moment, he reconsidered what he had said, unsure now, and realized that maybe it had been a somewhat strange proposal on his part.

“I just want to understand you when you talk to your dad or your family. I know no one knows we’re together yet, but sometimes when you do video calls with them, I feel a bit lost. I also feel like sometimes you talk about me, and I’d like to know if I should worry,” he confessed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you assume we talk about you, huh?”

“Well, because you always look at me out of the corner of your eye when you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with that unnecessary concern.

“Why do you have to be so chismoso?” You said, making Oscar give you a little tap on the shoulder. That just made you laugh more. “Alright, alright, fine! But I warn you in advance: if you laugh at me speaking Spanish or don’t take me seriously, I’ll break up with you.”

What started as a completely random proposal, with little prospect of a future or sense at first, eventually became one of your favorite routines. You took advantage of every moment together to practice, always hiding it from Checo or any member of the Pérez family when you were in the paddock. Moreover, whenever you were in your respective countries, you would watch Mexican movies and TV shows, and also some in their original version with English subtitles. You even started sending each other the occasional message in Spanish, thanks to the Australian’s initiative.

Oscar seemed to have, in your eyes, a natural talent for languages. Not only did he manage to learn greetings and basic words in less than a week, but after a month, he was already making the effort to use your Mexican accent and even incorporating words that seemed exclusive to your family’s vocabulary.

And that was exactly what, a few months later, turned into a real nightmare for the secrecy with which you kept your relationship.

While no one knew you were together as a couple, Oscar and you pretended to be just friends when you were in public. That’s why it was completely normal for Checo Pérez to see his daughter with the Australian, having coffee and chatting animatedly after a press conference.

“¡Buenos días, Checo!” Oscar said in almost perfect Spanish. “¿Cómo va, papá?”

You, hearing that last word, spat out the little coffee you had left in your mouth and opened your eyes, completely surprised. Checo, however, made a face and a frown, questioning his daughter’s friend.

“What did you say?” You asked, though you knew perfectly well that what your boyfriend had just said was something you hadn’t taught him, and he’d probably heard it from you.

“Well… ¿Cómo va, papá?” the guy repeated innocently. “Did I say it right?”

“Papá?” repeated the Red Bull driver, even more shocked. “Do you even know what that means, kid?”

“It’s an expression, right? Isn’t it like saying buddy?”

Checo stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Oscar. Then, he turned his gaze to you, who was pretending to fiddle with your phone to avoid having to face an awkward conversation about why your secret boyfriend had just said that.

“¿Te importaría decirme por qué Oscar habla como tú?” Pérez asked quickly in Spanish, clearly aiming for Oscar not to understand.

“He doesn’t talk like me!” You quickly replied in English. “Oscar has been practicing Spanish, and well… he wants to fit in better so he’s trying. Duolingo isn’t the best app for learning, so he’s been watching YouTube videos... Right, Osc?”

The guy nodded, but that didn’t convince Checo. Still, he didn’t say anything else and, instead, coldly said goodbye to you both.

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear you, you turned to Oscar and started shaking him:

“Of all the things you could say, you call him papá?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, babe!” He rushed to reply, feeling bad for you. “I’ve heard it so many times that, well… I just said it without thinking. I honestly didn’t think it was anything bad.”

You huffed, knowing that it wasn’t Oscar’s fault or his curiosity and interest in learning your mother tongue, but yours for not setting boundaries or explaining the meaning of each word, as well as the context in which it should be used or who it was addressed to.

From that moment on, your father started paying more attention. He was an expert in discretion, but you knew him well enough to realize that, since the incident with Oscar, he had become much more alert and interested in you both, especially looking for clear signs that would confirm his suspicions that his daughter was dating one of the newest additions to the grid.

Unfortunately for you and Oscar, the Mexican didn’t need to investigate much, and he only did so for a month to confirm his theories.

During one of the briefings with all the drivers, Checo heard Oscar mumbling an “Órale, wey” followed by some insults in Spanish that you had made up when it had gotten pretty late and everyone was eager to return to their hotel. Also, instead of saying “sorry,” he let out a “¿mande?” which wouldn’t have been strange if he hadn’t continued speaking in English, as if nothing had happened.

You and Oscar seemed unaware of all your slip-ups; on the contrary, feeling like you weren’t arousing anyone’s suspicion, you lowered your guard. Displays of affection in public, though still cautious, became more frequent, especially when Checo wasn’t near you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

The back of the McLaren garage, just a few meters away from Red Bull’s, as expected, wasn’t the most suitable place.

“We should go somewhere else,” you said softly while nervously fiddling with the collar of your boyfriend's shirt, who had his arm around your waist.

“Why? This place is perfect,” Oscar replied, unconcerned.

“Yeah, sure, perfect for my dad to catch us,” you muttered. “If he already suspects and looks like that doll from the red light, green light game on Squid Game, analyzing us so much to jump on us as soon as he catches us… imagine if he finds us. He’ll kill us, I swear.”

“Come on, Y/N, just try to relax. We’ve got it all under control. Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, mi amor.”

You blushed at the compliment he had given you in Spanish, and couldn’t help but plant a chaste kiss on his lips, even though everything inside you felt chaotic.

“If you’re trying to convince me that everything’s fine by speaking to me in Spanish, just know that you’re doing it perfectly,” you declared. “But don’t forget, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a tremendous anxiety and keep thinking that we’re literally one step away from getting caught. Do you know what he could do if he finds out that you and I… that?” You asked hesitantly.

“Is he going to give us a lecture on how we have to stay professional whenever we’re in public? Or is he going to tell me he’ll kill me if I even think about getting you pregnant?”

“He’ll probably make you come home to have lunch with my family and only speak Spanish,” you tried not to laugh but couldn’t help yourself. “And trust me, you don’t want to be in that position because you’ll have all my aunts, and there are quite a few of them, right next to you, asking you some very uncomfortable questions.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him as soon as possible so he can prepare. How about I tell him that I’m absolutely and completely in love with his daughter?”

You shot him a glare, panic flooding your insides at the thought of that happening.

“No, don’t you dare do that, Osc, and especially not here. You have no idea how my dad would react if…”

“Why not?” He interrupted. Then, he stopped, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity to you, he seemed to finally find the courage to speak: “I could tell him something like… ¡Señor Pérez, estoy saliendo con su hija porque además de ser la mejor mujer de este mundo, me hace la persona más feliz del mundo!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, filled with emotion inside at Oscar’s sweet yet innocent declaration of love aloud.

However, a cough behind you made you snap back to reality.

“Can I know what you’re doing with my daughter, Piastri?”

You both slowly turned around. There, standing before you, was Checo, arms crossed, with a very unfriendly look on his face. You swore that if Oscar walked out of there alive and without a reprimand from your overprotective father, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the year.

“Well…” Oscar began, his confidence suddenly disappearing.

“Esto no es lo que parece, te lo juro,” you said in Spanish, trying to calm your father, even though you knew your attempts would be in vain.

“Oh, really?” Checo asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing you were both lying. “Then, what explanation do you have for this kid shouting to the four winds in almost perfect Spanish that he’s in love with you? At least that’s what I understood, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me.”

You were about to reply, but instead, Oscar gently took you by the wrist and stepped forward, surprisingly confident.

“Checo, I’m not playing around. Okay, I was joking about that, but not about what it means… like…” Piastri explained slowly, nerves eating at him as he couldn’t bring himself to look Checo in the face. “Your daughter matters to me, well, like… you know, like a boyfriend cares for his girlfriend.”

Checo tried not to laugh at the declaration of love from the man who had just confirmed he was his son-in-law and did his best to maintain the protective fatherly composure, thinking no guy would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“So you care about my daughter… You, one of my coworkers, a twenty-three-year-old kid, care about my eldest daughter enough to believe you can have a relationship with her…”

“It’s not that I believe it, it’s that I know I do.”

Not only you and Checo were surprised by the boy’s words, but Oscar himself too. He regretted it immediately, but before he could apologize to Checo, the man stepped forward, raising a hand and staring at him:

“So… are you two dating or not?”

“Yes, for almost six months now,” you answered, feeling a knot in your stomach, but much less pressure now that your father knew the truth.

Checo sighed, running a hand over his face as he tried to process the news his daughter, his little girl, had just told him. The girl he knew ever since she was born and now he had to imagine her spending, if not the rest of her life, at least part of it, with another man.

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Checo asked, his voice tinged with disappointment but also some understanding. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I knew you would react badly,” you answered, frustrated. “I trust you, and I know you want to protect me from any guy who could make me feel bad, but you have to understand that I’m twenty years old, and whether you like it or not, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Checo looked at you and then turned his gaze to Oscar, who had his head down. Besides his nerves being pretty evident, so was his willingness to face any kind of dispute or reprimand from him just to stay with you.

That made Checo feel a bit bad, though it also gave him some relief seeing that the Australian was truly concerned and, why not say it, in love, willing to do anything for his little Y/N.

Finally, he let out a small sigh, trying to calm himself. He repeated your words over and over in his mind before saying anything else because if you had never disappointed him in your life, then he didn’t want to disappoint you just because you were in love.

I’m not a little girl anymore.

“Checo…” Piastri spoke, but Checo raised a finger, silencing him instantly.

“I’m only going to say this once: you better not hurt my daughter, or I’ll hurt you when I kick you off the track or crash into you accidentally. Is that clear?”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling that Checo wasn’t joking.

“Understood…”

“And as for you,” Checo now spoke to you, completely stunned, “don’t think this is over. Your mother, you, and I will have a conversation about this and several other topics when we get home.”

Unprotected wild sex, alcohol, and drugs, for sure, you thought, forcing a smile to try to hide your worry.

“Now go on and keep loving each other, but be careful where and how you do it. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

With those words, Checo left, leaving you both.

“Well… now he knows. Finally,” Oscar said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you he was intense. Do you believe me now?”

“Of course, mi amor,” the Australian replied, taking your hand and heading to your room in the McLaren motorhome, so, as Checo had said, you wouldn’t become grandparents just yet. “Your dad scared me, but I’m not going to lie to you, he gave me enough motivation to beat him in every race from now on.”

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littlejuicebox · 1 year ago

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LittleJuicebox Masterlist

Click here for my AO3 account. (Converting is a WiP).

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please DM me and I can send you the google doc link. I have decided to keep tag lists for each individual series so you only get tagged in the ones you want.

My personal favorites are denoted by a +.

GN reader is denoted by a * otherwise assume Fem reader/OC.

Titles colored red are smut or other mature themes, 18+ only.

AstarionxWren Series:

This is a canon-adjacent passion project which focuses on Astarion and Wren, a ranger half-elf with her own backstory. She is based off my first Tav. Do you like angsty slow burns where two broken people find one another and learn to love again? Then this one is for you.

Chapter 1 / Chasing birds to get high (PG) + Chapter 2 / Between comfort and chaos (PG) Chapter 3 / Sunshine and midnight rain (PG13) + Chapter 4 / Protect the flames (M/Gore) Chapter 5 / Blue and silver bonded (PG13) Chapter 6 / Remember how it feels to have a heartbeat (PG13) Chapter 7 / Give peace a chance (M/Smut) + Chapter 8 / Dancing in a burning room (M/Gore) Chapter 9 / Lavender haze (PG-PG13?) Chapter 10 / I want to hold your hand (PG13)

Midnight Chimes Series:

Your parents own a tavern in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion was somewhat of a regular when you worked at the bar in your younger years. You don’t exactly trust him. Now you’re an apothecary owner based in Waterdeep, and when the two of you crash on the beach, you aren’t exactly thrilled to see him there, too. But things aren’t always what they seem.

1 / The Prologue +

2 / Three years

3 / Luck +

4/ Ringleader

Midwinter Carol Series:

Eirianwen and Astarion were in love before the Ascension ritual changed his behavior toward her. She refused to become a spawn, and they went their separate ways. The story starts when they run into one another fifteen years later; Eirianwen returned to the city to deliver some news to the pale elf. Meanwhile, the Ascendant had a night time visitor that convinced him to change his ways, and he believes his ex-lover might be the key. Will he be able to change after fifteen years of living life as a debauched degenerate?

1 / The Prologue +

2 / The Barrier

3 / The Carriage

4 / The Auction +

5/ The Repeat

6/ The Affliction

7/ The Interrogation

8/ The Scheme

9/ The Snake

AstarionxReader One Shots and Mini-Stories:

Mini-Stories are grouped together in order and denoted by a “Part X” in sequential order after the title. These are in general "timeline" order and follow my (admittedly self-indulgent) headcanon for Spawn Astarion x Tav but can definitely be read as OneShots. All stories are AstarionxReader, some allusions to reader having spellcaster ability but otherwise no real description apart from being female in about 3/4 of the fics.

Act 1-2:

The little things.

Before someone steals your queen

Act 3:

Drunken nights*+

The nail salon

You'll stay still, won't you, little love? +

Post-BG3:

Mermaid whiskey+

Baking Cookies*

Astarion talks in his sleep Part 1*+

My Sun, My Moon Part 2+

Glowing in the Underdark+

Reflections on one year of marriage

Highharvestide Part 1

Highharvestide Part 2

Handmade+

Dadstarion:

The wish spell worked.+

Daddy?

Little bump.

Labor and joy

Skin to skin.

Milk.+

Little lockpick.

Beach babies.+

A growing brood.

Puppy love.

Stuck.

Pre-BG3 / Random / Ascended Astarion OneShots

Midnight chimes / The Original One Shot

Pre-BG3. You’ve known Astarion for years… or at least, you’ve known of him. You think he’s a rake, but one night he changes your mind. The series "Midnight Chimes" started based off this "prologue."

A Midwinter Carol / The Original One Shot

“A Christmas Carol” but Ascended Astarion is Scrooge. He sees you after your break up 15 years ago, and then has an unexpected nighttime visitor showing him past, present, and future. Will he be convinced to change his ways? The series "Midwinter Carol" started based off this "prologue."

Naughty or Nice?

You’re Ascended Astarion’s little toy in the middle of a party. TLDR; he’s tease and a BDSM dom.

Dancing on my own

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msbigredmachine · 1 month ago

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🧋Jey Uso Menu🧋

☕SIGNATURE DRINKS☕

New To This

Jaded by her fiancé’s disinterest in her ambitions to become a professional wrestler, Delilah Parrish’s life takes an interesting turn when one of WWE’s top names offers her the support she’s not getting at home. [In Progress]

On Sight

The fact that we hate each other don’t mean we can’t fuck. Just don’t fall in love with me. 4 part series. [Completed]

☕DOUBLE SHOTS☕

Awake

Skye’s life is turned upside down when her boyfriend breaks up with her out of the blue. Struggling with heartbreak, uncertainty at work and the raging pandemic, she finds solace in the form of her ex’s cousin, Jey. This sets off a chain of events that spirals out of control and threatens to tear one of wrestling’s most famous families apart. [Completed]

☕SPECIALTY BREWS☕

3 Sluts - Jey got two of ‘em spittin’ on that thang… 💦😈

Warm - An on-again, off-again couple takes the snowy ride to the next town together.

Netflix & [Redacted] - Is this the most awesomely stressful movie night ever? 😩 Jey/Plus Size!OC

The Return - You have your own reasons for wishing he just stayed his ass on Smackdown. Post-Payback 2023

Coming In London - A date night for the ages across the pond. Post-Money in the Bank 2023.

Angel/Beautiful - Long-time feelings are finally expressed on a night out.

Hoochie Daddy - How many of these shorts does he have? And how quickly can she take them off him?

☕ESPRESSO SHOTS☕

Unholy - Jey loves the taste of forbidden fruit.

Wait For You (Seven Sentence Challenge)

All banners made by me.

Credit to all the owners of the pictures and gifs.

Divider by @thecutestgrotto

Please don't steal my content. Thank you!

#jey uso #main event jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfic #jey uso imagines #jey uso smut #jey uso x black reader #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x black!oc #jey uso x black!reader #jey uso x reader #msbigredmachine writes

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voxslays · 9 months ago

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WELCOME TO THE SHOW ᯓ★

Hi! I’m Rory, welcome to my humble blog. I use she/her pronouns. I mainly write x reader fics. Below you can find my individual masterlists, and if you scroll down you will see both my rules for asks and other little fics and Hazbin drabbles. Thank you!

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist Helluva Boss Masterlist Squid Games Masterlist

Angel’s Moodboard ⟡ Charlie’s Moodboard ⟡ Cherri’s Moodboard ⟡ Fat Nugget’s Moodboard ⟡ Lucifer’s Moodboard V1 & V2 ⟡ Rosie’s Moodboard ⟡ Vox’s Moodboard V1 & V2 ⟡ Vaggie’s Moodboard ⟡ Velvette’s Moodboard ⟡ Vees Moodboard ⟡ Niffty Moodboard ⟡ Husker Moodboard

“Jail is fun.” Stanley Pines x Reader ⟡ “Howdy, Striker!” Striker x Reader ⟡ Haztober 2024 Masterlist ⟡ Fluffmas 2024 Masterlist ⟡

Elle Woods! Reader ⟡ Hazbin Men as Dads ⟡ Hazbin Women as Moms Thanksgiving with Hazbin ⟡ Snowball Fight(s) ⟡ Mistletoe ⟡ Tears of Gold Mistletoe Part 2 ⟡ Adam and Alastor fighting over the Reader ⟡ Adamsapple x Reader Headcannons ⟡ Secret Santa ⟡ Polyandry ⟡ Incorrect Quotes 1 ⟡ Incorrect Quotes 2 ⟡ Incorrect Quotes 3

Hi! Welcome to my blog! As some of my previous anons may know, I am pretty open to most stuff (SFW, NSFW, romantic, platonic, etc.) however, in the past I have gotten a couple requests that I did not fulfill for various reasons—and that’s totally my fault for not specifying, so here is what I won’t write:

Bodily fluids (iykyk).

Incest, pedophilia, or beastiality/zoophiles.

Characters that haven’t appeared in the show! (I actually had someone request for someone named Travis?? This also unfortunately applies to Baxter and Abel until season two of Hazbin releases as well.)

Extreme BDSM, rape, or torture.

Male!Readers.

Please send asks through my inbox, not my messages.

OCs, Canon ships (unless they are x reader) or character x character.

I am a white female, so I might make a few writing mistakes that I don’t even notice because of that. I’m sorry if it brings you out of the story. I’ve had a few comments about it, and I apologize.

Characters I currently write for: Hwang In-ho ✮ Lee Myung-gi ✮ The Salesman ✮ Nam-Gyu ✮ Thanos ✮ Gi-hun ✮ Kang Dae-ho ✮ Alastor ✮ Vox ✮

That’s all I can think of at the moment—however I will add more if necessary. I am open to writing for other characters besides the ones listed as long as they have made an appearance in the show. Thank you for reading my rules, I hope to see you guys in my ask box soon!

Ask Box Status = Open

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seven-thewanderer · 1 month ago

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I was hesitating about this, but imma post this…

Wa-pow!

XD idk I just know in the little story / game-idea I had for these characters, there would be a canon off-screen tickle moment between these two, cus Doppio’s getting grumpy and Sherri’s like “I know what’ll turn that frown upside-down” and just starts tickling him

And also I don’t think I’ve actually drawn tickle art before (or at least drawn it & shared it?) so this is a first :3

[also to me this is purely sfw. I know some people see tickling in a not sfw way, but to me it’s sfw cus like. People get tickled as a kid. If it wasn’t sfw then that’s extremely worrying]

[also tickle scenes do appear in kid shows]

Idk I’m not gonna go into a rant I just wanted to post Sherri tickling Doppio

#my art #please don’t steal my art thank u!! :D #my ocs #The Sketchies #Edupark #Sketchie Escape #Doppio the Coffee #Sherri the Cherry Blossom #Sketchie Art #oc tickles #Lee! Doppio #Ler! Sherri #tickle art #(I might make a tag called #Sketchie Tickles #if I do more of that cus apparently it’s best to have tickle stuff under a separate tag :3)

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onlyswan · 2 years ago

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summary: in which sour and salt could be so sweet when jungkook’s existence reminds you that there is still good in the world.

> fluff, a pinch of angst, suggestive / wc: 3.1k

> warnings: mention of the doctor bc oc missed their period >:(, allusion to s/x, making out, jungkook doing pull ups must be a warning for the faint hearted like me

note: we’re going through the seasons?! partly inspired by #that live and jungkook for calvin klein <3 we’ve all seen those pictures right… right… i hope the onlyswan prophecy continues with this drabble i need to see jungkook do pull ups at the beach <3 + reblogs & feedback are always appreciated :D

—

jungkook is a sunkissed daydream and a shirtless adonis. his tender hands are on your bare thighs, keeping himself steady on the light brown sand while you sit still and look pretty on a log.

“baby, are you pregnant?”

when a man spits out this question, it usually sounds a little bit something like an anxious and insensitive ‘you’re not pregnant, are you?’ your starry-eyed boyfriend is asking you in a calm tone, joking for the most part, yet genuine wonder is painted on his face as if you’re just supposed to tell him what day of the week it is.

you stare at him with a blank expression, silent for a moment as the fierce waves crash on the shore, finding it difficult to take him seriously. “i don’t know. did you break a condom?”

he breaks eye-contact to space out, pursing his lips as he pretends to be immersed in deep thought.

“uhh, not to my knowledge.”

“then i’m not.” you shrug your shoulders with a cheeky grin, scrunching your nose. “will you steal some mangoes for me now, please?”

“is my baby craving for them that bad?” he coos at you softly, inching closer to press a kiss on your lips. “no but why do you always ask me to steal mangoes for you?”

“what do you mean ‘always’? this is only the second time.” you scoff, offended by the accusation, shoving him lightly but he quickly takes a hold of your arms to save himself from falling.

he chuckles lightheartedly, recounting the first time you visited his hometown and you took a walk around his neighborhood together. you looked at the mango tree with so much longing, and he had so much love for you, it was untameable.

nothing much has changed.

except for the color of the mangoes, perhaps. they were yellow back then, ripe and soft. you ripped off the fragile skin with your bare hands as you devoured the nectar-filled fruit, and the both of you came home to his parents’ house sticky and satiated like little kids who played under the sun from noon to afternoon. today, they’re green and plump, and truthfully, his mouth is watering for a taste.

“you know, since the tree is directly infront of our villa-” he tilts his head to the side, briefly looking at your temporary private residence. “it’s technically ours, so it’s not stealing.”

your eyes are glitter with mischief, and they communicate without words before you burst into a fit of revitalizing giggles, filling your empty tummy with a childlike joy.

—

for a while before jungkook, you’d forgotten people are kind. you chose to live for yourself, and yourself only, because you thought that if you lose sight of your plans for the future because of a impetuous slip within the thrill of temptation, you would also lose the essence of your being that you’re actively fighting so hard to get a good grasp of. you’re in a never-ending, excruciating process of picking apart your identity; detaching yourself from what you learned in the past to make room for growth; and swallowing bitter pills of hard-taught lessons. but when you’re in a relationship, every decision goes through a filter, a need for an answer to the question of how would this make my partner feel?

your friends still ask from time to time, what it is about jungkook that made you bend this principle and compromise your plans when those were the reasons you impulsively ended relationships in the past.

you’d forgotten people are kind.

jungkook is messy. he always leaves behind a fragment of his heart, and you shake your head and you pick up each one to stuff it in the shallow pocket of your understanding of love… until the weight of them destroyed said pocket, and all of a sudden, you have awoken. he opened your eyes to the underlying implication of that filter, how having something sacred to protect is also what makes life more worth living after all.

more than two hours ago, at seven in the morning, he held back your hair while you emptied your guts in the toilet bowl. a week ago, he held your hand in the doctor’s waiting room and didn’t let go until your name was called. that same night, you sulked about the doctor concluding that the reason you didn’t get your period last month was stress again and he teared up when you said i eat well, and i exercise regularly. but in the end it’s all useless because stress is messing up my body and i can’t control it. what do i do? the next day, he cheerfully asked you if you wanted to go see the ocean with him. right now, he’s hanging on a thick branch of a tree, enthusiastically doing pull ups while you peel the raw mangoes he picked out for you.

the familiar sounds of moans and grunts convince you to move the log you’re sitting on, abandoning the view of the majestic blue sky kissing the sparkling ocean in favor of facing your gorgeous boyfriend. he moves on to doing hanging knee tucks, pulling his knees to his chest and gradually increasing his speed and range of motion after gathering enough leverage.

“ah, this is tiring!” his yell ripples across the near-empty beach. he squeezes his eyes shut, laughing through the pain that hurts so good.

you set aside the paring knife on the plain white porcelain plate, dipping a piece of mango in the hill of salt before taking a bite (you played rock-paper-scissors to decide who would call the front desk for salt and you won after jungkook said he lost because his rock was made of paper). this, it’s just what you needed to cure the lethargy that’s been eating away at you. the combination of sour and salty explodes in your taste buds, remedying your awful loss of taste and appetite.

you shudder in sheer delight, smiling sweetly at the man brazenly showcasing his strength infront of you. “i like this a lot. i can feel my stress melting away… like ice cream under the sun.”

“i’m happy you’re enjoying yourself while i-” he cuts off his sentence, letting himself fall on the sand before jumping again to adjust his grip on the rough wood. once again, he hauls his legs upward repeatedly, reaching higher and higher each time. he releases loud huffs of air, grunting raspily with every exertion of force.

you stifle a scandalous gasp when his knees touch his wrists, covering your mouth as you grind the food with your teeth. okay, you know damn well he is flexible and a human-shaped vessel of physical strength, but you mostly witness their irrefutable testaments during intense moments of love and lust… the blissful memories can be kind of hazy.

he heaves a deep sigh, taking a rest as he hangs motionless on the branch. picture-perfect, center-frame for your adoring eyes to feast upon. his honey skin is glazed with a fine sheen of sweat, further accentuating the well-defined muscles of his torso. you only get a tease of his v-line. it hides beneath the exposed white band of his calvin klein underwear peeking above his black swimming shorts. his stomach rises and falls with each breath, and you can’t help but to marvel at his abs with appreciation. beautifully prominent, sculpted not too much. you love that when you touch them, you still feel the tenderness of his flesh, so rawly and so uniquely jungkook.

“you like what you see?” he grins when your eyes meet, winking at you flirtatiously.

“i do.” you sheepishly admit, scrunching your nose before putting another slice of mango on top of your tongue. “keep going. i want to see more.”

“more? you want more?! aish- so demanding.” he complains, thick satoori accent dripping from his voice but still, he gives you more.

you giggle in satisfaction, closely observing the flexing of his muscles and the veins along his arms popping out. one must think you’re used to his tattoos by now, but you’re definitely not. you just learn how to act unaffected, like you can’t write a book of poems about how his body art never seizes to bring you in absolute awe. his eyebrows knit as he pulls himself up, face crumpling with the amount of force and strength he utilizes with every manuever. it’s a seductive scene, but then the dimples on his cheeks make fondness bloom in your heart.

for the love of god, it’s not compromising your plans, but making jungkook a part of your plans. you no longer fantasize about a perfect life. you just want to keep waking up somewhere safe— to be here, standing on the tips of your toes, planting a delicate kiss on the mole at the lower right side of his ribcage. your lips have made one too many sharp mistakes, but they ghost over his skin and he laughs. laughs so joyfully, a majestic string of musical notes from his mouth no other instrument on earth can recreate. it’s a good mistake, the best mistake you could ever possibly make.

“here, drink.“ you offer him a bottle of cold water.

“i’m so tired. oh, fuck-” he does one final pull up before letting go, deliberately falling on the sand and bumping against your feet when he rolls over.

he sits up, warm body vibrating with giggles as he looks up at you.

“did you pack a first aid kit?“

you put a hand over your hip, raising an eyebrow. “what happened now?”

“my hands-” he stares at his palms, sand coating half of the area, before showing them to you. “they sting like hell! seriously!” his little lisp slips out as he rants.

”then why did you keep going?!” you exclaim, grabbing his tattooed wrist to assess the damage. there’s no blood in sight, but his skin has turned a very bright shade of red.

“because it was fun.” he simply answers, and you can’t argue with that.

of course you brought a first aid kit. it’s a necessity, especially when you’re on vacation with your gym bunny boyfriend, apparently. while you grab the ointment in the bedroom, jungkook decides to clean himself up under the outdoor shower situated in a corner beside the swimming pool.

“what’s wrong with this? why are they going at the same time?” he scratches his head in confusion, looking up at the spraying shower head and down at the gushing faucet. he fiddles with the handle in hopes of fixing his problematic water consumption, unintentionally pushing it up higher as he does so. this causes the water pressure to become stronger, sending thin needles to crash down and pierce his fragile skin.

“aw shit-” he reflexively runs away from the rude attack of the silver device. “yah, you punk! what did i to you, huh?! how dare you-”

he clicks his tongue in irritation, resting his hands on his hips. after glaring one more time, he extends his tattooed arm to push the handle all the way down, turning it off. he proceeds to experiment, tilting it to the left, which turns on the faucet only, and then to the right for the shower.

he laughs sarcastically at his discovery, going back under the water. “ahhh, was i the stupid one?”

—

“i missed you!” he declares loudly as soon as you step out of the sliding door.

“me too, babe.” you hum as you walk towards him, standing a considerable distance from the shower.

he wipes his face with his hands to unblur his vision before pushing back his wet hair, droplets of water endlessly rushing down his body.

“why are you so far?” he protests. “come here.”

“but i already took a shower.”

“so what? you’ll get wet again when we ride the jet ski later.”

you pout at him. “i told you i’m scared.”

“i’d be jack if i have to, i won’t let you drown! don’t you trust your boyfriend, hm?” he attempts to persuade you again after failing last night, knowing well that you’d enjoy yourself only if you overcome your fear of the deep waters. “it will be fun, i promise.”

“ugh, fine. only because you promised.” you weakly succumb to his wishes, setting down the small jar of ointment on the ground.

he happily pulls you in for an embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck while your arms wrap around his waist. the only barrier between your chests is the thin and small fabric of your red bikini, thoroughly soaked by the cold water combatting the rising heat of the approaching noon. you can feel the rough grains of sand that were washed away from his skin under the soles of your feet, contrasting the feather-light kisses being scattered on your neck. and this feels so utterly liberating, you refuse for it to end, allowing yourself to be hastily pinned against the wall when his supple lips meet yours.

he cups the back of your head and his long and slender fingers dig into your hair, protecting you from accidentally hitting the hard cement. the small thoughtful gesture makes you smile into the kiss. he is not real, he can’t be. if this is a dream, you’re begging the sun to never rise. his gentle hands slowly travel down the expanse of your back, until they reach your hips, teasingly tugging past the side straps of your bikini bottoms before kneading the soft flesh of your ass. he swallows the strangled whine that escapes you, slipping his tongue past your parted lips. he’s addicted to how your body language speaks to him when you get intimate, how you lovingly caress his face and his arms, slow and sensual, but then unconsciously dig your nails to mark crescent moons on his skin when you begin getting lost in your combined passion.

he wants this. he wants you. he wants to spend the rest of his life kissing you and wringing the water from your hair.

—

you’ve deserted the log to comfortably sit cross-legged with jungkook on the lounge chair, under the shade of the brown umbrella rooted in the soil.

“mhmmm! it’s so delicious!” jungkook carefully dips the slice of mango in the salt once more, wary of the ointment from his hand smearing on the food, before muching on it eagerly. “so crunchy!”

you pause from tending to his left hand, looking at the plate between the two of you to learn that he is nearly finished with the second mango. you only have one left.

“damn!” he dramatically curses with his eyes squeezed shut, punching the salt air. without context, a stranger would probably guess that he tragically lost a bet or remembered an embarrassing memory from highschool. but really, he’s just enjoying some pretty good food. this is the fourth time in the past five minutes that he precisely did the same thing, and yes, you’ve been counting.

“is it that yummy?” you chuckle, extremely endeared and contented when he looks this excited around food. he is the only person in the world who can make you say i’m full just by watching you eat and mean it.

“it was your idea!” he bobs his head while energetically rocking from side to side, cheeks round and full as he chews. “i haven’t eaten something new in a long time. i love it… i should give the resort five stars for my review. just for this. i’ll say i’ll come back again for the mango tree.”

“or i don’t know, we can just plant one ourselves.” you propose before lightly blowing on his inflamed palm.

“but, baby, that would take years!” he interjects. “we need to buy another house, one with a backyard, and wait at least five years for it to grow. i’ll be thirty-two by then. are you hearing that?!”

the disgusted look on his face elicits a burst of amused laughter from you, stomach hurting with a reason miles better than earlier’s. he winces at the thought of entering his 30’s in the very near future. it feels odd to think about, but it’s a little less daunting with the tree added to the picture.

he picks up the final slice on the plate, smothering it with a thin layer of salt before devouring it entirely. he whimpers, high-pitched and wide-eyed, clasping his hand over his mouth before the other one you’re holding slips away from the solace of your care. he free falls from the chair, limply collapsing on the sand. and just like that, he’s covered in them again, from his damp hair down to his wiggly toes.

you move closer to look at him, dangling your legs on the edge. “darling, you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

he spreads out his limbs like a starfish, dreamily peering into the vast cloudy sky. “oh? i think this is exactly what it means to be alive.”

beyond his words, it’s the way he said them. without shyness, without qualms, without pondering. it makes him sound purely sincere, his mellifluous voice gracefully echoing louder than the nihilistic thoughts in your head, and you believe him.

he abruptly sits up, crawling on his knees to reach you. “baby! it’s too good! i want more!” he cries out, feigning desperate sobs as he hugs your legs. “i want more. let’s eat the third one, please.”

“fuck, okay. calm down. we’ll have it.” you cackle, stroking his hair while he rests his head on your lap.

you drag the plate to your side, slicing the last mango with practiced precision and skill. he, then, closes his eyes and bathes in your presence, his warm breath fanning you. it’s peacefully silent for a while, only the sounds of the knife dragging across the fruit and the waves chasing each other to the edge of the sea can be heard. that is until your boyfriend grows bored. he puckers his lips to brush against your soft skin, insatiable, climbing higher and higher until he’s peppering your inner thigh with kisses.

tingling sensations inevitably spark in your lower region, and you click your tongue to rebuke him. “jungkook, behave. i might cut myself if you keep that up.”

his lips curve into a naughty smirk, shifting a bit further down. “sorry.”

“do you want to get sunburnt? get back up here, on the chair.” you bounce your legs to shake him off, but your efforts prove to be fruitless.

he groans, stubbornly holding on to you tighter. “no, i don’t want to.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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enluv · 1 year ago

Text

the couples quiz <3

PAIRING! bang chan x fem!idol reader

SYNOPSIS! - back with enluv productions, we have our favorite idol couple to take the enluv couples quiz! - this consist of a multitude of questions asked by each of them to test how well they know their partner! enjoy <3

word count: 3,310 (and it’s all fluff 😁)

genre(s): interview styled writing + video layout chic (?) & so much fluff like it’s so cavity inducing you may need to call a dentist 🤭

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, both idols, profanity, nervousness, and I am pretty sure that’s all! (if I missed something lmk!)

coco’s love note: idea is based off the gq couples quiz videos !! please note that our reader is in an oc group I’ve made :)

[ video preview begins now – our idol couple are shown sitting comfortably in two opposing director chairs ]

Y/N: What’s our contact names on each others phones?

Chan: Oh that’s easy I have her as (he makes quotation marks with his fingers) “Y/N L/N” and in parentheses (he cups his hands to express them) “gf”

[the room falls silent as y/n stares shocked at chan]

Y/N: There’s no way…you’re so lying right? (her eyes are widened with shock)

Chan: Of course I am baby! Why would I ever just have you as your name? I have you as “future ms.bahng” (he smiles proudly displaying his contact name for y/n and her contact photo)

Y/N: I almost threw these cards at you for real Christopher! Don’t ever do that again!

Chan: What’s my contact name?

Y/N: Bang Chan dash Stray Kids. (she stares deadpanned at the camera before giggling at his expression)

Y/N: Now you know how it feels! I have you as “my love” it’s a bit simple but I just really love you.

[ end of preview - the screen cuts back to the couple as they first start the video and it begins ]

Y/N: I’m Cupid’s Y/N!

Chan: and I’m Stray Kids Bang Chan!

Y/N & Chan: and we’re taking the enluv couples quiz!

[the couples quiz logo pops up over them to signify the start of the interview – y/n’s questions are first]

Y/N: What’s an item of yours I always seem to steal?

Chan: Oh that’s obvious, she always steals my hoodies. All the colorful ones go to her!

Y/N: Correct! His fans always tell him to wear color but I think I’ve stolen everything with a decent amount of color on it…oops? Sorry stays!

Y/N: What’s something I always bring with me on tour?

Chan: Hmm well there are a few ways to go about this. You could be asking like sentimental items or like necessities.

Y/N: I wrote a list so if the items you guess are on it I’ll give you a point.

Chan: Oh god. (he shakes his head and looks up to show he’s thinking) I would say probably your first aid kit bag. She’s pretty clumsy and needs to have a band-aid on her at all times.

Chan: Oh also probably our son. Oh! I know the most important one is definitely your headphones. You don’t ever leave the house without them.

Y/N: Channie I think you need to elaborate on what our son means (she laughs pointing towards the production team) because they seem worried.

Chan: Oh right. Y/N and I have matching plushies that we won each other on our…hmm I think it was our fifth date? I took her to an arcade and they had claw machines. She got me a psyduck plushie it’s really big and I got her a bunny plush. We call them our sons and usually I’ll take the bunny and she takes psyduck. We care for them equally though! We aren’t absent parents!

Y/N: Okay you were right about all of those, you’re missing one thing though. This one is the most important one.

Chan: Babe…I thought I hit them all seriously…gimme a hint pleaseee….

Y/N: It’s something you gave me.

Chan: I’ve given you a lot of things Y/N.

Y/N: Can I just tell you?

Chan: No! I wanna guess.

[a compilation of chan guessing is played in x2 speed, y/n continues to answer no as he guesses]

Chan: I give up! Tell me.

Y/N: It’s my bracelet! (she laughs softly at his expression)

Chan: Oh god, I can’t believe I forgot about our bracelets!! (he holds up his right hand so the camera can see) We have bond bracelets!

Y/N: When you touch them it sends the other person a small vibration and it means that we’re thinking of or miss the other. They’re really nice since we work a lot and don’t see each other as often as we’d hope.

Chan: I touch mine a lot.

Y/N: Mhm he does, but so do I so I’d never complain.

Y/N: Have I ever written a song about you? And if the answer is yes, which one is my favorite.

Chan: Yeah, plenty of them.

Y/N: Woah okay no need to expose me sir.

Chan: Babe I’m not exposing anything, it’s kinda obvious…

Y/N: Just answer the question Chris.

Chan: “two souls” is your favorite and I know that because you worked on it for almost three months then gave it to me on my birthday.

Y/N: He’s right. That song is my baby, it’s so personal but I just really love it so much. He kept trying to sneak into my laptop to listen to it but I caught him every single time! He cried when he first heard it though so it was worth hiding.

Chan: I thought we promised not to talk about that sweetie.

Y/N: Next question!

Y/N: What was my first concert?

Chan: Oh man. I don’t think I know this one babe.

Y/N: Channie I promise I’ve told you the answer to all of these questions.

Chan: Okay can you tell me how old you were?

Y/N: No.

Chan: Please prettty? I think I’ll get it if I know how old you were!

Y/N: I was sixteen almost seventeen. (y/n sends the camera a wink)

Chan: OH! I’ve so got it then. I know it!

Y/N: Okay who was it then?

Chan: It was Seventeen sunbaenim!

Y/N: Ding ding ding! Correct!

Chan: I always forget how big of a carat you are seriously. She loves them. The kids are friends with them so it’s wild to see her interact with them.

Y/N: I’m good friends with them now, perks of being an idol, they always tease me too.

Chan: Who did you bias?

Y/N: Some secrets should never see the light Channie.

Y/N: NEXT!

Y/N: What’s my favorite food?

Chan: It’s Chipotle but you get the most mundane thing ever so you always throw in a side of chips and queso because you’re scared the workers roll their eyes when they see your order.

Y/N: That…what oddly specific…why did you expose me like that omg…embarrassing!

Chan: Babe you recite exactly what I just said every time you order Chipotle, literally word for word I know it by heart now.

Y/N: Feels like he’s attacking me a bit right guys (y/n turns to the cameras as if asking the audience)

Chan: I am not! You have said that to me a million times! It’s seriously engraved in my head.

Y/N: NEXT!

Y/N: What’s my favorite song that you’ve written that’s about me?

Chan: I know the answer but if I say it then fans are going to have a field day on twitter.

Y/N: How would you know? Been on twitter recently Chris?

Chan: (he stares at the camera and winks) I don’t have twitter, you know, idol things and all those logistics.

Y/N: Should we answer the question together?

Chan: Stop cheesing so hard, you did this on purpose didn’t you.

Y/N: Yes I did. Ready? 3…2…1!!!

Chan & Y/N: Red Lights

Y/N: What can I say! It’s a good song.

Chan: Is it my turn yet? I need to seek revenge.

Y/N: NOPE! Still me!

Y/N: How many pets do I have and can you tell me in which order I got them?

Chan: This is terrible because she had pets even before getting with me.

Chan: Okay here it goes. You have three pets, first one is Pickles, he’s a greyhound. Next would be Peanut, he’s a fish and he has a brother named Jelly. They count as one because they’re a pair, and finally we have Kimchi and that’s our gecko, I named him. (he smiles proudly at the camera)

Y/N: Four points! Wow babe good job!

Chan: What kind of dad would I be if I didn’t know our kids names?

Y/N: So true like imagine you forgot one I’d be so mad.

Chan: I know that’s why I got them all right.

Y/N: What’s my dream wedding look like?

Chan: I also know this answer, we talk about it a lot.

Chan: You want a small wedding with the most important people in your life, so like family and friends but also people who have helped you in your career as well. You want a summer wedding and want a pastel creamy green color to be the theme. It’ll be inside but you really liked the forest vibe from Twilight so the inside will be decorated to look like the woods.

Y/N: Okay woah. Do you have access to my Pinterest or something?

Chan: You say that like we don’t talk about getting married all the time. (he smacks his lips playfully at her)

Y/N: I am in love with you, seriously like on god dude.

Chan: Stop saying on god after you tell me you love me, we talked about this!

Y/N: He doesn’t like it because he says it sounds like I’m talking to a brother.

Chan: You sound like my nineteen year old sister!

Y/N: and I love her very much! We went shopping last time we went to visit them.

Chan: and you bought her $800 shoes.

Y/N: What can I say, I love all the bahngs!

Y/N: Last question Chris, let’s see if you get this one right! What was my first impression of you!

Chan: Oh you’re going there? I see how it is. (he fixes himself to sit straight up and looks at the camera) Our fans don’t know this story but Y/N hated me.

Y/N: (laughing to herself and gesturing to the crew again) They look so confused! He made it sound so bad, I just thought he was one of those really weird guys because, so basically we met at an award show and his group, Stray Kids, had been seated next to us.

Chan: We were so close we could touch arms.

Y/N: No truly! And it was funny because his entire group, and if you don’t know, they have eight members in total, all got up and went to the bathroom together. All eight of them! It was hilarious, I’d never seen any group do that!

Chan: We like to stay together. Safety in numbers!

Y/N: They came back after a while and almost missed getting their award. It was just so odd to me at the time but after that we started talking as the show went on and I thought he was super sweet and obviously he cares for his members.

[the couples quiz logo pops onto screen as the video depicts chan at the center, he flashes an excited smile at the camera]

Chan: Is it finally my turn? I’ll be honest I don’t have that many questions…but they’re pretty hard to answer. I don’t know if Y/N will be able to get them right.

Y/N: Don’t antagonize me Christopher! I know everything about you.

Chan: We’ll see about that.

Chan: First question! Before we went on our first date I had originally planned something else but it fell through, what was it and why didn’t we do it?

Y/N: Woah you’re going BACK.

Chan: Mhm, answer the question baby.

Y/N: This is a funny story that not everyone knows actually. Chan loves doing crazy things like he doesn’t do traditional dates ever, it’s always something outrageous that you least expect.

Chan: I want things to be memorable, plus if I have free time I don’t want to spend it sitting around, I want to go out and do things.

Y/N: He originally wanted to take me bungee jumping, (the camera pans to a laughing chan and the staff can be heard gasping) can you believe that! Bungee jumping for a first date!

Chan: It would have been memorable though, right?

Y/N: Yeah definitely. It didn’t happen though because he heard from a mutual friend of ours, Minnie, that I was really scared of heights.

Chan: I canceled the day super quick, the date was in two days and I called and had to cancel but I was honestly grateful I found out because imagine if I hadn’t known and took her to it? Memorable first date but not in a good way!

Y/N: I think maybe now I’d do it, but only if he’s with me because I trust him the most.

Chan: Wait really? Wait we’ll talk about this later, finish the story!

Y/N: Right! He took me swimming instead, it was a indoor private pool place and it was so much fun. He actually taught me how to swim.

Chan: It’s one of my favorite memories because I just knew I’d be asking her to be my girlfriend.

Y/N: Stop I’m going to cry if we get into this again!

Chan: I told her this last time we talked, how I knew she was the one for me our first date. She cried and then called her mom to tell her.

Y/N: My parents love him, maybe more than me to be honest.

Chan: What was the first achievement we got as a group that made me feel like I had made it?

Y/N: This feels like a trick question.

Chan: I promise it’s not.

Y/N: There are two answers because your first win is so memorable that I’d pick that one but you also always say you haven’t made it, because you’re still going, still reaching and setting goals and achievements for yourself.

Chan: You worded that perfectly. She’s right. First win on a music show was huge for us but honestly as a group we have a lot of goals and want to achieve them all, I don’t know if we’re ever going to truly feel like we’ve made it but seeing our fans celebrate our achievements always makes it feel like we’re heading in the right direction.

[the camera shifts and pans to y/n running her thumb on the back of chan’s palm, she whispers something in his ear before they continue]

Chan: What was my favorite sport growing up?

Y/N: Easy! It was swimming and you were really good at it.

Chan: Don’t say that they’re going to believe you.

Y/N: Babe I’ve seen those awards your mom has lining the walls of your house, trust me, you were good.

Chan: My dad owns a swim school so I swam a lot as a kid and naturally went on to compete at meets and stuff. If I wasn’t here doing this, I’d be a swimmer.

Y/N: He’s really good at it, and he taught me how to swim so like he’s a good teacher too.

Chan: I can’t believe I taught you to swim that memory is so engraved in my mind.

Y/N: Mine too! I could not learn for the life of me and then suddenly on my first date with him he taught me. That should tell you how good he is at swimming.

Chan: I don’t know if I’m good now but back then I wasn’t terrible.

Y/N: My boyfriend is so humble!

Chan: What’s one thing that you hate that I do but I love it?

Y/N: Sleeping in the recording room?

Chan: (he lets out a sarcastic laugh) Ha Ha Ha. Close but no.

Y/N: I don’t know, I don’t hate anything you do honestly.

Chan: Want me to tell you?

Y/N: You so want to tell me.

Chan: I do.

Y/N: Tell me.

Chan: It’s when I spend too long in the studio, so long that you have to come get me.

Y/N: You’re so….(she’s cut off by chan’s laughter)

Chan: Let me explain before you blast me in front of everyone!

Y/N: Mmm…go on…

Chan: I know you hate coming to get me but some of my favorite times are when you come because then we spend hours together listening to things I’ve made or messing around and recording things. It’s nice to have you so interested in what I do because I love you and I love music, it’s like my two favorite things are interacting and meeting one another.

Y/N: I hate you so much! You know I’m a sap, I’m going to cry you meanie, that’s so cute what even is this!

Chan: My revenge worked!

[the video cuts to the next clip and the viewer can see that y/n now has a tissue in hand]

Chan: Next question, who gave me advice when we first started getting to know each other and dating?

Y/N: Was it not one of the boys? You said you told binnie first no? So I’d assume him.

Chan: Nope! Guess again.

Y/N: No? Hmm I don’t know…maybe one of your other idol friends?

Chan: It was actually our choreographer.

Y/N: What? Really? Why?

Chan: They saw how stressed I was because I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend officially and it was making me distracted so they sat me down and made me spill what was bothering me. Funny too because when I told them they told me to just go for it, and I did and then later on they told me they were glad I had because I looked so much happier.

Y/N: Wow this tissue is being used to its fullest today. I am making a mental note to buy them anything they want right now like wow, imagine if they had never told you to just do it. Where would we be?

Chan: Still sneaking around to hang out as “friends” probably.

Chan: Final question, what’s the title of our new collab song coming out?

Y/N: Oh you’re terrible, did you even get permission to reveal this?

Chan: No but I feel like it’ll, a) this will be out by the time we announce it or b) I don’t have a plan B since I’m hoping plan A is successful!

Y/N: Stay please pray for your leader, he’s so going to get us in trouble for this!

Chan: Don’t say that pretty, have some faith in me.

Y/N: Our collab song is called “Here for you,” and it was written and produced by us.

Chan: It’s a love song if you didn’t guess that.

Y/N: I think they got that one babe.

Chan: Making sure they know it!

Interviewer: Can you tell us a little about the song?

Y/N: Well like Chan said, it’s a love song. It’s about finding the right person and immediately knowing they’re the one.

Chan: Immediately knowing they’re your person.

Y/N: We wrote it one night in the studio after fighting, nothing huge but we both had a bad day and it was intense, when you’ve been with someone for a while you have those days you know? He wrote something down to blow off some steam and so did I. We realized that we’d wrote one half of a song each. Then we put it together, fixed it up and made it that night.

Chan: It’s a really special song to us both, that’s why I’m so excited to announce it.

Y/N: We’re really excited to have you all listen to it.

Interviewer: Well thank you both for coming. We appreciate you making some time for us!

Y/N & Chan: Thanks for having us! (they send a smile to the camera and bow in thanks to the crew)

Y/N: We had a lot of fun today, really thank you.

Chan: Maybe we will come back in like ten years, married, and all that and do it again!

[ the camera zooms out and in fades the couples quiz logo, you can see the couple as they whisper to one another after the director yells “cut” ]

ENLUV EXTRA:

Chan: Why do I love Y/N? That’s a big question to ask, and if I named all the reasons we’d be here for a long time, to put it simply she’s my soulmate, I don’t think there is anyone else in the world more right for me than her. She’s caring, fun, creative, so many more things and it’s like wow, people do exist like her out there and I was lucky enough to find her? She must be my soulmate.

Y/N: Why do I love Chris? Hmm let me think. As a society I know we don’t believe in soulmates, and for a long time I put no thought into them you know? But meeting Chan and being able to experience the love he gives, has honestly changed that for me. I don’t think there is anyone out there more perfect for me than him. I can’t put into words why I love him but I can try to describe it. It’s like when you find a new favorite thing to obsess over, and that becomes something you love so dearly but in the case of me and Chan, it’s that feeling on and on, it never falters and my love for it stays consistent.

[ the video ends with a black screen fading out the image of y/n from frame ]

coco’s <3 note: FINALLY SHE IS HERE! I’ve been talking about this fic for almost three months now 😭 and finally it’s done! Hope you all enjoy it as much as I do :) Thank you @odxrilove for being my beta reader for it! I love you wifey 😻🫶🏽 As always, feedback & rbs are always appreciated!

SKZ TAGLIST! - @cherry-bushes @en-fvr @nikis-mum @bloom-bloom-pow @kyublr @enhacolor @fxckingshame @stealanity @haoreo @jxp1t-3r @chaerybae @vatterie @tytrackfebreze @veryjeongintxtkid @haechan-nahceah @mnwrld @queen-klarissa

— Want to be tagged? Check out THIS post!

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uceyliyahh · 3 months ago

Text

SOMETHING BOUT’ US

Summary: "I want you more than anything in my life." After being in a difficult relationship with Carmelo Yasmine decided to move on from him and become the next big thing while getting drafted on the smackdown roster she always thought she would never find love again due to her commitment issues until she met him.

This fanfic is 18+! NO MINORS ALLOWED

word count: 4150

smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

Jey Uso x Yasmine

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

But I’ll be writing along the way since this story is in my drafts on Wattpad right now so yuh. 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️@pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@hunnidmilly @celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @lov3rla03 @simpin4pixels

OMNISCIENT For some weeks now, Yasmine has been receiving calls and texts from Carmelo under strange numbers, and she has simply blocked him each time. Especially when Trick attempted to contact and text her, she would disregard all of his messages because she no longer trusted him. He believed Carmelo over her, of all people.

Yasmine was at the gym working out, trying to forget what had happened to her; she hadn't spoken about it since Montez and Jonathan arrived to pick her up after she moved out.

She didn't even want to think about it; it would just cause her anxiety to creep up on her and make her feel even more worthless than she already is.

Yasmine would be drowning in her thoughts late at night, wondering if she'd ever find a good man that she could trust, but was that even possible?

She wore headphones and listened to music while she did her bicep roll reps with the dumbbells before she went to the arena today to sign the contract on Smackdown.

Meanwhile, she felt her phone buzzing inside her training shorts as she paused to place the dumbbells on the bench and took her phone out of her pocket.

She noticed Montez had texted her, probably to check up on her.

Big Bro Tez💪🏽 sent 2+ messages IMESSAGE 💬 Big Bro Tez💪🏽: hey sis I was just checking in on you to see how you were doing. Big Bro Tez💪🏽: text me back whenever you can I'll see you at work I love you sis ♥️

It always made her happy knowing that her big brother cares about her and her well-being will always be there for her.

IMESSAGE 💬 Minnie🧃: I'm fine Montez Big Bro Tez💪🏽: are you sure? you don't have to come in to work today Minnie🧃: I have too so I can sign the contract then I'll probably just stay and watch your match out back Big Bro Tez💪🏽: A'ight little sis if you say so I won't pressure you Minnie🧃: thank you now lemme' get back to my workout since you rudely interrupted me 😭🙄 Big Bro Tez💪🏽: whatever nigga

Yasmine chuckled at his message before getting back to her workout and moving her headphones back in place.

biancabelairwwe, jonathanfatu, tiffanywwe, and others liked your post.

minnieminks: back at it again 🖤💭 biancabelairwwe: them abs tho better than mines girl im jealous asf 🙄🙄😭 minnieminks: @ biancabelairwwe girl your abs are more sharper than mines please 😭 jonathanfatu: why do you always gotta stick yo' ass out like do a different pose or sum minnieminks: @ jonathanfatu I smell a hater in the room rn 😀 tiffanywwe: we need to workout together honestly. carmelohayes: why aren't you answering my calls?

Read all Comments.

Yasmine took a shower before heading to the arena for Smackdown tonight. She was only there to support her big brother and Angelo, of course.

She was curious when she'd make her debut on Smackdown, which is probably soon. For right now, it'll just probably be segments of her getting interviewed by Byron Saxton about her upcoming debut.

She got out of the shower, wrapped her body in a towel, and dried her hair, making sure that every part of it was dry.

Sitting down inside the shower with her legs crossed, she scrolled through her Instagram, noticing that Carmelo had commented on her post that she made.

Her face turned up at his comment, questioning her about not answering his phone calls.

'This nigga won't understand the elephant in the room will he?'

After drying her body off, she lavender herself with some lotion and put on a comfortable outfit for tonight's smackdown. She walked out of the bathroom, grabbing her keys and purse while making sure she had everything before heading to her car.

As she headed out towards her car, she saw someone walking up to her. She couldn't recognize the face until he came a little bit closer, and that's when she knew that it was him. So Yasmine immediately went inside her car, locking the door in the process while he came banging on her window.

"Baby! Open the door." Carmelo said.

Yasmine shook her head as she turned the button on in the ignition, as he tried to open the door by the handle but not realizing that it was locked.

"C'mon, baby, don't be this way. I only did what I did so you can act right." Yasmine scoffed at his reasoning as she gave him the middle finger, pulling out from the parking lot and driving off in the process.

✧˚° Yasmine made it to the arena, parking in the garage. As she grabbed her purse while getting out of the car again, she realized she was only here to sign the contract and support her brother. Nothing more would happen, right?

She walked inside the building, seeing all the fans coming in to get their tickets or buy wrestlers' merchandise. That's when she ran into a fan who recognized her and started squealing.

"OH, MY GOODNESS, ARE YOU YASMINE THEE YASMINE FROM NXT?" The fan asked while Yasmine smiled at them.

"Yes of course hon what can I do for you?" She asked.

"May I please get an autograph and a picture?" Yasmine nodded her head while grabbing the marker from them, signing their T-shirt with her signature. The fan pulled out their phone, setting it up on camera mode for them to take a picture with her.

They did a pose as they snapped the picture together while hugging Yasmine she gladly responded to the hug.

"Omg thank you sooo much!" The fan said.

"No problem hon." Yasmine gave them one last hug before continuing her way towards Paul's office.

It felt nice to her to know that she had some fans who liked her and enjoyed her wrestling. She felt her phone buzz, making her stop in her tracks. Pulling it out, she saw that Bianca texted her.

Breezy🫶🏽 sent 2+ messages IMESSAGE 💬 Breezy🫶🏽: Montez told me you would be here tonight wya? Breezy🫶🏽: Actually, I see your location. I'm coming towards you; you should see me waving my hand.

Yasmine looked around, seeing someone waving their hand back and forth. She stood on her tippy toes, seeing Bianca waving her hand, and smiling, ran up towards her.

They both hugged each other while everyone was around them as they pulled away from each other.

"Oh, my goodness girl you look good." Bianca said.

"Thank you, girl you look good as well too." She spoke.

"C'mon, let's go to your brother's locker." We started strolling towards Montez's dressing room. It was nice to be around Bianca and them again; maybe she won't run into Carmelo's ass. But she doesn't get her hopes up very much, so there's no guarantee that he'll come seeking for her merely to make her feel useless.

We eventually arrived to his locker room, where she spotted Trinity, Jonathan, and an unfamiliar figure. They all gazed at her, then Trinity and Jon approached her and hugged me.

"Oh, my goodness, girl, I'm so happy that you're away from that nigga man." Trinity spoke. "Well, as long as Montez and Jon are with me, I'll be alright, since he's definitely here today. Just like everyone else that was drafted. Have you seen Tiffany? Yasmine replied.

"Yeah, she was in here a couple of minutes ago." She stated this while nodding her head. Yasmine sat next to Trinity, watching Montez's tag team match against the New Day. She absolutely loved seeing my brother beat up his opponents, which is why she wanted to be in this profession.

But now she regrets it simply because she is dealing with Carmelo's ass, but someone grabbed her eye: a man spreading on his phone while wearing a Yeet shirt, black sweatpants, and a fresh haircut with piercings.

'Damn he looked so fine would it be rude to be admiring him like this?'

She felt Bianca prodding me, drawing my attention as she glanced at her with a sneer on her face. "Girl, who were you looking at?"

"I-I wasn't looking at nobody B not too much, okay?" Yasmine said, rolling her eyes at her.

She chuckled at me as she fixed her focus on the TV screen, watching her fiancé whoop some asses. Meanwhile, Yasmine got up from the couch and informed them that she was going to the restroom right now. As she walked towards the restroom, she heard a familiar voice talking to someone about something. She looked up to saw the person who damaged her, Carmelo, who appeared to be on the phone with someone.

Yasmine sighed deeply as she walked by him on her way to the facilities, until she felt him grip her arm, almost causing her to stumble. "Hey pretty girl, I didn't know you were here." Carmelo said.

She rolled her eyes at him and yanked herself away from him, "Look, don't you ever touch me or even come near me after what you did to me." He chuckled darkly at her while approaching up to her, causing her to back up.

"I recall you calling me daddy the last time I fucked this wonderful pussy of mine, dear." "That's because you made me call you that nigga I didn't want to call you that." She remarked as she pushed him hard.

He didn't like that and grabbed her by the throat, pressing her to the wall like he had done previously, making her feel terrified and uncomfortable. That was something he like seeing from her, all afraid beneath him.

"Do you see how you submit to me?" It should be this way all of the time". Yasmine fought to free herself, but he tightened his grasp on her throat. She felt like she couldn't breathe while fighting him off and screamed at the top of her lungs. All she wanted to do was use the restroom and not run into his ass.

She used all of her might to hit him in the face, causing him to tumble as Yasmine escaped.

Yasmine fled as fast as she could without turning back, tears welling up in her eyes as she heard Carmelo cry her name. She spotted the same foreign face standing at the door with his legs crossed, looking at his phone and running up to him.

✧˚° JEY

I was standing by the door on my phone, looking for Montez's sister Yasmine. As I was doing so, I heard what sounded like someone rushing. When I looked up, I saw a female sprinting towards me, clearly in danger. She approached behind me, and I noticed Carmelo approaching this direction as if he was hunting for her, and when she grabbed me aggressively, it attracted my attention.

Almost appeared afraid in a way? Her eyes begged for assistance from me, so I did what any guy would do and defended her.

As he approached, he noticed me with her and attempted to walk up on us, grabbing her arm as I pushed him. "Aye, you might wanna back up dawg." I stated this while clutching the female behind me.

"Man you might wanna back up and give her ass to me nigga ion know who you think yo' ass is c'mon Yasmine." He stated that's when I turned around to view her face, and she looked so damn good.

I felt her grip my hand strongly as I interlaced mine with hers, and he took note, attempting to separate us so he could grab her up. But I managed to deliver a left hook, causing him to fall backward while clutching his bloodied lip.

"You know what? Don't worry about it, Yasmine. I got something for you later." When he went away, she sank to her knees, hands in her face, weeping, and the door opened to reveal Trinity.

"Josh, what happened?" She asked.

"She came up running towards me away from the ol' boy. He just left." I said.

"Shit, well, my match is coming up. Can you take care of her, please?" As Trinity departed to get dressed, I nodded yes and kneeled down to play with Yasmine's curly hair. She looked up at me with puffy eyes, which made me sad. What was her history with Ol' Boy? I extended my hand, expecting her to grasp it, as we walked her inside the room and closed the door behind us.

Nobody else was in there except us, and she sat down with her head low while I poured her something to drink in a cup and walked up to her.

I patted her on the shoulder, prompting her to flinch: "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you, Shawty." I offered her the cup while sitting on the same couch she was on. I saw she was still shivering a little, so I slid over to her and wrapped my arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to me. She hesitated at first but then lay her head on my chest.

I looked down at her, watching her drink her water from the cup I had given her. I felt her body relax with my touch, and her eyes locked on mine as we both established eye contact.

'Fuck, she's so pretty.'

'Damn, he looks good in person.'

She looked away from me as I chuckled at her facial expressions, knowing that I made her nervous, which made me boldly grab her face to make her look at me again just so I could see that gorgeous face.

"Not goin lie you look gorgeous as hell." I said bluntly.

"T-thank you...I never got your name..." she said softly.

"My name is Joshua. I'm Jonathan's brother, but people call me Jey or Josh for short. Whatever you want, mama." Her facial expression seemed a bit perplexed, not having heard something like that before.

'Did he just call me mama? Hmm, I like it very much better than what the fuck Melo used to call me. It's something different.'

We heard the door opening as we moved away from each other, acting like nothing had happened as we saw Montez coming towards us.

"You good little sis? I heard what happened." Montez asked as she nodded her head.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Josh was there in a nick of time before anything else could happen, " she said.

Montez walked towards my way as he dapped me up, thanking me for protecting his sister from her ex-boyfriend. That dude is her ex-boyfriend? No wonder I gotta find out more about that.

I saw Bianca coming into the room as I walked towards her way, pulling her to the side real quick.

"What's up, Joshua?" Bianca questioned me.

"I know it ain't my business or nothing, but I wanna know more about yo' bestie right there. What's her history with Ol' boy?" I said, folding my arms over my chest.

"Look, when the time is right, she'll tell you because it's not my business to tell, but all I can say is that he's dangerous and did something horrible to her." I nodded my head, not wanting to press on the conversation about it, fixing my gaze at her, who was still talking to her brother while her gaze fixed towards my way, smiling at me before looking at Montez.

'She has such a pretty smile, damn just made my heart flutter a little bit.'

'Imma' get to know her more, and when the time is right, she'll be with me.'

After having my match for the main event for tonight I went towards bathroom to take a shower before I could I see Yasmine standing there look like she waiting on someone.

I walked towards her way shirtless as she looked towards my way eye fucking me, which made me have a smug expression on my face.

"Do I look good, mama, or what?" I asked in a deep tone.

She rolled her eyes at me, folding her arms at me, "Yeah, whatever, boy, what'chu doing anyways?" She's so sassy I like that shit; leaning against the wall.

"I was finna head in the shower before going home; how about you? What'chu doing here standing fo'?"

"I was waiting on Montez and Bianca to take us home, but they are taking forever." She pouted. Damn, she's adorable at that, listening to her vent.

"Lemme' take a shower real quick, and I'll take you home. I'll make sure Montez knows before he goes ballistic." Yasmine nodded her head while going inside Montez's locker room, shutting the door while I walked towards the bathroom to take a shower before I took this little girl home.

I don't know why, but she makes my heart flutter and racing like crazy it's like I'm almost in love with her or something, but it seems like she has a scarred heart.

✧˚°

I texted Montez that I'd be taking his younger sister home because she appeared exhausted. I was correct: she fell asleep on the way to her cot. I continued stealing looks at her, watching her slumber like a small child. I drove with one hand on her thigh, stroking my palm across my beard and concentrated on the road as well as Yasmine.

I couldn't help but be mesmerized by her beauty; it was almost as if I was entranced without even realizing it. I eventually pulled up to Montez and Bianca's crib, turning into the driveway without noticing their car. I shook Yasmine lightly, not wishing to startle her.

Her eyes flutter open, wiping the crust from her eyes, looking around the area and noticing that she was home.

"Hey, pretty mama, you're home." I said as she smiled at me.

"Thank you, Josh, for taking me home when you didn't have to." She said.

"Well, I didn't want you to wait on your big-headed ass brother, so I offered." She chuckled at my comment about her brother as she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car while I did the same, grabbing her bags in the backseat.

We walked up to the door, and she opened it with the key she had on her keychain, opening it while holding it for me. We walked inside the home together, locking the door behind us as I placed her luggage on the wooden floor. I could tell she was fatigued based on her energy and movement. "you sleepy?" She glanced at me, nodded, and rubbed her eyes. I, being the gentlemen that I am, grabbed her by the thighs and carried her upstairs to her bedroom.

I carried her like this, which surprised her because she hadn't been carried like this by a MAN before.

I made it to her bedroom and opened the door before laying her down, but for some reason, she didn't withdraw her arms from around my neck, leading us to remain close. Noticing her movements, she withdrew her arms away from my neck and walked away from me. I scratched the back of my head, observing her every step.

I saw her taking some clothing from her drawer and thought that was my cue to go home because I had already done my part, right?

Before I could head out, I heard her say something, but she was stumbling on her words, "C-could you stay just for a little bit? I don't like being by myself." I didn't think it was a good idea since Montez and em' were on the way home, and he'd kill me if he saw me staying the night with his little sister.

"Mama ion think that's a good idea I don't want yo' brother to kill me." I said, hearing her sigh deeply.

"It's fine...I understand...but thanks again, though I appreciate it.." she said softly.

I could tell that she wanted me to stay, so I texted Montez to see.

IMESSAGE 💬 HomieJosh💪🏽: Yo' Montez Fatheadtez😭: what's up? is my sister home? HomieJosh💪🏽: yeah, I made it to yall crib but she just asked me to stay I told her that wouldn't be a good idea I didn't want yo' ass to kill me 😭😭 Fatheadtez😭: look I trust you around my little sister she's been through a lot and she's very anxious maybe you're someone she can go to whenever she's having a panic attack when I'm not there or when the girls aren't or Jon. HomieJosh💪🏽: you sure? Fatheadtez😭: yes dawg I'm sure maybe that's what she needs someone to be there for her and comfort her she really does need that the most after what happened to her. HomieJosh💪🏽: wym? what happened? 🤨 Fatheadtez😭: look don't tell her that I told you this but that dude that was chasing after her that was her ex-boyfriend Carmelo he's from the NXT roster but got drafted on the blue brand with us but that's not the point...the point is...he did something bad to her in her locker room it's...sensitive dawg something that I can't get into but whenever she's ready she'll tell you. HomieJosh💪🏽: A'ight then dawg I'll take yo' word for it. Fatheadtez😭: A'ight I'll pop in to check in just to make sure HomieJosh💪🏽: A'ight 😭😭

After messaging Montez, I noticed Yasmine exiting the shower with a towel wrapped around her body, grabbing her bottle of lotion and deodorant from the dresser. I was observing her lavendering her body with her scented lotion, which smelled lovely, as she returned it to the dresser. That's when she untied her towel and let it drop to the ground as I turned around, not wanting to be a pervert or anything.

"you can turn around now." Yasmine said.

When I turned back, I saw her in booty shorts and a long T-shirt that caressed her body as she strolled towards her bed to get comfy. She left some space for me in case I stayed, which I did, as I removed my shirt and sweatpants and joined her in bed. She had her back to me, nestled up in her pillow, curled up like a ball as I wrapped my arm around her waist, bringing her closer to me.

She felt comfortable underneath me, nuzzling my neck on her shoulder and moving her head toward me, our faces close together.

"Did my brother say you could?" She asked.

"Yeah, I was texting him about it while you were in the shower Ma." I said as I gazed down at her lips while she did the same with me.

"O-oh okay..." her voice trailed off while turning her head.

Which without hesitation I turned grabbed her by the chin making her look at me once more I didn't want to scare her with my bold actions brushing my thumb against her lips.

"Why do you do that? Hm?"

"D-do what?" Yasmine asked nervously.

"You always look away from me. Do I make you nervous?" She maintained eye contact with me, nodding her head in the process, earning me a chuckle.

I caressed her face, pulled her head closer to my chest, and felt her hand on there as well. She was tracing my Samoan tattoos.

"Did these hurt like all of em'?" She asked while I nodded my head.

"Yeah, it hurt like hell, but I took it like a G, you feel me?" I said, hearing her soft chuckle.

"Probably cried." I sat upright, feeling offended by her statement.

"Excuse me, little girl?"

She laughed at me, covering her lips as I picked her up, placed her on my lap, and held her in place. That's when she stopped all the awful laughing. It's the small things I do that make her feel frightened and silent, like maintaining eye contact while her hands are on my chest and mine are on her hips.

"W-we should go to sleep before Montez walks in on us like this." She said.

"You scared of him or something?" She punched me on the chest, rolling her eyes because she wanted to be playful, and shit I gave her ass a tiny smack, causing her to yelp. She whacked me upside the head as I winced in agony, laughing at me. A'ight bet I sat up straight, seizing her legs and holding her down on the bed while going between them.

And fuck, she just looked so good underneath me like this seeing all of her natural features. "You know, you look beautiful mama?" She did what she always did but took the compliment instead of giving me an attitude.

"T-thank you." I let her go as she cuddled up on my chest, my hand in the back of my head, and the other holding onto her.

I watched her drift to sleep, hearing my heartbeat going up and down as I rubbed her back gently, making her feel at ease with my touch.

I yawned a few times before closing my eyes and drifting to sleep as well. Hopefully, in the morning, she'll feel better.

SomeThing Bout' Us.

A/n: welll Yasmine and Jey are getting a little touchy feely right now lol but I think Yasmine is honestly really scared due to her commitment issues because of Carmelo and her past relationships.

But she feels safe around Jey and being in his arms and presence will probably change her mind we'll see.

Hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below.

Stay Ucey.

#jey uso #black writers #black fanfic writer #black oc #jey x oc black #wwelove #black reader #jey uso fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #jey uso smut

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what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me · 8 months ago

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Sir Meteor ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. A Kirby OC Masterpost

Born from the last wishes of a dying planet, Sir Meteor is a genuine celestial being dinosaur!! He’s been around for millions of years and might be in a history book or two, but any past escapades don’t really matter! Currently he scours the stars looking for any more dinosaurs, and the rest of his family.

Find him on:

Toyhouse, Art Fight, and by using #Kirby OC: Sir Meteor. Toyhouse contains the most comprehensive library of artwork, followed by his tag, and his Art Fight has lovely art done by other people <3

Additional Resources:

Allosaurus Skull 3d Model by ramon.gonzalez.cabrera, viewable for free online, no download needed.

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

Artwork:

>> The Dinosaur Hunts >> Do you want to make a wish? >> Brothers Together

>> Dinosaur Toys

Follow the story of Sir Meteor :

STORY COMICS- >> On Wishes >> Birds and Dinosaurs TOURNAMENT AU COMICS- >> A Explosive Introduction! >> Where Did You Get That Mask? >> Have You Traveled to Other Planets? >> Are You a Real Dinosaur? >> Enough Chatting, Let's Fight! >> Oh Worm

Misc. Posts:

>> Sir Meteor Design Process >> Star Allies PFP >> Favorite Food >> Sir Meteor's Little Brother >> Mirror World Meteor >> Dinosaurs and Birds: A Lesson in World Building and Biology

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

Other:

-⭕Fanart of him is welcome and encouraged! I would love to be tagged in it! -⭕ I love getting asks about him! Be warned i can be slow to respond. -❌ Meteor is uncomfortable with romance, I discourage shipping him unless platonic or with my approval. -❓ His skull mask belonged to his mother so he is uncomfortable with other -people handling or stealing it. It is not forbidden to show, but important to consider. - ‼️Meteor will dislike being told he is not a dinosaur. - ‼️Being inspired by my work is okay! If you heavily reference or base an OC/any work off of Sir Meteor please credit me.

#my art #snappy's art tag #kirby oc: sir meteor #oc masterpost #Sir Meteor Masterpost #kirby oc #original character

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hoseoksluna · 8 months ago

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STRAWBERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi & spectacled boy)

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 7.8k

summary: when your ex-boyfriend's fury burns you whole, you just might need to let hobi in to pour water over you and save you.

playlist: strawberries

pinterest board: j. / taglist: join

warnings: jungkook is nasty and mean and rly needs a trigger warning, oc is lost in her negative emotions and goes through a lot, sadness, crying, shame, longing for death, minor physical violence, oc and hobi take puffs of a shared vape <3, mental and emotional suffering, fighting, belittling, mentions of sex

note: this was an absolute pain to write as i'm not used to writing this genre of jungkook and i hope it's the last time i did skfskfsk, nah i'm just over exaggerating. i'm so happy i got this done in time. two updates in one week! wow. how did i do that? i hope you like this part. prepare yourselves for this jungkook and i'm sorry in advance..... that's all im gonna say. pls, validate me! asks, comments, anything. pretty please! i love you, my babies. big mwah.

You can still sense the ghost of his touch on your shoulder blades as you’re laying halfway on your tummy upon the crumpled bedding of your mattress. Your phone lights up and shuts off like the flickering of stars and all you can do is watch the wane and the rebirth, numbly, with the knowledge that death will never come, not when you’re still a living, breathing person because Jungkook is not the type of individual who gives up. Not easily, that is.

Hobi left but an hour ago while you slept. Kissed you goodbye. Murmured onto your forehead that he would see you again and you merely nodded amidst the magnetic pulling of your dreamland. Couldn’t peel your eyes open due to the heaviness of your tiredness, which didn’t steal, in all peculiar truthfulness, all of your attention, however. You carried on your shoulders a question way heftier. A question of how your body is still able to submit to slumber, when your blood curdles beneath your skin, when it’s so icy that you’re shivering on top of the duvet.

And the question didn’t leave when you woke up to your empty bedroom. It thumped, vigorously, against the nape of your neck. The very place Hoseok clutched when he poured his affection and admiration all over your body.

You wish he hadn’t left. You believe he would’ve possessed your burden, pretending it was his all along. Believe he wouldn’t need to know the alpha and the omega of it. Would pout his lips the way you’ve learned he often does, take the pain from you as if it were a backpack filled with stones. And it does feel like that, your mistake. Your torso is swathed with a double rope, whose end is tied with a stone that you’re cradling in your hands.

A few hours ago, you cradled Hobi’s face in your hands while he kneeled for you, and now you’re anticipating the death that will never come as your stomach hurts.

But the memory of his touch is soothing. While your imaginary wings are flaccid and lackluster on the bed, his invisible hands are the force that pumps blood, feebly, into its membrane. Still warm, though a little less firm. It’s as if he were here in the flesh.

Your body is asking for him, emotionally, however your mind is forbidding you from conveying your need for him to him. Logic is whispering to you that he’s spent the entire day with you, canceled his work meeting because of you. You couldn’t possibly ask for more of his time, for more of him when he had already given you more than enough.

And besides, you can’t let your attachment reach this unhealthy depth. It triggers you, reminds you of the very thing that spliced your heart open almost a month ago. You don’t want to wander there, nor do you want to be pulled there if you were to ever let go of the reins. You can’t afford Jungkook’s life to entwine around your world again. Not when Hobi diligently dug a grave for it, threw its flesh down and covered it back with the soil, his straining muscles the very force that made you forget about… everything.

You can’t do that to yourself. And most importantly, you can’t do that to Hobi.

It’s the latter that propels you to fight. That gives you strength to raise the top half of your body onto your hands. You don’t give a fuck about yourself—you know full well that your life is cursed. Nothing good has ever come out of the events that creeped in until Hobi came along. And you don’t wish to break him out of a selfish intent. You don’t wish to break him because of him. He’s a pure angel, a saint with an honorable heart, a God that has his eye on you. You wouldn’t take it well, if the bane of the ambrosia of your life were ever to touch his lips.

He’s here, and that’s stable. He’s here, and that’s the reason why you need to protect him. From yourself, from the poison, from the rotten apple of your ex-boyfriend current persistence in entering your space all over again.

You don’t want to eat that spoiled fruit anymore, and so you simply won’t.

This decision has shifted the atmosphere because your phone is no longer going off. You sigh a breath of relief, running your fingers through your hair, and you get up, a Virgin Mary that has become a warrior for her God, and you begin to dress yourself.

You need some fresh air.

Clothing yourself in a matching outfit—a light wash baggy jeans, a cropped white tank and a denim jacket with your Nike’s, you grab your phone and keys and drift out into the night.

Your hair has dried while you slumbered and it ripples in the gentle wind of autumn. The street is lit in a darkly yellow tone, also dried from the morning’s downpour and you stop in the middle of the road, where Hobi drove past while you teased him. You breathe in the freshness of the air in effort to inhale your God, in effort to bring him into your system and your chin quivers with weakened emotions, with a weakened wish that he was here with you, holding your hand, giving you the last bit of strength you need. You know his warmth would smooth out your blood, boil it to a temperature that would cook up your joy and bring it to your heart on a silver platter. Bring it to your mind and calm the hurricane within, feed it so it doesn’t wail anymore.

And with another sigh, you will yourself to stop. Will yourself to stop needing. You will stumble and you will fall if you keep going down that road that has never shone brighter, that looks nothing like the one you’re standing in the middle of. And as inviting as it is, you close your eyes to get rid of the blessing reaching out for you—only to discover that it’s waiting for you there, too. A circle of light, of fire amidst a cloud of pure, pitch-black darkness.

You want to scream, and much to your neighbors’ dismay—you do.

It’s a singular, loud stream of your frustration, swaddled with the pulsating energy of your affection. And then your shoulders tremble. And it’s your tears that are louder than that murmuring watercourse in their very silence.

You head to the convenience store down the street with your teardrops dotting the ground as if it were the rain. You don’t want your neighbors to detect it was you, who caused the disturbance, and tell your parents. You have enough fire in your orchard, you don’t need another filling of oil.

You ask the very drowsy guy behind the counter for a strawberry ice vape. His round eyes, behind thick rimmed glasses that make them look even bigger, are barely kept open as he reaches for it with a flabby hand. Your eye catches the glint of a myriad of plan B’s right next to the shelf scattered with packs of lung burners and your heart constricts, a rivulet of emotion cascading down your cheek, caused by the fond recollection of Hobi’s intimate desire and you break—terribly, terribly break. Fruit trees crack in you, collapse to the ground with a horrendous thud and the berry bushes… they wither until they’re mere wisps of blackness. A picture of devastation.

The boy blinks twice when he turns around, regarding you, and he asks for your ID, only to startle when you glare at him. He tells you the price and you pay with your phone, thanking him and saying your curt goodbye.

One he doesn’t reciprocate.

You probably gave him the fright due to the tears marring your pallid cheeks. You hope he isn’t there the next time you’re in the mood to douse your lungs with chemicals.

Your hands are shaking as you’re tearing up the unnecessarily sturdy packaging. And your tears resume in their outpour when your manicured nails make your life harder than it already is. The tape folded over the top of the rectangular box is too thick and you hurt your nail beds when you claw at it. You have to use your teeth and the fucking thing finally gives in.

You furiously throw it out in the bin.

Feel an incoming calmness when you take a deep puff. And you do it over and over again until your cursed world spins, the plump swirls of smoke mingling with the night, never fully connecting. Not like you and Hobi.

And your world tilts on its axis once your phone lights up in your hand and there’s no picture to be found on the screen.

Your heart hammers, threatening to fling out of your throat.

Hobi is calling you.

And the thing is, you don’t really believe it.

Your vision swims as another onrush of dense tears blurs the letters of his name. You stare down at your phone, dumbly, sobbing and not caring at all that the spectacled boy can hear you.

You don’t know who does it—who swipes your finger across the screen and allows you to hear Hobi say the pet name that stole your soul. Who anoints your tears with strawberry-scented mollification while you fail to comprehend that the person you willed yourself not to need in order to not hurt him the way you were hurt somehow heard your cries and answered them like the God he is.

Because it couldn’t have been you. Not when you’ve become a lifeless sculpture in the middle of a yellowly-lit street. A modern, urban art—awakening ugliness in anyone’s first impression.

Not a sculpture of the angel you saw at the museum, the one Hobi took your picture with, though.

You're a sculpture of a road kill. A wounded, small animal, laying on its side with its guts out. And Hobi places them, with gentleness you’ve never felt before, back inside, stitches your belly closed and picks you up, carrying you in his arms. All because he repeats the pet name—with a slither of panic this time.

He acknowledged that something is wrong, validated it.

And somehow, it snaps you out of your vapor of numb sadness and shame permeates your body, cold sweat coats it—something beyond it, too. Something that makes you shiver so hard that your teeth begin to chatter, preventing you from speaking, your tongue twisted, lifeless.

A reality check.

You sent a filthy video of yourself getting rocked from behind to your ex-boyfriend, in which you screamed that your most intimate parts belong to another man.

You’re not Virgin Mary. You’re Mary Magdalene.

You don’t hear your pitiful crying fits, but Hobi does—and it is through his inhale of a trembling breath and his words that you perceive that you’re baring your ugliness to him.

“Pup, what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You squeeze your vape in your small fist, sensing those words doing something in you—something that untwists your tongue and lets you breathe like him, though in painful, quick staccatos. Your frail legs hurt, not able to withstand your tremor, and they give out. You fall onto your bum, the impact and the gravel shooting a spark of pain up your spine and you whimper, your tears soaking your neckline.

“Hobi,” you call out, the last vowel breaking, teeth chattering, cacophonously. “I made a mistake. A terrible mi-mistake.”

He coos, sorrowfully, his loud breath still trembling—a strong rope nonetheless that you want to hold onto. That cord wouldn’t lead you to your death, wouldn’t scrape your hands with its harsh texture, wouldn’t be wrapped around a stone on the other end.

“Breathe for me, baby,” he says and guides you to do it. You inhale the night air with him, feeling like there isn’t enough of it to appease your lungs, and you exhale.

Somehow it halts the river of your cries and you do it again. Hobi lets you, patiently waiting on the other side, encouraging you and praising you. This time, it doesn’t sprinkle you with the sultriness of sin. No, you sense it cleansing you, giving you the kind of newness you stumbled across in his car this very morning. Your palm, the one that clutches your vape, opens and it rolls onto the ground. You grab it and when you wrap your fingers around it, you perceive that you do the motion around that newness. And your heart, your submission—they’re not letting up. Not again. Not when it’s him.

“That’s it,” Hobi praises, a hint of calmness in his tone. “Can you try and tell me what happened?”

You nod your head, even though he can’t see you, the newness gracing you with strength that spreads feeling into your legs and you stretch them out. Blood pumps in them and you can sense the direction it’s traveling to. You tighten your grip, open your mouth to talk.

“I sent the video to the wrong person,” you utter, and along with your grip, your lungs tighten as well. No sobs escape you, no tears. Only gravely stillness, nothingness while your shame stands behind you, menacingly, a demon set out on destroying you, the curse upon your life a bracelet around its wrist, a knife in his hand, to which it’s attached.

Hobi doesn’t say anything for a moment and you can sense his shock, its cold tendrils the ice that courses down your legs. An agony forms in your heart, stretches out an arm of regret and strikes against your ribcage, pangs of guilt and self-disgust seizing your body.

“I’m so sorry, Hobi, I thought I sent it to you,” you continue, your voice splitting, though no external expression of it is evident on your countenance. It’s as if you were telling him the most ordinary of a thing. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a puff of your vape. It is only now that you can taste its strawberry savoriness and it suffuses your lungs with a mockingly sweet, feigned fume.

Hobi hears you exhale and you hear him swallow, dryly. An exchange, most redolent of the one you’ve done many times earlier.

“What are you smoking?” he asks, and it catches you off guard. You didn’t expect him to yell at you, nor did you expect him to scold you. Truth be told, your fragile state of mind didn’t let you expect anything of him, any sort of outcome. Yet this question still surprises you. It flattens lukewarmness upon your skin and you feel like nuzzling your face into it, needing more of it.

You take a deep breath. “I bought a strawberry vape. Scared the guy in the store with what I looked like.”

Hobi laughs through his nose, barely. That’s the real sweetness you know. The original one, from God himself. “I’m sure he thought you were beautiful. Should I beat him up?”

The same sound leaves you and lightness descends upon you. You welcome it in, without a fight, and the sigh you let out is of a serene kind, at last. “Not at all and besides, I almost did it myself. He asked for my ID.”

Hobi coos, the endearment prolonging—wafting through your ear down your throat until it clings to your heart. You snivel, your inkling to nuzzle into the apparition of him lining your body growing bigger until you submit to it. You graze your cheek upon your arm, propping both of them onto your lifted knees. Feel his caress, but faintly. It should be enough, but it isn't. Could never be.

You open your mouth again to tell him to come get you, despite the fight rising in you, but Hobi speaks first.

“I don’t blame him that he did. You’re just my little pup. But my adult, little pup. I’ll talk to him.” You hear a shuffling in the background and your breath hitches in your throat, your heart joining it, ascending. “Where are you? I’m getting in my car.”

Your mind, where the war is coming from, wins. That quickly. Reminds you that if you face him and tell him what you’ve done, you’ll ruin everything. Ruin the connection, ruin the affection he carries for you.

You’re hasty as you scramble your words, but as your heart descends back into your ribcage, it throws you a lifeline. It all happens in an instant and distaste pools on your tongue from the rapidness of it all. You never liked it, and you never will.

The lifeline of your new life, created by Hobi, changes your words, but leaves the intention untouched.

“Can I tell you who I sent it to?” you ask, taking a puff to relax the electricity of your nerves. The strawberry flavor only heightens it, though. Out it must go, then. So you can forget about it the moment you see his face.

The shuffling halts. “You can tell me in person,” Hobi says, lightly, but you shake your head. You know he means well. Know that he wants to reassure you with touch, but it’s a risk you can’t afford. Not when the wrong kind of neediness is at stake.

“I don’t want to talk about it when I see you,” you push, pursing your lips, finding them in a serious need of a chapstick. You begin to nibble on the flecks of skin that stick out. “I want to focus on you. I want to forget.”

No ounce of a lie in your words, though your intention still remains hidden. Rightfully so—him leaving you because of the storm of your mental state and issues is another risk you don’t want to have staining your hands with blood.

You hear him sit down. Hear him play with his keys—and the clanging sound is oddly comforting. “All right. Tell me, then.”

“I sent it to someone from my past,” you start with great difficulty, pause afterwards because a light pours in from behind. The squeak of breaks, the impatient buzzing of a running car. Your mouth dries, your torso turns around. A silhouette exits the vehicle and as the person emerges from the darkness and steps into the bright lights that it’s emitting, the name that slips past your lips is more of an acknowledgement of his presence than a disclosure of information. “Jungkook.”

Jungkook stops right behind you like the demon of your shame did, with his hands in his pocket. You don’t feel warmth radiating off of him. You feel coldness, a wintry coldness so akin to the one that troubled your body before Hobi called. He zeroes his gaze down on you, piercing your irises with a fury that causes the fine hair on the nape of your neck to rise, painfully. The muscles of his forearms are clenched, oscillating as he drums his fingers on his thighs in the cocoons of his pockets. Your breath trembles, terror prickling you profoundly until it cuts your skin open and you whimper—you whimper with a sob.

“Who’s Jungkook?” Hobi asks, softly, and you close your eyes to incarcerate your tears, curling your lips under your teeth, terribly fearful that Jungkook can hear him.

Cursed, your life is.

He shows no sign that he does—merely burns with that fury, patiently waiting for you to end the call. Your heart stills, ache replacing it, and you think it’s been wounded so much that it can barely work anymore.

More than ever, you feel like that Mary Magdalene, face to face with the devil that tempts her to return to her vomit like a dog.

Hobi calls your name, panics, and it’s another lifeline—this time thrown over your torso by his own hands. You have to fight, you have to stand up to this hell and walk the fuck away from it.

“Baby, I gotta go. Please, hurry. Please,” you pule, stressing the last pretty word to divulge to him how grave the situation is that you’re in. Hobi lets out a breath, lowly and shortly, and it’s such a relief that he understood your vague message, that you can hear him scurrying to his feet and that comforting sound of his keys clanging.

“I’ll be there in a few, pup. Tell me where you are. Are you safe? Do you have your keys?” Hobi spews, massaging your heart with his care and there’s no ceaselessness to your tears.

“Down the road, like less than a minute away from my apartment. And I don’t know. And yeah, they’re in my pocket.”

A bang of his door closing. Jungkook begins to tap his foot. You scowl at him, despite your fear. He doesn’t stop. You withdraw your gaze.

Hobi’s breath quickens. “Pull them out and use them when you need to, okay? Have them ready in your hand.” You nod, doing exactly as he says, without a thought spared. “Walk to your apartment building, I’ll meet you there. You got your keys in your hand?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, pup, I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?”

You do, but you can’t.

“I’ll go to my apartment now, Hobi. Thank you.”

You don’t allow yourself to hear what he says next. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you hang up with a heavy heart. Your sudden, miserable aloneness enfolds around you, rigidly. But not as rigidly as Jungkook’s cold hand around your arm.

The heaviness in your heart grows as its drum speeds up.

“Get up,” Jungkook grunts, hauling you up onto your feet, awkwardly, causing you to drop your vape onto the gravel with the strength and hastiness he uses to do it with.

You stumble before you catch your balance and Jungkook doesn’t let go of his deathly grip on you until you do. Then, before your blurring sight, he bends at the waist and picks up your lung burner, skimming his eyes over it. Hands it to you with a scoff, his touch icy cold as he grabs your wrist and places it onto your palm. You sob, with ugliness that scars you, with such intensity that Jungkook’s narrowed eyes round and you pull your gaze away. You don’t want to see it. Tug your arm away from him, rubbing your wrist to get rid of the ghost of his fingers there, disgust flooding your bloodstream underneath.

And even though he seemingly softened at your tears, it’s gone as quickly as it arrived. It didn’t touch his fury, not at all.

“Baby, huh?” he seethes with gritted teeth, letting go of you so harshly that you almost stumble again. “Your pussy is his, huh?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, rivulets of tears rolling down your cheeks, pain compressing your entire body. It’s at this moment that you will death to take you somewhere far, far away from him, because you’re too frozen on the spot to run away.

“You’re covered in hickeys and you’re smoking that shit again. Was it really that good? Did he fuck you so good that you had to send it to me in spite? Did he fuck you better than I ever did?”

Your sobs gain that same agony that prevents your lungs from inhaling. And when you open your eyes, all you can look at is your shadow and his, yours blackened so much that it digs a hole in the gravel, his furling with flames.

And along with death, you will a little strength into your anguish.

And most unbelievably, it slinks in, and your following words come as much of a surprise to you as to him.

“Stop.”

His shadow stills, his tremor following suit.

“You have no business talking to me this way,” you continue, your throat constringing, and you take a big puff of your vape—to spite him rightfully this time. It loosens the tightness and you open your mouth, not finished with your outpour.

But Jungkook stops you.

“I have no business? You crushed my fucking heart.”

Your head whips and the sight of him causes your pain to rise in levels. Palms outstretched towards you, his posture slouches and the breaths he lets out are wretched, the sound of a tumultuous sea at night. One would think he’s the one being inflicted great emotional violence on, not the other way around.

Jungkook raises a finger to his heart, licking his lips before he flattens them, as if the utterance of something so private, so fervent took all of his strength. He pants and you know it’s due to the fact that he can’t catch up to the thoughts rushing in his brain. And you wish you didn’t. You wish you didn’t know him so intimately.

“This fucking heart has never stopped being yours,” he confesses and cringes at his choice of words, triggered. Your stream of anguish is silent as you take them in. “And you crushed it. Ruined it.”

There was a time, one that used to be nearly endless during those weeks in August you spent at the beach, healing from the breakup, when you longed to hear that confession. Prayed for it. Sough it when you grazed your fingertips along the sand. And now that it’s here—now that you’re tasting something so great, greater than your entire being, something so burnt as he voiced out your tendency to cause ruination—you wish you never heard it. Wish you never had the ears that carried that message to you.

And there’s nothing you can do. Not as darkness swallows you, confiscating any bit of strength you had left. Your eyes sting from their downpour, face features droop. Your pain is an enormous stone and you can’t carry it. You can only chase away the heft. And you do—you take a puff of your vape.

One that he rips from your mouth and throws it out in the bin, preventing you from doing so. You don’t yelp, you don’t claw at his arm—you merely watch him rid you of your only salvation for the night, watch him exert his power over you all over again, bursting your indignation into flames.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you ask, your voice deathly, uncannily placid, carrying no tendril of the offense and anger you feel. Adrenaline courses through you, asking to be let out.

And you just might.

Jungkook turns around and spits on the ground. “Don’t smoke that shit.”

It’s not hurt, what the expression of his arrogance produced. It unlocked the door, which kept your adrenaline and your darkened emotions at bay, invited them out.

And so you lash out, using that freedom.

You slap him.

And he takes it. Without moving an inch. Still as a grand statue. You yearn to demolish it to smithereens, so you can never see him again, and you strike at his chest with your keys in between your fingers, pushing him. Affected from the force, it causes him to unwillingly take a step back and it feels fucking glorious until you catch stars flash in his eyes.

“You’re hitting me because I threw out your fucking vape?” he asks, his voice coated with a dark bitterness that deepens it. His brows furrow, grimness casting a shadow over his face, hiding the glitter of the stars. “I’m laying my heart out to you. I’m here in the middle of the night because of you and this is what you care about? This fucking thing that harms you is more dear to you?”

You push him again, fuming. Jungkook grits his teeth, takes your wrists and holds them in the air. You fight against it, but he won’t budge. Tightens his grip. And you’re a bird, locked in a cage—but you still have your voice.

“I’m hitting you because I hate you,” you mutter, burning him with the vapor of your anger through your narrowed eyes. “I’m hitting you because I hate the way you think you’re still entitled to have a say in my life. And it doesn’t even matter whether I have a man or not. You let me go and the moment you did that, your control over my life? It went fucking bye bye.”

You let him forbid you from smoking in the past. Needed it at the time, needed a father’s hand—and you liked it because you never had it. Never had a male care about you, about your health, about your actions. Your father never spared you a glance, never gave a fuck about you. He always had your mother handle you, blaming her for the way she raised you.

But during those weeks you healed, being alone by the sea helped you unattach yourself from that, from needing Jungkook to tell you what’s right and what’s not. The moon doesn’t tell the sea which shells to wash up onto the shore—it does it by itself, handpicks them, makes the decision. And the more time you watched it deliver it to you and you collected them with gladness, the more you understood it.

You’re never letting him have that power over you again. You’re your own person, carrying an armful of your right and wrong decisions—your own possessions. And so you will smoke if you want to. You will bring a man home on the first date. You will fall in love. And you will speak up.

You twist your wrists, unrelentingly, until he lets go. You will win, not your mind, not your heart. The raw, brutal, unabashed you.

You take a step back away from him, feel your blood rushing to the places of your body parts that he held, quick to recover them. “You don’t get to dictate my life anymore. You have no place in it. You didn’t have it then when I was by myself, and you most certainly don’t have it now.”

Jungkook takes in your words with a parted mouth, a red mark forming over his cheek, the light shunned from his eyes. The glorious feeling returns, blooming thin, translucent tissues of happiness in you.

“Hoseok is his name, isn’t it?” he chunters, placing his hands back into the cocoons of his pockets, tilting his head to the side.

Hearing him say his name is a taste of spoiled milk and bile springs up your throat, your guts longing to empty themselves out. You stifle it, you have to, clutching your stomach, feeling so horribly faint. Your hatred for him blossoms like that poison ivy you dealt with earlier in the morning.

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” you spit, scowling at him, clutching your stomach harder—just like Hobi did when you brought him home. A sliver of nostalgia forces you to look behind you, in case you catch a glance of his car, but the street remains empty and sullen.

“You can hate me as much as you want,” Jungkook mutters, his words swiveling your head back to face him, and your guts ripple. “Yell at me. Hit me. But don’t send me videos of you getting fucked. That’s not fucking right.”

You bare your teeth, seething. “I made a mistake.”

Jungkook nods. “Yes,” he hushes. “Yes, you did.”

You shake your head. “No, you don’t understand.” Confusion pinches his brows, creating a wrinkle in the middle and he lets you continue. You lick your lips, your face dry from the way your tears have seeped inside. “I thought I sent it to Hobi. I was too tired, I didn’t see. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Jungkook scoffs, running his tongue over his bottom lip swiftly, mimicking you. “Don’t fucking lie to me, little girl.”

You mewl, painfully, at the pet name. It’s as if he sank a dagger in the middle of your sternum. Weariness descends upon you and you rub your eyes, wishing you had your strawberry vape, your salvation, in your fist. And you find no traces of any grit, any determination to convince him that you’re being truthful to him.

You turn around halfway. “Go home.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, but the squeaking sound of brakes causes him to close it right away. You know it’s Hobi and the knowledge is more satisfying than the dose of chemicals Jungkook threw out. Relief washes over you, bringing along lightness and something that is kindred to joy. You don’t care that Hobi is about to see your ex-boyfriend. You don’t care about anything at all—you’re just so grateful that he’s here. And you’re willing to let go of your walls, of your war that you tend to be so submissive to. You’re willing to let yourself go and let Hobi take you, handle you, take care of you.

You need it. As much as it pains you, you need him after this encounter with Jungkook.

And when Hobi calls your name and you pivot on your feet to watch him walk, hurriedly, to you, your legs do give out after all. Because he’s caked in blood, a trickle of it flecked and dried on his brow, illuminated by Jungkook’s headlights. You land, awkwardly, on your bum and your wrist, wincing in pain, but it’s not his hands that lift you.

It’s a pair of hands that you know to be cold and, despising the sting of it, you shriek, pushing him away. The motion leads you to stagger into Hobi’s arm that he opens for you, his chaste, feathery touch grounding you, giving you the sense of home, even when the look he gives Jungkook is anything but warm and friendly.

“Hobi, what happened? Are you okay?”

You take his shiny, sweaty face into your hand. Your eyes could fall out of their sockets due to how beautiful he is, even bloodied, alarmed and bestial. You need to know what happened. Need to clean him up. Take him home.

But Hobi doesn’t answer you. Doesn’t look your way, only acknowledges you with his scalding touch. Stares down your ex-boyfriend with such contempt that you’re surprised the man is still standing.

You’re so pulled in, so focused on him and his unwavering expression of detestation, which flatters you and soothes you, that you don’t notice that Jungkook is leaving. Hobi snaps his fingers at him and beckons him to come back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hobi barks, his fingers lowering and hooking around the middle belt loop of your jeans.

Jungkook returns to that space of light, the black tank top he’s wearing making it seem like he’s hollow on the inside. Perhaps he is, he did hand over his heart. Wasn’t affected by your fragile state of mind, by your tears. Wounded you to the point that you will take days to recover. Only a person of complete nothingness would be able to do that.

“I saw you at the museum,” Hobi continues, brows wrinkled. “Who the fuck are you?”

You should speak. You should take this elsewhere, but you can’t. Not when you feel so small, like a little girl hiding behind the leg of her father who’s dealing with the boogeyman. And you’re reminded that this has happened before.

Only the roles were reversed.

In the wine-tinged room this morning while you were confronting Jungkook and his companion found him. She asked the same question, though the hostility she showed you could never be compared to Hobi’s unkindness. He emanates respect while she’s a condensation of insecurity.

“I see you’re the Daddy from the video,” Jungkook laughs, humorlessly, dipping his chin before he lifts it in a very evident effort to reach not only Hobi’s height but his supremacy as well. He will always wish to overpower—it’s in his nature. “Trust me, you’re not the only one she called Daddy. Long before you came along, it was all I heard from her—”

You blink and Jungkook’s face is in Hobi’s hand.

You gasp. You’re a witness to Hobi protecting your dignity as he squeezes his cheeks until Jungkook moans, pathetically, in pain. And all you can think about is how long he had that coming. For throwing out your vape, for his arrogance and now for the way that he spoke about you.

You don’t feel a slither of pity for him.

No—your joy, fully, forms.

“If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I won’t hesitate to unable to you talk,” Hobi says with concerning seriousness and you shiver, grazing your fingertips along your collarbones after you fold your arms over your chest, touched, flattered, loved. A line of tears threaten to pour out of your eyes, but you hold them back. You don’t want to cry anymore—you’re sick of it. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. Hobi waggles him before he lets him go and you swear you caught a tinge of whiteness scattering along his knuckles. Your mouth dries.

“Now you’re dismissed,” Hobi finishes, turning around and grabbing your hand, tugging you back home.

Your legs follow him, but your vision doesn’t. It remains fixed on Jungkook, on his heaving chest, on his reddened cheeks, embossed with Hobi’s fingerprints and the lines of your hand. His eyes are smothered with stars, a skyful of them, ones that expand until there’s no darkness left.

And you’re witness to regret taking shape in them.

And something about that tells you that this isn’t the last time you see him.

Hobi had been in a car accident on his way to rescue you. He tells you of it as you’re cleaning him up with a lukewarm, wet cloth and your arm gets stuck in the air, unable to move, as you comprehend the life-threatening danger he underwent because of you. Another driver bumped him from the back while he was slowing down at the yellow light, wanted to race on the almost empty highway. Was under the influence, Hobi found out when he stepped out of his vehicle to grapple with him. Deemed it wasn’t worth it, especially when time was pressing down on him, and with a little manipulation and an installment of fear, the silly guy agreed to pay for everything and Hobi got his number.

You wonder at how he managed to get back inside his car and drive when he hit his head on the steering wheel. You worry that he has a concussion. Suggest to take him to a hospital, but Hobi only shakes his head, reassures you he’s fine and once you completely clean the blood off of his brow, you can see a thin but bulbous scratch right beneath the fine hair, surrounded by violets and pinks. A different bruise from the ones bestrewn over his body from your mouth.

Your heart aches. This is all your fault, the repercussion of your neediness, the finished work of your ruination.

You grow solemn, your features drooping again, but Hobi isn’t blind to it. Cups your chin, lifts it, fondles it with his thumb. Pouts ever so slightly. Why is it a relief that you feel bursting in your chest amidst your lingering pain is something you can’t really understand.

But he’s God. No wonder he’s able to mount such strangeness in you and make it work.

“Did he hurt you?” Hobi whispers, cradling your other hand on your lap. He’s sat in your armchair, with you on his thighs, in the very corner of your dark living room, lit up coolly and solely by your antique lampshade. It’s where you read your poetry, where you recite it to nobody else but you, where you recharge your battery when your world exhausts you. The fact that Hobi chose to sit here instead of your couch speaks volumes, has a great meaning that you’re too weary to decipher and romanticize, but you like it. A lot. To the point that you’re comfortable enough to answer his question, despite the fact you looked forward to Jungkook’s absence in your alone time with Hobi.

“The way he spoke about me was the same way he talked to me,” you say, your voice coated with milky sadness. Your eyes instinctively drop to his hand holding yours, to his fist wrapped around your fingers. “He didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t send it to him on purpose.”

Brusqueness clouds his eyes, but he remains gentle with you. “You don’t have to care about what he thinks, whether he believes you or not. You don’t have to prove anything to him. Your one word is enough,” Hobi says, drifting his hand down your arm until it winds up at his other one intertwined with yours and you sob, tearlessly. It’s precisely what you needed to hear without knowing it, the final touch to the closing chapter that had so abruptly opened. You carry it into your minuscule heart, sinking it there, letting it permeate its entirety, and you nod your head. “Did he hurt you physically?”

You lay yourself down on his chest, on his bloodstained blue shirt, on his heart that you missed and Hobi locks you in, taking his hands and wrapping them around your form. You could fall asleep like this, forget and become the happiest girl in the world.

“Not that much.”

His heart quickens and you regret your words.

“What do you mean not that much?”

You’re quick to fix your mistake, not thinking it through.

“He was rough with me. My legs gave out on me before he came. He found me on the ground and he lifted me up. Then held my wrists when I hit him—”

“You hit him?”

You stammer, jumbling your words, deciding on just one. “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, squeezing your arm, and this is the death you longed for.

Never in your life had you ever experienced praise from a man in a non-sexual context and not gotten lustfully affected by it. The purity, the newness is so healing, so consequential that you can’t help but to stroke his clothed ribs in side to side motion, in appreciation and even a faint smile of fondness curls your lips, one that Hobi can very well see from above. He caresses the trace of it while it is still there, causing your smile to blossom, and you sense the orchard in you gaining life.

“You went through so much emotional suffering today and yet you’re still able to smile. All because I praised you. You react so beautifully to it,” Hobi comments and you blush, his thumb skipping over to it, giving it the same attention, collecting it like keepsakes. You’d wonder at it, too, if you haven’t already acknowledged yourself, intimately, with his sovereign power of erasing past events.

And you tell him, peeling your torso off of his chest.

“It’s your doing. You make me forget about everything when I’m with you. It’s like it never happened at all. I don’t know how you do it.��

Hobi smiles, the corners of his glimmering eyes crinkling. “If it’s my doing, then it’s yours, too. You should know how you do it.”

You soften into liquid and it’s your heart that quietly weeps now. “You remember the poem.”

He nods, gliding his hand up and down your side. “How could I not? It’s all I can hear in my mind. I kept hearing it on my way home and then on my way back to you.”

That alone takes the unfateful events of the night off of you like a layer of clothing, dressing you in strength. You need a giant puff of your vape, just to recuperate from being drowned in the sea of your past longing for this. And you reach into the pocket of your jeans, only to be reminded of what happened to it.

It feels like a distant memory. So much had occurred that it slipped from your mind. You frown.

“What’s wrong?”

You purse your lips. “I thought I still had my vape.”

“You don’t?”

You shake your head. “He threw it out.”

Hobi seems as offended by the information as you were when you watched it happen. And as much as you bonded over your sexual desires, the same connection clicks over this.

“He’s such a dick. Let’s get you a new one.”

He pats your bum and then you’re on your feet, tugged back outside, with a smile quivering your lips. And this time you follow him with your vision, too. Your eyes sail over his strong imaginary wings, on which the pink dominates the black, and you feel your own being upheaved, slowly gaining the vigor that they lost.

And Hobi scares the spectacled boy in the convenience store. Not with his stained shirt, but with the way he provokes embarrassment in him by asking him if he wants to see his ID as well, staying true to the words he said to you over the phone. The boy didn’t even so much as peek at you, too afraid to do so.

It made you laugh.

Hobi double checked with you if it were the strawberry flavor that you wanted, and you changed your mind. Picked the blackberry one because you never had it before. Could use another dose of newness.

He opens the packaging with you, struggling at first, but then he immediately uses his teeth. You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt.

Smile even as he places it between your lips, but you can’t take a puff, can’t drop the presence of your happiness, even when he encourages you. That is until he inhales it first—you’re so struck by the beauty of it, of him that the muscles in your face let up. The smoke twirls around the feathers of his wings, adding just the right amount of white into its art, and you yearn to fall asleep on them.

“Can you stay over tonight?”

“Only if you take a puff.”

He carves it between your lips and this time, as you’re so mesmerized by him, you wrap your lips around it and suck; suck in that heady, hefty, colorful flavor that pools warmly in your throat, blowing the smoke around his neck while he kisses your forehead. Takes you back inside. Dresses you in your pajamas. Lets you smoke in bed with his wings swaddling you and your little childhood bows-adorned bunny plushie. Lets you put the vape in his mouth as he strokes your hair.

The night birds begin to sing and into their song your phone dings. You know who it is long before you prove yourself right.

But it’s not a text message that disturbed their music.

Jungkook sent you a picture.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

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safination · 1 month ago

Text

There's Children Screaming in the Streets

|Masterlist| Parings: Alasot x OC! Mina Warnings/ Tags: Honestly, sadness. A big smoll sad. Chaos in the streets. It's insanity. WlW. Fem!Reader A/N: So, this isn't my usual Alastor x reader, but hush. I do what I want. This is a gift for a friend of mine @whatswrongwithblue. This is for you <3. Merry Christmas. I've been wanting to write you this story for a while but I've been too shy, but I finally found the courage to give this to you. I hope you enjoy it Mina is her OC, and she's honestly the best. This takes place during "Don't Take That Sinner From Me" from Blue's fic "The Fire in the Sin," which I highly encourage everyone to check out. Please check out her amazing story. It's honestly gold.

ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ

Your wife runs her thumb up and down and up and down the skin of your hand. She does it in such a rhythmic and soft way that it contrasts the small huff in her steps. There’s a cute frown on her lips as you drag her, hand in hand, across the streets of Hell.

How cute!

She rolls her eyes as you give her the brightest smile you can muster . . . but she eventually smiles back nonetheless. “Are you going to drag me out the whole day?” she signs at you, her hands carefully making each word. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my weekend.”

You position yourself in her line of sight, making sure she can see the way your lips move. “Yes, I think I will if you keep complaining like that,” you say, laughing a little, and press a quick kiss on her cheek. “Will that suffice as your payment?”

“I’m going to need something better than that if you expect me to stay.” She snorts at you, and even if she cannot hear it, the sound she makes is too cute. “A proper one this time.”

You laugh a little louder, slowly pulling her by her shirt to steal a kiss from her lips. There’s a small giggle as you do. “I can give you more la—”

B̷̨̨̢̨̨̧̲͔̜̳̟͈̳̫̖̗̻̩̗̝̻͇̼̖͚͙̠̪̖̭̳͚̘̬̥̰̙͉̞̈́͂͊̍͜͝͠r̷̨̨̡̢̩̜͈̼̭͍̮̰̙̮̝̺͓̦̮̀͆̌̀̔͑͛͊̌̆͋̊̀̊̓͂͗̂̑̀̑́͂͋̎͆̔͛̊̊̈́̔̆̋̈́̂̚͘͠͝͝i̴̧͇͚̣̟͑͗͊̐̅̈́̋̉̾͆̎̂̆̇̿̐̓̾̿͑͗́̅͊͑͘̕̕͝͝n̷̛͔̼͚͓̝̺̙͍̩̤̖̪͔͖̞͓̈́̈́͗͛̀͊̀͆͋̈́̄͐̋͘͘͜ͅġ̸̡̫̖̯̦̪͈͍͇̺̭͚̼͇̤͉̗̰͖͕̥̀͊̈̐͛͌̇̔͒͆̈́͘͜͜͝͝ ̸̧̡͚̠̤̦̩͈͛͗̉̅͒̉̋͆̑̏͆͌͌͒̚ͅm̶̧̨̧̧̡̛̛͕̥̱̼̩̞̲̬͖̻̥̬̜͇͈͕̞̻̙̫̩̯̪̱͖̤̟̪͙̯̮̫̻̘͇̅̊̀̓̉̾̑̽̈́̇͝e̸̢̢̧̢̜̥̳̦͇̹̜̩̲͍͕̟͓̳̯̦̥͎͔̭̹̝̥̼͔͉̾̽̈́̋̓͆̄́ͅ ̸̮̼̣̤̗̩̩̫̳̬͉̝̳͇̠̖̘̰̽͋̈̀̊̒͑̈̒̾̂̋̄̎͋̈́͂̈́̉͂̄͌͌̄̓̕͘͝͠͠A̷̧̬͕͎͈͆̆́̅͜͜͜l̵̨̹̦̤̟̳͕͙͍̣͈̻͕̲̣̰͍͖̜̺̙̱͕͓͇̻̘͓͖͑͗́́̀̋͂͒̿͗̒͘͠ą̸̧̢̛̻̗̝̙̟͔̖̦̗̬͎̩͕̼̗͓̳̲̖̩̗͉̮͇̪͊̓̒̃̒̌͌̃̽̈́́̑̈̆̅̌̿͑̎̇͂͐̊̈́̎̅̈͐̑̚̕̚͝ͅş̷̨̧̧̛̭͈̖͕̗̙̰̟̭̣̹̠͖̘̰̻̖̤͖̰̖̙͊͌̓́͛̉̄́̕͜͝ẗ̶͇͕̭̗̟́͒̋̒͝ǫ̵̛̼̻̗͖̝̞̻̱̲̼̠̩̤̩̠̮̯̙̪̞͖͖̅̅͂͑̇̈̄͗̉͌̇̌̊̏̉́͐̾̀̂͋̅̎̆͆̇̅̓͐̿͘̕͘̚͘̕͠͠͠ŕ̵̢̡̛̘̼̺̲̭̱̥̤̟̥͖̲̪͙̺̭͙̣͓̤̗͇̆̉̅͆͑̓̇̌̂̀́̄̇͂̄̓͒̓̃̾̊́̕͘̕͜͝͝͝͝

It starts off as a soft melody, the distance making it almost impossible to hear, but the voice is there. It echoes vividly against the curses and the booming sounds of gunfire. The voice that you hear . . . it’s . . . it’s beautiful. It reminds you of the laughter of your wife, or those small squeaks she makes when you sneak up on her.

The voice that calls out to you sings a soft tune. It’s ethereal, almost so enchanting that it brings you into a small lull. It reminds you of the Queen’s voice.

B̵̛̲̺̰̼͇̼̻͚̥͇̝̣̺͈̣̞͍̞̭͈̭͇̥̋̑̂̍̅̍̈́̈́́͋̀̽̓͊͘͘͜͜͜͠ͅr̵̛̤͕̭̩͈̤͓̬̤̟̳̘͓̟͈̳̀͒̓̑͋̄͂͑͒͋͗̿̋̐̕͝ͅi̶͓̽̈́̂n̸̢̬̮͓̣̣̼͚̟̍̆́̉̃̽̈́̎̉̈́̅̿͛̈͝ͅg̸̢̡͙̝͚͔̻͓̝̖̫̩̮͊̈́ ̷̢͈̬̣̪̞̖̭̼̪̪̠̠̳̩̜́̓̇m̴̧̨̛͔̘̹̱͈̖͕̻̤̲̞̓̈́̆̌̽̂͋̌̎̈̐́̒͂̒̓̕̚ͅe̶̮͍̯͚̦̣̤̞̥̤̫̞̫̳̙̘͔͗̀̀̃̎̿͑́̕͜͜͝ ̵̠̬̬̥̑̒̓̌̾͋̔̌̈̓̾̐͐̂̋̓̕͘͜͝͝A̴̡̨̨̨̨̤̭͙̙̘̜̣̣̖̳͕͕͎̜͇͔͉̺̙͗͂͜ͅl̶̡̨̠̖̟͚̗̤̪̱̗͎͎̼͚̻̥̏̓̒̽̐͋̓͆̿̂͂͂̑̔̾̏̈́̚̕͝ḁ̵̧͙̲̭͚͕̣̬͍͎̰̠̰͇̭̒̿̽́̅̾̐̌͜ͅs̸̡͎͕͚͚̫̙̯̖̱̜̠͕̻̞̲͗̌̀̈́ť̵̢̧̤̝̯͍̝̪͎̬͉̝͚̮̦̼͖̱̩̜͔͛̍ͅơ̴̠̘̹̇̎̂̊̉̌͑͘̕̕r̵̫̻̜̖̭̮̯̝̫̣͉̳̪̺̮̦͔͕̩͓̥̬͊̂̌͌̍̈́̿́̇̂́̿͑̂̀̋̂͝͝ͅ

The trance breaks when your wife tugs in your hand. “What’s wrong?” she signs. “You don’t look too well.”

You blink, trying to shake off the effects of the song. That owner of that voice must be one powerful Sinner if even the softest melodies affect you like this. It would be too dangerous to stay. “I . . . don’t know,” you say, slowly, but give her a bright smile. “Let’s be safe, and just go home.”

“But our errands.”

Truthfully, it was your errands, and she just got dragged along.

“We can always just do it tomorrow,” you say, grabbing her hand. “We have eternity to do these things together.”

There’s a suspicious look on her face, but she nods once, and pulls you to the direction of your home.

You spare one last glance at where the voice sings after you, then follow after her. After all is said and done, this is still Hell. It’s better not to get mixed up with anything dangerous, not when your little bubble of Heaven hangs in the balance.

B̷̛̬͓͉͔͎̺̭̪̺͐͐̈́̒̎́̋̄̐̌̽̒̈́̔̏ṛ̶̳͙̘̣̼̝͕̲̤͊̈̇̔̀̉̇̎͜͝͝i̸̛͓̻̭̦̯̬̮̙̣̘͍̦͓̝̹͎̓̂̈́̔̔͐́̅̎̅̋͘͝ň̸̩̙̮͒́͗̇̈́́̔ģ̶̞͎̳̼̯̳̞̮̹̼̰̲͇̑͊͑͋̀̆̂̉̏͑͋̑͆̑͘͝ ̴̧̡̛̗̺̖̭̭͖̞̮̯̱̭̈́̄̇͌̐͑̿̍̄͛̓̑̂̕̕͜͝m̶̨̧̩̪̰̭̬̠̣̜̥͔͖̘͙̝̔͂̍̈́̓͂̋̎͋̔̌̆̀̕͝͠͝é̷̖̱̭̞̘͕͍͉͈̟̐̏̀͌̅̆̋̂̿͌͝ ̸̧̜̞͓̘̱̟̣̅͐͑̈́̂̀́̌̓̃͋̕͝͝͝Ă̷̧̙͌̓̀͆̚l̴̢̤̦̺̤̼̭̳̺̝̮͙̇̂̅̏́͐̕͜a̶̢̜̥͓̰͓̬̣̰͍̪̜̮̘̦̬̣̮̍̑̇̀̎̽̍̉͌̃̅̋̈́̅̈͠͠͝s̵̨̛͔͚͓̟̣̣͖̗̰̺̳̠͎͓̞͉̪̩̊̋̋͗͗̈̃̔̒͘͠t̸͍̂̉̍̔̀̆͋͒̒̓͠o̴̢̗͎͎̮̩̭͗̔͐̈́̓̌͊̏̑͆͘͝ŗ̶͓̺̫̱̤̩͓̥̬̐̀̄̓͊̿̿̓̍̌͘ͅ

She bumps into your shoulders, jolting you harshly. “You keep spacing out,” she signs. “Tell me what’s going on. Don’t lie to me.”

“I really don’t know,” you say, pulling her to walk a little faster. “And I don’t want to find out. Let’s just get out of here, yeah? I’m sure it will be fine.”

There’s a small twist on her lips, but your wife nods at you and squeezes your hand with a reassuring smile.

B̴͙̂̑͛̋͂̆͗̂͘͝r̶̭̂́͆͒̎̿́̐̎̎̂͘͝͠ì̷̩̼̞̻̥̖̠̯̼̳̒ṋ̵̥͇͒g̵̡͉̬̟̜̰͎͉͇͔͌̅̃͑͆̓̓͌̄ ̵̡̨̠̤̤̤̪̙̦̝͔͇̯̺́̀͊͒͐̽̆̒́̀͘m̴̤̖͕̩͖̍ȇ̷̞̭̖̪̳̾̆̍͆̊̔͘ ̶̡̛̫̬̠̯̮̥͈̦͍̠̳͎͚͊̃̏́́͛́̿̈́͛͒͋A̵̧͈͈̦̹̼͛̈̌̅͗̐̎͑̅̇̚l̸̡̛͚̺͕̣͎̀͆̎̈́̂͋ả̵̧͕̆̎̑̅̾́͗̉̓͝ş̴̝̝͚̺̖͓̯̬͖̹̰̪͆̔̈̒̓̀̋͒̈͛͠t̷̥̺̳̖̻̬͖̗̯͚̔̔̊͌̈́̎̅̋̅͑̊̈́̈́̒ǫ̴̨̛͖̻̬͍̙̦̉͋͒̌̃̐̿͗͒͆͘͘͝ŗ̶͇̖̜̣͎̺̻̰͈͙͉̑̀͘

B̷̗͌ȑ̸̤̖̖͋̿͑̔i̸̱̞̜̼̗̍̇̒̀́͛̕n̴̝̞͔̠̎̓̏̔̉͝g̴͖͙̠͓͎̖̿̊̅̂͛ ̶̨̝͎͕͂̐͒̊͜m̴̝̌͗̃͝e̵̛̩̬͇̰͇̾̅̀̽ ̷̡̛̪̱̯̞͚̠̈́́͂̔́̕A̵̰͌̄͝ḻ̸̫̫͛̀̈̌͋̓͝ä̸͔̭́̿ͅs̴̹͕̍͋ẗ̴̛̰̤́o̶̳̊͑͂̌̋̚͝r̴͙̪̳͐͂̈͐͘

B̷̤͖͛̑ṛ̸̬̀͗i̵̦̚n̷̻͂g̵͈͋ ̵͖̰͠m̴̖͈̆e̴̛̗ ̶͕̣̈́́Ą̶̰̑l̸͚̫͛̚a̴̢͊s̶̪̼̍̑ṱ̸̮̏̏ö̵̼́̄r̵̮̭͆

Everything . . .

. . . Everything . . . uhhhhhh . . . Everything?

What about everything?

. . . Everything starts to become fuzzy.

It starts off small, but there’s definitely something clawing its way into your body. It climbs up your skin in sweet melodies. You pull your wife to walk faster when the siren’s voice grows louder. Oh god, you never should have gone out today. It was a mistake to—

Your wife crashes into you, tackling your body aside.

A car crashes into a small shop, exploding on impact. The heat from the fire trails up your skin, and the deafening sound rings across your ear. Yet . . . you can still hear the song of the sire, echoing in your mind.

Your wife pulls you up, dragging you across the streets as chaos itself descends on the streets.

Sinners were attacking each other, ripping limb after limb after limb. A mob of them enter into shops, pulling anyone they could get their hands on to the streets. It’s madness. It’s in the way fire crackles from the burning door of the bakery. It’s in the way the cars blare their alarms for everyone to hear.

Despite the chaos, only one thing rings across clearly . . .

B̷̨̔̅̔̆͗̋̈́̓̒r̶̢̢̐̽͂̕͝i̸̮͖̠͙̮̩͉͐͊̄͠͝n̶̛͎̼̝̓̒̊̿͂̉̈́͠͝ǧ̴̛̘͌̄̇̑ ̴̫̺̠͊̏́́m̴͚̃̿̈̇̍͆̀̚͝͝ẹ̸̲̊̆̃͆̆̋͘͝͝ ̶̖͈̤̦̉͋͌̓̌̂̒͘͜À̸̱̼̎̂̂̈́̒͂́́̈́l̴̬̺̲̣̪̠͊͊͂̚͘͜ä̶̛̻́̏́͒͐͌̓͒͑͝s̸̢̡͇̠̎̿̔̓̎̒̀̈́̚t̴̮͓͓̫̜͚̜̱͖͚̳̔̾̆͆̓͋̄͊̉̚͝o̶̭̟̓̉̿͛̐̎̄͂̈̕͜͝r̸̢̲͋̌̐͋̿̈̽̌̍̚͜

You’re pulled into an alley, far away from prying eyes. The smell of blood and feces mixing with that distinct sulfur air, prick your nose.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Your wife demands, waving her hands around as she signs frantically. “Hey! Tell me nothing’s wrong with you.”

The words choke around your throat. That command rings across your mind. It’s getting clearer by the second.

B̵̯̰͑̓͌͂͝ŕ̵̨̠̩̣̞͛̄͊̽̈́͝i̷̢̲̠͚̥̾̇̌̎̾̀͜͝n̷̰̆͆̂̏͜ĝ̵̛̼͎͙̳͌͋͜͜ ̷̜̮̹́̈̊͘̕m̶̼̈̃̌̂̌è̴̡̮̮̰̹̮̝̀̓̌ ̶͍̈͌͌̈́̇Ą̸̻̞̋̈́͛̊̈̈͘̚͜ḷ̴͖̝̠̦̦̠̲̆̓̐́̐̕̕͠á̶͚̱͈͉̖̭̦̚s̵̡̗̯̼̣̭̈́͑ͅt̶̜͔̗̣͙͆͌̌͐̚͝ô̴̢͉̙͓̦͙͕͠ͅr̵̛͈̤̥̮̥̖͂̐̋̍͊̑̚͜ͅ

There’s no reason – absolutely, no reason – for you to slap her hand away. You know that she’s just trying to reach out, but it’s like your body surges with something, and you end up doing so. You wince a little when she looks at you, hurt all over her expression. It’s in the way she frowns at you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, quickly. Not once have you ever laid a hand on her. You promised yourself you would never do such a thing to anyone. “I don’t know what’s going on with me right now.”

She smiles . . . and then . . .

. . . Wait. She smiles, and then –

And then what?

Absolutely everything and nothing, all at the same time.

B̴̪̲̟̥͊̈́͝r̸̹͖̱͙̎̇̕͘i̶̡̥͌͜n̶͓̖̠͚͂̀̆ğ̷͕̾̂͗̀ ̸̲̹̯͕̰̱͆͊͋̏ṁ̷̱̦̼͉͊̚e̴̡͉̤̭̾̃̽̇̍̕͝͝ ̷̧̤̖̠̘͚͝Ă̴̮̮͇̹l̵̳̲͈͎̠̱̗͈̊å̸̞͕̓̈́̑̽̅̋̕s̶̙̆̈́̍̀̐t̵͍̲͈̬̲̟̖̭̄͌̓́́̒̑ò̸͎̲͐̃͑͘͘r̵̢̼͉͊͛͂̂̽͗͝

B̴̠͒r̸͙͑ï̶͇ṅ̷̟g̴̬̀ ̶̦̋m̸̲͝ë̶̗́ ̴̲̄Ȧ̴͔l̴̖̚ȁ̶̢š̴͙t̴̰̐o̴͙̐r̷̲͆

B̶r̷i̷n̴g̴ ̷m̶e̷ ̷A̷l̴a̴s̷t̶o̸r̷

Bring me Alastor.

It tastes like a wildfire, raw and consumes everything in its path, but this isn’t your own. These emotions that bite down on you are not yours. Still, they trace a path up your skin with their fiery claws, sinking itself into your very being.

You pull back from your wife, stepping away to clutch your head. It’s echoing so clearly in your mind now.

Bring me Alastor.

Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor.

Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor.

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The command echoes itself in your brain, refusing to be denied. It consumes you, pulling you down into its fiery sea of . . .fury?

Yes.

No.

Despite the maddening wrath, there’s sorrow that traces every command, every line, every word. It’s carefully hidden underneath the wildfire, but it’s unmistakably there.

Think about what you’re doing right now.

Your hands are wrapped around someone’s neck . . . but . . . the heat underneath your fingers is familiar. It reminds you of a gentle touch amidst a grumpy frown. This belongs to your wife. Why are your hands around her neck? You belonged in hell for a reason, but your wife is your heaven. She’s the only good thing in a life that’s filled with shit.

The song refuses to release its enchantment. You’re fully aware of what you could not control. Everything is so vivid now – the heat of her skin, the trembling of her body. It’s all so clear to you.

Bring me Alastor.

“I’m sorry . . .,” you say, managing to choke out the words. “I can’t stop.”

Chaos burns the streets with its wrath, yet your wife stares into your eyes and your eyes alone. It’s impossible to look away.

Anger.

Confusion.

Then the worst of them all . . . understanding.

She reaches up, even as she struggles to breathe because of your actions, and wipes a single tear dripping down your cheek.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please! I’m so . . . sorry. Stop me. Someone, please, stop me.,” you say, as more tears drip down your eyes, and land on her face. “Who is Alastor? I don’t know who he is.”

Like all things, that burning anger eventually dims down, and all that’s left is charred sorrow. So much sorrow. It crashes down on you like waves. It’s so different from the wildfire, but it consumes you anyway, dragging you into its depths. The tears roll down your face, and some of these don’t belong to you. You cry, and you cry, and you cry for the sorrow that does not belong to you.

It’s madness.

It’s insanity.

It’s . . . love.

As you gaze into the dimming light of your wife’s eyes . . . you know that it’s love that fuels the siren’s song, and all that love gathers into the corner of your eyes, and drips onto the cheeks of your own fading love.

Bring . . . me . . . Alastor . . .please.

ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ

Mina stares at Alastor.

Alastor stares right back at her.

His smile hangs open, eyes wide and frozen like a literal deer in headlights. Even his hears are pointed straight. It takes a couple of blinks before his smile closes, and now he’s just stick in his pajamas, staring at her.

“ . . .but all that way years ago,” she tells him, scratching a bit of the fur on her skin.

Alastor’s ears bend as he tilts his head. “My dear, that was only seven years ago.”

“So, practically age ago,” she grumbles, crossing her arms. There’s a smug smile on Alator’s face that she rolls her eyes at. “I wasn’t exactly in the sanest mindset.”

“What the sight you must have been. Oh, I can practically hear the insanity you left with every stomp of your feet. All that sorrow must have been delicious!” Alastor laughs at her, tears running down his eyes. “Tell it to me again. I want to hear it again, my darling wife."

“Again?” Mina pulls the blanket higher on her shoulders, grumbling into the pillow.

Alastor tugs on the blanket, leaning his full weight on her when she doesn’t relent.

“Yes, again,” he says, and the weight he presses down on her causes a little purr from her throat. “I want to her the story of how the great Mina tore down Hell’s streets to look for me. The story of why your name still echoes from the madness of the power you displayed.”

Alastor presses his lips across the spots on her fur, tracing it with light kisses.

Mina turns back to him, sighing. “As if I would ever deny you anything.”

ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ

If you reached the end o this, then you really should chek out The Fire in the Sin Once again, Merry Christmas, Blue! (Please help me think of something for Inu.) Thank you for such a wonder fic and being such a wonderful friend. I've been wanting to gift this to you since the moment you released the chapter, but I've alwawys felt a bit too shy about it, but I'm less shy now. I hope if you enjoy. Also, if this is big sads, I just want to say that you were the one who said everyone started attacking each other. So, really, this sadness if from you.

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