#you know like. very emotional conversations at 3am | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

breakyourrxles · 2 years ago

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『paradise lost』 ; 07

❝ nobody has to know ❞

↳ an old acquaintance comes back around at a time when you’re even more in relationship limbo than usual, you know your actions will have consequences should they ever be found out, but maybe the risk is worth the reward.

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『 pairing 』 : park seonghwa x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : romance, angst, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 9.2k

『 warnings 』 : really poor decision making probably, rough sex, consensually recorded sexual acts, oral sex (m), penetrative sex, dirty talking etc they are pretty emotionally careless with one another, horror scene of a twist ending (angst)

“hey lol”

When the text comes through, past the jarring initial response of hopefulness and wishful thinking of who it could be, your next immediate reaction is to hide the screen...turn it the other way, from potentially prying, curious eyes on the other side of the bed.

The problem with that being: you are alone, in your own apartment, not at Hongjoong's as was once common place.

Rolling over in bed and lying on your back, still staring at the screen — reading the time, 2:45am, you hate the fact that you're awake, struggling to sleep these past few nights now on your own, but even more than that, why was he texting you this late, and after so long.

Realistically, it hadn't been that long since your first contact with the man, though. A year or so back at a mutual friend’s graduation party — the tall, pretty guy with the long black hair in the front, sides and back shaven short — you recall being wholly unsurprised when he tells you that he does some modeling, far more so when he tells you that he's pre-med. Not that a gorgeous man can't be both, of course.

Hitting it off, you exchanged numbers and texted occasionally, but with busy schedules (mostly on his end) it was next to impossible to meet up, and as a result, texting would die off as well.

You hadn't expected to hear from him again; ever, really.

>you: don't think I know you well enough for you to be booty call texting me at 3am

A playful response back, but also testing his motives. The typing bubble pops up almost immediately, and a reply comes through just as quickly.

>Seonghwa: very funny. what a warm welcome. 'wow Seonghwa so great to hear from you it's been so long!' awww thanks, it's nice to hear from you, too.

You roll your eyes at the conversation he begins having with himself, already beginning to type back to him.

>you: men usually text this late for one thing, you know that as well as I do.

>Seonghwa: well I hope that 'thing' is picking out an outfit for a thing I have coming up because that's actually what i'm texting you for. I need your assistance tomorrow.

>you: tomorrow? thanks for the heads up dude...what if I have stuff going on?

>Seonghwa: i'm not above begging. I just got back in town like 45 minutes ago okay i'm working with the best that i've got. we can use the time to catch up. plsplspls.

Rolling your eyes again, you confirm a time and a place with him, receiving numerous different heart and smiley emojis back in response before shutting your phone off and setting it back down on the empty bed space next to you.

Being back in your own place feeling so foreign to you now.

Your mind wanders back to Hongjoong and what it is that he could possibly be up to at this time of night; no doubt out with friends, drinking, smoking, partying — dealing with his emotions the one way he knows best — not. Almost certainly drunk past the point of making good choices and quite probably bringing someone back to the very place you had made yourself so comfortable only days ago.

Screwing your eyes shut tightly, you try to force back the mental image of exactly how your best friend likes to deal with his problems — a couple of stiff drinks and being over, or under, someone else.

Grabbing your phone again, you shuffle through your texting app to bring back up your conversation with Hongjoong, last message sent four days ago — four days since that conversation in his kitchen, him disappearing off to who knows where in a huff after the fact and you texting him that you're taking some of your things and spending some time back at your place.

With no response from him, of course.

“hey lol”

You chuckle at yourself lightly at the fact that you're really considering sending him the same thoughtless text that Seonghwa had just sent you minutes ago, before backspacing it all entirely and locking your phone again, gently tossing it off and towards your side in a hearty exhale of desperation, exasperation...

Missing him.

And of course you know, you've known that you're in love with Hongjoong. You're in tune enough with your feelings to know it, despite being entirely unwilling to admit it to him — not without something more concrete, not without him giving up and giving in just a little. You don't think it's a lot to ask of him, to put his hurt, and his worry, and whatever it is that clings to and harms him so deeply — to take a leap of faith and just say the words, the words that are so painfully obvious to the both of you.

That maybe he isn't necessarily in love with you, not yet — but he wants you, wants you all for himself. To be had and held by no one else. Is it too much to ask, to hear the words from his mouth without using them as a means to an end to make the both of you come?

A man so aware and enlightened, only willing to use his words when he knows he can take them back — not completely, but any deeper meaning behind them.

‘All talk, of course, it doesn't mean anything.’

Much like the first time.

And in spite of conversation number one not going according to plan, you find your chest empty at the loss of him next to you — wherever it may be that Hongjoong finds himself on this night, it's with your heart alongside, tightly in hand.

You only hope that he's thoughtful enough to be aware of it, to not make any rash decisions; for all intents and purposes perhaps—

For him to be better than you.

“So, what are you looking for, exactly?”

Stepping through the large, perfectly polished glass doors just behind the man that you've met with, you look around momentarily — luxury brands and department stores far from something that you're uncomfortable or unfamiliar with, it's not all that often that you find yourself shopping about in such places, given Hongjoong's interest in the more 'far out' of fashion trends, as it were — this, a place for people with money, and who want to look like they have money.

It reminds you of Wooyoung, mostly. Expensive, untouchable. The opposite of Hongjoong in every way.

“Not a suit but,” he slowly answers, head only slightly turning back and looking as if he's even more out of his depth than you are. “Something...nice.”

“Not giving me much to work with, here.”

Seonghwa stops in the middle of the fragrance department, you nearly bumping into him from behind at the abrupt halt — looking around, you watch him intently, as if awaiting his next command on where it is that the two of you should head off to.

Hair still the same, black and swept off to the side of his face, sides shaved and neat — you take a second to enjoy the view, beautifully effeminate features, perfect teeth, and when he opens his mouth, such a deceptively heavy, deep voice.

Enough to knock anyone off their game, even just a little bit.

But the truth was, that Park Seonghwa was kind of a fucking nerd.

Not in the typical way, perhaps like Yunho — ex-pro gamer, but more in the sense of being a little awkward in a way that one might not expect upon laying eyes on him. Easy to assume a cold, tough personality to the man, but not so much the case at all.

He was awkward. Sexy, but definitely awkward.

“Is just a button down shirt nice?” he finally asks, making eye contact with you again after scanning the expanse of the room.

“It really depends on where you're going, was there no dress code?”

“Business casual, I think it said.”

“Oh!” you chime, all of the day's problems solved with ease at the description. “That's easy then, yes, you can get away with a nice button down. See? When you give me information to work with...”

A few strides into the direction of the men’s section, the both of you fanning through different colors and brands of shirts, Seonghwa finally pipes up in a lull of quiet from the typical, dull small talk.

“So,” he says plainly. “Are you seeing anyone?”

You're thankful for the way that he cannot see nor hear the way your heart drops at the question alone.

Swallowing hard, eyebrows furrowing just for a moment as if to collect your thoughts, you finally reply. “Um, yeah. I guess. It's kind of complicated, though.”

“What does that mean?”

And in most situations, you wouldn't want to open up about the situation. Still too new and raw and painful to the touch, but the lack of the ability to do so eating you up inside in such a way that the pain drawls on endlessly — Seonghwa probably isn't the right person for this discussion, but frankly, you're not really sure who would be.

You just know that right now you're dying inside, so it has to be somebody, and well...he's offering.

“I've been seeing this guy for the past bunch of months, we're actually best friends, or were— before all of this,” you begin, sighing between the statements and emotional exhaustion from it all evident. “He's obviously into me, just like I am into him, I'd love to just...be in a relationship with him but he can't...talk, say the words. Be vulnerable.”

“Real tough guy, huh?” Seonghwa quips as he pulls a navy blue shirt off of the rack to check the size and fit against himself.

“Not really, that's what really gets me,” you start again. “He's really not that sort of macho, out of touch with his feelings kind of stereotype dude that you'd expect, but I guess anyone can have their problems with intimacy.”

“You're sure he wants what you want?”

The question comes out of left field, especially from the man just across the rack from you — and despite not needing it, you do take a moment of pause to think the question over before giving the same answer you would have either way.

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

Seonghwa sets the shirt back onto the metal tubing from where it came before leaning forward onto it with arms crossed and chin pressed against them to look at you.

“Then he kinda needs to shit or get off the pot, ya know? Tell him to grow up.”

“I don't think it's that easy. If it were that easy I think he would have by now, there's something else there holding him back.”

“Are you fuckin' other people still?”

The question gives you whiplash, the velocity at which it leaves Seonghwa's mouth and proverbially slaps you right across the face something you never could have expected — paired with the fact that yes, it was something you had considered...

But coming from someone with completely fresh insight on the situation—

Perhaps you hadn't been as safe and accommodating as you could have been, after all.

“I mean,” you stutter out, eyes darting away from his own and back down into the slew of button down shirts before you. “Yeah, we're not exclusive or anything, so...”

Who is it that you're trying to convince, anyways? That everything that you do is okay.

The idea that right and wrong can coexist simultaneously. That someone's right is someone else's wrong, or someone's right and wrong all at once.

Of course you are allowed to do that, and shoulder the consequences of your actions, you shall. Not a punishment, merely a result.

Choose wisely.

“Obviously,” Seonghwa says, pulling back to stand straight again. “But if he has feelings for you and you know that, and he knows that you know that, and yet he knows you're fuckin' other people still...I mean, I can only speak for myself I guess, but I would not be jumping to bare my soul to someone who's probably got a date to get her back blown out twenty minutes after, ya know?”

It's funny in delivery. The truth behind it making you wince all the same.

“You told him?” Seonghwa asks, shortly after amending the question. “That you have feelings for him? Want to be with him?”

You nod silently, carding through a rack of shirts that you've long since stopped paying attention to.

“Then I maintain my stance that he's gotta get a grip,” he says with a shrug, finally settling on an item and holding it up with confirmation. You smile gently at him.

“You threw yourself into the fire, he's gotta meet you there eventually.”

Stepping into the apartment and gently shutting the door behind you as you kick your shoes off, you hear the sound of Seonghwa casually tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter only a few feet away as he steps further ahead, bags set down behind the couch on the opposite end.

You stop and take it in for a moment — another new place, new sights, new smells, a new man.

And sure, Seonghwa wasn't new. Not in the typical sense of the word. He wasn't a random guy that you had just picked up that evening with every intention of drowning your worries in anything that he was willing to give you to help you forget, if even for a moment, but he wasn't...well...

He wasn't comfort. He wasn't home.

He wasn't Hongjoong.

Checking the screen of your phone again for notifications — notifications that you know have not arrived, for if they had, you would have felt them, you attempt to swallow down the knot in your throat. The feeling of being forgotten, of potentially being moved on from.

Did he even care anymore? Was it too little, too late, before you had even known it?

Vaguely, you can hear Seonghwa's deep voice ring out towards you, but the words fail to make their way to you. Not in any real, meaningful way — instead, past words spit like venom once again swim around and consume your memories, making their bed in your mind like a disease you may never find yourself rid of.

‘After all, you didn't know I was going to be there that night.’

“Hey,” you hear, Seonghwa finally breaking through the heavy thought clouding your mind. “What is going on up there?”

Lightly tapping the top of your head with his index finger, you lightly swat his hand away, awkwardly laughing and trying to shake off the way the memory makes you feel even now — the same way it felt then. As if no time had passed between at all.

“I'm fine.”

“Thinking about him?” Seonghwa chimes, teasingly mocking you like you're a girl with a crush.

It's not wrong, but hurts far more than he seems to be aware of, even in spite of the conversation earlier. You're unsurprised by this, as he never had come off as one quick on the emotional uptake of others.

A little self-centered, and a lot into himself. Med student, model — you figure it just sort of comes with the territory, perhaps, and truly — you had known him not to be the one to confide one's deepest, most vulnerable thoughts and feelings in, for those hands however skilled they may be, know not what to do with such items.

Opting to ignore the comment for as long as you can, instead eyes trailing along the medical books, papers, diagrams strewn about on the coffee table in front of the couch...only a few feet away from a few rather expensive looking garments carefully laid out across the top of a lounge chair — you find it charming, in some bizarre way — the juxtaposition of Seonghwa's lives carefully balanced on a thread via a man with no time to spare, and seemingly little knowledge about anything else.

You wonder if there's anything there, really, beyond medicine and beauty. Albeit, the path of medicine such a selfless act in and of itself, almost jarring in comparison to knowing the man; barely able to carry on a serious conversation, or offer a consoling word.

And hilariously, through all of the split second introspection, you come to the ultimate conclusion that you're not even all that sure you even like him that much.

“No,” you eventually answer, shuffling the thoughts from your head with finality. “Thinking about what we should eat.”

“What are you in the mood for?” he hurriedly responds, jumping up and into one of the stools next to the counter, phone in hand. “I'll order whatever.”

“Kind of want a pizza, actually.”

“Done.”

You find this to be the easiest conversation that you've ever had with the man, relief washing over you a bit and, for once, not feeling an undercurrent of battle with every word that is exchanged between the two of you, but you remember after all — you're there for a reason.

“By the way,” you say suddenly. “Need a tape measure, do you have one?”

“Ummmm, yeah, should be in my bedroom. The big white dresser? Not sure which drawer. You can go in there though, don't worry, won't find anything crazy.”

The words aren't all that comforting, you find, in spite of the fact that he's quite evidently trying to be. The promise of not finding whatever insanity the man may have hidden somewhere in the apartment something that you are thankful for, but as you step into his bedroom, the looming feeling of alarm washes over you just as quickly — that previously mentioned undercurrent of battle, now replaced with uncertainty. Not worry, so much, but with the crashing acknowledgement that perhaps you don't really know this man at all.

And you know that it's really none of your business. Not even a little bit, but he had you go in there, and knew what you would find—

—It seems only fair.

“Uh, Seonghwa?”

Long eyes looking up from his phone and straight towards you, dark hair dangling at one side of his face, it takes a long moment for the realization to hit him — so used to his version of normal, that you realize then and there, he had not actually thought about what it was he had been sending you off and into upon informing you where to find the tape measure.

That he obviously should have gotten off of his ass and retrieved himself.

“Oh, oh God,” he groans, eyes darting side to side and most importantly, far away from your own. His discomfort adds to your comfort instead, finding pleasure in the way that he is for once the one in the compromised situation between the two of you.

He was always awkward, but this was way better.

“Okay, ummm, I guess—“ he pauses, eyes screwing shut as if immediately trying to disappear himself from his own apartment, only opening them again upon accepting his failure in doing so and with lips forming a straight line, Seonghwa exhales heavily from his nostrils.

“—It's kinda...what it looks like.”

“The camera,” you plainly state, thumb over your shoulder and pointing back from where you had come from. “Want to tell me about that?”

Sighing, Seonghwa simply slumps forward with his head buried in crossed arms on the counter in front of him, words muffled. “No, but I guess I'm going to.”

“I mean, I won't say anything,” you comfort, shrugging and setting yourself down on the couch behind him. “I'm just already in here so if you're going to like, murder me for the dark web or something then I'd like to know ahead of time.”

You hear Seonghwa chuckle in response, probably thankful for the lighthearted banter in response to your findings. “Okay well, if that's what it looks like then it's not that.”

“What are you, a camboy or something?”

The chuckle in your voice as the words exit your mouth are evidence enough of the fact that you're still trying to make banter of the situation.

Seonghwa's silence in reaction, however, tells you that you're right on the money with your guess.

“Oh my God,” you chime out, a bit louder than you had anticipated. “You are.”

“Can you keep your voice down,” he hurriedly replies, pulling himself up and around to face you with the utmost urgency across his features. “These walls are paper thin, God.”

“Sorry, just—“ you pause, still taken aback by the discovery. “I was joking, I didn't think you really were. Not that there's anything wrong with that.”

With a heavy inhale, and equally heavy exhale, Seonghwa groans in anticipation of having to explain himself even further.

“It's good money, and it's fun,” he explains, standing up and heading over towards you on the couch so that the two of you can finish up the reason that you had gone over there to begin with. “The modeling is good but sometimes I don't take jobs because the travel just takes up so much time, it's hard to juggle with being a med student, so camming sort of supplements my income when I don't take jobs.”

Watching Seonghwa's face as he explains — cheeks and ears flushed red and the complete inability to make eye contact with you as he talks about it, laughing through it awkwardly even though nothing humorous is being said — you hate to admit the way that you find it charming, that perhaps in all of the ways that he is unattractive to you, there's still this. Goofy, uncomfortable, incredibly regular, like a little kid entirely too big physically and especially in life to handle all of the things being thrown his way.

An incredible juggling act, perhaps shocking that he didn't turn out worse.

So awkward, for a guy that jerks off on camera for who knows how many strangers.

“I think it's kind of cool.”

And for the first time since the conversation topic had been breached, Seonghwa's eyes meet your own, albeit briefly. A silent thankfulness for your understanding, for your willingness to accept him.

“You want to get into it? I'll fuck you on camera, we'll make a killing.”

Ah, right, there he is. Spoken like a truly insufferable prick.

“You wish, moron,” you say, flat in tone and forcing him to spin so that he faces away from you. “Get down on your knees so I can measure you out and get this fit right, and if you don't behave I'll have you out there looking ridiculous on purpose.”

Tape measure in hand, you extend the length enough to cross the width of the man's shoulders, making note of the number and dialing it in on your phone laid just next to you on the couch cushion, Seonghwa's head turns just slightly as if in attempt to look back at you, despite not having the range of motion to do so to any reasonable amount.

“Are my shoulders wide?”

You roll your eyes.

“They're a perfectly normal width, Hwa.”

“Wider than What's-his-face's?”

There's that burn in your chest again, and you can't tell if Seonghwa just doesn't get it or doesn't care, at this point.

Swallowing hard at the question, hoping and praying that your voice doesn't break as you force out a light response to an absolutely painful topic, you manage well enough.

“Yes, he's not a model.”

“He's short? Small?”

At this point, you're glad that Seonghwa can't see you — the way that you chew on the inside of your cheek or lip at the mere mention of Hongjoong, and now especially at this bizarrely competitive way that Seonghwa seems to be...having a go at him, despite not even knowing him, it's unappealing, unattractive, and downright right fucking annoying.

“Yes, he's small,” you answer, this time with far less effort to conceal your irritation at the line of questioning. “What does it matter to you, anyways?”

Shrugging suddenly as you continue on with what you had gone there to do to begin with, he sighs. “Just trying to lighten the mood, surely this guy isn't all that, and especially not if he can't even tell a girl he likes her.”

You kind of wish you could disagree.

Appreciating Seonghwa's mismanaged attempt at making you feel better in some way, you allow yourself to let the anger fall to the wayside a bit. The man just before you clearly only good at so many things — matters of other people's hearts, maybe not so much.

Which you sort of knew already.

Silence finally taking the room as you move to measure the length of his right arm, you're delighted by it. The fact that no words are currently exiting his beautiful mouth. You consider for a moment that perhaps beautiful men are far more often better off not using their words.

Wooyoung sort of springs to mind.

Paradise crashes down pretty quickly, though.

“He got a small dick?”

“Seonghwa.”

Swatting the back of his head gently, the man chuckles at your response. “What!? I find it admirable that you love him despite his flaws if that's the case.”

“You have got to shut up before I walk out of here.”

“Okay, okay, I was just jokin’—“

It's an almost pleasant bit in the evening, interrupted by the sound of a notification coming through on your phone, and as the screen illuminates, you only have to glance at it for a second to recognize the length of text — the name — that comes through on the screen.

You take pause, not only due to the unexpected nature of it, but given your current circumstances and just — everything. The feelings all rushing back to your chest, throat tightening in an instant, heart feeling as though it could beat straight through your rib cage at any given moment, you can only assume that Seonghwa doesn't hear the sound, or thinks nothing of it at first, before taking notice of the way that you freeze behind him, arms stuck in statuesque figure as you stare down at the device next to you with thoughts racing a mile a minute.

“What?” he finally questions, moving to turn more and take in the scene behind him, first looking to you, but following your eyes down to the object as the screen dulls again only seconds later. “Oh, is it him?”

You nod, slowly allowing your arms down and swallowing down a dry throat.

“Just ignore him, come on, we're having fun,” the man with you insists, grabbing you playfully by the arms and flailing them about for you. “He can wait a few hours more, don't let him ruin your night.”

Snapping back to reality, you blink, then turning your attention to Seonghwa — eyes bright and eyebrows down turned as if pleading for you not to ruin his good time, you take control of your arms once again as you reach towards your phone.

“I'm just...surprised, he's texting me—“ you say, inhaling deeply before unlocking the screen. “I can't ignore him.”

“You can, come on, we're having a good night!”

>Hongjoong: hey. i'm sorry. we should talk. I want to talk. about the conversation we had a few days ago. when you have time, obviously.

The message hits you in the chest like a freight train, for so many reasons, but the pointed willingness of the apology quite possibly being the most gutting of all.

Hongjoong, a man never above an apology, so you're unsure why it is that this one in particular hits you in such a special way — that he leads with it, that it feels so strong, so meaningful, so much.

And the acknowledgment of the failed conversation, of course.

Looking up from your phone, you meet the sad, puppy dog eyes of Seonghwa — pouty and evidently beyond bummed at the inevitability of the way the night will end — a child starved of play dates, his one moment cut short just like that.

You flash back to the night that you met Seonghwa, and how sexy you thought he was. The reason that you exchanged numbers with him to begin with. Truthfully? A quick fuck was ideally in the cards.

How unfortunate now that you've gotten to know him.

“Nah, I don't think so!”

Before the words really register to you, Seonghwa has your phone swiped from your hands, pulling it from your reach and back behind him — holding it far and away from your own as you attempt to swiftly grab it back from him but with no avail. Repeatedly calling his name to give it back, the man only laughs as you try to best his long limbs without closing too much of the space between the two of you — something that you would like to avoid.

And that he would not.

Pulling forward and nearly off of the couch entirely with Seonghwa leaned back and away, you attempt to reach behind him for your device, still far out of reach, but it's when the man quickly leans back in again without your ready — lips firm against your own and free hand cupping the side of your face to pull your further into it that you find it so easy to melt into the feeling without so much as a second thought; the warmth, the inviting plush of his mouth with a kiss not rushed, or needy, but passionate and soft.

You meet his motions briefly, before pulling back and away from him entirely.

Hand still gently pressed into the side of your head, fingers lightly curling into the hair that resides there, you take in the way that Seonghwa's features soften so much just in that moment — as if a man now knelt before you that you'd never met before. A new man.

He delicately pulls your face back towards him, and you hate the way you allow him to.

Only centimeters from your lips, Seonghwa whispers into you, voice heavy and laden with obvious desire that, if laid dormant all of this time, you had not noticed it until only now.

“If you're really gonna give the fun up for this guy,” he begins, pressing his lips to your own again and so gently that you almost couldn't even feel it. “Then what's wrong with one last one for the road, huh?”

Another kiss.

You're melting into it far too quickly, so easy for Seonghwa to lull you into this sort of comfort that only minutes prior you never would have thought him capable of — a new side of himself, so sensual and inviting and deeply, you wished you weren't curious about what else there was that he had to offer you.

“—He'll never have to find out.”

Okay, fuck it.

Scooting backwards on the couch a bit further, parting your legs to allow room for him in between them, Seonghwa leans into you even more, mouth heavier against your own, with more intent now. Your eyes dart down, in view of the hand clasping your phone still — the buzz of another notification ringing through your ears, knowing precisely who it is that's attempting to contact you — it takes everything in you to muster up the courage to ignore it, cast it aside.

Cast Hongjoong aside.

Seonghwa stands, carding his fingers through long, black hair as he does so before reaching for his belt buckle and beginning to undo it right in front of your face — your eyes fixated on the obvious tenting in the front of his pants at the promise of a fuck that neither of you should particularly be indulging in, but especially not you.

You can. You're allowed.

“Have you thought about this before?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you and desperately needing to cut through the silence of only your thoughts.

Seonghwa chuckles, still looking down upon your features as he pulls the leather apart, fingers then moving to the button — it's happening a little faster than you needed right now, but also, perhaps that's exactly what you need.

“Of course, every guy thinks about fucking every attractive, female friend they have — at least a little bit.”

An unfortunate byproduct — everything reminds you of him.

Pressing his jeans down slightly and pulling himself from the black fabric of his briefs, he strokes himself slowly, gently, for your viewing pleasure — only inches from your face, eyes still engrossed and watching you as you watch him.

You wonder if this is how he does it for however many viewers he brings in.

“Don't think about him,” he says, bringing the hand up that still clasps your phone and turning the screen towards your face. “Unlock it, just for a little fun.”

“Are you crazy?” you bite back, leaning away from him altogether, but the man before you still lazily pumping himself only snorts a bit and shrugs before answering you back.

“It's your phone, think of it as a bachelorette gift from me.”

The confidence in his tone, while irritating, is intriguing — you wonder briefly who and what he's done to make himself believe that video recollection of you sucking him off could be something that you'd watch back later, holed up in the bathroom late at night with nothing or no one better to do and only a fond memory of something that you had no business partaking in to begin with.

Though, come to think of it; when you put it like that, the appeal was certainly beginning to present itself.

You snatch the phone from him and plug in your pass code, handing it back to him just as quickly — as if the faster it's done the less either of you will have to acknowledge the acceptance, but the grin on Seonghwa's face says everything as he evidently pulls up the camera app and angles your phones lens down and towards your face.

“Lemmie see you work, baby.”

You're certainly not proud of the way the sentence is felt straight between your legs — not entirely sure if it's the words themselves, the man, the camera, or the deviousness of the act as a whole — taking him into your dominant hand and replacing his as he pulls away and instead runs fingertips through the hair at the top of your head, you carry on with the work that he had started on himself. Heavy and warm, long, thick enough but not anything that would take any exceptional prep to work up to, you quickly (and unfortunately) have to settle on the fact that the guilty fuck is doing more for you now, in this moment, than you'd ever really like to admit to yourself.

Pulling yourself forward on the couch more to situate yourself best for taking him, you angle your head down as to run your tongue against the tip of his cock — wet, showy circles across it and looking up to see the effect on him — bottom corner of his lip pulled between his teeth and slightly hooded, brown eyes gazing down upon you.

And the camera, of course. You're making a show of it.

Moving upwards again, you take Seonghwa fuller into your mouth, properly for sucking him off — too big to take the entirety of but you're thankful that he doesn't seem stuck on the necessity of it, hands in your hair and on your head for the sake of being there rather than with intent to guide or pull you onto him, he allows you the ability to take him at your own pace and depth, languidly bobbing along his cock with wet, swollen lips as airy, devilishly sexy groans topple from the beautifully plump ones that had just been kissing you only moments before.

Kisses testing the waters: ‘How horrible are you, really?’

Even with cock in mouth, or especially with cock in mouth, you can't help but have the thoughts spring to mind — how wrong it is, how fucked up it is.

How you're only doing this with promise that Hongjoong will never know, because if he were to, you wouldn't.

But the knowledge of it devastating him not enough to stop you from pulling the trigger on the act, either.

Is this love?

“Feel so good, look so pretty like this,” Seonghwa says, the words nearly startling you from your thoughts despite the act still taking place. “Like a big dick? Hm? Mouth looks so small around me.”

You know he's playing it up for the camera, likely because it's what he's used to doing — talking the viewer through to their finish — he's assuming that someday you will, in all actuality, make yourself come to this little snippet in time at some point in the future.

Depending on how it turns out, you can't really promise that you won't, either.

Picking up your speed along him, hand following suit to make up for the amount of him that you can't fit into your mouth, Seonghwa groans at the extra friction, head falling back briefly to take in the feeling of you swallowing him whole, as best you can.

“God.” And it's nearly a whisper, eyes falling back down to yours once again. “Wanna come all over that pretty face of yours.”

Arousal pooling between your legs much quicker than you'd have ever hoped, the promise of him emptying on your face — while enticing — not exactly the finish you were looking for, but just as you pull off of him slowly to voice the concern, Seonghwa locks your phone screen with an audible click and tosses the device to a plush chair sitting adjacent to the two of you.

“Kinda short but should do the trick if you're hard up for time, here, stand up.”

Somewhat confused but following the man's lead all the same, Seonghwa pulls you up and off the couch before seating himself down where you had just been, cock still hard and all present — you finally come to realize that it was all for show, that he had no intention of finishing then and there.

What a magnificent actor, you think to yourself.

“Take your pants off,” he then instructs, sitting with his back against the couch and hand around himself as he resumes stroking himself at the visual, you wasting no time shimmying out of your clothing for him to watch — lips slightly parted and eyes so strong and intensely situated on your body and all of its movements. Once down to your panties, you look at him again, unsure if meant to strip in totality.

“Should I...?”

“Up to you,” he says, suddenly grabbing towards you and pulling your hips forward and against his face as fingers quickly make their way between your legs and into the sides of the fabric there — but pausing to look up at you again, the dastardly grin is really what sends home the words themselves, thereafter.

“Depends how dirty of a fuck you want it to be, the more clothes the better then.”

And you don't really have time to answer the question, had there ever even been one, before his lips press hard against your pussy and tongue making quick work of the quest for your clit — nearly toppling forward, hands falling to his shoulders for leverage as your knees just about give out from the sudden contact, lewd, slurping and sucking sounds resonating through the apartment as Seonghwa wastes no time tasting you — and just as quickly, the feeling of a single finger slowly pressing into you as you stand before him.

“God, fuck, Seonghwa—“

He hums in acknowledgment of the name, two, three slow pumps of the digit, you feel him add a second. Delicate hands, but by no means dainty — fingers with thickness to them and the feeling of fullness is immediate as he continues the suction on your clit with earnest.

Your own fingers digging into his shirt and the flesh beneath it, head falling back and feeling almost dizzy at the onslaught of sensations, clenching your eyes shut, he pulls his head back from you to look at your features. “Good?”

“Yes,” you whimper out, heavy and barely audible at all. Seonghwa chuckles at the scene before him.

“C'mere.”

And you know he's being annoying when he does it, the words paired with the curl of his fingers deep inside you as he ushers you forward, pressing hard against your g-spot as he does and it's everything you have, all of the strength in your legs to not completely fall forward and against him — but slowly pulling his fingers from you, he instead brings his hands to your waist, steadying you to ease you down and into his lap. Another kiss, this time much heavier and needy and messy from both sides — panties slick and wet and pulled apart messily, allowing you to feel the faint press of his bare shaft against you as the two of you pant and bite at each other's mouths, you want him, and you want him bad.

The coming to a head of so many different thoughts and feelings all at once: the longing, the missing, the sadness, the desire. The allure of being in places and arms where you shouldn't dare be, all the while wishing you were in the ones that you should.

It was good, he made me come, I prefer you.

I prefer you.

You want Seonghwa to fuck you raw.

And you know that the strongest factor in favor of it is the fact that it would be so easy. That the both of you are already right there, so simple, and you shouldn't, and all the while knowing it's sort of why you want to.

Maybe somehow you can undo all of the work that Hongjoong's done if only you allow someone else to do it all over again.

“Seonghwa,” you whisper against his mouth, hips pressing forward and against him, swallowing up the hiss that escapes his lips as a result of it and loving every second of it.

“Condom.”

Nodding, the man reaches down and into his pants’ pocket — still conveniently wrapped around his thighs and pulls for his wallet, metallic package quickly found and ripping it open with his teeth, he nods for you to pull back a little off of him to grant him room to roll it on — watching intently as he does. Settling back comfortably, large hands finding their way up and around your waist again to lift you gently, to hover over him before your descent down — the two of you make eye contact only briefly as one of his hands edges down and between your legs to pull the side of your panties away just as before.

‘Depends how dirty of a fuck you want it to be.’

You quickly dart your eyes away from him, opting to close them instead as you sink down along his length — faster than you might normally and barely allowing yourself any time to adjust, you wince at the stretch, the length, the pull of him against your insides — not completely ready to take him yet.

But ready to get it over with, get out of there, and carry on like this never happened.

Rocking your hips against him, you start out at a relatively quick pace, one hand on his shoulder and the other between your legs to rub you into your orgasm as fast as possible, not even wanting to leave it up to him to get you there — screwing your eyes shut tighter, allowing yourself to feel the way he pulls you down to take his cock; a little hard, a little rough — but it's kind of what you want, what you need, given the circumstances.

In some ways, Seonghwa may as well not be there at all.

“H—harder—“ you whisper, desperately trying to get the friction you need from him out of the position but being starkly limited in availability, you only hear Seonghwa laugh at first, in response to your demand, before stopping the both of you altogether and nearly pushing you off of him.

Your first thought, is that he's pissed. You're not sure why, or what happened, and before being able to get the question out of your mouth, you find yourself face first into the couch cushion and lengthwise on the couch, with Seonghwa already pressing back into you from behind.

Moaning out at the new, different kind of intrusion, Seonghwa leans forward and over your back, hand nestled in your hair before tightening only enough to get your attention.

You said 'harder,' not 'rougher,' — 'rougher' was the next command on the agenda, though.

With a hard, sudden snap of his hips into you, you whine out loudly in response. Then another, and another following — crying out at the feeling, just teetering on the edge of being too much, too painful, you finally hear the words from behind you through gritted teeth.

“I'm fine with being your guilty little fuck,” he says, still snapping his hips harshly between every few words. “Use me to forget him? I can do that.”

Hand still pressed against your head, Seonghwa adjusts his positioning behind you just enough that it gives him better, easier access to continue his relentless drives into you — hard and fast — your hand once again buried between your legs and now orgasm much faster in its approach, you whine out with every full thrust of himself, nearly pulling all of the way from you before plunging back in.

“Feel good? You like that?” he asks, breath heavy and husky and sounding almost bitter in the exchange.

It almost turns you on more, knowing that he's angry with you for this, hates you for it.

“Yes.”

“Yeah? My cock feel good to you, baby?”

So vulgar and with a tone so hateful, you know he's trying to make a point. The reminder that it's him and not Hongjoong. Making you pay attention to it. Not letting you disassociate from the fact. Forcing you to be present and in the moment no matter how much you don't want to be — not entirely, at least.

“Say it,” he adds with a particularly harsh thrust, and you give in right away. “Yes, yes, fuck, Seonghwa—“

“That's right, good girl. Close? Wanna come around my cock for me?”

A moan first ripping through your lips, fingers desperately attempting to grip into unrelenting cushions, you feel Seonghwa's own curl harder into the skin of your hips with every second that you don't answer him.

“Yes, I do, fuck, please I'm close—“

Continuing into you, he quiets long enough to focus on getting you there; fucking into you hard and fast and all of the way through it as you cry out at the way your orgasm finally takes you, you barely even notice as Seonghwa suddenly exits from you, pulling the condom free of himself and stroking himself through his own orgasm — translucent white strings of his cum painting your already stained panties and backside.

A fitting end — filthy and used and an amalgamation of things that never quite should have taken place to begin with.

Slowly, tiredly flipping back over to face him, Seonghwa avoids eye contact at first — the easy excuse of needing to toss the condom away in a rush able to pull him from the situation long enough to steady himself and his feelings before coming back — pants now pulled back up and into place before sitting down on the couch next to you again, eyes away from you as you awkwardly reach for the garments you had left on the floor onto ten or so minutes prior to now.

And then, your phone.

Buzzing lightly against the plush of the chair, you can't help but allow your attention to draw to Seonghwa in light of it all — but the man turns his head from you gently, instead opting to reach for the device as the one closest to it and handing it to you without ever making eye contact.

Talk about guilty fuck.

And of course it's Hongjoong. It's always Hongjoong. The vibrancy of the name on the screen in juxtaposition to the scenario that you just took part in and the way Seonghwa isn't helping in making it feel okay, feels like a knife to the chest.

Maybe, just maybe, it's not okay. Maybe it hasn't been for a while.

“I need to get—“ you quietly clamor out, your existence feeling like a disturbance in the man's home, but unable to leave until you wash the remainder of him off of you. Seonghwa turns his head to you briefly, finally realizing the situation and quickly — awkwardly, pointing you into the direction of his bathroom.

And it's unfortunate the ways that hurt people sometimes expel that pain. For Hongjoong, it's a spitfire tongue and thoughtless words — precisely as he thinks and feels in the moment but with every intention to hurt the recipient just as much as he, himself hurts.

For Yunho, it's repetition — the starry-eyed hope that if given the ability to go back in time, do the same thing over again, maybe do something differently, that he can forge a different outcome of the same situation.

For you, it's actions — thoughtless and selfish and entirely self-absorbed. Desperate for the acknowledgment that the choices one makes along the way are good and right, objectively so, even if at the expense of the ones we love around us.

And for Seonghwa, it's revenge.

Coming back from the bathroom, as best cleaned up as you can manage, you find Seonghwa standing in the kitchen — arms crossed with a glass of unknown liquid in hand as his eyes coldly fall over your figure. A far cry from the man you had arrived there with, but knowing all the same when you had worn out your welcome — you certainly don't feel bad about being kicked out after the sex, truthfully, you couldn't get out of there faster if you had tried to.

“I'm gonna get out of he—“

The sound of your phone vibrating stealing your attention away, but not because of a message notification.

Rather, a phone call.

Phone on the glass coffee table, face up, and not where you had left it when you went off to the bathroom — glancing down at the phone call as the tail end of it comes through, only to find it add itself to a slew of three other missed call notifications.

And all from Hongjoong.

You slowly look back up and towards Seonghwa, still silently perched in the kitchen — watching you, but with nothing to say. Slowly, he brings his hand from the side of his arm to take a sip of the beverage...

But not before ever so gently tipping it towards you.

Cheers, indeed. And 'fuck you, too.'

Panic setting in immediately, before you even have a chance to call Hongjoong back, another call rings through, and gathering your things, shuffling towards the door with little else on your mind beyond getting the fuck out of that apartment and away from that man, you pick up the call finally.

“Hongjoong, I— hold on, just—“

You haven't even heard a word from him yet, pulling the phone back down from your face to swipe through your apps at lightning quick speed, desperate to locate your texting app but not all that ready to lay eyes on precisely what it is that you expect to find.

And you do, of course.

The last thing in your messaging conversation with Hongjoong, the video Seonghwa took of you with him less than an hour earlier.

Not even bothering to acknowledge Seonghwa further as you leave the apartment, barreling down the staircase as quickly as possible with your bag slung over your shoulder, you're finally able to situate yourself enough to bring the phone back to your face.

Inhaling deeply, pausing from exhaustion and pressing your back against one of the concrete walls, you huff out his name. “Hongjoong—“

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

But the tone on the other line isn't angry, not in the way that you had anticipated. It's not a man furious, violent, aggressive in any sense of the imagination — but rather, a tone dripping with desperation, with tragedy, with pain. This question posed, to avoid the other, obvious question that lied bare and rubbed raw behind it: Why would you do this to me? Why would you hurt me like this?

“Look, I didn't send—“ you pause the line of thought, realizing that the details of who or why it was sent to him mean little, and truly the only thing that matters is why were you with him.

And why does Hongjoong mean that little to you.

“Hongjoong, I'm sorry, it was a mistake, I fucked up—“

“I've been texting you all night, is that why I couldn't get a hold of you?”

“Look, please, we should talk—“

“We should talk? I've been trying to get a hold of you all night to talk!”

“I know,” voice breaking with the words, the burning creeping up quickly and pulling yourself together again enough to continue down the stairs and out of the building and in a ride share towards Hongjoong's place, you continue to plead with him. “Please, Joong, I'm coming over. Please, let's talk about this.”

‘About this.’ The concept of ‘this.’

The unmatched, unswallowable feeling of impending nothingness. The loss of something — someone so great.

Everyone has a breaking point.

When silence greets you on the other line for far too long as your car carries you towards his home, a home that the two of you not too long ago once shared, you can almost hear the way that Hongjoong has to swallow down his feelings, the gut-wrenching twist of the dagger that you so ceremoniously planted directly into his chest.

“I don't know why you're tormenting me,” he whispers through broken voice, otherwise calm words falling onto your ears like death itself.

“So fucking jealous when I slept with your friend, before we even started getting involved—“

“I know, Hongjoong, I know please—“

His voice turning whiny, more broken and pointed. “—It was fucked up then, and it's so fucked up now.”

Throat burning, ears on fire, you know it's on the tip of his tongue if he can muster up the courage to do it, to say the words, to do the deed himself.

I don't love you anymore, goodbye.

But he doesn't, and in an effort to cut him off before he can, you make the quick decision that it's enough with the bullshit, and enough with the games. Emotions have been worn and dragged through the mud enough up until this point for the both of you — and for no reason at all. You know what you want, and you've always known what you wanted.

Him.

“You can come to the apartment to get your shit but I won't be there—“

“Hongjoong—“

He silences, you await the inquiry that apparently won't ever come, and it gives you pause again. Veins running ice cold and breath thin, you figure now more than ever before;

It's now or never.

“I love you.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨next୧ ⎯

#seonghwa smut #seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa scenarios #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x you #ateez x y/n

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henrysglock · 17 days ago

Note

care to drop some Henry headcanons?

Hoo boy okay :3

Pets

I don't think canonverse/canon-adjacent Henry would be a pet guy in general. I like writing him as keeping spiders, but my main drive behind that is "he has no friends, and he's collecting ones that are low maintenance" rather than "he likes having pets". Especially re: his living situations in a canon setting, I think he would view anything more than spider jars to be a liability—not to mention the whole "oh, the pet is afraid of me now because of XYZ supernatual reasons" thing. It would be very isolating in that regard, and would probably do more harm than good.

However. In non-canonverse AUs, or canon-adjacent AUs where his contact with the supernatural is minimal (by comparison to canon), I think Henry would be a dog person.

If there's one thing that every version of Henry craves, it's affection. He's always looking for love, and it leads him into situations that any other rational person would deem toxic and dangerous. He's also highly anxious, whether it presents as outward neuroticism or emotional shutdowns.

What better solution than a big, fluffy, dopey dog that will always be happy to see him? One that can just lay on his lap and be petted until he feels better? One that could be trained as a guard dog support dog? Yes. I think so.

I could see Henry having a golden retriever, a St. Bernard, a Great Pyrenees, or even a particularly laid-back German Shepard. He'd probably give it a human name, too, and he'd probably talk to it like he's having a real person-to-person conversation.

If given the opportunity, he'd be a horse guy, too. They just get each other. His horse spooks at a leaf, and he's there like...Yeah, man. Me too. He's the "if my horse kills me, it was my fault" type. He would ride english style, and he would absolutely (silently) judge someone like, maybe, Jim Hopper for being a western saddle guy. They have vaguely homoerotic beef, similar to figure skaters and hockey players.

2. Clothes

Henry seems like the type to always be ridiculously behind the times until someone close to him drags him into modern clothes (kicking and screaming). He's the guy who was dressed "proper" as a kid and grew up to be a man who feels naked without a sweater of some kind. He loves summer because of all the sunlight and warmth, but he feels weirdly exposed in just a cotton t-shirt and slacks. That man would put on a t-shirt and then stare in his long mirror like [Joyce voice] she has nipples....and then he would put on a second top of some kind. Yes, it's 90ºF. Yes, he's wearing a cardigan. Don't judge him. He feels naked without it.

Don't even talk to him about shorts, either, unless he's a) inside his house or b) doing some outdoor activity that involves water.

He would absolutely be the guy who always wears a shirt at the beach/pool. That is, if you could manage to drag him out to the beach/pool.

I also feel like he's the kind of guy who always wears socks. Like. Y'know how some autists hate socks and others can't go without wearing socks? Yeah. He's the latter. But they're all just the plain white crew socks (until someone he knows buys him anything more "fun"). It's not that he doesn't like fun socks, it's just simpler if they all match each other.

That said, he also feels like the kind of guy to have house slippers. There are shoes, which stay in the garage, and then there are the ✨ House Slippers ✨. They're a staple in the winter. Socks+slippers combo outsold.

Speaking of winter: He likes some aspects of winter, like the fresh snow and the ice storms that make the trees clink like wind chimes. However. He hates how dark it is, how early it gets dark, and how damp it is. And if all that brings back bad memories, that's for him to know and no one ever to find out.

3. Lifestyle

Henry has a sleep schedule. He swears he does. It's just, y'know. 7pm to 3am, and then 4am to 7am. The man has dinner and immediately conks out. He's so tired. Don't judge him. His sleep schedule does get better relative to the sliding scale of his mental health. Happy Henry? 10pm-6:30am. Struggling Henry? See the first set of times. He's coping.

Henry is also the type of guy to run himself into the ground when he's sick, and (for obvious reasons) he hates going to the doctor. He will simply suffer with the flu for weeks rather than go get Tamiflu from Urgent Care. He once broke a bone in his hand and tried to convince everyone he knew that he could "heal it by himself". He did exactly that, but everyone was side-eyeing him the whole time.

He gets his vaccines, though. He sucks it up for the greater good, even if he's scurrying around the pharmacy like a prey animal being stalked the entire time.

He hates conservatives and everything they stand for. He has never once voted republican. That doesn't mean he likes the democratic party, but he also understands the concept of a lesser evil.

Henry loves horror video games like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, etc. even if he's curled up in a ball on his couch with a blanket pulled all the way up to his nose the entire time. He swears they're fun, and he swears he's enjoying himself, but he does flinch comically if anyone/anything breaks his concentration.

Henry has zero marks on his driving record. This does not necessarily mean he's a good driver, it just means he has a knack for spotting cops. He will absolutely go 50 mph in a 25 mph school zone as long as there aren't cops around. He pushes triple digits on the interstate—that is, until someone drives like an ass. And then he starts being a petty driver. But like...hey. They had it coming. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, asshole.

2010 Henry Creel would drive a Prius. He would never say it out loud, but he would be insufferable about it, internally. He judges people who drive diesel engines, especially the trucks that puff black smoke.

Henry Creel is the "Did the cops see it? No? Then it's legal." type of person in like 80% of cases. He's not "above" lashing out at people who treat his friends and family poorly, even if he wouldn't do the same on his own behalf. He's not going to report shoplifting. So on and so forth.

He's a coffee person, but mainly just in the way of sweet treats. He's not a huge fan of tea (he came around on boba tea, but only just).

He's only had pecan pie once, with his epi pen ready and a friend there to drive him to the ER. It's his favorite, now, and he sighs wistfully about it whenever he passes a bakery in the fall like it's a forbidden lover. His second favorite is strawberry rhubarb, and he only realized he liked it once he moved to Indiana and tried the homemade kind. He prefers sweet potato pie to pumpkin pie at thanksgiving, but he won't say no to pumpkin pie either.

He prefers creamy soups to broth soups, but he will absolutely fuck up a bowl of chicken noodle or vegetable barley soup. He's a soup enjoyer. An enthusiast, even. Henry's never met a soup he didn't like.

I think I'll leave it here for now :3

#long post #asks #henry creel

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moonspirit · 4 days ago

Note

Hiii Moon🌿💚

I hope your *timezone* goes well, and wish you to spend it nicely and peacefully, as much as possible~

For the fandom asks:

1, 2, 5, 6, 13, 20, 24

(for the future) Thank you for your answers, and take care (⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(🌔)

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Anna!!! T^T I'm doing alright, but how are YOU??? I'm so excited for your new art and for more of your writing - I literally cannot wait, but also I wish you plenty of energy for the time being!

Thank you for the asks T^T

Oh well, I already answered 1 and 5 over here xD But as for the rest, here goes!

2. a headcanon you weren't sure about at first but have come to like!

That both Aruani are only *moderate* cooks xD Initially I always thought Armin would cook really well and Annie would be the type to throw some seasoning on plain ramen and call it a day- but. BUT. They're both actually pretty average xD And they both have terrible eating habits. He forgets to eat. She has snacks in her pockets. There you go, now I love it xD

6. something you see in art a lot and love

The horny answer is hair

Sensuality! In all the Aruani art I see, there's so much emotional expression in the way Armin and Annie are drawn and it's so so so beautiful. After all, there's a ton of feelings and emotions to pull from, so it makes for a real astounding experience, honestly. The eyes, the lighting, the mood conveyed!!! T^T Doesn't even matter if it's a chibi doodle or a 5 minute sketch or a 14-hour canvas piece or just silly, it's always so chalk full of emotions!!!

God you artists are so great T^T And YOU Anna! YOU!

Also hair.

13. your favorite type of fandom event (gift exchange, ship week, secret santa, prompt meme, etc)

Oh T^T Well aside from being there to witness fandom events I haven't actually had the chance to take part in any. Though I think exchanges are really so so so much fun! You ask, and someone makes something for you - secretly or otherwise! It's very personal, and has your favourite characters making out like they're gonna die - what can possibly be better???

20. your very first fandom!

Tantei Gakuen Q and SA! Back in 2006-08 was when I really began to get more involved in fandom in terms of creating - I still remember writing for the Kei x Hikari ship xD I was on vacation from school and the internet was "free" during the early hours of dawn (so like.. 3am to 6am), so I'd watch SA and write fic and post it all on FFN in the span of... 2 hours xD Don't know how I did that... now I take 20 minutes just to find the motivation to brush my teeth...

24. how has fandom positively impacted your life?

Eeeeeeeeeeeee fandooooooooomm my beloved!

Honestly I've been a silent spectator in many fandoms, but something about that environment of creation and discussion is very very motivating and inspiring. You see people having these fantastic conversations and you go "okay... I feel like doing something too." Creating is good for the soul, and I think this is a piece of advice doled out even to someone struggling with serious issues. Creating is healing, it works your brain, it gets you busy, it gets your imagination running. And fandom is suuuuuuuuuuch a good space for that.

For me personally, fandom has been many things, but most importantly, a place where I've made warm friends and in which I've found a reason to keep going, day to day. I'm so glad for all fandoms, but especially the Aruani fandom T^T

Thank you so much for the asks, anna, I really appreciate it T////T Sending you a lot of good vibes and energy to pull through~ 🌿💚🌿💚🌿💚🌿💚🌿💚🌿💚

#askies #anna chan #ask game

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inourselveswetrust · 2 years ago

Note

Alright straight to the point

TW Mc dies

Now Mc died how that’s up to you but Mc has never allowed the ROs close emotional to them and is very closed off but one day they died.

The ROs get a mail delivery and it’s Journals. Dozens of them. The Mc wrote every feeling they had in it. Including on how they feel about them. The last page says who they will tell the Ro how they feel.

You don’t have to do this i just thought about it as an ask. Was writing my own story and this came up for a character and I thought perfect ask. Maybe.

Anon's out here trying to collect my tears 💀

This was written at 3am so it's definitely terrible, but I hope you enjoy anyway! ❤️

The journal falls from August’s grip, landing on the floor like lead weight. August stares at the furthest wall of their living room with an absent gaze, they remain unmoving for perhaps minutes, maybe hours. They don’t know, they don’t care.

Swallowed by a sudden, all-consuming rage, a roar escapes August as they stand to their feet and tip the coffee table. The sound of glass shattering and objects being thrown is all that can be heard in August’s home. Their home is torn apart when they finally collapse to the ground, exhausted and not even slightly relieved.

August is inconsolable. Nothing – not a single thing – would repair their shredded heart. They remain in their home for weeks, refusing visitors and withdrawing contact from everyone. They will never be the same again, rather a mere angry, bitter shell of who they used to be.

A world without you is not one worth enjoying or exploring. The journals remain on August’s nightstand, an August reads through them every single night until sleep steals their consciousness.

___

Tears gather in Blair’s eyes, burning and reminding them of their failure. The tears fall freely, Blair doesn’t try to withhold them. Every tear is homage, a token, to you – an acknowledgement to you. Withholding them would be a disgrace, a dishonour to you.

A strangled gasp escapes Blair as their tears splatter on the pages of your journal, marring the ink. Blair quickly, but gently, drops the journal on the tabletop as if the journal has burnt their skin. Tiredly, they roughly rub the palms of their hands across their face wiping away their tears, spreading the wetness across their face. Guilt churns within them as they stare at the blemished page, bile threatening to escape their stomach.

They spend days in their home reading every page. They allow themselves to feel everything – smiling at the happy entries, laughing at the entertaining entries and crying when the emotions become too much.

They bury themselves into work, entering and exiting the office wearing a stoic mask each time. Gone are their smiles and polite conversations with each person they pass.

The journals remain safely tucked in Blair’s bedside table’s drawer. They deny themselves reading the journals a second time for months, desperately avoiding the feelings they stir, but one day they’ll cave. They’ll take weeks off work afterwards.

___

Wren stacks the journals on their table, refusing to touch them for weeks. The books taunt them, temptation swirling in their thoughts, yet they know reading the entries means admitting you’re gone. It means accepting you’re gone, and they’ll never do that.

They do anything to avoid thinking about your death, opting to keep themselves occupied with meaningless errands and hobbies. Though, eventually, on a rainy day, when the walls feel as if they’re closing in on them and their boredom cannot grow any further, they’ll hesitantly begin scouring the journals.

An uncharacteristic anger brews deep within them as they read your words. Why couldn’t you tell me this? Why did I have to find out this way? They would give anything to hear how you feel from your lips. They would give anything to hear your voice again. They read every entry without interruption, refusing to eat or sleep and willing themselves to memorize every detail – every word you use, the curve in your writing, the space between each letter.

Your journals become their most treasured possession, secured in a box in their closet where no one can find them, where no other person can invade you and your feelings. They read every page again and again, until they have them engrained in their mind.

___

Neve clutches the journals close to their chest, imagining it is you who they’re holding. Tears pour from their eyes; their body shakes with each sob that escapes them. They cry until sleep embraces them, offering relief from the pain weighing them.

It isn’t until hours later when they wake, still clutching the leather bound journal in a firm grip. The tears begin again, returning with vengeance as if they never stopped. Every muscle aches, sore from the sobs wracking Neve’s body, yet nothing hurts more than their heart.

It takes weeks before they can get past the first page without breaking down. Tears are endless as they scan each page, a hollow throb making itself at home in their chest. Neve has always felt the world is bleak, yet never have they felt this hopeless.

Neve places your journals on their bookshelf, nestled alongside their favourite novels. There is no author they adore more than you. They cry every time they read your journals, a familiar agony growing within them each time.

#anon ask #ro ask #tw death

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dumplingsfordays · 1 year ago

Text

evening hours

ok so hihi i'm back and down bad for dainsleif (as usual)

this is just a quick little idea i had while i was in the car so i wrote this down in a google doc and then pasted it here 😭😭

apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes, this isn't proofread so there may be a lot :/

anyways thank you for reading and have an amazing day <3

source for the art (i couldn't find the initial artist, i'm sorry) : @abimanyuputro on pinterest

warning! if you're uncomfortable with any of these topics, please don't read : cuteness to angst to comfort, implied overworking from reader but not really specified

++++

mood :

Lavoe - kept crystal castles but its only piano (link to spotify)

daniel.mp3 - 3am walk - slowed & reverbed version (link to spotify)

lil indo - the beach (instrumental/slowed/muffled) (link to spotify)

++++

The first time you saw him, you were intrigued.

He had a mysterious air about him, emphasized by that starry cloak of his that he never seemed to take off. Delicate blonde hair, outlining his features with smooth strands, poured like a golden waterfall from the top of his head, and his cyan eyes were sharp and cold, but you could sense a sort of sadness hidden deep in them whenever you made eye contact. This wasn't a Mondstadter, you knew that for sure. He didn't look like he was from any other region in Teyvat, too - you could only assume that maybe this gentleman had a very unique taste in clothing and was simply blessed with inhumane beauty. You didn't think that he'd keep visiting your café, though.

The second time you saw him, you were curious.

Curious about his mask that covered only half of his face. Curious about his clothing, his mannerisms, his reticent politeness. Curious about why he was here in Mondstadt at all, and for what reason he seemed to be staying here. His face was a blank, white dot in the crowd of regulars you'd see each day, an enigma, and this fact made you wonder. Where did he come from? Why was he so reserved? And, arguably most importantly - who was he, really?

The third time you saw him, you were friendly.

You struck up conversation about the gorgeous weather outside when you brought him his coffee. Of course, he agreed, saying that it was a perfect time to go for a walk in the Whispering Woods, where the overarching trees provided the perfect amount of shade from the sun, and your quick talk ended there. He thanked you with that same quiet civility before you left his table, but this time, it was accompanied by a barely noticeable smile dancing on his fair lips.

The fourth time you saw him, you were open.

Your conversations were getting longer and longer as the days went by. His previously guarded-off persona was crumbling, and it seemed that he was getting more comfortable talking to you (and maybe even simply being around you). His eyes grew softer when you approached, his tense hands relaxed. You liked this new version of him - a version that he seemed to be hiding from you before he knew you meant no harm, a version that finally felt like it could be honest with you. He would be welcome in the café after closing hours, and you would enjoy simply talking to each other over some tea and muffins about the various aspects of your lives. At times, these conversations would get deep, philosophical - you talked about the meaning of life, about fate. He seemed interested in these topics, to your relief. You never really had a person that you could talk to about this, as they either always changed the subject to something a little more "real", or ignored you altogether, but this man was different. You felt like he was an old friend despite never knowing his name.

The fifth time you saw him, you were a mess.

Everything in your life seemed overwhelming, endlessly crushing at this point. You closed the café early today in an attempt to have extra time to pour your emotions out through some good ole crying, but you forgot about the man, still sitting at a table, book in hand. When you didn't come to him after the clock struck 8:15 (the usual time you'd come over after putting all the cups to soak), he looked over at the counter. You weren't there.

He assumed that you had more duties to attend to, and kept reading, keeping one eye the counter while he was doing so. In fact, instead of being in the storage room, whose entrance was past the counter, you were leaning against it, trying desperately to not cry too loudly. Your hot tears stung as they rolled down your cheeks, but you didn't dare move to wipe them away. You didn't want him to see you in this sorry state.

Unluckily for you, he heard one of your short gasps for air. He immediately set his book down to come over to the counter, and lo and behold, you looked up at him, cheeks and nose reddened as he peered over the wooden surface in worry.

"Can I come behind the counter?" he asked in genuine concern, a tone which you had never heard him speak with.

You nodded, sniffling. You must look absolutely pathetic to him right now.

He walked with urgency to you, and knelt across from you on the floor. He took your hands in his as his cyan eyes met your bloodshot ones.

"Are you okay?"

At these soft-spoken words, the dam broke. Tears poured from your eyes like crystal-clear rivers, and you pulled your hands away from his to bury your face in them. You shuddered as you desperately tried to catch quick breaths of air, gasping, eyes screwed shut.

"Hey, hey," he muttered, trying his best to be reassuring. You felt his (rather large) hands cup your face, carefully pulling it upwards. His thumbs wiped away your still-running tears with gentle care.

"Shh. Breathe, just breathe. That's it."

In between sniffles and ragged breaths, you explained why you were in such a state. You were reluctant to tell him - after all, you didn't want him to think ill of you (or worse, to bear yet another burden on his shoulders. He was probably carrying a lot as it was, and you felt like it was unfair that he should carry your problems with him, too).

"I'm- I'm sorry," you said hoarsely. "For this whole thing. I should've just-"

"No. You shouldn't apologize, not for this," he reassured, "but thank you for being honest."

You nodded, blinking away the last of your tears.

"Please tell me if you need anything."

You chuckled, albeit pitifully. "Yeah, if you know how to magically erase all of my problems with a fairy wand or something."

"I'm being serious, y/n," he warned, but his lips betrayed him - their corners quirked up into a small smile.

"I'll be fine," you sniffed one last time, before standing up, at which he stood up with you. "I'll be okay."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I am. I think, at least."

"Alright then."

He walked back to the table on which his book lay, and after retrieving it, he headed towards the door. Before he exited, however, he stole one last glance towards you, and cleared his throat.

"You'll tell me though, right?"

"About what?" you asked as you watered some plants on a windowsill.

"If you need anything."

You turned to face him, and your eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, you really meant that?"

"Of course."

"Well... I am rather short on Mora."

A glare from the man made you freeze, and then you threw up your hands like you were at gunpoint (because you pretty much were at that point).

"Just kidding!" you laughed awkwardly, and in response, his gaze softened. "But no, there's nothing. I think all that crying cleared my head up a little bit, though. Thank you, truly."

He nodded, another smile gracing his elegant features, and walked out into the cold night air.

++++

#genshin imagines #writeblr #genshin x reader #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif x you #genshin dainsleif #i am literally so down bad for him omg #dain <33 #dainsleif x y/n #dainsleif genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #fanfic #dainsleif imagines

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pupphe-additions · 8 months ago

Text

"You Were Suffocating."

Overview: Jamie's first heartbreak. Word Count: 1,646 Tw/cw: Arguing/yelling, hitting, heartbreak/betrayal, and swearing

July, 2021

Jamie hasn’t been able to sleep for a few days, his girlfriend has been acting really weird with him recently, and he can sense something is up. He has asked her on several dates over the past few weeks but she kept making excuses saying that she’s busy doing this or that. It’s currently 3AM and he got a message from his best friend growing up that simply said “I’m sorry.” Jamie was very confused and when he went to press for more answers he realized that his friend had either blocked him or was just ignoring him. He just wanted to know what was going on and he got no replies. Why is he sorry? Last they talked and hung out they were fine, what happened? What did he do?

He could feel his heart sink and he spams Soobin with screenshots and confused emotions. He knew the older boy was likely asleep but he didn’t know who else to go to for something like this. He started to pace his room and went through his contacts to see if anyone was awake but with no success. He scooped up his cat Smores and buried his face in her side as tears fell down. He was so confused as to what was going on anymore. After about an hour he finally fell asleep while Smores sort of purrs against his face and lets him cry.

The next morning while practicing he got a message from his girlfriend saying “Hey, Jammies, we need to talk…” He thought about that message the entire time he was working and when he was able to reply to her “Did you want to meet up? What is going on? Why is everyone acting so fucking weird? I should be done with work at the normal time. Reply whenever you see this PLEASE.” with that he takes back off to finish what he needed to do for his schedule.

When he got to his room he read all the messages from his girlfriend that she had sent.

Her: “Jammies, I’m sorry but you may not like our conversation, you want to meet up? It may be worse that way.” Him: “Yes, I want to meet up, my love, we need to figure this shit out. I can’t keep living like this. I haven’t slept for 3 whole days. The sooner we meet up the better.” Her: “Meet me at our usual spot in 15 minutes?” Him: “Yeah. On my way.”

Jamie rushes out the door with his dog Snickers, their usual spot is a park not far from his dorms. He used to sneak out to meet up with her all the time back when he was a trainee but he’s been way busier since his debut, and he’s felt very guilty because of it. She keeps telling her she understands and that it’s fine but it seems like that’s not true anymore. He feels like he’s neglecting some of her needs, he’s afraid of her breaking up with him.

Jamie paces the length of the park twice before he sees a familiar figure approaching him, he doesn’t feel the usual spark, the usual happy energy that radiates off her, instead it feels cold. He stiffens as he walks toward her slowly, holding Snickers’ leash rather tightly. Soon they are inches apart, he wants to wrap her in his embrace and kiss her but something deep inside him stops him.

The slightly older girl speaks first. “Jamie… I’m sorry…”

Jamie nearly growls, his usual gentle understanding toward his girlfriend is just turning into annoyance and anger. “Can you fuckers quit saying that with no explanation?! What happened? Why are you sorry?!”

The girl gently grabs his hand and leads him to sit at a nearby bench and she sits near him without touching him anymore. She sighs and hands him her phone as she begins to run her hand through her hair. Jamie stares at her in confusion.

“You know I trust you, why are you handing me your phone?” Jamie asks with a bit of a hurt tone.

“You shouldn’t trust me Jamie. I hurt you. Look.” She points to the contact of his childhood best friend. He can see the last message she sent him was:

“Ya, I had a really nice time last night, please let’s do it again. Don’t worry about Jamie, I’ll deal with that. I know you feel just as hurt as I do by it, but it’s done now. We can’t live with that regret forever.”

After he read it he just threw her phone down and stared at her, Snickers is now hiding under the bench. “What the fuck does that mean dude?”

“Exactly what you think, Jamie I’m sorry. It just sort of happened.”

“WITH MY BEST FRIEND?!” The pain in his raised tone is evident.

“Jamie, let me explain more, please.” the girl pleads but Jamie feels disgusted and doesn’t give a fuck what she has to say anymore, but of course he is willing to hear her out, I mean he was going to propose to her after his next in between promotion time, he had the ring already.

“What? What is there to explain?” His tone is harsh and he’s trying not to cry.

“It’s sort of your fault.” she starts before shoving him a bit to create more space between them which causes him to fall to the ground, he just sits where he landed and stares at her in disbelief.

“My fault? You fucking MY BEST FRIEND is MY fault? Fucking HOW? Enlighten me. HOW?!” He’s now standing over, his face inches from hers. She slaps him hard and he takes a staggered step back, this would be the second time she has hit him since they got back together in 2015.

“I stopped loving you a long time ago Jamie. You’re just so fucking clingy and needy I felt like shit leaving you. You were SUFFOCATING. I felt like if I left you you’d hurt yourself.” She hisses at him, spitting at his feet. “You were clearly falling more and more in love with me when I felt like we were just going to be a temporary chapter. I apologize but I just never had the heart to break up with you. Until now. Your best friend was there for me when I dealt with you talking about your stress all the time. I felt like I could never go to you for anything you always made about YOU. So, I’m breaking up with you Jamie.”

“You felt like you could never come to me for anything yet told me about all your issues? Yeah. That makes sense…” He pauses for a moment before speaking again. “Is this the true you? A player who wants to tear people down?” Jamie asks coldly he can feel his soul shattering as she speaks. He was suffocating? Why didn’t she say so?

“Jamie… I’m still the person you love, I just-”

Jamie holds up a hand and cuts her off, “No, the woman I love I wanted to marry, this person before isn’t someone I even know.”

“If you were falling out of love with me you should’ve broken it off then, I spent all this time planning our wedding in my head and planning our future together just for you to not even love me the same way. Do you know how that feels? No, you don’t because to me you were my everything, I even told you I would leave my group if it meant you and I could be together and you told me not to.”

“Jamie…”

“Shut up, please, just, shut up.” Jamie says his voice cracking now as tears threaten to fall. “I treated you like royalty, and you do this to me? You didn’t deserve my time, my energy or my love. You can keep my so-called best friend. I never want to hear from either of you fuckers again. I’d give you the world and you turned around and used me, for what?”

“I didn’t use you Jamie.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow in disbelief and started laughing. “You didn’t? Then what? You just lead me on?”

“I didn’t do that either.”

“You’re an idiot.” Jamie scoffs and grabs ahold of Snickers’ leash again that he just realizes that he had dropped. “I wasn’t kidding about not wanting to hear from you two. You are dead to me.” with that he walked away with Snickers. His now ex-girlfriend is screaming at him to come back and finish the conversation but for him he heard what he needed from her. She hasn’t loved him for a long time and went to someone he thought was his best friend about things that she didn’t even need to do. He doesn’t know who he’s more mad at, her or him. He was supposed to be Jamie’s ride or die but yet he fucks the girl that he knows Jamie wants to be with forever.

When he goes back to his dorm he shoots a message to the group chat of his members and simply says “I’m asking for a hiatus. My anxiety has kept me up for three days. I can't keep doing this right now.” Jamie curled into his bed with all three of his pets and just sobbed for the rest of the night after he put his phone on to DND to ignore all outside voices. He just wants to rot. He was suffocating? How? He just tried to be a good boyfriend, how was that suffocating. He regrets now not asking her to go into more details about that.

“I love you…” He says as he stares at photos of the two of them together that he has in a private folder on his phone. He will eventually need to delete these but not tonight…

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httpwintersoldier · 1 year ago

Text

『 death of peace of mind | ch6 』

masterlist | previous ↢ six ↣ next

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊'𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 - a slow burn between a hate-filled person and a sorrow-filled soldier

The conversations with Bucky at the bar became somewhat odd. You no longer felt the need or the will to insult him. Not because you felt like you owed him something (when maybe you did), but because the rage and annoyance you used to feel in his presence were no longer there. Insetead, you felt comfort more often than not.

When he came in the door you felt safe, relieved even. The bickering continued, obviously, after all that was the only way you two knew how to communicate, however they were just playful remarks, instead of snarky and rude ones.

"Sorry! We're closed!" You said, in the nicest voice possible, afraid you'd piss off whoever was coming through the door at 3am.

"But there's still-"

Before the man could finish the sentece, Bucky turned around to look at the man.

"Does the word closed confuse you?"

The question was met with no reply, simply incentivating the man to leave and close the door as he did so.

"Thanks, Buck."

Bucky smiled at the nickname.

"Buck?" He asked, standing up and handing you his empty cup so you could finish closing up.

"Yeah! You don't like it?" You asked, cocking your head to the side as you passed his cup under water and wiped it clean.

"I do, it was just... Steve used to call me that. Reminded me of him."

"Oh..."

It was all you could say. You felt bad for bringing up memories of his dead friend. Bucky could read you like a book at this point and laughed, clearly being able to tell you felt sorry for mentioning it.

"It's okay, Y/N. I miss him, but I'm happy one of us got their happy ending."

You looked at Bucky as he said that, and you could very well see the sadness, sorrow and longing underneath the sad smile he used to try to mask those emotions.

"You'll get yours too, Bucky."

He just walked towards the door, opened it and kept it open with his body as he shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting for you to turn off the lights and exit the establishment.

"Maybe, who knows."

The walk to your house was silent. You were getting used to Bucky's silence, and you started understanding why he enjoyed it so much. There was something so comfortable, so... intimate, with being able to sit in silence with someone. It was a lot easier to strike up a conversation and keep it going, but you truly had to be at peace with someone to sit with them (or walk with them) in silence.

After that day, the Soldier simply wouldn't let you walk home alone. He told you it was because his house was on the way anyways, but you knew (and he knew you knew) that Bucky just wanted to make sure you were safe. You'd sometimes tease him about it, and he would threaten to leave every time, but he stayed every time.

If the situation in the town got a little tricky, he'd even keep watch outside of your building. Bucky wanted to make sure you never had to feel the fear, the uncertainty, the entrapment... Because he knew what that desperation felt like. He knew it all too well.

"Right so," you said as you came to a stop, at the door of your building "I assume I will see you tomorrow, drinking up all of my stock of scotch?"

"Actually, no," he said, with a serious face, and your smile faded "I might be drinking up your stock of bourbon."

You laughed with him at the shitty joke and punched his arm jokingly. Except it ended up being the wrong arm, and punching vibranium hurt. Like a bitch.

"Ow, motherfucker!" You complained, your eyebrows furrowed in pain as you caressed your knuckles.

Bucky laughed, as hard as you had ever seen him, hand over his heart and all.

"How am I the guilty one? I'm the poor soul who got assaulted!" Bucky retorted.

"Well, it was your arm that caused me harm."

The soldier playfully rolled his eyes at your dramatic antics.

"Fine, I'll take the blame." Bucky said, as he took a hold of your 'injured' hand and kissed your knuckles "Apologies, Miss Y/N."

You could control the smile that desperately wanted to rip across your face, you couldn't, however, help how hot your whole body felt.

"Yes, that will suffice, thank you soldier." You replied, joining in on his joke.

After a shared shy laugh, you bid your goodbyes, not knowing you'd meet a lot sooner than expected.

You stripped down and grabbed an old shirt you'd wear to sleep in warm nights, and as soon as your body hit the mattress your eyes closed and you drifted off to sleep.

You had had nightmares before, but none as vivid as the ones you had that day. It was terrifying. Images of armed men threatening you, their hands all over your body, the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your temple, and Bucky nowhere to be seen. It felt real, you could feel them touch you, you could feel the air running out as one of them choked you, and you could feel the coldness of the concrete floor of the room you were kept in.

Suddenly you woke up screaming. You were on the floor, sweaty and disheveled, and your throat hurting as if you had been screaming incessantly for the past 10 minutes.

Your body was shaking and you were scared. No, you were terrified. The images were so vivid, the experience was so real. You scrambled to your feet and desperately gripped the paper with Bucky's number scribbled on that you had left on your drawer.

Although your hands and fingers were shaking uncontrollably you managed to type his number. You shakily and nervously put the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" His voice was groggy, indicating that you had woken him up. You didn't even know what time it was, you simply didn't think twice before dialing.

"B-Bucky?"

Bucky didn't miss how shaky your voice was, almost as if you were crying, and how breathless you sounded.

"Y/N? Y/N what happened? Are you okay!?"

"Please come over... Please..."

You could hear hurried shuffling from the other side.

"I'm on my way."

It didn't take 10 minutes before you heard a knock on the door. You had remained on the floor, crying and breathing uncontrollably, hoping to calm yourself down, but to no avail.

As soon as the knocks sounded inside of your apartment you got on your feet and wobbled to the door. You immediately fell on his arms, gripping to the familiar leather jacket.

The Soldier held onto you and brought you to the couch right in front you as he closed the door with his foot.

"Y/N! Y/N what happened!? Are you hurt!?" Bucky held your face in his hands and inspected your face and body with a worried look.

"I- I had a nightmare. And it was so real it felt- it felt as if they came back and they were killing me. And I... could feel it. In real life."

Bucky wiped your tears and listened to you carefully. Your words sent a shiver down his spine, he knew all to well what you meant, what you felt. And he was scared that it would became part of your routine, like it was now part of his.

"It's okay. I have them too." Bucky confessed, as he held you close to his chest and brushed your hair with his hand.

Your hands were still desperately clinging to him, as if you believed he'd disappeared if you didn't hold him.

You looked up at Bucky, to find his big, beautiful blue eyes staring right back at you.

"How do you make them go away?"

The question broke Bucky's heart. He didn't have the answer, and that was about the only thing Bucky couldn't protect you against: your own mind. He would know.

"I... I don't know doll."

There was a tense silence, as the words processed in your mind.

"So you just keep having them?"

The sad smile on his lips served as confirmation.

"I'm sorry..."

The soldier caressed your face and smiled, genuinely this time.

"It's okay doll. I'm here for you. Whenever you need, I'll be here to help you, because I know exactly what you're going through, I know what it does to you."

Your faces were close, dangerously close.

"Why?"

Bucky cocked his head ever so slightly, as if asking what you meant by the question.

"Why are you always here for me... We never got along. But you've helped me so much..."

The Soldier caressed your face with his thumb, looking deeply into your eyes.

"It just feels right, I guess."

Your faces got closer and closer, almost as if there was some sort of magnetism between your bodies, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

As soon as your lips connected, it felt like electricity was flowing through your body. Your heart was beating dangerously fast again, but this time, due to ecstasy.

Your bodies moved in sync, almost as if you had prepared this beforehand, as Bucky sat straight and you climbed onto his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck as the soldier's hands travelled up your naked thighs and ass, so they could cheekily rest on the small of your back.

Bucky's tongue entered your mouth, and that was probably the first time you welcomed his dominance so openly, and he didn't miss it, purposefully smiling into the kiss.

When you pulled away, you were both breathless.

"Are you more calm?" Bucky asked, inspecting your face, a little afraid of your reaction (even though you had kissed him back) as he brushed a stray hair away from your face.

"I... am." You confessed, playing with the hairs on his nape.

Bucky kissed your cheek, and then your lips once more.

"Good."

There was silence, and Bucky could tell you wanted to say something, but you were just trying to figure out how, so he gave you time.

"Do you think you could... stay?"

"Yeah, I can. I can stay, I'll stay as long as you want me to."

[TAGS]

@kandis-mom ; @ashovertheriver ; @browneyedgirl22 ; @verygraphicink

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tencrushesperday · 3 days ago

Text

Girls wanna have fun

Maveric Lamoureux x reader, friends… or more…? 2k

this is clearly not finished but it’s been in my drafts for over a month and i can’t seem to finish it so im just gonna post it the way it is

“ Girls just wanna have fun”, you say into his ear.

He is still bent down when you lean away, shrug your shoulders and give him a mischievous smile.

You were set on find a cute guy to flirt with tonight the second Maveric texted you asking if you wanted to go out to the bars with him and some friends. Instantly getting up from you couch, you switched from watching Desperate Housewives to your getting ready, bad bitch playlist.

The low cut tank top you had ordered was beginning to be worn and you had found a new hack to style your hair on tiktok that you wanted to try out for a while so the answer was a no brainer.

By 8:30pm your screen lit up with another text from Maveric telling you to head down as they were already waiting for you in the Uber.

The ride to the bar was a short one, your apartment being located downtown. Which was very convenient on nights like this one when you were hopping to bring home a guy.

You were feeling yourself at the bar. Maveric paid for the first round of drinks, then another one of his friends paid for your next cocktail. Soon after your second drink, you were on the dance floor swaying your hips and whipping your hair.

You danced with a few strangers before a hot guy caught your attention. Your energy matched well and he offered to buy you a drink saying “your hand looked lonely without a drink in it”. Lame line but his arms looked like they would fit great around you so you weren’t about to let such a small detail bother you.

You followed him to the bar where the guy ordered your drink of choice. You chatted some more, casually hitting his bicep or bumping your hip into his. His intense stare was saying what his mouth wasn’t. The conversation was fun with some banter here and there but he was staring at your lips every other word, and at your chest every time you would giggle. You know you had him right where you wanted him.

Once you finished your drink, you offered to go back to the dance floor and he led the way. But before you could go too far you felt someone grabbing your wrist.

Your eyes meg a chest and you had to crane your head backwards to meet Maveric’s eyes. He looked.. concerned? annoyed maybe? You couldn’t place the emotions running through his face when he bowed down to reach your ear.

“You sure about that guy?” he spoke loudly over the music.

He is concerned for your safety. Like a good friend should. He is a good friend.

It was a mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself for months now. Since the second his hand on your waist had felt different. You have been friends with Maveric for some time now. And one day, the air shifted. He was no longer cute little Maveric who you would wingwoman for if ever needed or who you’d play Mario Kart with until 3am and sleep in the same bed without a thought.

Suddenly Maveric had become the guy whose touch felt electric and whose face would pop up in your mind whenever you’d pass a wedding shop or a family that made you dream of your own.

It was weird to be silently in love with a friend, someone so close that felt so off limits at the same time. Yet, it felt so natural when he was such nice, funny and kind hearted person. Maveric always seemed like a ray of sunshine that would always improve everyone’s mood around him. His presence was addictive and his joy contagious so you would enjoy it for as long as you could. (And frankly the man is hot.)

He had never done anything that would have led you to believe the feelings were reciprocated so you have been waiting for them to die down, filling up your time and empty bed however you could. Not wanting to spoil the friendship that meant so much to you, you kept your feelings for yourself.

So this time again you repeated your mantra to yourself before answering him.

« Girls just wanna have fun », you say into his ear.

He was still bent down when you leaned away, shrugged your shoulders and gave him a mischievous smile.

Leaving him there, you turned around and head back to the dance floor. His eyes were heavy on your back all the way and once you reached the guy from earlier you did your best to block any thought of him.

It turned out to be a tough feat as he was constantly in your peripheral vision, his tall body towering over the whole bar. He hadn’t talked to a single girl the whole night and you knew he was still keeping an eye on you. It sent shivers down your skin much more than the touch of the guy you were currently grinding against.

The image of Maveric being behind you snuck its way into your mind and that was when you decided you needed another drink. You turned around to tell the guy that you were going to get another drink but he offered to go get it for you so you went to the bathroom to get your head straight again.

You were pushing and dodging people left and right making your path through the bar to find the guy with your drink when a large hand set on your hip and turned you around.

“I should walk you back to your apartment it’s getting late.” Maveric was again bending down so you could hear what he was saying.

Suddenly his familiar sent hit you and you forgot to listen to the words coming out of his mouth. The hairs on the nape of your neck stood up and your breath caught at his closeness.

He said your name again getting you out of your head. Your gazes locked and the song in the background faded away.

“You’re already too drunk let’s get you to bed.”, his toned was filled with a giggle as he threw his arm around your shoulder.

The contact was like a jolt of electricity, waking you up.

“What no I have a drink waiting for me i’m not even that drunk.” which was true. You were tipsy, ears red and a pleasant fog was clouding your usual anxiety but you were far from being drunk.

“I also have someone waiting for me so if you’ll excuse me”, you were ready to turn around and go back to finding the guy from earlier.

But Maveric wasn’t having it.

He had seen you flirt with that excuse of a guy the whole. He’d seen how that guy looked at your chest, how he had laid his hands on you le waist and hips when you danced together and decided that guy was a pervert and not worthy of your attention.

He simply had to intervene for your own good. You would probably regret bringing a guy home that didn’t even look like he would be a good fuck.

Maveric was doing you a favour. That was what he convinced himself he was doing. Even when a cute 5’9 blonde approached him and he quickly turned her down, he told himself that he had to be a good friend and look after you.

He grabbed your elbow lightly and stopped you in your tracks again. “Please let’s go home i’ve seen that guy flirt with another girl at the bar the second you were out of sight he’s not worth your time.”

He was beginning to sound patronising and you didn’t like it one bit. You were ready to retort something back when he spoke again, much softer this time. “Let’s go watch your favourite disney movie and get delivery I really don’t like this bar.” he was looking at you expectantly then added “please..?”

And how could you say no to him? You would choose spending time with him over any other guy every single time. The battle was lost the moment his hand touched your waist.

You nodded and slipped your hand into his before heading for the booth where some of his friends were still sitting. Maveric grabbed both his and your coat telling them you were leaving and you bid everyone who was there goodbye.

When you got outside, the air was fresh, helping you sober up a little. Maveric still had your hand in his, he didn’t want to lose you in the bar at first, and now he just didn’t want to let go.

You argued over ordering chinese or burgers and settled on sushi. Then you argued over the music choices in the bar and how rap would the end of dancing music.

He laughed at you as you went on and on about how putting in Pitbull and Timbaland would change the game and make any night so much more fun. Being so engrossed in your arguments and explanations you didn’t catch the adoration lining Maveric’a eyes and he let himself bask in all your passion even about such a random subject.

When you reached your apartment, Maveric leaned on the wall while you looked for your keys in your purse and opened the door. He studied your every move and finally thought that maybe it was him who had gotten one drink too much because suddenly each one of your moves was worth of a meticulously dissection frame by frame. He was entranced by you following you into your apartment and only got out of his trance when you got into your kitchen and disappeared from sight.

He shook his head, taking off his shoes and jacket, wondering what had gotten into him.

When he walked into the kitchen you were preparing tea for the both you. You didn’t look drunk, just tired, even though he convinced himself otherwise when you were at the bar. His mind didn’t want to accept that you found that guy you flirted with attractive so it blamed it on you being drunk.

But maybe you had really found that guy attractive and he just spoiled your night for you. Did he?

His internal turmoil was cut short by the doorbell. Your food was here and he went to open the door and pay the delivery guy.

He ushered you to go get ready for bed, assuring you that he would get it all ready for the both of you.

“I should have one of your shirts look in the closet on the left side.” you shot at him on your way to your room.

After a quick shower, you slipped into your comfortable pyjamas that consisted of a large t-shirt and plaid pants and started taking off your makeup.

You didn’t want to overthink Maveric staying over again, or him holding your hand half of the way to your apartment. But mostly you didn’t want to overthink the something new and unfamiliar that had coated his voice when he spoke about the guy you were flirting with.

Reading into each one of his moves would be fruitless. He was your friend. He was being a protective friend. Period.

You repeated that to your reflection in the mirror trying to convince her. You were too tired for this tonight.

When you walked out of the bathroom, you were resolute to switch off your brain and do your best to convince Maveric to cuddle. With the weather cooling down being single was more and more difficult. You were a victim of the weather that’s all. Needing some body-warmth.

The trays Maveric had set up with your food were on your nightstand and he was going through your closet for a t-shirt as you had instructed him. His own flannel was thrown over your bed, leaving him topless.

You did indeed switch your brain off earlier so staring at his back inspired you no ounce of shame, just the need to trace your fingertips over it and feel every moving muscle.

You’ll book an appointment with a therapist for this.

“You’re getting dangerously close to my underwear drawer there buddy. I might think it’s intentional if I didn’t know you.” you joked, finally making your presence known. “I said left side. In the t-shirt pile. Right in front of you.” You added getting closer and reaching for it yourself.

The shameless thoughts his shirtless figure planted in your mind forced you put some distance between your two bodies. You quickly shoved it against his chest and moved to get your laptop.

Luckily, Maveric walked into your bathroom to change himself so you were left with yourself, finally able to let out a sigh.

The reprieve you expected to wash over you didn’t come when you closed your eyes. Only the ghost of his fingers made your skin tingle and the memory of his body played behind your closed eyelids.

You physically shook the thoughts out of your head and pull up the first comedy movie you came upon on Netflix.

When Maveric came out you were tucked into bed on your side, laptop next you in the middle.

#maveric lamoureux #maveric lamoureux x reader

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gnabnahc317cb97 · 16 days ago

Text

Drunk Confessions Part 2

Minho x Female reader

Word count: 1.9K

Synopsis: What happens when you drunk dial the wrong person and confess your love for Minho

Warnings 18+ ONLY MDNI! Cursing/strong language, unprotected piv sex, cream pie. That's it this one is kind of soft. If by chance I did miss something that should be added please let me know and I will add it asap!

You were lying in bed after a night out drinking with girlfriends. Your mind was a swirl of emotions and alcohol after thinking about your crush Minho and having way too many apple pie shots.

The shots were so good though and went down so easily and apparently you did too after about eight of them. Your friends had to drag you up to your apartment, one of them just crashing on your couch. You needed to talk, to vent, but you didn’t want to wake her. You’d been enough trouble for her for one night.

You decided to call Jisung and get some of this out of you, he would listen to you vent about your stupid crush as long as you needed him to. You needed a Jisung vent session asap. You grabbed your phone, not paying attention to what time it was, and squinted at it, tapping at the screen until you heard ringing.

It was 3am when Minho’s phone rang. He squinted and saw your contact photo on his screen and answered immediately worried there might be an emergency. It wasn’t like you to call him so late.

“Y/n? Hello?” You snickered and let out a sigh.

“Youuu sounded like Minho jus now Sungie.” Oh you were way drunk.

“Y/n it is-” You cut him off.

“Jisung I love ‘im somuch I’m you sound like him. You know only you can know though so shhhh don’t tell Minho.” He couldn’t help but laugh, endeared by your drunken state.

“I won’t tell him. Don’t worry.” You giggled again.

“I know Sungie. Do you think he has any idea?” Minho hummed.

“I think he might have a clue.” You sighed heavily.

“Then why’s he so unavailable? He doesn’t like me back?” He disagreed.

“Hmm no I think he does, I think he only realized recently that you feel the same way he does.” You let out a dreamy sigh.

“You really think that Sungie? You think he loves me too?”

“Yes I do.” Minho confessed.

“Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll talk tomorrow.” You hummed already half asleep on the phone with him.

“Kay Sungs. Loooove you!” Minho laughed.

“I love you too.” The next morning your friend that crashed over woke you to let you know she was leaving and you decided to get up and make some coffee to try and combat the hangover that was setting in. As soon as you took that first soul wakening sip of that black gold you heard a knock on your door. Assuming it was your friend who left something you shouted to come in and low and behold Minho came walking into the kitchen.

“OH! Min, I thought it was Addy coming back. What are you doing here?” He smirked at you.

“I thought you might want to discuss our conversation from last night a bit more thoroughly.” You were confused.

“Have you officially lost it Min, we didn’t talk last night. I drunk dialed Jisung and then crashed hard.” He was chuckling very amused.

“No you drunk dialed me thinking it was Jisung. Go on look at your call log.” You grabbed your phone and opened it and sure enough the last phone call out was not Jisung but Minho.

“Oh.” You were leaning against your counter and Minho walked towards you, placing a hand on the counter on each side of you effectively trapping you.

“Yes oh indeed. You said some things last night that I feel like you should have been sharing with me instead of Jisung.” You tried to play stupid, like you didn’t remember anything, even though you knew it was pointless.

“Did I? Funny, what did I say.” He raised one of his sharp eyebrows at you.

“You know.” You shook your head no.

“You knooow...” He repeated, you stood there silent refusing to admit it out loud.

“You like me no no you looooooove me.” He poked your nose and continued in a sing song voice.

“You loooove me, you L.O.V.E. meee-” You got upset.

“Don’t tease me! It’s not nice to tease someone because they have a crush.” You pushed him away and stormed off. Minho followed and gently grabbed you by the hand stopping you. You pulled your hand away mad.

“You let a person down gently when you don’t like them back Min you don’t boop their nose and tease them.” Minho shook his head.

“Don’t like you ba- did you listen to anything Jisung, well I, said last night?” You stopped and thought. You really didn’t remember everything. You had been tired.

“I told you that I liked you too y/n. That I love you too.” Your heart skipped a beat hearing those words come from those beautiful lips. Minho stepped closer, leaned in and kissed you. His pouty lips softly pressing against yours. He pulled a breath away.

“I love you y/n.” Your eyes got big and teary.

“I love you too Min.” He kissed you again and you both broke the kiss laughing.

“Sooo does this make you my girlfriend now?” You smiled ear to ear hearing him call you that and nodded.

“I think so...” He smiled too.

“Good can I take my girlfriend on a date tonight?”

“Of course, I’d love to go out with you tonight Min.” He raised that eyebrow again.

“Not too hung over.” You shook your head.

“Never.”

“Then be ready at 7 beautiful I’ll be here to pick you up for dinner and we’ll skip drinks.” You laughed agreeing. He kissed you one more time and left you to go about your day and get ready.

At 7 Minho picked you up and took you out for burgers and fries at your favorite diner. You went for a walk by the river and then he drove you home. He’d been a perfect gentleman the entire night but still his regular Minho self.

You stood at your open door and just as Minho was about to say something you kissed him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and your lips parted, your tongue invading his mouth. Minho gripped your hips and kissed you back. It was so intense, hearts racing, blood boiling.

Minho unapologetically lit your whole body on fire when he touched you, kissed you. When you both broke the kiss to breathe you laughed, your foreheads pressed together.

“You know what’s the great thing about the first date with someone you’ve known a long time?” You asked and he shook his head. You leaned in to Minho’s ear.

“If you want, you can fuck guilt free.” He looked at you, his eyebrows raised and a smirk plastered on his face.

“Is that so.” You nodded.

“Mhmm.” Minho was just about to say something else but you pulled the lapels of his jacket kissing him, backing into your apartment, pulling him with you.

“I like a girl who’s not afraid to take control...” Minho suddenly kicked the door closed and pushed you against the wall.

“But don’t be fooled into thinking I’ll just let you.” He kissed you hard and bit your lip teasing you. His lips and teeth trailed down your neck.

“Fuck, Min, please don’t tease me.” He groaned.

“Ughh, teasing is the best part.” His lips ghosted across your skin and you got goosebumps.

“Not tonight please, just need you.” You grabbed his face and kissed him.

“Take me to bed.” You jumped wrapping your legs around Minho’s body. He caught you his hands firmly holding you up by your ass.

“Make me yours Min.” You kissed him again. Minho carried you to your room, set you down on your feet and spun you so your back was facing him. He slapped your ass.

“Go on then, get those clothes off beautiful.” You rubbed the spot on your ass and smirked at him before stripping your clothes while he removed his own. Minho climbed on your bed, sat against your head board and patted his lap.

“Come on then, here’s your seat.” You giggled and climbed over crawling up his legs and sitting on his lap. His hand trailed down your cheek.

“Hey beautiful.” You got a little shy suddenly, sitting there naked on Minho’s lap him looking at you like that, like the only thing in the room, the only thing in the world.

“Hey.” He held your face and kissed you.

“You good?” You nodded biting your lips and Minho smiled.

“Good.” You kissed him again, deeper. You made out on his lap for a little while and once you couldn’t take having only his lips you positioned yourself over his cock and sank down on him.

“FUCK!” Minho gripped your hips once he was fully inside you.

“Give me just a second there beautiful, fuck!” Minho didn’t realize how good it would feel inside you and he needed just a minute or he might blow way too soon leaving you very not satisfied and he couldn’t do that.

You did as Minho asked and gave him a moment. You were in no hurry. Finally, after a minute of willing his balls to calm the fuck down, Minho gave you the signal that you could start moving. When you did he felt amazing inside you.

“God Min, you feel so good.” You started a rhythm riding him, gripping his shoulders for support. Minho just held your hips and let you go, watching you take what you wanted was such a turn on for him.

“Such a good girl, ride me so well, feels unreal.” You smiled and leaned in to kiss him more while you continued to chase your orgasm that was approaching quickly.

“I’m... god I’m gonna cum!” Minho just held you not wanting to mess up the rhythm you had.

“Take it jagi yea? Cum for me.” You wrapped your arms around him tightly and held on as waves of ecstasy washed over your whole body.

“Yesyesyesyes! God fuck yes Minho!” You finally sat still in his lap shaking from your orgasm and kissed slowly, passionately. Minho moved putting you on your back taking his place between your legs.

“You really are so beautiful.” You started blushing.

“I love you Minho.” He leaned down and kissed you.

“I love you too.” He kissed you again and this time he sank into you. He wrapped one of your legs around his waist and pushed in deeper.

“FUCK! YES!” Hearing you lit Minho’s fire and he started to fuck you harder.

“So good god yes! So beautiful, my gorgeous jagiya!” You held on for dear life as Minho fucked you.

“Min please, cum for me please.” He groaned and rested his forehead in the crook of your neck. You thread your fingers through the hair at his nape and whispered in his ear.

“Cum. For me. Cum for me Minho. I’m yours.” He moaned and pushed deep inside you as he came.

“Yes, fuck, so soft, so warm.” He laid down on top of you and you traced your fingers up and down his back as you both came down. After a moment he took a deep breath and rolled off of you and pulling you over onto him. You rested your head against his chest and listened to his steady heart beat as it lulled you to sleep.

“I’m glad I drunk dialed you last night instead of Jisung.” You said half asleep out of nowhere. You nuzzled in on the edge of passing out entirely.

“Me too beautiful,” Minho chuckled.

“Me too.”

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

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