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#and then I realized that maybe it was I who needed to draw the picture so I could see it
batsythoughts · 1 day
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Alright, but Bruce Wayne with 'Meet Cute' and 'Tragic Love Story' combined? I personally need to get this idea off my chest, so enjoy.
Due to his strained sleep schedule and social life, Bruce would occasionally need a pick-me-up
There was this one Cafe that he enjoyed due to how strong they were able to make the coffee compared to other shops in the city
Normally he would walk in and the employees would start working on his order before he even got to the counter
One day, he was grabbing his cup from the counter when he noticed something unusual on the sleeve of the cup
Holding the cup closer to his face, he takes in the sight of a multicolor butterfly that was 'flying' across the cup sleeve
He turned to the manager with a raised brow, to which the manager looks over at one of the employees at the other end of the counter with an annoyed gaze
Bruce turns his gaze to see you standing there with a handful of sharpies in your apron pocket as you look at both men with a shrug
"I got bored."
Your manager began to give a small lecture on the fact you were getting paid to do a job and doodling wasn't apart of that job
You made a face, which Bruce found slightly amusing, to your manager with crossed arms
"I come in to prep at 3 a.m. for 6 days every week, by myself might I add. I do the work that is supposed to be divided to be done by 3 people. I have to fight you to get 15 minutes out of my hour long lunch. I'm sorry you don't like that I don't actively search for more work to do when I'm already doing more than my 10 dollar an hour pay grade. If you don't like it, fire me. But don't forget that I can sue you for sexual harassment because I'm certain you forgot that the owner put had cameras installed in the freezer to safe guard the minors who work here."
Bruce felt shocked as he glared over at the manager, who was suddenly very quiet and very flustered at your words
Before Bruce was able to tear into this poor excuse of a man, a woman in a formal suit came out of the backroom with fire in her eyes
You smiled as you look from your manager to this woman, who Bruce was assuming to be the previously mentioned owner, asking oh so sweetly if you could go to your break
Bruce watched you walk out the door with a strange curiosity blooming in his mind. Despite having never paid much attention to you beforehand, but now he was wondering what more there was to you
The next couple of weeks, Bruce found himself coming to the Cafe more often in the mornings to interact with you more and to see more of your doodles on his morning coffee cup
He was even subconsciously going to the block on his patrols to make sure you were getting into the shop alright on the days when you opened alone
Eventually, the habits were beginning to get noticed by everyone around him. Tim and Damian noticed he was a bit more cheerful in the mornings when they were taken to school. Jason realized the determination that Bruce put in at 2:57 every night on one block specifically. They were all clueless until Dick, Cass, and Stephanie started rummaging through his office and found the original cup sleeve placed in the back of one of his desk drawers
The next day when Bruce was going to be busy with a meeting with a few shareholders, Dick and Barbara came walking into the Cafe with huge grins on their faces
When they made their way to the front of the line and ordered, they excitedly asked for the barista that was drawing the cup sleeves
When they were pointed to your direction, they went over and started to explain that Bruce had found you interesting and they thought he would want to get to know you better if he could
Barbara pulled up a picture of Bruce in case you didn't quiet remember him. But you smile with a small nod saying the you remembered him from the incident with the old manager
Dick got even more excited as he asked if you would be willing to maybe, potentially, want to go out with Bruce for a date because they bet that he found you cute and was scared to get rejected
Later that day when Bruce had finally gotten home, Dick and Barbara were waiting by the door as they practically were jumping in their spots
They held out a coffee cup to Bruce, which made him feel anxious that they had found out about his small infatuation
He took the cup to see a small drawing of a ticket with a box of popcorn. He saw your name with a phone number with a a simple question. 'Movie on Tuesday?'
Bruce doesn't have time to scold or thank them before they ran off in the manor
He went to his office, closing and locking the door before taking out his phone to send you a quick message about what you might want to watch
He began to think it might have been a bad idea as he started to type that he had the wrong number when he saw a response suddenly pop up
You had confirmed the movie and time that might work with both of your schedules to go watch it
Bruce quickly double checked his schedule before confirming that it worked out for him and suggested to meet up there, he wanted you to feel like you could leave if you ever wanted to during the whole thing
As the day came closer, Bruce felt concerned for the date and if it would be best to back out and spare potential heart ache down the road
But he fought down his worries as he dressed down in casual clothing so he wouldn't be noticed
After getting a pep talk from almost every one of the Bat children, Bruce finally drove to the theater with a few minutes before the meet up time
He was slightly shocked to see you actually standing in front and waiting for him out front in your own style of formally casual clothes
He got out of the car and walked up to you with a slightly awkward confidence with his greeting. The man may have the ability to charm almost any person on a whim, but it was different this time. This time, he was genuinely interested in the person in front of him
The smile you gave Bruce when he walks up warms his heart in a way he hadn't felt in some time
He paid for the tickets and tried to pay for the snacks, but you insisted that you didn't want him to pay for the whole thing
"It's just popcorn and drinks. I've got it this time."
This time. The words had Bruce feeling hopeful for the next date even though this one wasn't even over
Getting settled into the seats, you two delve into light conversation, the occasional laugh slipping in
By the time the lights went down for the movie to start, Bruce had already considered this to be a successful date with how much he felt you two had bonded
The theater was quiet as the movie played, the screen casting a soft glow over all the faces there
Bruce had felt himself truly relaxing for the first time in so long as he sat next to you in the partially full theater
He almost jumped when he felt you suddenly lean into his side halfway through the movie
But he relax before moving his arm around your shoulders as he glanced over to see if it was alright
The small smile on your face as you leaned closer to Bruce made a small flutter to form in his stomach
When the movie came to an end, Bruce kept his arm around your shoulders as everyone walked out into the parking lot
There was small talk about thoughts on the movie before the goodbyes had to be said for the night
He was questioning himself on if a hug would be the best to do or if that would be too forward
You beat him to it as you gave him a small peck to him cheek before saying you would text him to let him know you got home safe
Bruce couldn't help but smile as he drove back to the manor. Completely forgetting about the small army of children that would interrogate him the moment the door opened
He got bombarded with different types of questions from 'did you have a good time', 'what are they like', 'are you going out again soon'
Damian mostly just listened while standing there before he asked if there was a photo of his father's potential consort. Dick says he's got one to show him later
(Bruce makes a mental note to talk to the Damian about appropriate terms to use in relationships and to get the photo Dick has)
Bruce quickly told all of them to go and get ready for patrol as he pushed his way past the entryway
All the children smiled to themselves as the began to go to the Batcave to get their gear together with the intention of getting more information later
Bruce took a moment to breath before feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. Checking it to see that you had messaged him when you got home and couldn't wait until next time
"This one must be special if you smile at a message."
Bruce looked up at Alfred when he heard that comment, not even realizing he was smiling
Alfred had a soft look in his eyes as he gave a simple nod before walking away for Brice to be alone
Bruce typed a quick message in agreement of meeting up again sometime soon before putting his phone away to get ready for the night ahead
The next few months (yes, months because he wants to be cautious with this relationship), Bruce had tried to make plans at least once every week for dates
Each time the two of you spent time together, he couldn't deny the feeling that he got when being around you. You never tired to bring his money into it and never pushed for the pace to go faster over the course of the whole thing
He even asked if you could be official with each other relationship wise, though not entirely out on the public eye if you didn't feel comfortable with all the sudden attention, which you happily agreed to
He had finally asked if you would want to come to the manor one day to properly meet all the kids, who were all eager to get to meet you
You both agreed on a day and time to have dinner later that same week he suggested it
The night of the whole dinner, Bruce and the kids helped Alfred get the manor cleaned and even assisted in the cooking
They were all excitedly waiting in the living room dressed in their best clothes for the occasion as the time for you to get there getting closer
The moment the hour struck, everyone was on edge for the knock on the front door to come at any moment
As the minutes went by, everyone starts to get anxious as there wasn't anoise coming from outside the door
Stephanie and Barbara were trying to be hopeful by saying maybe you just had to change outfits from a last minute stain accident
Tim and Dick were saying that a family thing could have come up and maybe you were trying to get it handled before coming over
Damian had a hopeful tone as he stated that there was most likely traffic and you were just caught in the middle of it (he was really hopeful about his father finding a good partner)
Bruce gave a small smile to all of them before he decided to send you a quick text to ask if everything was alright and if you needed to reschedule for another day
Jason gave a small grunt before grabbing the remote. Turning on the TV as he said that Damian was right and the traffic news would prove it
Flipping through the channels, he finally got to the news channel. And dear God, did Jason wish he could take that decision back
Every one stared in silence as the lights flashed on the screen as they took in the sight of a terrible car crash
A reporter talked about the fact a drunk driver had blown through a 4 way stop and had hit the victim's car that was sadly just at the wrong place
The reporter had said that no name was being given about the victim so family could be informed first and make the proper medical decisions
No name had to be given though as the kid's saw the look on Bruce's face
He didn't need to be there to see that it was your car. He didn't need to get a look at the license plate to tell. He could tell just by the small little decal you had on the back window
Jason quickly turned the TV back off as they all nervously look over at Bruce as he continued to stare at the black screen
No words were said as they each moved closer to, but not touching, Bruce to show their support to him as he slowly processed the whole thing
The sound of his phone going off finally broke the fragile silence of the room. Bruce cleared his throat as he quickly picked up the phone, his hand shaking when he saw your name appear on the screen
He answered with a weak voice before he heard the woman's voice on the other line
The woman said she was your mother and slowly asked if Bruce had seen the news report. He could tell she had been crying even through the phone
She hesitated before explaining that it wasn't good and that the doctors said that after a few tests, it was declared that you were legally brain dead
Your mother chocked for a second before saying that she wanted to give Bruce a chance to say goodbye before the next steps were being taken
Bruce took a moment before saying that he would be there within the hour before hanging up the phone
He just sat there for a second as the silence blanketed the room once again
Alfred placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder before saying that he would drive to the hospital for Bruce
All the kids shared glances before getting up and going to pack away the dinner to give Bruce a minute
Bruce stood up before going to the door as Alfred followed close behind. The ride was silent as Alfred guided through the streets, intently going the long way to avoid the crash site
Bruce walked through the door before going to the reception desk to ask what room you were placed in
After getting directed to what room you were in, he saw a woman standing outside as she talked to a doctor. The woman turned her head and stopped the doctor before ushering him over
The doctor hesitantly walked away as your mother politely introduced herself before explaining the severity of the situation. That even with life support, you would probably not even survive one week with how you got hit
She said that you had talked so happily about the relationship the two of you had and believed that Bruce deserved to have his own goodbye
Bruce felt the words catch in his throat as he hesitants to ask if you would be left on life support or not
Your mom quickly explains the plan you had made for a situation like this before she glances at the room you were in. She offered to let him have the final goodbye in peace
Bruce gives a small nod as he gave her a small hug as he expressed how sorry that this had to be how they had met one another
The moment Bruce steps through the door, he feels the tears form in his eyes as he takes the sight of you laying there, basically lifeless on the bed
He walks over to the bed as his hand reaches out to touch yours
He just stands there for a minute as he stares at your face. His other hand coming up to gently brush his fingers over your cheek
He knows that there nothing he could do to potentially help make you recover. He understood this was going to be the last time that he was every going to get to lay his eyes on you
Bruce leaned down to rest his head on yours as he took a deep breath. Closing his eyes as the words finally seemed to come to him:
"I am so glad that I got to know you for the time that I did. Best thing you ever did for me was drawing on the first coffee sleeve. I'm gonna miss you and I... I love you."
He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before he pulled away. A sad smile gracing his face before walking back out of the room
He wrote his number and address on a small card before telling her that she could come to him if she needed any help
She had a weak smiled as she thanked him before giving him another small hug as she says to make him aware of all the things regarding the funeral and the burial spot
The ride back is just as quiet as the drive to the hospital. Alfred only giving a small glance towards Bruce as they drove up the driveway
Bruce walked through the door to find Dick standing there with a solemn look in his eyes. He tells Bruce that he can take the night to process everything and that he will handle the patrol
Bruce gives a weak nod as he walks through the manor and to his room so he could hopefully get some form of rest
No one had went to check on him to give him a chance to be alone with his thoughts for the night
Bruce just laid on the bed as he replayed all the moments that he had with you. A sad chuckle passing his lip before he decided to get some sleep
The next couple of weeks involved Bruce going to the funeral and going to the cemetery to put a small keepsake there to leave a part of himself there at all times with you
One day when he got back from work, Bruce was about to go to his office to sort out a few case files that he would be needing
There was a package on the desk the moment that he had walked in. He was concerned about what might potentially be in it before he saw your mother's name as the return address
Bruce carefully opened the package to see a picture frame that was carefully wrapped in some bubble wrap
He took out the frame and removed the bubble wrap to find a picture of you smiling at the camera as you jokingly point to Bruce who was behind you in the photo talking to someone off camera
Bruce remembered the day that photo was taken. It was your fourth date at the park and he was buying a snack from one of the vendors
He didn't know you had even taken any pictures that day. He stared at it for a moment before noticing a small note in the box the photo came in
He picked it up to see a small note from your mom
'I asked for a picture of the man that was making my child so happy. This was the one I was sent as I was told that he could be the one. I thought you would want it.'
Bruce stared at card for a second before a grin ghosted his lips. Setting the photo on the corner of the desk, he tucked the card in the corner
Sitting down in his chair, Bruce just admire it for a moment as he took a deep breath. Staring for a moment before getting the files that he needed together
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andthebeanstalk · 1 year
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Pretty confident that I just drew the most horrifying picture of someone eating cake that's ever been drawn.
I'm very proud of myself.
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fanfic-obsessed · 7 months
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Knowing
I have just had the worst, or best, brainwave and I need to share it. 
Here is an AU for you.
Vader thinks that he killed his wife and child, right?
Right up until he meets little Leia Organa when she is 10 years old. Like his one brain cell woke the fuck up when he was confronted with a passionate, angry little girl with Padme’s eyes and his chin. This is maybe a month after she was kidnapped and returned to Alderaan. Leia decides that she would need to learn how to be a senator and insists that Bail takes her with him to the next session of the imperial senate.  
Bail does not want to bring her to the imperial senate. However he knows very well who her birth parents were, it is either Bail brings Leia to the Imperial Senate or Leia brings Leia to the Imperial Senate, probably bringing with her someone she really shouldn’t (Like actual Obi Wan Kenobi-I just want you to picture for a moment, because Bail certainly did, looking up and realizing that Leia is charging down the halls outside his office, dragging with her a bemused and sandy Obi Wan, both in badly conceived disguises).
Bail is super stressed as he tries to run a rebellion while riding herd on his well meaning but very direct 10 year old daughter on top of his normal duties as an imperial senator. Bail is also very afraid that the moment the Emperor sees Leia, he will make the connection between Leia and Padme Amidala (The emperor does not socialize with the senate any longer, thank the stars). He has no idea that Vader was once Anakin Skywalker, so has no cause to be more careful than normal (because Vader) about Vader seeing Leia. As such Bail does not even notice when Vader stops to consider them from the shadows. Leia is haranguing another planet’s senatorial aide who had chosen the wrong moment to make a bigoted joke. 
Vader is very abruptly, though mentally, thrown back to this very hallway 12 years earlier where he watched his wife do the same thing, for the same reason, possibly to this same aide. Though Leia is still a child and Padme was an adult, he can still see his wife in this little girl.
The realization that this is Padme’s child hits him with the force of a Ventanor. Followed immediately, before he even realized that this meant that his child was standing in front of him, by the soul deep knowledge that she must be protected from the Emperor at all costs. 
Vader had known for years that his suit had been designed to cause him more pain, he just thought he deserved it. The thought of Palpatine getting ahold of Padme’s daughter was abhorrent. Vader sticks to the shadows and watches, seeing how well Bail loved and protected Leia. 
While he is thinking(read Obsessing) about his daughter, the part of him that is always centered on Obi Wan points out that his old master had been one of the last people to see Padme after Vader choked her. But the little voice that spoke in Padme’s tones piped up, the shock of Leia living being enough to finally make this little voice loud enough to be heard, saying that until recently Obi Wan believed that Anakin Skywalker was all the way dead, he was protecting their child as best as he knew how. 
And Vader has issues with just about every choice Obi Wan Kenobi ever made. But he will admit that hiding Padme’s daughter was the best option. 
As Vader knows that paying too much attention to Leia would draw the Emperor’s attention, he would be willing to wait until the right moment to get his daughter back. His one concession to his need to protect her was taking one of his personal guard, one of the few units still made up almost entirely of clones, and assigning them to be Leia Organa’s bodyguard, her shadow (I also want you to take a moment to consider what that did for Bail’s stress level).  And then Vader gets to planning. 
With his one brain cell awake and focused on the Organa’s it takes Vader all of 15 minutes to realize that Bail Organa is running the Rebellion (I want it to be clear, this is not a slight on Bail at all, Anakin Skywalker was a war general, well educated through the Jedi on a number of subjects, and does have a fair measure of politics learning from both his former master and his dead wife).  However Vader is no more loyal to the Empire than Anakin was to the Republic.  In fact, upon realizing that Padme’s daughter had lived Vader firmly decided that he needed to find a way to kill Palpatine to crown Leia.  With the realization that Bail, and likely Leia (neither Vader nor Anakin have any idea what activities are appropriate for a 10 year old), are part of the Rebellion, Vader decides that The Rebellion would succeed (or everyone would die trying). 
Note: Vader only really gets away with no one realizing that he now supported the Rebellion because, well, no one can quite believe that Darth Vader supports the Rebellion. Most people think there is a new type of Space Madness, and that one of the symptoms is hallucinating Darth Vader giving you intel for the Rebellion.
By the time Leia was a teenager, rumors abound about the odd way that Vader acted around her. By sheer happenstance (and some judicial violence on Vader’s part) these rumors had never reached the Emperor. A good deal of these rumors implied that Vader was looking to the Princess of Alderaan as a wife.  The reaction Vader had, the only time it was brought up in front of him, was…impressive, even for the amount of violence he normally dealt out. Still there are members of Vader’s personal guard who watch over Leia whenever she is on Imperial Center, and no one wants to repeat the time when she was 12 when one of Bail enemies tried to kidnap her for ransom.  It took an entire corps of engineers to put those levels back to rights (after they scrubbed the blood off).  
So we get all the way up to the timeframe of ANH. The Death Star in this does not start out under the control of Darth Vader. It starts out under the control of Tarkin, it is important to note this. Leia still sends out R2D2 and C3P0 to find Obi Wan Kenobi, none of that part changes. 
It is after Leia is captured that Darth Vader shows up (does he lurk silently in any system that Leia is due to be in as often as he can get away with…why yes, yes he does). Tarkin had wanted Leia tortured, however no one wanted to find out how many decks Vader would spread their entrails across for touching her.  Vader arrives on the bridge just as Tarkin is threatening to blow up Alderaan. Tarkin orders the weapon to begin its charge. 
Leia, Leia who is so like her mother in that she will use every weapon in her arsenal, turns to Darth Vader and speaks to him for the first time. ‘Please’ she said, no effort to hide her distress, ‘please save my planet’
Something Leia had no cause to know-An angel who she resembled once thanked Anakin Skywalker for saving her planet. 
Tarkin is dead almost before she finishes speaking. Vader orders the DS weapons to power down and disengage, which is done post haste. Then announces that Leia Organa was now in control. 
So Leia now owns a Death Star (genuine article-never used). Leia is not sure if that is how this works, but no one is arguing with the tall man in black who has OPINIONS and will enforce them.  Leia manages to communicate this to her parents, who take a shuttle up to the space station to figure out what the fuck is going on, and what, if anything, they need to do next.
Two hours later: Obi Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, R2D2, C3P0, and Chewbacca have just been caught trying to sneak onto the Death Star. The Organas are still on board, trying to get answers (In that time Vader has said precisely five words to them ‘You have raised her well’).  It is to this room that the troopers manning the station (who are deeply confused and a bit conflicted because it seems like they may have all been forcibly defected from the Empire, but no one is willing to disobey Lord Vader) bring Obi Wan and co. and present them to Leia, as she is considered in command.  Somehow Luke’s full name (I kind of picture him still dumbly introducing himself to Leia, followed with ‘we’re here to rescue you’) gets used before the situation deteriorates. Which naturally causes everything to deteriorate further and faster than before.  
Far away on Imperial Center, the Emperor pauses in the middle of a hallway ‘I feel’ he says to no one ‘a disturbance in the Force.’ another pause ‘like some shit has just hit the fan’
Far away on Dagobah Yoda looks up, ‘weird, shit just got’
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a-hazbin-reader · 1 month
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Hi there! I love all your work and I saw wife!reader and alastor getting married when they were alive and wanted to know how they met or who fell in love first.
You don't have to do this though, have a lovely day! ❤️
I really love this...I won't do how they met because I want people to be able to decide that for themselves but..
Alastor X Reader Headcanons
✅️Romantic
❌️Platonic
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TW: Reader goes on a date, Implied Murder, Alastor being jealous, Suggestive
Description: ☝️⬆️
You are most likely the one who falls first, not that anybody could blame you, Alastor is F I N E
He's a well sought after man with his good looks, charming conversation skills and various other talents
So it makes sense that when you meet him and get to know him a little more, you're smitten with the radio host
But you're well aware that the chances of becoming an item with Alastor are slim to none
He's never once showed an interest in being in a relationship and visibly tenses when someone flirts with him
So you resolve yourself to try and get over this little crush and keep your friendship with him intact
If you were being honest with yourself, then it's more than just a crush, you're head over heels in love with him
You two do become fast friends though, something always drawing the two of you close, a sort of magnetic pull
You're practically the best of friends, always together, inside jokes, judging people together
A dozen almost kisses, romantically charged interactions, almost sexually charged drunken escapades
You even bring him food when he's at work so that he doesn't forget to eat and take care of himself
He sets aside time to take you to different restaurants, clubs, parks, anywhere that might be enjoyable
People are quick to assume you two are a couple, but you're always quicker to correct them
It's the truth but it sort of bothers him
He can't deny that you're great company, or that you're beautiful, or that he hates it when you're not smiling
Or that he has a great...fondness for you and your little quirks/talents
He's very attached to you to say the least, you're an important person in his life
That's what he tells people anyways
He doesn't even realize that he's in love with you until you're suddenly gushing about meeting someone new
You look so hopeful, so excited that some guy asked you out but the idea of you on a date makes his skin crawl
But you're only so hopeful and excited because you think maybe this guy will help you get over your feelings for Alastor?
He's a very sweet man, cute, funny, a little touchy-feely but nothing you can't handle
You don't notice the way Alastor's smile twitches ever so slightly whenever you bring up your date
Or his sour tone and the way he tries to discourage you from going
"Y/N, do you even like him? Can you picture yourself having a future with him?"
"That's why I'm going on a date with him, besides... he's very sweet to me!"
Another eye twitch and a sound that's almost like a snarl, Alastor is sweet to you, this guy isn't special
Okay, you notice but you assume he's just being protective
Alastor doesn't even realize his thunderous expression until your soft hand grips his chin, forcing him to lock eyes with you
"Alastor, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl and I can handle myself, you don't need to worry about me.."
Even though you want him to worry about you, you want him to beg you not to go, to tell you that he-
But he won't
His attitude only gets worse once he actually sees the guy who asked you out on a date
Oh no he's hot
If Alastor knew the word, then he would surely call him a himbo but he doesn't know that word, so he just calls him "Next."
Watching you interact with him was something that was truly sickening, seeing someone so clearly enamored with you
And you're enjoying the attention, Alastor gives you attention, he compliments you and takes you to fun places
Just never with obvious romantic intentions before...
Your date kisses your hand and Alastor wants to scrub it clean for you, Alastor can kiss you-
Kissing you wouldn't be so bad...or possibly more...
What was all that sickeningly sweet stuff you used to talk about couples doing together? Dates, cuddling, sex? He could do that, with you that is-
It's a little hot under his collar all of a sudden
It's not like Alastor hasn't already been practically taking you out on dates, courting you
Everyone already thinks you two are a couple anyways
Fuck he's in love with you and he's probably already missed his chance
He wrestles with himself over the sudden revelation all the days leading up to your date
It's not until you come out looking like the most heavenly creature on earth that Alastor realizes you're actually going on a date
"You... you're really going to go out with him? You can do so much better, Y/N."
He doesn't miss the frustrated look on your face and the way you hug yourself
"Well, he's the only one who's taken an interest in me, Al."
"And if someone else asked you?"
He's cautious with his words, already formulating a plan in his head based off of your reaction
"...there's only one person who I want to take notice of me."
Oh he's stealing you away now
He stands up and slaps his hands on your arms, giving you a charming smile as he leans in
Your body instinctively reacts, and you lean in to meet him halfway, your lips drawn to his-
"Make sure you guys tune into my show later tonight, okay? I'll have something special whipped up for your date!"
He hugs you and leaves you feeling more conflicted than ever, the feeling doesn't leave even after Alastor sees you off for your date
Your lips still tingle from that almost kiss
Your date is absolutely ruined, Alastor having completely taken over your thoughts with his strange behavior
Not that he didn't always take over your thoughts already
But you can hardly focus on your date, who's very sweet, very dumb and a little too touchy for your tastes
You end the date early, already knowing there's no shaking off your love for your best friend
You'll just long for Alastor for the rest of yours days...
Then you remember he asked you to tune into his radio show! Without even realizing it, your feet have taken you to his radio tower
You can hear him in there, getting ready for his show, you grab the handle and press your ear to the door
"Good evening, folks! I would like to dedicate this special song to the love of my life! My soulmate, Y/N!"
You feel your body freeze as a familiar song fills your ears, a song that was special only to you and Alastor
It's the closest thing to a confession that you'll probably ever get from him-
You'll take it
When you open the door to the broadcast booth you can tell he's surprised to see you there
"I thought you would at least be letting him drive you home by now..."
He's nervous but clearly trying to hide it, making his way towards you slowly
"I just wanted to be here with you..."
His arms are sliding around your waist, the nervousness he had before melting away into a smug grin
He's so fucking handsome
"You missed me so much that you ditched you date~?"
Your fingers are tangling in his hair as you pull him in closer, lips nearly touching as the emotions between you two threaten to burst
"And you just dedicated an entire love song to me on air to steal me away from my date."
His warm breath hits your face as he chuckles, bypassing your waiting lips to kiss your ear softly instead
"What can I say, my dear? I'm a fool when it comes to love~"
His voice nearly makes your knees buckle, but Alastor easily holds you up, pushing you up against the door while giving you a bruising kiss
For someone who's never really taken an interest in relationships, he's a really talented fucking kisser
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I really hope you like this one! I had so much fun with it!
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kooktrash · 7 months
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the art of obsession | kim taehyung
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summary: in a world of painters and poets, there were two college students looking for the right sort of inspiration. through devotion in your craft, you find yourself drawn to kim taehyung—a grad student painter who’s everything you’ve ever looked for in a character. his walk, his form of speech, his art, it all captivated you to the point where you wanted to recreate him in words and you begin to realize how similar the two of you really are. you share a sort of obsession in your work that seems like only each other could understand and he invites you into his world of oil paints and charcoals in hopes of drawing you on paper.
✎ genre/au: dark academia. college au. painter!taehyung x writer!y/n [afab. she/her]
✎ 17.4K words
“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” — Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
warnings: smut. slight obsession with their work. prestigious college. tae literally takes oc to a graveyard. oc and tae dont take criticism well. unprotected intercourse. oral [f and m]. oc slobs on his knob and tae eats like it’s the last supper. missionary. side position. lowkey passionate sex. fireplace crackling. namjoon and oc used to be fwb. hints that oc and Jimin used to be fwb too. jungkook is tae’s sculpture artist bestie. jimin is oc’s ballerina bestie. namjoon is oc’s writer bestie.
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The smell of cigarettes was something you were fairly used to being around where you resided. You’re not sure what makes it so popular among young academics and sometimes you wonder if it’s not the need of nicotine but more so the aesthetic of it that they all seem to enjoy. It seemed to always linger in the air around campus where all the grad students would walk with their heads down and bags under their eyes as stress took over their entire being. You understand the stress but being an undergrad student yourself, you’re not sure you could understand the extent of it that they must feel. All you could really do is watch the way it slowly deteriorates their body every time they step into the library.
Maybe it’s the Literature major in you, but you never fail to try and assess each person that walks in as if you could see their entire character design and what makes them who they are. Today you got a bit lucky because despite how slow your homework had been going, your favorite case of study had just walked in wearing his usual black turtleneck tucked into a pair of loose corduroy pants. He wore a pair of rounded wire glasses that you love getting to see him in and they did wonders to conceal the eye bags you knew were there.
With this smallest hint of entertainment you’ve found through your long and boring study session with only one friend to confide in, you shut your copy of — excuse the pretentiousness — The Pictures of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, and lowered the volume on your headphones enough to be more aware of the cause of his visit today. You rarely saw him in the library and if he did happen to come by it was to check out or check in a single book on Michaelangelo or Davinci.
You were surprised by how close he seemed to have gotten to you today. The table you studied at was only a couple feet away from a book aisle he had currently walked down and now he was just a meter or so away with his head down in his book. The usual smell of smoke surrounded him and despite scrunching your nose at the smell, you chose to ignore it and study him a little further. You even went as far as to lower your headphones until they curled around your neck giving him your attention even if he didn’t know he had it.
As much of an observer as you were, you never seemed to catch on to the way his gaze would shift to you any time you weren’t looking, eyes scanning your features rather quickly as he made his own assessment. You dressed warmly today, probably due to the fact that there’s been a light rain that has been casted over the city, always seeming to linger longer where the buildings were older and all signs of urban life seemed to dissipate. You were dressed in neutral tones today that placed you perfectly with your own surroundings and if this was a painting he’s sure you would be the focal point—or maybe the single spec of bright color you wore which was in this case your powder blue headphones. He’s not sure he’s ever used that specific shade of blue in a single one of his works before but maybe he’ll look into it.
He rarely visited the library but when he did it was always a pleasant surprise to see you there. He didn’t care much to get to know you, he just found the aesthetic of it all captivating. The library was beautiful, truthfully, with its dark wood shelves and polished tile floors that echoed with each step. It was eerily quiet and it always smelled of old books and always reminded him of a cathedral. There were large stained glass windows of poets, painters, dancers, etc. the clear glass windows overlooked the large pond that covered the back of the small campus where the woods began to take over and student life decreased aside from the occasional late night college party hosted there between trees and bonfires.
“He always comes into my work for paints. I wonder why he always pays in cash.” Your friend said, suddenly appearing next to you and not messing with the printer anymore. He must’ve caught sight of Taehyung before he left and considering he worked at a supply store, it was no surprise he recognized him.
“Maybe he hates banks,” you joked, turning to Jimin with a smile. Jimin pursed his lips staring down the aisle where Taehyung had disappeared once he had his book, “Maybe cash is more aesthetically pleasing. He’s an art major, isn’t he? I say he’s too pretentious to use a plastic card—or even worse, Tap to Pay.”
At that you laughed, deciding to continue the teasing of a man you barely knew while also trying to defend him, “Do people ever get tired of throwing words around?”
“Are you referring to my use of ‘pretentious’?” Jimin asked as he moved to the other side of the counter, “I used the term correctly, it’s an adjective meaning, ‘attempting to impress by affecting greater importance and culture than is actually possessed’. His refusal to adhere to society’s technological advances is pretentious in itself. I bet he still uses No. 2 pencils as an act of defiance against mechanical pencils—if he was a writer like you he would probably be more drawn to a pen but he’s an artist and artists make mistakes that get covered up or changed.”
You couldn’t help but smirk at that, “Tell me then, Jimin, what does a ballerina use to convey words? An Arabesque?”
Jimin released a loud groan, “I hate this goddamn school.”
You watched him open his newest generation laptop and hide behind it. He knew now how little room he had to talk. You, yourself, couldn’t utter a word to disagree with him either when in your hand was a Montblanc fountain pen that cost your parents a hefty 1,500$ to get to you when you were first accepted into the school. You’re sure when the time comes for you to finish undergrad, they’ll up the price and give you one worth 4,000$—the most profound amount of proof that you did in fact strictly use pens for everything.
You would never dare mention anything revolving around the money Taehyung’s family is rumored to have because you don’t know anything about him to do so.
All you knew were the few things you’ve noticed — a couple that even made it into your journal — like the fact that he specialized in two mediums; charcoal and oil paintings. He’s a known name at the University for his work and dedication and you saw that through one of his works. It was dark and a bit twisted but it told a story and you think that’s what drew you into him before you even knew it was him.
Despite his strong presence that always seemed to draw you in, he had a gift for making himself invisible in a group setting. He never spoke up in class, never caused a fuss, he was in and out like a shadow.
At the start of the semester you were taken by surprise when you found him sitting in one of the back rows of the lecture hall to an advanced anatomy class that you’re sure you took for very different reasons. Taehyung was interested in the study of the body so he could fully understand the way the it works from the inside out. He wanted to understand how each limb moved, how fluid each bone and muscle connected, how they could contort, see where the organs go, imagine the flesh coming to life when he painted.
In literature, anatomy isn’t referring to the human body. It refers to a separation of a topic into smaller parts for detailed analysis of the work. You did not make a mistake when you chose this lecture, you too wanted to study the body for your work. You wanted to learn how fragile it really was, how it could be destroyed, how hard it was to do so. You wanted to know about which bones were weaker, which organ puncture did the most damage. You need visuals and understanding of its healing process, of the way it moved, how the nervous system worked. Once you had a better understanding of the body, you just knew that you would be able to apply all these things to your writing. You would be able to detail how your character’s body deteriorated outside and in. How the body would slowly break down, which nerves were affected, how the heart worked in that moment. It would be gruesome but intriguing enough for your readers.
Maybe you needed to write something not so dark, something that didn’t make you take courses you didn’t really need but wanted in hopes that they’ll help you understand better. You didn’t actually need to go this far to describe a couple grueling scenes but it helped.
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The room was silent aside from the obnoxious sound of the clock, Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…Ticking.
You stood at the front of your professor’s desk in his clustered office filled with classical literature books and awards for writing all over the shelves. His desk took up the majority of the space inside and whenever you were in here you couldn’t help but feel just a little suffocated. There were barely any words shared between the two of you, he only ever decided to truly grace you with his speech when he was critiquing and yet right now he’s been uncomfortably silent.
The silence had grown so long that you found your attention drifting toward the grandfather clock that was tucked away near the overwhelming stained glass window that overlooked the courtyard filled with wet and fallen leaves. The trees were bare and the fountain had a sculpture of a big swan with its wings spread in what looked like a dance. It always reminded you of the Swan Song, but you never knew if that was morbid of you. The idea of your University of Fine Arts decorating the campus in the black and white birds simply for decor always seemed strange to you too.
There was no way they would ever portray anything without meaning, or at least something not up for interpretation and yet every time you looked at one of the swans, you thought about the Swan Song, the way the bird’s wings were open beautifully with each detail chiseled into the stone. It looked like the swan’s final performance before its end. It wasn’t the sort of symbolism you liked to see at a school with such dedicated artists looking for a way to perfect every aspect of their work as if each one was their last.
“I like it,” your professor finally said, drawing your attention back to him in an instant, “Your writing has improved Y/n, I’m starting to really visualize the plot and I think it has a certain rawness to it that I’m not used to seeing from you.”
The corner of your lips turned upward like you wanted to smile but you wouldn’t fully allow yourself to. He hasn’t looked at you yet, his eyes stayed glued to your paper and it was clear he wasn’t done, “But it still feels stiff—well, the main character does. I can’t understand him yet, he’s just a mystery to me and not one I’m interested in unraveling. I can’t understand his depth and it’s becoming a big flaw in your writing. Everything else sounds wonderful, well articulated and with such emotion… that when I think of him all I see a huge lack of substance. He’s being drowned out by the rest and he’s supposed to be the one I follow when I read.”
You didn’t say anything as your jaw slowly clenched shut, eyes unwavering as he went on, “It’s like you have a lack of knowledge for human emotion and psychology, I’m not sure that’s something that can be easily fixed.”
“Does it make my writing bad?” You asked stiffly and he shook his head no.
“No, your writing is captivating but there’s a very huge disconnect I’m feeling from your characters,” he said, looking up at you, “It takes away the beauty of it.”
Your lips felt sewn shut as he handed you back your paper with all of his notes for you to fix and you felt like crying. You couldn’t even utter out a single word as you forced yourself not to react to his words and leave his office with your head held high.
What did he mean by disconnect? What more did he want you to do? What did you not understand about human emotion? You’re a human, what is there not to get? What else did he want from you?
These questions circled your head for what felt like an eternity, only confusing you more and more as you left for your next lecture. You spent the fifteen minute gap with your journal out jotting down every question that came to mind trying to see how you could find answers to these.
You sat alone in your row of seats waiting for other students to arrive and you took the time to brainstorm. He told you your characters lacked substance and implied that they were hard to visualize. He said that he can’t understand them, especially the lead and that he couldn’t be absorbed into a story about a character he doesn’t care for. He basically said that you lacked an understanding of emotional depth for the characters you write and therefore your stories will continue to have a disconnect until something changes. If only something could inspire you, maybe help you analyze these so-called emotions you couldn’t comprehend. You needed to remove some of the mystery around your character and really dive in on his arc, understand how he felt. How could you do that? It's not like you could fully visualize it yourself either unless you really began to study those around you more than you already do.
You sat up straighter in your seat and looked around as the lecture hall began to fill slowly. The room had a sort of ancient feel to it with long hazelnut rows of desks pressed side by side against each other in an amphitheater manner. There were diagrams and models of the human body plastered everywhere but none looked straight off of a doctor’s catalog. They looked like Davinci himself drew every skeleton in the room. It also had a small echo especially when the rain hit the wall or glass windows that sometimes tuned out the sound of talking students entering the hall.
You recognized most of the faces and the one who passed you as he went up a few rows seemed to distract you more than the others. Kim Taehyung didn’t wear glasses today but he wore a wool sweater and linen pants. There was a small splotch of gray paint on his knuckle that he hadn't seemed to notice as he swung his book bag onto the desk with a small thud, uncaring if anyone heard and ignored everyone around him.
He was similar to your character, almost. He always seemed closed off and unapproachable but behind his eyes was an aura of emotion that isn’t easily interpreted. You found yourself beginning to scribble down in your journal, just basic things you noted about him.
The lazy, bored look in his eyes that made him look tired and unamused by everything that happened around him.
Then there was his stance. He had good posture but when he sat down in his seat he leaned all the way back with his arms on the table like he was observing every person in the lecture hall, even you.
You knew this because for a second your eyes met with Taehyung’s and in that measly moment you just took in the sight of each other. Taehyung didn’t hold much expression in face but his fingers seemed to twirl his No. 2 pencil a little more intently now. He ran his gaze down from your eyes to the curve of your nose and curl of your lips. There was something about your facial features that he was delighted in studying. When you looked away and gave him a view of your side profile he leaned toward his desk more and the leather sketchbook that rested over his textbook was flipped open as he began to sketch you.
The drawing didn’t mean much to him, it was just a small doodle to pass time, his hands had to always be sketching and you happened to be his distraction today. Usually he doesn’t really pay attention to you when he’s in class, you sit far enough from each other that you never interact and when he catches you in the library you always seem lost in your own world.
He knows your name, he read your story last semester simply because it intrigued him. It was published on the school forum and won an achievement so he checked it out and it was good, your writing is intricate, or at least that’s what he thinks. He’s able to follow along to every word and not be bored or confused but with a certain degree of understanding that the reader needs to learn. There’s an aura of mystery around it, yet it was not something that he couldn’t comprehend and he thinks that’s why he was able to enjoy it.
At the end of the lecture he had three small drawings of you.
“Come on man, it won’t take long, just one drink,” Jungkook begged him for the third time in a row. Despite his friend’s darker exterior dressed in black jeans, a black tee, and a black leather jacket, he was way more outgoing. He was always trying to get Taehyung to go out for drinks or to party but he just doesn’t have the time.
“Not tonight,” Taehyung said as he opened up his pack of cigarettes and took one out, sliding it to his lips before burning the end with his lighter. He handed the pack to Jungkook who took it without question and did the same.
Jungkook released a sigh in disappointment, shaking his head a little as he said, “Whatever man, you say that every night.”
Taehyung shrugged his shoulders as he took a drag and pulled it out between his index finger and thumb, “Then get the hint.”
His friend wasn’t listening anymore, choosing instead to stare at the building in front of him, dimly lit from all the lamp posts. It was just after sunset and the only students around were probably working on assignments like Jungkook and Taehyung. Taehyung took advantage of the art room to work privately and in a bigger space while Jungkook worked in the warehouse where he could work on his new sculpture. Taehyung couldn’t understand why Jungkook cared about whatever was going on at the library till he casually looked over too.
“She looks familiar,” Jungkook said pointing to you as you walked down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. Taehyung looked too, you had a tote bag like most students around here and there was a butterfly clip in your hair but it still looked messy. Your hair was down earlier and at some point you decided to put it up and he realized now that he didn’t have a preference on how hair looks on someone. He likes the style you had earlier and the one you have now too because they enhance your features more.
“That’s Y/n,” Taehyung said casually as they went to the parking lot. Jungkook looked at him curiously before glancing back at you, “You know her?”
Taehyung didn’t have an answer for that so he didn’t give one, he just walked ahead wondering the same thing. “Let’s get a drink,” Taehyung finally gave in and Jungkook immediately cheered. “Yes! Okay, don’t worry, just one.”
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Beauty is in the eye of the beholder… that is what every artist has ever been taught. Taehyung has never been able to disagree with a statement more than that one. There is not beauty everywhere, it is not as inclusive as one might think and to truly understand art in the many forms it could take, one needs to understand the meaning of genuine beauty.
It’s quite terrifying in a sense, for one to be able to lose control and fall for the Dionysian seduction and view beauty for what it truly is. It is a raw and exhilarating topic that cannot be defined by just looks or words but more the freedom of life, life is beautiful in its own twisted way and to accept that definition is to be able to portray that in what you do. That’s why Taehyung’s art tends to lean toward a more dark and twisted form. When he creates art he’s not just looking at creating something nice to look at or something with a hidden meaning that no one would ever truly understand. When he creates, he wishes to express human emotion through his work—he wishes to make others feel things they’ve never felt before and that is the beauty he is chasing after.
Beauty is not a person but a feeling and when he looks at you he seems to understand that better.
It’s not just your outward attractiveness that draws him in. It’s the terrifying beauty that you radiate in your gaze, in your mannerisms, in your writing. It intrigues him and if he could put you on a canvas and unravel everything inside you — your fears, your joys, your tears — he would but till then you’re nothing but a familiar stranger that invades his mind when he least expects it.
“Taehyung, your work is beautiful,” his professor said, “Everything you create is effortlessly perfect but…”
He waited with a bated breath, already not liking where this was getting. He watched closely to the way she tilted her head in curiosity, “It’s rather dark, don’t you think? Maybe hard for interpretation an—“
“It’s not made to be interpreted by anything but the way it is,” Taehyung said boldly, “Once art is set for others to create a new meaning for it, is it ever truly art?”
“I guess I am not understanding what you mean,” she said leaning forward against her desk.
Taehyung released a sigh like this conversation with his senior was tedious, “When you look at Picasso’s work, do you think he created it for others to understand? Or was that something that people began to believe? He created art that was unconstraining to himself and his life.”
“Yes but look at Salvador Dali, the entire aspect of surrealism that he used was to unleash the power of imagination and creativity. You can’t just shut your art into a small box for the sake of aesthetic,” she said and that made him scoff, his lip curled in distaste, “And let’s look at Monet? He’s practically what started the entire idea of Impressionism.”
“What it meant to him, how he viewed it at that moment, that was all,” Taehyung said, which made the advisor release a sign, “Claude Monet once said, everyone pretends to understand his art, as if it were necessary to understand when it is only necessary to love.”
“I’m afraid this conversation will go back and forth if we continue,” she said with a huff, already irritated by the way things are going, “The exhibition is in three months, in a month I’ll connect with you on how everything is looking and give you the rundown as well is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Kim?”
Taehyung shook his head and without a goodbye he was getting up from his seat and storming out. Not even a second after the chestnut double doors shut, did he find himself reaching into the pocket of his jeans to get his pack out. The cigarette sat perfectly between his lips as he blocked one side with the hand so the wind didn’t blow his lighter out and he lit the tip, ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ sign just a couple feet away. He couldn’t help but mumble, “Stupid bitch,” under his breath once he finally left the building.
As he rounded the corner, something hit his chest and his free hand immediately the person steady in front of him.
Your hand was on his chest to keep from hitting him and as you looked up, your eyes widened just slightly. Taehyung didn’t say anything as he let you go, brushing against your side and moving around you to leave feeling your eyes on him. You watched him head the way you just came from and finally snapped out of it when you heard your friend call for you.
He turned to look for you seeing you already walking over to some tall and muscular guy. The guy gave you a dimpled smile as he followed after you, no longer in Taehyung’s peripheral.
“Maybe he has a point, Y/n,” Namjoon said as he walked with you to the bus stop, “If you’re struggling then maybe you should think about altering the character more.”
You shook your head in displeasure, “No, I’m not going to change him, I just need to be able to visualize his characteristics.”
Namjoon released a sigh as he pondered over what advice to give you, but came up blank, “I mean… maybe you just need some real inspiration from those around you. ”
The both of you went silent trying to find a solution and you looked up at him curiously. Namjoon would be an amazing reference for a character but he doesn’t fit the image you want him to. He was like light, he was kind hearted and charming and so unbelievably smart but that’s not how you envisioned the main character in your story. The kind of character you had in mind was supposed to act similar to… well, Taehyung. He’s supposed to be a bit mysterious, cold, not necessarily a likable character but someone they can’t help but be curious about.
“Namjoon,” you called his name and for a moment he grew hopeful to the idea that maybe you were thinking of studying him the way you do with others—even if he knew that would never happen. Instead, you came to a stop and looked up at him, “I forgot my laptop in the ffice, I’ve gotta go get it.”
His brows furrowed, looking down at your tote bag, “I’ll come wit—“
“No, you have to work, right?” You asked, already backing away from him, “I don’t want to make you late, I’ll just catch the next bus.”
Before he could argue, you were already taking off in a hurry back down the way the two of you came from. With a sigh he watched you leave wondering why he always seemed to be a couple steps behind you and never beside you. All he’s done since he met you was follow your lead in friendship and outside of it.
Even when the two of you had sex months ago it was always when you wanted and never when he did. If he even thought to ask, all you did was blow him off and then question him on if he’s seeing anyone at the moment. In the same second you would press your lips to his cheek and remind him how much you adored him even when you blew him off he always found the act of it a bit poetic.
He loved you, but it’s a love unreturned and if he wants to stay by you, it has to be with him at the back of your mind and never at the forefront.
With that understanding, he had no choice but to let you go back toward campus walking across fallen leaves and dead branches while he went to the bus alone.
Your legs had taken off before you could even decide where to go and in the end you found yourself heading back the way in which you met with Namjoon—and also the way you bumped into Taehyung. You were never much of the shy type even if it appeared that way, your friends always said you were the selective type—only choosing who to be outgoing with and even then it was rare and required a lot of work to get to you.
They had it easy, Jimin was a childhood friend and Namjoon was in the same writing department as you but that’s as far as your circle went. Well, no, there’s Yoongi too but he’s a pianist and these days he’s so busy with lessons and trips to the orchestra, you barely see him.
Like stated, you were selectively social and right now, you were choosing to find Taehyung so you could formally talk to him. It took you about ten minutes of mindlessly walking through the courtyard to locate him and when you did, you came to a halt. He was just a few feet away now, cigarette between his lips, crouched down against the wall of some historic looking building with castle-like elements and you know he saw you coming when he turned his head and looked right at you.
That was the push that had you walking toward him and saying, “Kim Taehyung?”
“Yes?” He asked, looking you up and down, eyes unable to help themselves as he looked up from your legs to your face. You wore a black fitted turtleneck underneath a brown sweater vest tucked into a black skirt. You wore long 70s style brown boots and mesh tights too. Your hair was pinned back with a hair clip and pins and your ears were lined with simple yet pretty earrings. When his gaze finally met yours, he couldn’t help but take in the sight of you once more.
“My name is—“
“I know your name,” he said with a small glint in his eye, “Obviously.”
You didn’t pull away from his intense stare and watched him bring the cigarette back to his lips, “I thought it would be more appropriate to introduce myself.”
“Mm,” he exhaled looking down at the cement below his feet, flicking the end of the cigarette to let ash fall, “So what could I do for you, Y/n?”
He looked up once more and you bit your lip in thought, “If you are free, I wanted to see if you’d like to get a coffee with me.”
“I don’t like coffee,” he said, finally putting the thing out and standing up, “And it’s almost sunset.”
You blinked in surprise as he stood in front of you now but you didn’t back away, “Then we’ll just have dinner.”
“Thanks,” Taehyung swung his bag over his shoulder, “But I’m kind of busy, I’ve got somewhere to get to.”
He was already walking away to hide his look of surprise. He didn’t expect the two of you to ever really talk and he didn’t really know what to do. He ended up rejecting before he could even truly think it over. He imagined you as just a fantasy — nothing he could ever explore but that he could dream about. He just wanted to look and think about you but never know anything beyond what was on the surface—like a painting.
“And you can’t have a plus one?” You asked in your final effort to get closer to him completely unaware of what he thought of you. You watched him come to a stop, and for a moment you tried to imagine him contemplating. Taehyung turned to face you, “I’m not going anywhere fun.”
You stayed quiet as he went on, “And some might find it scary.”
It seemed like he was trying to warn you as if to let you back out of your own proposal but he wasn’t saying no and that was hopeful. You tilted your chin higher, “As long as you don’t plan on murdering me, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
That made the corners of his lips turn upward in an arrogant smirk, “Okay, Y/n, follow me.”
The walk wasn’t too far from the college but the college was already a bit on the outskirts of the city. All you saw were green, dying hills as autumn threatened to take over and it took you a second to understand where he was taking you until he was leading the way down a steep hill toward an empty and cold graveyard. It was a straight line of jagged tombstones and overgrown plant life entwined around them. There were clear dirt paths leading down row after row of old graves and a few Angel statues but nothing too bad, at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.
“I told you, you might be scared,” Taehyung said as he walked parallel to the graveyard toward a tree that stood tall along the sloping hill, “But this is the best view of twilight, if you want, I could walk you back to campus.”
“No, it’s fine,” you cleared your throat deciding to walk ahead of him so you could be the one sitting upright against the tree. Taehyung dropped his backpack a few feet away from you and began getting his things out.
You didn’t question him, only observed the way he carried on like you weren’t even there. It’s not like you minded, you didn’t have any real agenda to get him to spend time with you and frankly, you felt a bit relieved to see that he wasn’t trying to figure out what you wanted. It was unspoken the way the two of you seemed to think similarly and brought out your tools.
Taehyung didn’t say anything when he flipped his sketchbook open and found a charcoal he could use as he began to sketch without much thought into it. He even made himself comfortable by lying back, using the angle of the hill to help him not lay horizontally and he bent a knee up as a sort of flat surface he could rest his book on. There was a small breeze that carried through his linen shirt and brown trousers but he wasn’t much worried about himself.
He was more worried about you, who had asked to spend time with him but had no real plan to do so. He’ll admit, when he said no it was just on reflex from all the other times he’s out right rejected others before but he only thought it over because he’s been curious of you two. When you told him you would join him for a moment he debated saying no again because this was his favorite place to be to watch the sunset but it wasn’t all that normal. He even tried to warn you and offer to take you back when you saw the graveyard but you didn’t even seem to care when you sat down. Now that he’s looking at you up close, he can see the way your brows furrowed in concentration as you scribbled in your journal, already feeling inspiration.
It’s now that Taehyung is realizing why he’s been so curious. He finds you beautiful, he’s sure he’s mentioned that before, but he finds you beautiful in an unsettling way. Just looking at you seemed to send him into a wave of emotion like you’re exactly what he’s wished to create on canvas. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hands were working away to make another sketch, eyes on you as he worked.
“What are you writing in that little journal of yours?” He found himself asking after some time. The sketch was rough and yet it was so refined that there was no mistaking what it could be. It was a monochromatic sketch of you with your back against the tree, legs straight before you and your hair covering your face with the howl of the wind. Your hands looked delicate when you wrote and you looked so lost in your own work that managed to capture that same essence in his drawing.
When you first looked at him, your eyes went down to the pack of cigarettes he was now messing with and out of curiosity he raised it to you as if asking if you wanted one. Moving to sit forward, you took one and held it between your lips as he dug into his pocket for his zippo lighter, flipping it open and bringing it toward your face to light the cigarette. He watched curiously as you leaned back a little, took an inhale/exhale, and said, “I’ll tell you if you show me what you’ve been doing in that little sketchbook of yours.”
For some reason a small smile came to his face as he laid on his side using his elbow for support and reached over to hand you the sketchbook. You took it with a sense of excitement that quickly turned into disbelief as you looked at it. The back of your index finger hovered over it but never touched for fear that you would smudge it or worse—ash, and when you finally handed it back to him, wordlessly, his cold fingers brushing against sending a warm current down your arm.
At this exchange, Taehyung moved to sit up, not bothering to brush off any loose grass blades off his linen shirt and read over a short passage.
A certain coolness in his gaze that made him appear cruel.
A charming aura that seemed timeless, not modern but ancient like he was created from every classic literature known to man.
His gaze, his smile, his voice—all deep like red velvet.
The list went on, each short sentence followed by another in what one could assume was meant to describe him. He didn’t say anything either as he handed it back to you the same way you had done with his sketchbook. Neither of you were looking for critique or praise, more so acknowledgement of what the other had been doing and once you had it, it was enough.
Taehyung stared forward as the line of bright Orange finally vanished from the sky and a cool blue clouded it. The atmosphere shifted now as darkness began to swim across the sky and you both knew it was time to go. Nothing was said as you both stood up with your things and even less was brought up on your walk back to campus.
It wasn’t until you stood at the bus stop that Taehyung decided to ask, “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“No.”
He pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket in his trousers followed by a pen as he scribbled something down before handing it to you, “Meet me here at 8:00pm.”
You didn’t have to say anything for Taehyung to know you would show and he left without much of a goodbye.
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The place you arrived to at 8:00pm on the dot wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but it wasn’t much of a surprise either—it was a warm record bar. The one thing that did seem to surprise you was Taehyung’s choice in music where he preferred jazz over classical. The bar was dimly lit only by shaded, vintage lamps and the small yellow candles near all the booze. The walls were lined with vinyls and the deep mahogany trimming gave the record bar a sort of dark academic charm to it.
When you found Taehyung he was sitting at a small round table fit for two and he had a book in hand—The Picture of Dorian Gray. He wore his usual metal wiring rounded glasses and his dirty blonde hair seemed quite soft and full of life. The dark brown sweater he wore matched well with his tan slacks and you didn’t miss the way eyes would fall on him. It was this charming, educated college boy with a rich father sort of energy that radiates off him, but also the clear look of disinterest written all over his face and it made people curious.
You debated calling his name to let him know you were here but when he looked up in time to catch you walking his way, you were aware that he had been waiting for you and checking the door every couple seconds. Taehyung didn’t shy away from taking in the sight of you in an olive green maxi dress paired with a thin white cardigan tied together at the top of your breasts and below your collarbone. You wore black boot heels this time and when you sat down in front of him he couldn’t help but look at your face now.
“You’re late,” he said as he closed his book and set it to the side. You didn’t even bother to look at the Swiss watch on your wrist as you said, “It’s 8:00, like you said.”
“Yes but what I meant was 7:55 which should have translated to 7:45,” he said annoyingly arrogant as he slid a menu toward you, “As per the rules of a first date.”
His tone was serious as was his body language and yet you could see the hint of amusement in his attempt to hide a smile. You smiled softly, setting your bag down next to you, “I was unaware this was a first date.”
“So you assumed this was the second?” Taehyung had a teasing tone now, “I, personally, would not call an evening together at the cemetery a first date.”
“I do say, I’m a bit surprised to even know you consider this a date after we barely talked at all yesterday,” you said as a waitress came over with a customer service smile. Conversation floated between you two with ease.
“Are we ready to order?”
Taehyung looked at you but you weren’t all that hungry so he ordered a single slice of pastry for the two of you to share, “Yesterday was just to enjoy and accept the presence of one another, tonight is to communicate and learn.”
Taehyung never cared much for investing time into someone he was with, usually if he ever showed any interest in someone or was short lived. He’s not sure what would happen exactly but once the excitement of pining for someone romantically wore off… he just did not care anymore. There was too much to handle and he didn’t have time for any of it—not the clinginess, the crying, the whining. God, the whining got to him.
Why do you ignore me so much?
You’re always too busy painting to notice me?
Taehyung, I just want you to spend time with me.
It was the constant whining that he hated because they just did not get that he was completely devoted to his art and nothing else mattered as much as it did. Yes… maybe the small ounce of excitement he felt helped inspire him but… well he does not need whoever he slept with anymore.
The infatuation had worn off and he’s back to being alone again but now he’s a little too curious about you. Hence, why he asked you out first and in such a haste.
“Alright,” you said, “So then tell me something small, for instance, what time did you arrive? 7:45?”
“7:30 actually,” Taehyung said as he lifted his mug of hot tea to his lips, “I had business to take care of around campus and I didn’t want to make the trip back home.”
“Well if you asked for my number I would’ve arrived sooner.”
“It takes away the romantic aspect of waiting for the other to arrive without hearing from them—maybe I’ll write you a letter instead,” he teased. You just laughed softly and asked, “I didn’t peg you as much of a romantic. And what business?”
“Nothing too important.” Taehyung said vaguely and despite your curiosity you didn’t push him to answer. The corner of his lips raised as he looked at you, looked at him and found himself saying, “But as for being a romantic? It depends on who you ask.”
You focused on what he said about that instead of what his business was and that made him happy. What he did was not that important but it was necessary after what had happened with his advisor. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around what she had told him and in the end he made and impulsive decision to gift her something that might make her see things from his point of view. Of course it was slightly biased but he believed his piece really explained his views on beauty enough for her to understand.
Taehyung delivered two paintings to her inbox earlier. The first one was a more finished painting of you, still slightly distorted and a bit dark but there was no hiding the romantic element that radiated off of it. He called it ‘Genuine Beauty’. The second painting was a distorted and bright picture of his professor with exaggerated features that weren’t pleasing to the eye and he called it, ‘Beauty in the Eye of the Beholder’.
A true sentient on what he thought of her words. He wanted to know how she would twist the grotesque image of herself into something beautiful.
“What have you been up to aside from writing me?” Taehyung asked, looking at you with interest.
“Aside from that, I’m afraid not much else,” you confessed, “I’ve been in a sort of dry spell trying to understand my character.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Well, it’s a him and he’s similar to you.”
He listened closely to each word you said, taking in the curve of your mouth when you talked and the way you gestured with your hands. He’ll admit, the character did seem very similar to him so he can understand your curiosity in him and the fact that you seemed to lose yourself in your craft didn’t go unnoticed by him. He simply nodded his head and replied with short answers when asked.
In the end, he offered the only thing he could, “Let me be your case of study then, and in return you’ll be mine.”
You smiled this time, a small arrogant smile as you said, “Will you paint me like one of your French girls?”
He understood the reference and found himself saying, “If you write me like one of the lovers in your poems.”
By the end of the night you found yourself in the back of a taxi driving straight to his place under the pretense of another drink. Conversation seemed to flow with ease between you and it ranged from Davinci to Monet, Shakespeare to Milton and whatever was in between. Even when Taehyung asked such a heavy question, you didn’t seem to struggle to find an answer.
“Do you believe in love?” He had asked as the cab stopped in front of a house similar to an upstate New York townhome. He had you by the hand helping you out of the car and held onto you as he led you up the stone path.
“I have to, I’m a writer,” you told him and he seemed to pull you into him more.
“But what is it that you believe it to be?”
The question did make you think a little bit. It’s not that you thought Taehyung had an ulterior motive in asking you such a thing; it’s not like the two of you were seriously into the idea of it but you wanted to give him the right answer—one that truly described you and your ideals.
You didn’t answer his question right away as he let you into his home which was no different than what you imagined it to be. His apartment was in an old building turned into luxury Victorian styled apartments with modern eclectic touches. It was a put-together mess of sketches and canvases littered around the place. The floor was made of a dark, polished hardwood and his furniture all seemed worn through with velvet cushions and engraved wooden trimmings. He had floor-to-ceiling bay windows with twine hanging across them and papers clipped on with laundry pins to dry. There was a warm feel to the place and it had everything to do with his dedication to earthy tones and shades of Morocco red.
There were painting supplies everywhere from scattered charcoals and cans of linseed oil for his paints. There were stacks of literature books and various art ones piled high on nearly every surface and yet it all seemed to be organized to what you could assume only he could understand. Taehyung didn’t even seem to mind the clutter as he chose instead to ask, “Red or White?”
“Red.” You responded quite simply before resuming your studying of his place, the fireplace on one wall was surrounded by canvases and books—same as the vintage bookshelf and for a moment you wondered if his bedroom looked any similar. The thought vanished quickly when you got the smallest hint of which room that might be from the open door down the hall. He had plain gray sheets on an unmade bed and the furniture in there was scarce, like he barely spent any time there and if he did it wasn’t to sleep—the bags under his eyes told you so.
“Have you thought of an answer to my question yet?” Taehyung asked, reminding you yet again of what he asked earlier. He handed you a wine glass and you took it with a nod in gratitude as he left you to find a record to play.
“I’ve had an answer all along, I just wasn’t sure how you would feel about it,” you said and you could see him smile as he moved the needle over the start of the vinyl, Nocturnes, Op 9 began to play.
“I’m not looking for anything in particular, just an insight on what you think,” he said honestly and with a small sigh you decided to tell him.
“I think love is more so… a choice than an emotion?” You finally said as you watched him take a seat on the floor near his coffee table instead of the velvet couch behind him. He motioned for you to join him, “How so?”
“Anyone can feel love at any given moment but it is fleeting,” you sat down, knees nearly touching his, “Tell me, have you ever felt in love before?”
Your question seemed to catch him off guard yet he answered as bluntly as he would regarding anything else, “Only with my paintings.”
“And that had been a choice, to continue, right?” You asked, “Love like every emotion is temporary and inconsistent. Yes, doing certain things or being with certain people might invoke these feelings but once that has dwindled it is your choice to remain in that constant state of loving something—or someone. I love writing, I always have because it is my choice. I choose to subject myself to the hardships that come with my work even at times where I think I hate it. Even at times when I choose to give up I think about the joy it brings me, the emotions that pour out of me and onto every letter and word I put down on paper. I choose to love writing, I choose to devote myself to it and I choose to put it above anything else in the world, even my own relationships.”
Taehyung could see it in your eyes how strongly you felt about it. Your answer had gone slightly off topic but he understood your reference to it in every word you spew, “So when I say I believe in love… I don’t mean it in regards to a feeling that transpires throughout inconsistently, but I mean it as a choice to continue to feel that way even when it hurts and I can’t take it any more.”
A silence seemed to drag on between you and for a moment you wondered if you said too much and sounded too stupid. Taehyung seemed to inhale and exhale at once, “Well, I do say, we have very similar ideals. I don’t think I could’ve put it into better words than a writer even if I tried.”
You couldn’t help but smile, hiding it behind your wine glass, “Maybe you’ll paint them instead.”
“Maybe, I’ll paint you instead,” Taehyung said with a pale yet serene expression like he was scared to speak his words and exhilarated by them all the same.
How could someone seem to get lost and sound so dazed when talking about writing? Did writing mean as much to you as his art did to him? Is that why there was never a need for many words to be spoken between you? Was that why he was able to enjoy your presence so long and so quickly when before you would never even speak? Was there always this underlying connection between your minds and how you viewed art and your world?
You rested your glass on the table as you took in his living room again and all its character, there was a set of paintbrushes just laying on his table and you reached for one. The wood was smooth between your fingertips as you twisted it before looking up at him with a curious gaze, “With one of these?”
Taehyung simply nodded his head watching you lift your skirt up just enough to expose a bit of leg and you brushed the art tool against your calf, “It’s soft.”
His tongue ran over his lips and he leaned forward to gently take the brush back. You were nearing an apology for taking it without asking him first but he simply scooted closer to you on the blanket he laid beneath you and placed your legs over his, skirt of your dress rising even further until he was running the brush over the curve of your knee, “I use it to blend shadows, like this.”
The brush felt soft against your skin, sending tingles down your spine as he ran it over you in circular motions, eyes on yours.
“I tried painting once,” you said as his finger slowly traded with the brush until he was softly touching you, “I wasn’t that good, I couldn’t portray the right picture.”
Taehyung just smiled as he felt you hand go over his while taking the brush back until you were tracing the curve of his wrist, “Paint with your words, and show me you’d write me, like your character.”
“He is very similar to you,” you said, “In almost every aspect and I didn’t realize that until today.”
“Mm,” Taehyung hummed in content when you lifted the brush toward the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, teasing him without realizing it. You seemed to use the brush against him without much thought of what you were doing and how it affected him. You should know, though, that the feel of his art tool against his skin would feel good to him. The soft bristles tickled his collarbone, “How would he make love?”
That seemed to catch you by surprise as you slowed your touch to look up at him. He just bit his lip, hand on your leg caressing it as he waited for your response. Without missing a beat, you said, “Slowly, starting with a sweet kiss.”
A small smirk came to his face, one that only he could pull off without looking cocky. He looked smart and pretty with his glasses and blonde hair, when he spoke he made it sound poetic and when he looked at you it felt like he was focused on whatever was beneath the surface. You watched him push his glasses up the slope of his nose and before you knew it, he was leaning closer, lithe fingers coming up to touch your chin and tilt your jaw.
Although you knew what was coming, there was no denying the small second of hesitation that coursed through you when his lips so tenderly pressed against yours, his voice low as he asked, “Like this?”
You licked your lips despite the extremely small space between yours and his and without the ounce of hesitation from earlier, your hand came up to his neck where you pulled him into you for a real kiss. It started off slowly just like the two of you knew it would but there was no denying the desire that laced throughout it. At first all that happened was your mouths moving against each other, getting used to the idea of kissing — something neither of you have done in a while. Then, it became more feverish. If possible, you seemed to move closer with your hand on his thigh to support yourself. You were on your knees leaning into him and he had a single hand against the floor to support his sitting position while the other was cupping your chin for the best angle. There was a growing intensity between your mouths, lips moving more forcefully now, saliva gradually increasing when you felt his tongue make a swiping motion against your lips.
“Or like this?” His voice had become more hoarse with need. He enjoyed feeling the way your body seemed to lean toward his and he seemed to ask, “What would he do next?”
“It’s not what he would do next,” you said as you moved without your own violation and trailed your lips along the curve of his jaw, “But what would happen to him next.”
Taehyung’s head seemed to tip back as he used both of his hands to keep him upright while you moved between his patted legs to kiss down his neck. He licked at his lips, slowly blinking at the first feel of your tongue licking his ear lobe before you sucked it into your mouth making a tingle run down his spine. Your warm breath tickling his ear made his breath bitch and it didn’t take you long to realize that you had found his weak spot. Unable to help yourself you brought your mouth back to his for a kiss that was much needier than any of the ones prior.
“Y/n,” Taehyung’s throat was dry and it made his voice raspier than usual, “Touch me more.”
The words surprised you. You didn’t take him for much of a womanizer but you didn’t think he would seem this touch starved. The last person you had slept with had been your dear friend, Namjoon, and when you realized feelings were beg bring to get involved you were to end the rendezvous that had transpired between you two in an effort to save the friendship and his feelings. You couldn’t explain why you could never see him as more than a friend—and you couldn’t explain why it was so easy to view Taehyung as something more. Your mind had been drawn to him before your body and yet it all felt the same.
You began to crawl away from him and in an effort to keep this going, he went after you with another kiss before your hand touched his chest to keep him in place. It got to the point where Taehyung wasn’t sure if it was the cashmere brown sweater he wore that made his body heat up, or if it was being too close to the fireplace but he felt himself begin to break into a sweat.
He stretched his legs out before him when he got the hint of what you wanted to do watching you shimmy down until you were nearly eye level with his pants and the evident bulge becoming more prominent with each passing second. Taehyung was not ashamed of how quickly you seemed to get to him and his body’s reaction to you. Sex was a normal thing, it was poetic and passionate if done with the right person and he hasn’t done it in a while—a long while. It was completely normal for him to release a light gasp when your hand grazed his inner thigh just inching toward his growing erection.
The two of you made eye contact once more, his lip caught between his teeth and his eyelids low in a lustful gaze that matched your own. There was a strong attraction toward each other — infatuation if you will — and you can’t say there’s romantic feelings between you but there’s no denying that there has been the underlying sexual tension that rose from a clear understanding of each other’s devotion to your work. It turns you on to know he seems to connect with your ideals.
You didn’t even realize Taehyung had moved a hand behind you until he was pulling on the back of your head to drag you back into a needy kiss. Your hands had already gone toward his slacks and you had been unzipping the front as the two of you made out once more. Taehyung’s hand fell back to the ground with a groan as you yanked at his underwear making him lift his hips enough for them to come down with his pants. A small hissing sound left his lips as his hard dick finally made its appearance, springing free of its right confines, hard enough to already angle toward his navel.
Taehyung was not ashamed by the way his stomach caved in with a deep breath at the first feel of your hand wrapping around his tip spreading the beads of precum that had already dribbled out the slit. His tongue was in your mouth, sliding against yours with you swallowing each groan he let out when you began to stroke his length slowly from base to tip. Like earlier, when you tried pulling away from the kiss to catch your breath, he was following after you to stop you from breaking apart from him.
A thin line of drool connected your mouth to his as you finally pulled back, biting down on your lip. He watched you look down at his exposed member, leaning down until you were face to face with it. His long fingers curled around your hair, slowly pushing your head down just a middle until he felt the first tender lick of your tongue along his tip. Taehyung’s entire body reacted to the way you tentatively licked his head teasingly making a small shudder travel right through him.
You have to say, Taehyung has one of the prettiest dicks you’ve ever seen and you just couldn’t help but want to savor it. It was just so pretty and you found yourself wanting to play with it some more. Your hand held onto him at his base as you ran your tongue down the side of his length lathering it in drool to aid your closed fist.
His brows scrunched together as he attempted to watch what you were doing. He could feel your hand jerking him off as you teasingly kissed up his side and tip, tongue swirling around his slit that leaked precum. He just couldn’t see you over the bulk of his sweater.
With an annoyed huffed, he released your hair to pull at his sweater with one arm as he brought it up toward his chest and tucked it under his jaw. Just as he had it fixed, a low and deep sound vibrating in his chest feeling your lips finally surround his tip, sucking gently before relaxing and taking more of him inside. You made yourself relax so you could loosen your jaw enough to accommodate his length as you began to suck him off, tongue licking along the bottom side everytime you bobbed your head up and down.
You had a firm hand on his upper thigh as the other was at his base against his pelvic bone to hold his hips down and let your mouth do all the work. His sweater slipped from under his chin making him groan as he threw his head back, “So good.”
He kept his gaze on the ceiling taking in the feel of your warm and tight mouth taking his cock so deeply. You looked up at his stomach trying to see his face but with the way his head was tilted back, you just couldn’t. All you could see was his chest rise and lower with each breathy sigh he let out, ducking his cock deeper down your throat.
Unable to help yourself, you moved your hand to his navel, feeling his breathing better and he needed to see what you looked like with his dick in your mouth.
He held the end of his sweater between his teeth as he stared down the expanse of his torso to where you laid between his legs swallowing around his cock with a dark look in your eyes that had him muffling a moan.
His hips bucked helplessly into you making you swallow more and more of his length till you couldn’t breathe properly anymore and needed to get off. The hand you still had on his dick began to stroke him, wrist flicking on each upward stroke to make your palm run along his slit while you caught your breath. You watched him in complete awe, he was so hard and his balls tightened against that you couldn’t help but lick between them.
"Fuck," the sweater made it hard to hear him as hw sank his teeth into it feeling it begin to moisten annoyingly so bur he was not going to miss the sight of you kissing below his cock to his balls.
When you finally decided to take him back in your mouth there was no slow build up, it was quick and sudden as you took him down your throat to the point where you gagged around him. The way he bit into the sweater looked like a restraint and he looked so pretty with the fire reflecting off his tan, bare chest and his blonde hair was just a knotted mess from how often he shook it.
“Y/n, you feel so good,” You were never much of a talker during sex, especially if it wasn’t genuine and just superficial dirty talk but he sounded so good moaning your name even if you couldn’t hear him properly.
There wasn’t much warning aside from the incessant moaning that fell from his lips and was swallowed in cashmere for you to know he was close. His hips bucked messily into your mouth, cock twitching with the need to just let go and when you met your mouth with your fist jerking off the rest of him… he just couldn’t take anymore.
Taehyung’s head fell back with a dry moan as the urge to cum got the best of him and he let go in your mouth. You didn’t seem to mind either, once the surprise of the suddenness had worn off, you didn’t hesitate but to try and swallow as much of the thick semen as you could, not at all bothered by the taste of it. Taehyung had to let his sweater go to breathe heavily through his parted lips as he used his elbows to sit himself up in the blanket, trying to understand what had just happened.
“Mm,” you hummed, proud of yourself for making him cum down your throat and you sat up to look at him. Taehyung met your eyes with his feeling heavy with need as he licked his dry lips before forcing himself to sit up properly so he could drag you into a deep kiss. You released a light mewl in surprise, kissing him back eagerly with his hand below your ear on your neck guiding you to angle your head one way while he went the other.
There was not a single part of him that felt bothered at the taste of himself on your tongue, if anything it only made him want you more so he could repay you for treating him so well. Once you had gotten lost in your little makeout, it was easy for you to follow his lead as he moved over you to get you to lie down in his place. The only time he pulled away from you was to finally free himself from the confines of his stupid sweaters and kick off his pants the rest of the way. It didn’t take you long to get what he wanted and you hurried to remove your cardigan feeling the straps of your dress begin to slip off your shoulders. Taehyung dragged you to him, kissing along the exposed skin of your collarbone and shoulder, hands sliding down your back till they could inch the dress down and off of you, making you take it off through the bottom so he wouldn’t have to pull away again.
Your bra and underwear were made of a thin crème colored lace that looked pretty against your complexion and soft between his fingertips as he ran his hands over your covered breasts that had been taunting him all night.
A quiet gasp left your lips due to the way his lips kissed down the valley of your breaths, soft hair tickling your neck. Taehyung’s hands held onto your sides, sliding them up to the end of your bra, feeling you arch your back into his affections until he was able to move them under your to grab at the clasp. Once he was able to unhook it, he tugged it off your arms letting you throw it to the side and dragged him into another kiss when he cupped your bare tits in his warm hands, using his thumbs to rub over your hardening nipples.
“Taehyung,” you whined softly against him, eyes on the ceiling when he began to leave love bites along your neck, traveling his wet mouth lower and lower down your stomach.
“Hm,” he hummed in acknowledgement, making his way between your legs while his hands groped your chest loving the softness of your skin under his rough painter’s hands.
As Taehyung slipped further between your legs till his face was near your spread legs, he looked down. The lace underwear was transparent enough for him to see just a bit underneath and he could see a small shadow of slick over where your cunt should be. He tried to look up at you through his blonde fringe and you sat forward enough to brush it back, smiling as he pressed a teasing kiss against the hood of your clit over your underwear. You lied back down letting yourself relax feeling his fingers hook under the hem of your panties till he was tugging it off and move your thighs over his shoulders so he four fit snugly against you.
Taehyung didn’t waste time teasing you, he had already been so turned on that not even cumming down your throat was able to calm his raging hormones. He just wanted to have you as soon as he could, any way he could, and that meant with his tongue stiffening as he parted your folds around him before licking flatly toward your clit. A light moan left your lips as your clit immediately reacted to stimulation, a small gush of slick pushing out of your pussy with arousal. Taehyung was not inexperienced in the art of making someone cum undone on his to hue and that was becoming more and more evident with the way he made out with your cunt like it was your mouth.
“Oh my god,” you threw your head back, out of breath, as his tongue began to flick messily at your clit while hands slid further down your inner thighs until he was using his thumbs to pull your folds apart for him. You could feel your wetness begin to drip further down but he was quick to leave your clit and lap his tongue against your wet entrance where your arousal seemed to form a puddle at. With the way his thumbs kept you open, you felt everything.
Every now and then his thumb would teasingly push in just a little more than before, acting like he didn’t even notice he was doing it while he hungrily sucked on your clit, tugging it between his lips. His thumb was rubbing against your labia, pressing into it, teasing your entrance every now and then by pushing into it until he felt your legs begin to tremble around him. Unable to help himself, he got a big more rough, tonguing your clit with such effort that his head shook with eagerness, swallowing your slick and pressing his face into your cunt to taste all that you had to offer.
“Oh,” you breathed out shakily, hand sinking into his hair when he nosed at your clit, tongue joining his finger as he thrusted it into you, “I-I, oh god.”
“Mhm,” Taehyung nodded, urging you to let go of him and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. Your thighs tried shutting but his head didn’t let you and instead you pressed them against him making him groan with need, eyes nearly rolling as he doubled his efforts.
Your throat became dry as you planted heavily, hips bucking against his mouth until finally you felt the knot in your stomach come undone. His motions did not miss a beat in licking everything you had to offer as your orgasm came in a wave.
“S-so, good,” you breathed out tiredly feeling your pussy walls clenching around nothing and as much as you wanted to just be done, you needed him inside you. When he came up to kiss you, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you so his hard cock rutted against your wet pussy. The taste of each other on your tongues was what made it easy for you two to want to keep going without the thought of repercussions. His hand slid between your sweaty bodies to hold his cock, lining it up with your entrance, bumping into your clue as he refused to break away from the kiss.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as the two of you looked at each other with such need, such want that your lips didn’t spend too long apart from each other.
Your tongue met his just as his cock met the inside of your pussy, taking it slowly as he stroked himself with your slick to ease himself in better. His dick was rock hard, and your pussy was so fucking wet he couldn’t help but moan into your mouth as you took him in.
Taehyung has to hold onto you with a hand on your waist to keep you from sliding away from him too much as the blanket wrinkles on his wooden floor. He had his other tucked by the side of your head looking down at you lovingly as he finally began to thrust, “Tell me if it’s too much, love.”
“Mhm,” you said softly, legs falling apart even more to accommodate his as he dug his knees into the floor so he use his hips to fuck you better. A groan left his lips at the expert roll of your pelvis against his taking more and more of his length inside your tight walls.
“You make me feel so full,” you moaned gently into his ear as he dropped his head down against your neck to try and ignore the fact that your pussy around his dick without any protective layer between them felt so fucking good. You were already so close and he’s barely started. He fucked you slowly but firmly, getting himself used to being inside you and sucking on your neck, his hand left your hip to cup your breast once more and you gasped when he pinched your nipple.
“So tight,” Taehyung breathed out heavily with a single touch thrust that had your walls tightening around him, “So good for me.”
He did it again, and once again drew another moan out of you, repeating his thrusts more roughly than before until you were moaning out a string of his name.
Taehyung was well endowed and you never doubted that for even a second. He knew how to have sex, not just to fuck, but to have sex. It wasn’t just loud groans and rough thrusts. He was sensual, he kissed your neck, whispered sweet words of praise in your ear, touch your body as he fucked you almost passionately—unlike the usual guys you hook up with.
“It’s like you were made for me,” Taehyung groaned, brows scrunched together in concentration as he pulled back to sit and swing your right leg over him to press against your left until you were nearly lying on your side. He laid down next to you, curving his body against yours and lifting your leg back and held it up with his knee as he fucked you from the side. His lips were against your ear, whispering, “Just for me, like my own creation.”
“Mhm,” you hummed, “Just for you, please Taehyung, I’m so close.”
You looked straight out of a vintage erotica film. His apartment was warm due to the fireplace and comforting because of the classical music playing. The moon looked over you as you had sex, nearly love making, lying on your sides with his body cuddled into yours, fucking you with his cock while groping your breasts in his hands. You had to angle your head back and then your neck to kiss him and he swallowed your mouth with his, thrusts getting tougher as he curled around you, “Me too, love, all for you.”
“So paint me,” you moaned, fucking back against him.
For a moment he wondered if you meant on a canvas, or with his cock in your pussy, but he realized he would gladly do both if you let him. Your hand slid back to guide his hips into yours, “Cum, Taehyung, inside me, please.”
“Oh god,” a low growl left his lips as he dug his face into your hair, “Fuck, Y/n, d-don’t tempt me.”
“Do it,” your hand came up to his hair now, dragging his head toward yours until your lips met in a messy kiss, “I’m going to cum, Tae, please.”
It wasn’t a good idea. You were on the pill but he didn’t know that, all he knew was that he wasn’t wearing a condom and he wanted to fill you with so much cum that he painted you white.
“Mhm,” he moaned when you tugged on his bottom lip between your teeth and his hand pinched your hips, “Cum, Y/n, please—oh fuck.”
The only thing that came from you two was the sound of skin slapping as the urge to cum overtook you both and you were fucking like rabbits in heat. Nothing but animalistic grunts left him as he finally felt the flood of release you let go around with him with a whine of his name and before he knew it, he was cumming.
You immediately felt full with his release as it joined yours, cock pulsing inside you as he waited a moment to reel his emotions back in, sweaty forehead pressed against yours, “So good.” He hugged you closely, breathing heavily into your neck, softly kissing your skin affectionately.
It took you both some time to regain awareness of what had just happened and you lied on the fur blanket he had tossed on the floor. The fire sizzled behind you and some classical song [you were ashamed to admit you didn’t know] was playing. Taehyung seemed to be more in control of himself now and reached up to his small table in search of his pack. Once he had a cigarette between his lips, he lay back down next to you to catch his breath, pressing it to yours next.
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There was a sort of glow to your skin, your eyes shined with the night sky reflecting through the windows. Light came from the fire not far behind and a small dim lamp in the corner yet the moon was still casted over you two.
His eyes traced your features once more and before he knew it, he was saying something unexpected, “She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.”
Despite the way your heart seemed to stop, your brows furrowed, “What?”
Taehyung took another drag of his cigarette, “Who wrote that? ‘She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen’ I read it somewhere… ‘With stars in her eyes’.”
Your eyes seemed to widen as you thought it over for a second. A sense of realization flooded you but even knowing you might be right, you still shyly asked, “Virgina Woolf?”
“Yes, I believe so, ‘She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, with stars in her eyes and veils in her hair.’ I read it years ago,” Taehyung stared out at the moon through the bay windows, “Anyways, it just came to mind, and reminded me of you.”
There was a cloud of smoke drifting into nothing like they were his words being absorbed all around you. After that a silence seemed to fill the room and it was so calming in fact that you found yourself lulled to sleep against his chest.
It wasn’t until hours later when you had woken to loud noises, did you realize that he had not had the luxury of peaceful post-sex sleep.
The first thing you had noticed in your haze of sleep was the sky still blue out and the fire still crackling behind you. The second was that you still slept on the floor and Taehyung was not beside you anymore. It took you some time to realize all the noise that had woken you up was coming from him and his quick brush strokes.
Taehyung had a pair of jeans on and a smock. He didn’t even bother with a shirt, just slipped the smock over his bare chest and he sat on the floor with a pallet full of paint in his hands as he did soft strokes on his canvas. He was so focused that he didn’t seem to mind his glasses which had slipped down to the tip of his nose, lips slightly parted in concentration and eyes bouncing around his painting.
You wondered what this meant for you. You didn’t know what time it was but the way he worked so diligently didn’t even make you want to stay, what if it would bother him? You don’t want to do that and he seems to have already forgotten you were there and what you had just done. With a small sigh you looked around for all of your things, finishing getting dressed and in search of your shoes and bag.
Taehyung’s strokes were fast and agile, he didn’t even have to think of how he was painting, he was just moving mindlessly and mixing all the right colors and blending in all the right places. You took a seat on the sofa trying to put your boots back on.
“What are you doing?” Taehyung asked but his eyes never left the canvas. You could barely hear him over the sound of the record player still playing and it took you a second to know he was even talking to you.
You looked up curiously, “Um… it’s late, I should probably go, I don’t want to disturb your work.”
You were very understanding actually. There are many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night to write and you didn’t waste time on thinking of anything else while doing it so if Taehyung was the same about his painting then you didn’t want to bother him.
Taehyung pushed his glasses up with the tip of his brush as he finally looked at you, “You won’t disturb me. Stay.”
He watched as you brought your lower lip between your teeth in thought before saying, “Seriously Tae, I don’t mind leaving. You’re working, I understand.”
“But I mind,” Taehyung said in his deep voice that sounded even deeper this late with the fire in the fireplace still crackling and Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 14 playing in the background. You didn’t say anything for a moment and he ran a hand through his messy hair, a small paint streak coating a strand, “Won’t you stay, Y/n? I’ve been in a slump and right now it just hit me all at once and I think it’s because of you. Please, won’t you stay?”
“Can I watch?”
Taehyung did not hesitate to nod his head and motion for you to sit on the floor next to him so you moved quickly to do so.
By the end of the night you watched him paint until dawn with your head resting against his back adoringly. His brush strokes were hypnotizing and the way he captured the light perfectly had you in awe, especially when you realized it was a painting of you.
It inspired you the way he was so devoted to his work and it reminded you of yourself.
Your days carried on as usual after that night with Taehyung. The only differences being ones that involved him. For instance, he has called you a couple times —he’s completely against the act of texting. It’s never anything major, usually to ask how your day has been or to get coffee. There was no sign of an actual relationship but it was close to it.
Today you had your shared anatomy class and he sat next to you instead of behind you like he normally would.
You’re not very fond of the fact that he’s distracting you more than you would like him to but it’s something you can’t explain. Your pen scribbled away in your yellow page notebook with word after word just piecing together effortlessly. Taehyung was utterly fascinated by it all, sometimes you wouldn’t even look down but your pen seemed to never fully lift off the page. You filled page after page in the three hour class, eyes on the professor but nothing you wrote down had to do with what he was teaching.
Every now and then you would look over at him and your eyes would meet, he would raise a brow and you would give him a smile, before looking down to write.
“I don’t think you heard a single thing he said today,” Taehyung said once the two of you made your way out of the lecture hall side by side. From the way you stared off into space, lips moving every now and then as if mouthing silent words, he knew you weren’t listening. He doubts you meant to ignore him but clearly you seemed to be in your own world right now, just thinking about writing and writing and he gets it.
You weren’t thinking of anything else, and he knows this because he had to grab onto your waist and pull you back to keep you from walking right into the pouring rain just outside. You seemed to snap back into reality and looked around, “Did you say something?”
Taehyung was opening his umbrella for you, pulling you under it beside him, “I’ve written notes for you, you seemed a bit distracted to take them yourself today.”
Your eyes slowly widened in surprise as it finally dawned on you that you had spent the last three hours doing nothing but writing about him. You came to a sudden stop and he waited there beside you with the rain pounding on his umbrella. With a small sigh, he let go of you to rummage through his bag with his free hand and took out his notebook, “I wrote two of everything.”
“Taehyung,” you said, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he said with a shrug, “But you were so lost in your writing I didn’t want anything disturbing you. I had no problem with it, I’m a fast writer and a good listener.”
“Thank you,” you finally began to walk again now that you couldn’t bear the cold standing in one place, “I am bad at focusing on anything else when I write.”
“I understand,” he had to speak up so you could hear him over the rain, “And if you do not think I would be a bother, maybe you’ll let me watch you write more?”
“You’ll get bored,” you said as the two of you walked toward his car, a vintage Chevrolet Corvette that belonged to his grandfather.
“Watching you?” He asked, holding the door open for you, “Never.”
Your apartment was how he pictured it—books and papers scattered everywhere. You were still much neater than him but not by much, clearly the two of you focused too much on your craft that it’s completely taken over everything.
Your place was small yet spacious and well furnished with vintage chairs and mahogany bookshelves. There was a slight clutter of books upon books and dead plants that didn’t get enough sun with the curtains closed. It was warm and had your lovely scent. There was a stack of papers on a desk next to a laptop and an expensive looking typewriter.
There wasn’t much of a conversation going on between you, the last time you said something to him was when you asked him if he needed a drink. Your back was to him and he spent about an hour or so sitting alone on the daybed as he drew in his sketchbook.
After some time when you finally decided to join him, you were exhausted and physically drained. You lied down with your head on his lap looking up at him when his hand began to caress your cheek. “Taehyung.”
“Yes, my love?” He asked with his gaze meeting yours. The name just slipped and he didn’t care to take it back, only watched you curiously still waiting to hear what you would say. You blinked once, “I think I’m beginning to understand better.”
You had been writing nonstop for a long time but for the first time it felt like you finally understood your work.
There was no way to explain it but these interactions with Taehyung—your living reverie—have opened your eyes to his character and the way you wanted to write him in the first place. He was everything you had been searching for.
He leaned back, startled by the sudden way you sat up, hand around his looking at him, “You.”
“Me?” Taehyung asked with his hands on your waist, shifting you more on his lap, “You understand me?”
All it took was one nod of your head for him to be pulling you into a kiss meeting you halfway. He had a hand on your chin, angling your head opposite of his letting the kiss deepen, soon he was tracing the curve of your neck with his jaw. Every ounce of lust and greed poured out in his fingers when he touched you.
It didn’t take Jungkook long to realize something about his friend seemed different. He was used to Taehyung isolating himself when he had a wave of creativity. There would be days on end where Jungkook would call only for every call to be ignored. He would even write his friend letters but he never answered him. When he was back to normal, Taehyung would look tired like he hadn't eaten or slept in days.
Right now, Jungkook sees Taehyung but he doesn’t think Taehyung sees him. Despite sitting across from him, he wouldn’t look his way. Instead he was staring out the large windows that overlooked the courtyard
“Have you eaten?” Jungkook asked, looking up from his sketchbook. The two had been on the second floor of the library this evening studying classical art techniques. Jungkook had gotten bored and began to sketch up an idea for another sculpture while Taehyung drew someone he couldn’t recognize. His friend didn’t even so much as flinch and give any sign that he was listening.
A small scoff left his lips, “Taehyung.” With an annoyed huff, he reached for his sketchbook and watched with a confused expression, “Who is this?”
It was quite detailed despite how little time he had to draw this and Jungkook was in awe. For a second he wondered if this was original work from Taehyung, all created from his mind but as he followed Taehyung’s gaze out the window, he realized it wasn’t.
It was you.
You sat on a wooden bench facing the swan fountain and there was a book in your hands. Jungkook couldn’t make out the book but seemed to have all your attention because you stopped every now and then to highlight something then jot it down in a notebook. There were powder blue headphones on your head and you were in a red lace long sleeve top with roses embroidered on and under was a white shirt. The black skirt you wore reached below your knees with a slit on the side that exposed your boots and over it all, you had on a black coat. He’ll admit, you did look rather captivating against the dead green of the lawn and trees paired with the foggy sky from days on end of rain.
Taehyung seemed to have found his newest muse and it was all he could think about.
“Are you still interested in her?” Jungkook finally asked, catching the way a small smile seemed to fall on Taehyung’s face—something he rarely got to see despite how easily he gave them to you. Jungkook did recognize you in the drawing better once he got a good look at you. He had almost forgotten seeing you weeks ago when he was with Taehyung, but he had certainly forgotten his friend’s knowledge and curiosity of you.
“Only a little,” Taehyung said, ignoring the way Jungkook looked at him with disbelief. He was used to his friend having a sudden infatuation with a certain person but they were short lived and always ended with the poor girl crying about how cold he was—Jungkook knows because he was always there to pick up their broken pieces with a night in his bed [Taehyung never cared].
“She’s hot,” Jungkook said, half teasingly to read how his friend would feel. Taehyung merely gave him a side glance in acknowledgment but the smile he had for you had tightened as he looked back outside.
“It’s that guy again,” Jungkook pointed out as they both watched outside, “What’s his name?”
Kim Namjoon.
Taehyung was used to seeing him around throughout the years but he never had a need to pay attention to him before. Like most of those who he sees in passing they never become more than that—just a passing blur that he doesn’t care to know a single thing about. Namjoon used to be one of the ones he ignored until he heard you mention him once or twice.
“Who knows,” Taehyung said, shifting his gaze down to his sketch pad avoiding the sight of Namjoon and you now standing like you had somewhere to go.
Jungkook, the ever curious and procrastinating, kept watching you just out of sheer boredom. The library had gone dark aside from the few kerosene lamps scattered across tables but it was already getting hard to see his sketches properly so now he’s just waiting for Taehyung to finish.
Suddenly, all too suddenly that it made him jump in his seat, Taehyung was standing, shoving his things in his bag loud enough to create an echo in the cold library. Jungkook looked up at him, pencil laying limp in his hand now, “Are we done?”
Taehyung pushed his chair into the wooden table, not bothering to look back at his friend as he stormed off, “Yes.”
Not long after he watched his friend make his abrupt leave from the library… he saw him now approaching you and Namjoon.
You were blissfully unaware that you had been watching through the windows of a library as much as you were unaware of Taehyung coming up behind you as Namjoon talked. “I was thinking maybe we could go catch that new movie that just came out.”
“Oh, I was going to do some writing—You won’t believe it Joonie,” your tone changed so suddenly as you grabbed him by the arm, jerking him toward you excitedly carrying on like he hadn’t said anything, “It’s like I can’t stop writing, you wouldn’t believe how easily the words are flowing like… I don’t know, I’ve never felt this way before, Joonie.”
“That’s good, Y/n but,” Namjoon’s words slowed down as he looked behind you at the looming figure standing a few feet away. He’s never spoken a word to Kim Taehyung despite both being grad students, he only knows of him from what others have spoken and he’s very… cold. Since when did you and him begin to talk? Namjoon took your hands in his as he pulled you closer to have your attention knowing you still didn’t know who was behind you, “But it’s nice to get a break, you don’t want to overwork yourself.”
“You don’t get it, Namjoon,” you said his name instead of the affectionate nickname you’ve always called him, he couldn’t help but look at Taehyung who pretended like he wasn’t watching closely with a cigarette dangling between his fingers, “I can’t stop. I cannot stop. If I-I do, I don’t know.”
His gaze shifted behind you making you turn to look too and your eyes seemed to soften as you made eye contact with the dirty blonde you’ve been spending time with lately.
“Y/n,” Taehyung’s deep voice spoke as he stared at you two, “I thought you would be busy writing”
“I’m on my way to right now,” you said, taking a step toward him with your back to your friend, “Would you join me?”
A smile came to his face as he pushed his glasses up, “If I could paint you again.”
You stood still in thought. The first time he painted you was after you had sex for the first time when it felt warm, passionate and hungry. He never slept that night, he stayed up the entire time getting the right blends of pigment on your body as it lay on the flue blanket completely nude. You’re not sure if he knew what saying that would make you think but from the way his brow raised questioning made you think he did.
Namjoon felt his jaw clench, eyes glaring at Taehyung who didn’t even bat an eye in his direction. You looked back to Namjoon now who waited for you with a bated breath. You walked up to him making his heart face as you pressed your lips against his cheek with your softly brushing against his jaw. The kiss was tender on his face and when he looked down at you, you gave him an apologetic smile, “Will you call me?”
“Will you answer?” Namjoon asked but you weren’t beside him anymore. You were next to Taehyung who took your book bag off your shoulders and put it over his, a hand grazing your back as he talked to you but too far out of your friend’s ear shot.
“What did your friend want?” Taehyung asked.
“To see a movie but I have to finish what I’m writing before it slips my mind,” You said moving your hand to his bent arm walking alongside him, “I’ll have to catch up with him another day.”
He didn’t have anything to say to that but you could still feel his eyes on you. A part of you wanted to ignore his gaze because you find yourself at a loss for words any time he looks at you that way. It’s like he sees through you not at you and sometimes you don’t know which one is better.
There’s no denying that he likes the look of you, he finds you attractive and not just physically. You know that. You just can’t tell what he’s thinking that makes him look at you that way.
“Namjoon.”
He stood alone where you once had been beside him, just watching you leave with the art major he had no idea you were even involved with. Since when did you begin to talk to him and how did Namjoon never notice? Did you just decide that you would not be open with him anymore?
“Jimin,” Namjoon looked at his friend, a bit stunned, “Hey.”
The ballerina watched after you alongside him now as he asked, “Y/n is leaving with Taehyung?”
“Are they together?” Namjoon asked suddenly, “Did you know?”
Jimin shook his head no, “Not exactly, I mean, Y/n never hid the fact that she had a thing for Taehyung, I’m just surprised to see them leave together. Y/n never told me they began to talk.”
Namjoon bit his lip nervously, “You don’t think they’ll date or anything, do you? This just seems sudden.”
He looked to his friend for some comfort but all Jimin did was shrug his shoulders and say, “I don’t know, you know Y/n doesn’t really date and neither does he, they’re always too focused on writing or painting to think about anything else. Who knows, they might just work out because of how similar they are.”
“Yeah but…” Namjoon was trying to find words to say but nothing came to mind. Maybe he was just being bitter… he’s been your friend for years. He’s always been there for you anytime you needed him without question. You were attracted to him enough to sleep with him but was that all it was ever going to be? You won’t see him as more than just a friend but then Kim Taehyung comes along and suddenly you have no problem walking away from Namjoon to go with him?
Jimin looked at his friend apologetically, he sympathized with him. He’s known you for longer than Namjoon has and he’s been through this exact same thing before too. There was a time when he thought you and him were the closest until Namjoon came along and suddenly you spent all your time with him instead. Now Namjoon is experiencing what Jimin did but this time because of Taehyung and he feels bad for that.
“Look, I’m going to be honest,” Jimin tried to work out what he was going to say so it didn’t come off badly, “I think, Y/n loves the idea of Taehyung on paper… how she can write or create him like she’s done with you and I in the past. I think maybe it’s nothing past something superficial but at the same time…”
“At the same time,” Jimin repeated himself with a bated breath, “I see a lot of similarities between them especially when it comes to putting their work first and maybe that’s something they seem to understand about each other that we don’t.”
Namjoon didn’t get it.
So was it not that you two had feelings for each other?
Was it not that you might love each other?
Was it just that you two understood each other?
He doesn’t get it. Now, Namjoon might not understand your obsession with perfecting every aspect of your writing… but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you. He loved you a lot—more than he assumes Taehyung could love you.
It’s not like it’s a secret, Namjoon has always been open about the way he felt about you so why did you choose someone else? All because he couldn’t understand you the way Taehyung might? Is it because he can’t just look at you and know what you need the way Taehyung can?
Is it because he doesn’t spend hours missing sleep or eating just so he could obsess over his work too?
How could Taehyung possibly understand you more than he does?
::.
okokok this was kinda long but I’m sorry, blonde Taehyung as an art major was doing it for me 🫶this was a romance but also not necessarily bc the focus isn’t entirely on their relationship 🤒neither one of them are supposed to be super likable so if you hate them and the way oc did Joon and Jimin dirty i get it 🫡but they just genuinely do not think about anything but their craft.
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2K notes · View notes
c-nstantine · 3 months
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for the man who has everything
Description: Dick doesn't know what to get Bruce for Christmas
Warnings: Allusions to sex
Word Count: 0.6k
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Just days before Christmas, Dick Grayson had found a gift for everyone except Bruce Wayne. In all fairness, it's really hard shopping for a billionaire. Either Bruce already had the gift or it was something so minuscule that it didn't matter if Dick had gotten it or not.
"What did y'all get Bruce for Christmas?" Dick asked as he found his siblings wrapping presents in the den. Thomas was drawing his mother and father pictures while the twins simply played with bows in their playpen.
"Condoms," Jason spoke first. His tongue poked out of his pink lips with concentration as he focused on making sure that the edges of the box were wrapped to perfection.
"Listen, I love Thomas, Martha, and Alfred, but he doesn't need any more kids," Jason tried to justify himself as his siblings turned and stared at him.
"So as a Christmas present, you got him condoms," Stephanie reiterated carefully.
"Yep, a whole lifetime supply," Jason said proudly, holding up the now-wrapped box of condoms. Interestingly, enough his siblings agreed that maybe this was a good gift.
"Okay? Next," Dick said, slightly ignoring what Jason said. He didn't want to think about how Jason 'acquired' a lifetime supply of condoms because that doesn't seem possible.
"I finished his paperwork for the next three quarters," Tim slipped a manila folder into a Christmas bag with a bow and smiled. Sometimes Bruce was a little lazy with his paperwork but it's not like the board of directors would notice anyway.
"Sometimes I forget he's a CEO," Stephanie said while scratching her head. Honestly, he just gets referred to as Y/N Wayne's husband. It's totally not like she took his last name or anything. Sometimes he was grateful to not have all of the spotlight on him.
"I painted a portrait of mother and father," Damian adjusted the bow on his gift. He had painted a large oil painting of the two of them. His siblings were a bit surprised at how he had found the time to do this.
"Me and Cass got him an original copy of Zoro's poster," This gift was a bit more sentimental. Coming from Duke and Cass, it was perfect. Knowing Bruce he'd probably hang it in one of his offices. These were all exceptional gifts but Dick didn't have anything yet. The door opened to the den and everyone stopped what they were doing.
"Hey, ma. What did you get Bruce for Christmas?" Jason asked, after exhaling. The room was less tense at the realization that it was just Y/N. She had come to get the twins and check their diapers.
"I can't tell you," She said in a baby voice as she picked up Martha and Alfred from their playpen. The two babies gurgled at the sight of their mother.
"Gross," Tim spoke before realizing that he said it out loud. Dick snorted in response and Y/N jokingly glared at her son.
"Not like that, it's a surprise," She spoke with a baby on either side of her hips.
"Is it another baby? Because if it is Jason's gift is going to be hilarious," Duke asked, putting two and two together. The room tensed once again and everyone panned to Y/N waiting for a response. She felt like they were searing holes into her head.
"No, it's not another baby." Everyone collectively let out a sigh of relief. The thought of Bruce having any more children was a bit daunting. Isn't he old by now anyway?
"You'll find out at dinner tonight. Merry Christmas, kiddos," She said walking out of the den with her babies in tow.
"Merry Christmas, "The kids chorused back to her and Dick still didn't know what to get Bruce for Christmas.
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patheticbatman · 2 months
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I haven't seen any posts about this yet but l've seen some fan art that makes me feel this needs to be said:
Don't forget Leah Sava Jeffries has darker skin when making Annabeth Chase fan art!
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She is much closer to Lupita Nyong'o than Zoe Kravitz when it comes to shading, reflection, and complementary color usage :).
Lighting for dark skin is different on light skin. Light skin gets changed by lighting, and dark skin reflects the lighting. Below is a lovely shot of Nyong'o's character from Wakanda Forever in mourning. The filmmakers emphasize the umber qualities of her skin in contrast to the funereal white and (arguably harsh) light across her shoulder below.
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Try to pick spots that aren't directly in or near the light, and try mixing 3 or more! You can put it into a color mixer online, or even color pick, lower the opacity, and lay the shades over each other until you find one that fits. And of course, the more 'realistic' you want to go with shading and lighting, the more shades you're going to want to be able to explore vivaciously :D.
Let's take a look at the same 3 beautiful actresses I mentioned at the beginning, with a bad color picked area and a better-ish color picked area. (Please keep in mind, these are not perfect comparisons, as I was not able to find pictures of all 3 actresses under the same kind of lighting.)
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Kravitz's has a clear difference between the two, but they aren't too far apart, in comparison to Nyong’o’s and Jeffries’s. Note the dullness in the poorly picked shades as opposed to the better ones. Also keep in mind that while Kravitz has a rosy undertone (at least in that picture - it’s from The Batman, which has stylized coloring) Nyong’o has a slight cool undertone (I can’t pin down quite what, but the picture is definitely not stylized like Kravitz’s).
Jeffries runs more ochre or russet, but neither of those are pink. They are more red than terracotta or umber, but to call Jeffries’s face rosy would be wrong. Err more towards the golden when drawing her.
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^^saved an image from a writing tutorial long ago, but can’t seem to find it. If someone recognizes it, I’ll link it. EDIT: it’s from this post. Thanks @autumnrowancollector ! <3
And also, the darker skin gets, the less likely warm undertones are going to appear. Don't be afraid to use blue or purple or even green on occasion!
Additionally, cool lighting on dark skin is always a win imo.
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(I was going to use that picture of Jeffries as Annabeth by the lightning bolt, but then I realized the lighting on her face doesn’t quite match up with where it should hit from that angle, and I realized they kind of just turned everything bluer, so screenshot time!)
(Also if you want another really great live action example, check out anything Aldis Hodge is in, like Leverage and Black Adam)(and of course there’s Spiderverse <3 but I want to post pictures of Hodge)
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Now, to here’s a list of more experienced people’s advice:
Black facial features & hair
Shading digitally for a (somewhat) monotone Black character
Stylistic choices and places to start looking for inspiration (besides a search engine).
Coloring Black people’s lips
A better coloration tutorial
Also a nice tutorial for Indigenous skin tones, just in case yall want to draw Piper or use this information for other dark skinned characters :).
EDIT: Some actresses who are closer in skintone to use for Annabeth, provided by the lovely @blackfemmecharacterdependency ! If you can’t find a reference for Jeffries in a specific lighting, maybe check out these ladies’ pictures! It’s a reblog, so scroll down.
TLDR: Don’t make Annabeth pink and pale, make her dark and golden.
343 notes · View notes
alwritey-aphrodite · 4 months
Note
hey hey hey!! im definitely back in my hunger games era too— sejanus is literally the love of my life😻 I was wondering if you could write something about snow having to basically force sejanus into asking out reader (shy pookie🥹) and it’s just fluff
if not that’s perfectly fine!! thank you so so much <33
There’s no actual asking out in this one, but I’ll happily write a part two!!
Sejanus Plinth was the closest thing Coriolanus had to a best friend, despite the fact that he’d never admit that to anyone. The boy was kind, thoughtful, smart, a whole laundry list of good qualities that seemed slightly buried under the fact that he was an upstart. Maybe all those good qualities are cultivated in the districts, because Coryo couldn’t think of many other students at the academy who shared Sejanus’s attributes.
Except for you, of course, with your sweet smiles and kind words and exceptional brain, but your cunning and determination to come out on top was all capital. Sejanus was head over heels for you, anyone could see, and everyone did see, if the snickers from Arachne and Festus were to be trusted. Sejanus would never say anything, though, would never make a move, because it seems like his entire brain shuts down whenever you’re near, reducing him to a stuttering, blushing mess.
Coryo had tried his best to let his friend handle it on his own, but there are only so many times he can watch Sejanus’s failed attempts at small talk with you before he considers never coming back to school, if only so he won’t need to pat Sejanus on the back and tell him he did great. After months and months of standing on the sidelines and whispering encouragement, he was taking matters into his own hands.
Walking out of the academy building side by side with Sejanus, Coryo was unsurprised to hear the crunch of footsteps running up behind them, trying to catch up.
“Sejanus!” You called out once you were close enough not to shout for all of the capital to hear, rushing the rest of the way when the boys stop and turn. You're out of breath but grinning, in the middle of shrugging your bag off of your shoulder.
“I found that book you wanted, but I definitely wasn’t supposed to take it out of the library so please be super careful,” you tell Sejanus with a smile, arm outstretched with the aforementioned book in your hand. Your smile falls though as the boy's face clouds with confusion, brows drawing down and a slight pout forming on his lips.
“I didn’t ask for a book,” Sejanus says, too deep into his confusion to be nervous to speak to you and too desperate to remedy the crestfallen expression on your face to realize Coryo was slowly inching away.
“Coryo said you needed it, asked if I could bring it to you,” you explain, the book falling limp in your hand. The two of you turn your attention to the blond boy, who’s only made it a few steps away from you. He shrugs, the picture of innocence and nonchalance, before turning and heading on his way, not even giving you or Sejanus the opportunity to say anything more, let alone goodbye.
“I can take it, though, so you don’t get in trouble,” Sejanus offers after a few seconds of silence, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink from more than just the chill in the air.
“That’s alright, I’ll just bring it back tomorrow,” you stuff the book into your bag before slinging it back onto your shoulders and smiling at Sejanus, grin growing wider when he smiles back.
“Let me walk you home? It gets dark so quickly now and I don’t want you to have any trouble, with the stolen book and all,” he rambles, trying and failing to be casual, but he’s earnest and funny without even trying and really, you’d do anything to spend just a few more minutes with him.
The two of you walk home, hands swinging and dangerously close to touching, and the more you talk, the more Sejanus’s nerves seem to melt away. Sure, he’s still a little nervous and finds you delightfully intimidating, but he’s able to make his way through conversations and he even makes you laugh a few times, a sound he wants to bottle up and listen to for the rest of his life.
Once you reach your door, though, and you press a kiss to his cheek to thank him for taking you home, he’s right back at square one, a blushing mess that takes a minute to process what had happened on your doorstep before he’s able to move again, and all he’s able to think about for the rest of the night is you and what he needs to do for you to kiss him again.
361 notes · View notes
marlenesluv · 6 months
Text
Paper Rings. (DR)
summary: posting book content and drawing is your job, reading and drawing is luckily two of your favorite hobbies. y’know, besides posting your boyfriend, daniel.
warnings: none!
pairing: daniel ricciardo x book!reader (slight mention of reader being an artist as well)
note: not sure, but i might make this a thing with every driver..? idk. it’s tempting for sure. also, slight age-gap in my mind when i wrote this. daniel is 34, i was imaging reader as 25/26. another thing, lmao, and this pertains to all my daniel stuff, im just writing as if he’s in redbull. im missing redbull era hard.
masterlist here -> masterlist link
^ check my list for all posts! ^
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liked by: danielricciardo, carlossainz55, and 782,577 others
y/n.user: midnight runs and cute annotations🎀
view comments…
danielricciardo: i look quite handsome
|> maxverstappen1: you’re cocky
|> y/n.user: he does look handsome, though
|> maxverstappen1: wow, she compliments and is smart, how tf
|> danielricciardo: 😇🖕(ily y/n!)
|> y/n.user: 💁‍♀️ (ily too!)
bookstergram: have you seen the movie ‘pride and prejudice’? or are you waiting till you finish the book?
|> y/n.user: ive seen it! (a thousand times lol) i’m rereading it rn
f1.editpage: you guys are my parents, you just don’t know it yet :/
wag.off1: our book barbie 🎀💐🩷🩰
|> y/n.user: EEK 🥹
|> danielricciardo: what am i??😁
|> wag.off1: you’re just ken
|> danielricciardo: 🙁
|> y/n.user: but you’re keneough for me 😔❤️
|> danielricciardo: i will happily be your ken❤️😇
user55: do they make us feel single on purpose…
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liked by: y/n.user, georgerussell63, and 1,067,190 others
danielricciardo: my multitalented gf🎨
view comments…
francisca.cgomes: wow, your gf is so so pretty
|> danielricciardo: i know😁
|> y/n.user: my heart 🥹🫶 i love you kika (and daniel ofc!)
|> danielricciardo: 🤨 come give me kisses, that was mean
|> y/n.user: fine🙄😚
scottyjames31: wow, didn’t realize you ran a fanpage
|> danielricciardo: for my girl? of course i do
fanpage.f1: i need someone who posts me like this
user93: where tf do i find a daniel??
|> user35: for starters, im gonna need to be a little richer LMAO
|> user74: well, daniel and y/n grew up together, so just grow up with an f1 driver LOLZ
wagsoff1: our wag is looking so beautiful and creative in these
y/nfanpage: she’s so pretty wtfffff
booklover98: my book content mom🤗
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liked by: danielricciardo, haleypham, and 814,134 others
y/n.user: italy, i love you
view comments…
danielricciardo: but you love me more
|> y/n.user: of course i love you more, danny 😌
wags.f1: you guys are so cute
book.lover: these pictures are so aesthetic UGH
des.sidster: what book are you reading??
|> y/n.user: the duke and i!
|> des.sidster: omg! finally starting? lmk🫶
|> y/n.user: ofc!🫶
y/n.fanpage: i need more y/n content. her page is j danny and books
|> user45: maybe that’s because she loves daniel and her books LMAO
|> danielricciardo: hmmmm🤔
dannyric.fp: the danny content? mother is feeding us🤲
pierregasly: we are also in italy??
|> y/n.user: are you asking me…?
|> pierregasly: why haven’t you asked to hangout with me and kika?
|> y/n.user: do you guys wanna get dinner tonight?
|> francisca.cgomes: yes! text our gc!!
user92: they have a gc??
|> daniel.y/n.fp: daniel mentioned in an interview once that he, y/n, kika, and pierre have one where they plan hangouts!
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liked by: y/n.user, carlossainz55, and 1,110,924 others
danielricciardo: i’ll marry you with paper rings (did i do it right, babe?)
view comments…
y/n.user: you did so good, love ☹️🩷
|> danielricciardo: 😁🩷
user11: this post is calling me single in every way possible. wtf
f1wags: the first picture is so sweet, but the second⁉️ i’m sobbing
maxverstappen1: i always think i’m following a fanpage when i scroll through my instagram and see these, and then i realize you’re just down bad
|> danielricciardo: sue me for being in love
|> y/ns.fanpage: i’m about to, you guys make me feel lonely
user46: the way he supports her reading addiction, posts her, and loves her more than anything ☹️
|> user16: we’re all living vicariously through them
danric.edits: we are NOT skipping over the fact that he just said that he would “marry her with paper rings” are we???
|> y/n.photoshoots: fr, like, are our parents finally gonna get married?
bookster.gram: my book mom 🫶
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liked by: danielricciardo, lilymhe, and 1,162,935 others
y/n.user: bro ☹️🥹 how do i not violently sob rn
view comments…
danielricciardo: i violently sobbed when you said ‘yes’
|> y/n.user: i’m gonna sob again
des.sidster: omgggg, congratulations!!🩷
|> y/n.user: thank you des!🩷
y/nfanpage: change ur user now??
|> user04: she’s prolly waiting till they get married
saracarrolli: congratulations, pretty girl!! you guys are adorable together
|> y/n.user: thank you sara! :’)
books4life: mom and dad are getting married guys😭🫶🥹
bookofthemonth: congratulations to one of our favorite couples!! expect book mail <3
|> y/n.user: aww, haha, thank you!!!!
pierregasly: wow, he actually proposed. congratulations!
|> y/n.user: thanks pierre🙄
|> pierregasly: watch it or i wont come to the wedding
|> y/n.user: who said you were invited?
|> pierregasly: excuse me😦
|> danielricciardo: shes joking😶
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liked by: y/n.user, maxverstappen1, and 1,924,035 others
danielricciardo: i love you, thank you for saying yes to forever❤️
view comments…
y/n.user: i love you more❤️
|> danielricciardo: impossible❤️
ricciardo.fp: they are too cute, your honor
charles_leclerc: congratulations, mate!!
|> danielricciardo: thank you!!
user82: mom & dad are so cuteee AHHHHHHH
dan.ricccc.fp: you didn’t marry her with paper rings tho!
christianhorner: congratulations, daniel and y/n!!
|> y/n.user: thank you, christian!! (from me and dan)
maxverstappen1: congratulations, guys!!!
|> georgerussell63: maxiel is dead now
|> danielricciardo: thank you max! and maxiel will never die
|> maxverstappen1: so true
bookk.gram: my roman empire fr
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(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)
729 notes · View notes
softlyspector · 7 months
Text
Blush
Summary: All you do is want, while Joel worries he won't ever be enough.
Find out how it started: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.
Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader
Word count: ~9.2k
Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, just the barest hint of angst/argument, the ‘believes they’re hard to love, loving them is like breathing’ trope, tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn’t really described), reader is touch adverse, vague mentions of a past abusive relationship, insecurity, self confidence issues, abandonment issues, anxiety, lots and lots of intimacy and touching, mentions of arousal, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this
A/N: Hello, so here we are at the final part of this lil four part thing. This fic owns a piece of my heart now, and I hope it's found somewhere to live in yours too. It's special for a lot of reasons, but the support its gotten has really been something incredible. Thank you for being so kind and lovely.
Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!
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“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” 
Joel glances up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor. A lock of gray hair falls to the middle of his forehead. You reach down, without thinking, and push it back into place, letting your fingers trail through his hair. He always wears it so carefully parted to the side, especially now that he’s let it grow out a little longer. 
You picture him standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom brushing his hair and feel something warm and fluttery beat against your ribs. 
The image comes easily because it’s not something you have to imagine but remember—Joel tilting his chin down, eyes on his reflection in silvery morning light. 
Pink stains the tips of his ears when you let his hair slip softly from between your fingers. 
“Yeah, I did,” he disagrees before laboring to his feet. You hook one hand beneath his elbow and help him up. His knees pop and he hisses. “It’s past due we fixed it, anyhow. Past time I let you get back to your own life,” he continues, not pulling his arm away from your hand as he stoops down to shove the screwdriver in his hand back into the toolbox on the floor.
You like the way he says we. 
You rub your thumb against the inside of his elbow as he straightens again with a groan that means his back is aching again. “Well, now you get your house back to yourself,” you tease. 
“Ain’t like you’re trouble to have around,” he grumbles. 
You keep a steady pressure on his arm, because you like the way his skin feels under your hand, warm and pliant, like he’s been in the sun. You like the way you can feel the shift of muscle and the micro jump of tendon beneath your fingertips. 
You don’t like admitting to yourself that you like touching him, that you like the way he lets you hold on to him but so rarely tries the same with you. 
But, you’ve come to realize over the last week, where you shy away from touch, Joel craves it; he’s positively starved for it. He tries his best to hide that he wants for anything at all, but you see it. 
He would never ask for anything from you; it’s anathema to who he is, to ask for care. He’s stubborn and a little proud. 
When the locks that fit your door weren’t in stock at the local hardware store and Joel insisted on you staying with him until they came in, you saw that want first hand. 
He’d been busy for so many years—with work and his kids and his business and his brother. He’d lived in a busy house with a revolving door of people who constantly needed him. And now, he lives alone and away from his kids. His schedule is one he sets for himself, with easy, quiet days. His girls are busy, Tommy has his own family, and his house is empty. 
Maybe Joel would never admit it, but he is lonely.  
Staying with him for a week had shown you just how much he wanted—touch and companionship and company—and just how absolutely solitary his days were, especially in the evenings. Guilt like a tide had washed over you. How closely he paid attention to you, how cautious and watchful and giving he’s been, and you haven't really done the same. You haven’t tried to give him anything, to meet him somewhere in the middle. You hadn’t even thought of it. 
“Thank you for letting me stay with you this week,” you say, releasing his arm to press your hand against his spine, rubbing gently. It’s easier that way, you find, subtly giving, easing hurts he wouldn’t admit to. “And for changing the locks. You’re too good to me.” 
“No trouble,” he assures you again, quickly. “It’s too quiet without my girls livin’ with me. It was nice. Havin’ you around.” He clears his throat and bushes past the admission. “Anyhow. I’ll let you get settled back in.”
You frown at him, but Joel only puts an arm around your waist and leans in to press a kiss to your temple and then your cheek. “You call me if you need somethin’. Anything.” He says it against your skin, his lips warm and slightly chapped. “Even for nothin’.”
You close your eyes and absorb that affection, let it sink deep into your body, into your blood and bones, the ventricles of your heart. 
For a moment, all you can feel is him breathing against you—the patient, steady rise and fall of his breath—before he starts to pull away. You don’t want him to go, you aren’t ready to be parted from him. 
You aren’t ready to let him go. 
“Joel,” you say and cup your hand around his wrist to keep him in place. “Wait. Why don’t you come in? For some coffee?” 
He meets your eyes, searches your gaze for a long moment there in the doorway of your apartment. His brows relax, his mouth softens, and you know he knows exactly what you’re doing, that he’s been found out. He thinks it’s pity and not cloying sweetness, not needling want and a building codependency that you don’t particularly mind driving your request. “Sweetheart—”
“Please? I don’t want to be alone just yet.” 
A few pleading words are all it takes for him to crumble. He nods and relents, “All right. Just for a minute, I have a client this afternoon.” 
“Okay,” you nod and pull him inside. You snap the door shut behind you and make a show of locking your brand new locks.
 Joel rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t comment, settling himself at your kitchen table instead, toolbox tucked between his feet on the floor. The morning light paints him in sunburst orange and bumblebee gold, rays falling like a halo around him. He taps his fingers against the muraled, painted surface of the table, tracing the lines with one blunt nail. 
Unfamiliar want bubbles up in you again. You want to touch him again.
Already. 
You just let go of him.  
It’s an ache, right in the center of your chest. It feels like something pulsing and raw, infectious and torn. 
You’d like to plant yourself against his side and sit in the brutally warm, fall Texan sun shining so innocently through the slats of your blinds. 
Cured. Clean. 
That’s what you’d be, if you allowed yourself to reach out and grab it. 
Instead, you cup your hands against the sides of his face and stroke your thumbs over his graying beard. 
You half expect him to pull away, to jolt out of your hands, like you would. And though he does look startled, he doesn’t pull away. Hazel eyes flick up to meet yours. You trace the scar on the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Thank you,” you say again, just so he’ll hear it even if he won’t respond to it. “You don’t have to worry about me but you do.”
He pulls one of your hands away from his face and nods, staring down at the lines on your palm before he hooks your pointer fingers together. “‘Course I have to.” 
You keep stroking his cheek, the soft bristles of his beard catching on your fingertips. “Of course,” you say. “It’s what you do.” 
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Joel thinks you look beautiful. He also thinks you look wistful, with later October light falling in drafts around your shoulders—merigold, sunshine, sepia. 
For once, you aren’t looking back at him. Joel catches you looking at him all the time now, mostly at his hands, chancing glances from the corner of your eyes  like he would mind you looking. If he thought more of himself, he’d probably say you look at him with a dreamy cut to your gaze.
Your feet are propped on the porch railing. Your jeans and scuffed sneakers are splattered with bright splotches of paint. His guitar is across your lap and Ellie is next to you, teaching you, he supposes. Or at the very least correcting you occasionally as the two of you talk. You say something and she tilts back with a full bodied laugh. 
You’d worked with Sarah and Ellie all day, painting the chicken coop in bright swatches of pastel blush and lavender. It sticks out something awful, but he’d said you could paint it however you wanted and he meant it. 
Any way Joel cut it, he was outvoted three to one anyhow. 
He thinks you probably let Sarah influence the color palette more than you let on, and that makes something ache deep in his chest. 
Joel’s not exactly good at saying what he feels, he knows that. He’s always known it. 
But he can build you a chicken coop. He can fix your locks and your door and worry about your safety and drive to get you in the middle of the night. He can sketch out tattoo designs until his wrist aches and make you a million cups of coffee. 
And you decided to share part of what he gave you with Sarah and Ellie. Whether you know it or not, it means something to him. It brings a tight feeling to the back of his throat. 
Though the afternoon is mild, you’re wrapped up in a flannel over your t-shirt. It’s his flannel from that first night he spent at your kitchen table; the one you haven’t given back and that he doesn’t want back. 
Joel keeps his eyes on you as he finishes up the last of the chores that needed doing. His back is aching again, a flare of pain that starts at the base of his spine and ends behind his ears. 
It was lucky, maybe, that you’d convinced him, in your offhand way, to get chickens instead of horses, that he decided that was the best thing to give you. He isn’t sure he could keep up with much more than what he has. 
“You’re staring again,” Sarah says from behind him.
“I’m not,” he snaps.
“It’s okay to stare at your girlfriend, dad,” she says and he can hear the laughter in her voice, the damn teasing. 
Joel winces. “That is not—we ain’t—” Not yet. You aren’t anything yet. Maybe not ever. 
You’ve bloomed in the last month or so. Opened up, shiny and blush bright. You’re still that watchful little doe, but now you’re one that recognizes something kind. 
Not so skittish, not so afraid. 
And that’s good, that’s something. But he worries. Worries you’ll start to see he’s nothing but an old man waiting around for his kids to visit, for his brother not to be busy with his family, for you to pay him any mind. 
You surely noticed it weeks ago when you stayed with him those few days, all that painful, solitary loneliness that happened so quickly. Maybe you’d noticed it earlier than that, when you stopped coming by the shop after your first tattoo and his days went lonesome again too. It’s not like he has been subtle about how much your absence smarted. 
He’s not sure when his life slowed down so much, when he suddenly looked around and realized he missed the noise.
Maybe he’s been the one to pry you open, but if you wanted something better for yourself, something more, he’d have to let you go. It doesn’t diminish all that time he’d spent gaining your trust, that trust he’s still trying to grasp at some days. He doesn’t want you to be burdened by his loneliness, to feel weighed down with it, to feel trapped by it, to feel like it’s your responsibility. 
Joel already worries that’s already the case, with how often you’d ended up at his house in the evenings over the past month. But he isn’t strong enough to make you stop. 
Still, he could never live with himself, if he were next in a long line to make you feel helpless and trapped. 
Sarah rolls her eyes and herds the second stubborn goat into the barn and shuts the gate. “If you say so,” she says. “I’m gonna get Ellie and head out. Busy day tomorrow.” 
“Okay, baby girl,” Joel says. Sarah fits herself into his arms and he presses a kiss to her hair. “Thanks for the help. Be safe.” 
She pulls away and nods, jogging across the yard without looking back to hop the little fence that separates it from the driveway. He watches Sarah say goodbye to you, the way your mouth lifts in a smile, the way you move the guitar from your lap and lean forward when she climbs the steps to give you a hug. 
Ellie gives you a much briefer hug, one armed and slightly stiff before she follows Sarah. He lifts a hand to her, knowing Ellie won’t come over and say goodbye the way Sarah does. She pulls a face at him and waves back as she climbs in the car.
When they disappear in a cloud of red dust at the end of the drive, you lean back and stare down at the guitar again, adjusting the positioning of your fingers on the strings as though nothing of note just happened. 
Maybe, nothing of note has happened. 
You’d hugged them so easily, smiled at them so warmly. He’s grateful for it, that ease you have with them, that you feel safe and secure. It makes something warm and protective and territorial for all three of you settle in around his ribs.
His girls and you. 
Your mouth pulls down at the corners as he watches you clumsily reposition your other hand along the frets. 
He tries to repress a smile and glances away from you to continue his work. A poorly struck chord followed by a frustrated sigh echoes across the yard. 
You ain’t exactly a natural with the instrument, though you try. 
Joel taught Sarah and Ellie to play when they were young. He taught Tommy, when their mother didn’t have time to. He’s happy to teach you now, too. 
More notes float on the air, curl into the whispering leaves that skitter along the drive. You aren’t doing so bad, he thinks, when the music suddenly stops. 
He turns to peer over his shoulder at you. 
You’ve taken your feet off the railing and have folded your arms along it instead, chin leaning on your forearms, head tipped to the side, guitar propped between your knees. “Joel?” 
“Honey?” He answers, and you smile. The effect is like being lit from the inside out. You brighten and there’s sunshine in his soul, in all the dark places in his chest. 
“Will you play for me?” You uncross one arm to hold your hand out to him, like you could reach him from there if you tried hard enough. 
“You were doin’ just fine at it,” he calls back, escorting the chickens as gently as he can into their newly painted home. 
You smile at him again. “I know. But I want to hear you and it’s getting dark anyway.” 
“Guess so,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just a minute, darlin’.” 
You nod and grab the guitar again to settle it in your lap. 
The evening light is bleeding gold through the boughs of the oak that overhang the driveway, the whispers of autumnal, purpled shadows bruise the horizon as the sun sinks ever lower.
With the other goat and his lone sheep herded into the barn, he crosses back to the porch where you’ve lit a lantern and tucked yourself deep into one of the rocking chairs. The blanket he keeps folded over the back of one of the chairs is now curled over your lap. You look cozy, too warm, in the lingering heat of the day. He takes up residence next to you, picking up the guitar you’ve abandoned in his seat. “What would you like to hear, darlin’?”
It had taken a week’s worth of needling for him to play for you, but now he wants to do it all the time. 
“Whatever you want to play for me, Joel,” you say, bracing your elbow on the arm of the chair to lean your chin on your hand, eyes already closed. 
He plucks idly at the strings, watching your face. You put yourself in his hands so easily these days, without thought or worry. There’s trust in its purest form in your expression, like you’d laid yourself at his doorstep. He can’t imagine you closing your eyes like that, relaxed and at peace, even a few weeks ago. 
Joel says your name, watches your eyes blink open, the peaceful little spell broken. You pull back, sitting up straight. Doe eyes meet his, round with question. “Joel?” 
“I just wanted to say how pretty you look this evenin’.” 
You transform, bloom, duck your head and say nothing. The air is rose colored, heavy with the scent of magnolia. 
You aren’t exactly good at taking compliments, either. But that’s something you’re both working on. 
“Hey,” he says. You look up and lean toward him again, like you’re so ready to drop yourself into his waiting hands. 
And when he reaches for you, you do. 
Joel cups his hands against your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. Your mouth is soft against his. You taste like autumn air, and like the spiked sweet tea at your elbow. When you pull back, your eyes are oceans, like soil, like smooth, dark glass. 
You also have a dot of bright paint on your cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. 
He sweeps his thumb over it and finds it’s stuck there. 
“What?” 
“Nothin’. Got a bit a’ paint there.” He presses his thumb over it. “I like it.” 
You pout at him, watchful eyes hooked into his. “Are you ever going to play for me or are you just going to make fun of me?” 
He chuckles and releases your face. “I would never make fun of you, honey.”
“Good,” you say as he strums the strings again. “Or I’ll never paint another chicken coop for you again. Not even if your girls help.”
He likes that you tease him, that you feel comfortable enough. He smiles, stares down at the toe of his boot. “You know you didn’t have to let ‘em.” 
“Let them what?” 
“Help. Y’know, create a monstrosity,” he gestures to the monstrosity in question, the pink and purple slightly washed out against the blush of the setting sun. “I built it for you.”
Your foot nudges against his and he looks up to find you already gazing at him. There’s something vulnerable in your eyes, something soft and unafraid. “I know. I wanted them to help. I like spending time with them, Joel.” 
He nods and you smile. “Colors are kind of awful, though. Looks like one of Sarah’s old dollhouses. Thought you’d do a mural, like your table.” 
You laugh, and the sound is something he wishes he could capture, box up inside him and never release. “But it’s mine, like you said. And chicken dollhouse chic is what we were aiming for.” 
He snorts, but he feels better about it. “That so?” 
“Yeah. Now, play something for me?” You request again softly. 
Joel mentally shifts through the catalog of songs he could play for you before settling on a song. When he glances back at you, you’ve once again closed your eyes. Orange light, flippant and fleeting, has drifted across your face in a fiery bar as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. You glow in that beautiful light. 
He itches to do something other than play the guitar for you.
Although he’s painted you as a doe more times than he can count, he’s never attempted to actually capture your likeness. He could never do you justice, so he just shouldn’t try. It would be embarrassing enough, if you ever found out that you’ve been the source of all his creativity the last few months. That you are his muse. 
The plum color on the horizon has darkened, the navy of the encroaching night feathering against the tops of the trees. 
You’ve settled back into a peaceful position, eyes closed as you listen. 
He plays through a couple of songs before he glances up again and finds you watching him, your gaze focused on his hands. “Will you ever sing for me?” You ask softly, eyes flicking up to meet his. 
He hasn’t sung since his girls were little, not to anyone anyway, and not to anyone that could tell him his voice was terrible. 
Even still, he’s never been more tempted. 
“No,” he says, even though denying you anything is hard. “You don’t want to hear me sing, honey.” 
“But you have such a pretty voice,” you disagree. 
He plucks out a final note, music hovering in the air. “That just ain’t true,” he shakes his head and leans the guitar carefully against the bannister. Night has fully fallen, your face is shaded in shadow when he looks at you. “Do you want to stay with me?” 
Joel’s offered a few other times, because he always wants you to stay. That week you’d stayed with him while he waited for your new locks to come in at the hardware store had been kind to him. He’d gotten used to your presence in his house embarrassingly quick, and when he got the call that the locks had been delivered, it was like ice sliding down his spine. He’d forgotten, in just days, that you didn’t actually live with him. 
That was weeks ago. 
And since then, you haven’t stayed. 
You usually, always, decline and then he drives you home. 
But today is different. 
You reach out a hand to him and fold your fingers around his. “Yes,” you sigh. 
“Sure?” He asks, surprised. “It’s no bother to drive you home, honey.” 
“I’m sure. If you’ll have me.” 
“I’ll always gladly have you.” 
Your lips curve up, and you duck your head. “What do you want to do for dinner?” 
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Joel burns whatever he attempts to make on the stove for dinner. He turns to you, with spatula in hand and an irritated tilt to his brows, and asks if you’d like to ride into town to eat at Flu’s.
You agree, and go, still laughing when Joel pulls onto the main road. He grouses under his breath the entire way to town, but he holds your hand against the center console. And when you get to Flu’s he opens the passenger side door for you, then the diner’s door, his hand held lightly against your spine. He tucks his legs around yours under the table, knees and calves brushing together. The diner’s lights are dim and cozy. 
He looks soft, in that buttery light. The hard edges of his face ironed out, smile lines and crow’s feet divoted into his skin. He holds your hand on the table, and you watch his fingers more than his face, the rounded swell of his knuckles, the veins in the back of his hand, the knob of his wrist, on which he always wore an old watch that had long stopped ticking. When you’re apart, you find yourself daydreaming of his hands, scarred and broad and warm. 
Joel insists on paying, doesn’t let you even consider doing it. 
When you climb back into the truck, he puts one hand on your thigh and you sink back into your seat, warm and full and content. You slide your hand over his and feel the rough calluses on the tips of his fingers. 
When you close your eyes, you see him working in the sun, poking fun at you while you and Sarah and Ellie paint the chicken coop, squinting through the bright light. He still smells like sun, like warm skin and his cologne and faintly of sweat and whatever thing he’d burned on the stove earlier. 
When Joel kissed you that first time, he opened a door in you, one that’s impossible to shut and that does nothing but want. 
You’ve never craved touch like you crave his. Even when you feel like you don’t want to be touched at all, you think his hand would be tolerable, would be okay. 
You’re painfully aware that part of his appeal is knowing that he would always let you go, that he always knows when it's time to leave you be. And the times you don’t want him to touch you, have been shrinking. 
Lately, all you want is for him to fold his fingers between yours, touch the bare skin at the small of your back, to trace your spine up between your shoulder blades, or cup his palm over the back of your neck and tuck you into him. 
When you get back to his place, it’s still pretty early in the evening, and all you can think of is ways to get him to touch you again. He turns on the battery powered radio that sits on the porch, perpetually set low on an oldies station. 
You can’t look away from him, something like agony twisting in your chest, like there’s a knife between your lungs. He’s talking about something, gesturing across the yard with one hand, his other tangled with yours. Joel’s thumb strokes little circles against the back of your hand, each pass like a bolt of addictive lightning. It’s not enough. His hand in yours is no longer enough. 
Joel doesn’t protest when you pull him to his feet when a new song starts up. He gives what you don’t ask for but desperately want. He drags you into his chest and slides his arm around your back, tucking you in close to him. You can hear his heartbeat, feel it pulsing in his chest. He tilts around the porch with you for a long time, even when the music is interrupted by obnoxious ads. 
He hums along under his breath and when you slip your hands beneath his shirt to rest against his bare skin, you can feel the vibrations of his voice against your fingers. 
You wish you could sink your hands inside him, just to be a little closer. It feels so strange to want that. You’ve never been held that gently before, it loosens a knot you didn’t know existed in the core of your chest. 
And you think, even when things with your ex had been good, when he hadn’t been yelling at you or bruising you with a tattoo you didn’t want, he had never held you gently or with such love. 
When you pull back, Joel lets you go. There is no fuss about it; there is no guilt. 
Eventually, you go inside.  
He lets you shower first, just like he always had when you stayed with him before. 
After, you watch him brush his hair and then his teeth and something painfully sharp gets caught up inside your chest. It’s hard to breathe around that feeling, that ache. 
You watch him get ready for bed, and you watch him groan when he has to stoop down to pick a pair of socks up off of the floor, and you feel something more than warmth flood your heart. It unravels, spools through your veins, and it's so warm it burns.  
Joel catches you looking at him, as he often does these days. 
He smiles at you, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. He looks domestic in a heather gray t-shirt that sits loose on his frame, pajama bottoms that look as though they’ve seen a few too many years, and glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You all right?” 
You nod. “Really good, Joel.” 
That gets a little laugh out of him. “Must be worn out,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. You lie back and curl on your side, watching him adjust his pillows, admiring the shape of his hands as he goes, remembering what they looked like sun drenched and warm in the yard. He drags his knuckle over the curve of your cheek and neither you nor your body remembers to flinch away. “After all that paintin’ and gettin’ me to dance.” 
“It was fun though, wasn’t it?” You ask, suppressing the urge to trace the length of his spine through his shirt. “You liked dancing with me.” You clutch the pillow tighter to your chest and dip your chin into the fabric. 
He takes his glasses off and then finally lies down next to you. Nerves burst in your belly when he turns to look at you. “I enjoyed it very much, sweetheart.” 
“Good.” You wriggle a bit closer to him. 
He watches you and then offers a place for you to fit yourself against his side. You slide in close to him, tucking your hands between his body and yours, slotting your nose against the dip of his collarbone. 
He smells good there, like soap and something that’s purely Joel and so soothing, like sage and pine. 
“This what you been wantin’, huh?” He asks, stroking your back slowly. You stiffen but he chuckles into your hair. “I mean that in a nice way.” 
You lick your lips, feel the shift of muscle beneath your cheek as he reaches to turn off the lamp. There’s no point in denying it. “Yeah.”
“I know,” he says against your forehead. “Me, too.”
You settle against him, the feeling of his palm sliding over your shirt, up and down, tapping over your spine, soothes you. Your stomach flips when his hand drags along the bare skin at your hip. 
If you could dig a trench into his bones, take cover there, you would. And still that wouldn’t be close enough. 
“Joel,” you say, tracing your hand over his chest. 
For once, your voice seems to encourage more than caution and he doesn’t stop touching you. His hand slides higher again and your breath hitches. 
It feels so nice, like all the empty places inside you are slowly being colored in, shaded in emerald green and butter, sunshine yellow, jewel bright blue and blush pink.
You curl into him, shakily pressing the hand on his chest up to his neck. You cup your palm there and Joel turns on his side. His hair is soft and a little damp when you dig your fingers into it, the scent of him wrapping around you, cradling you close and safe. Joel touches his forehead very gently to yours, his breath fanning across your lips. 
He waits for you. 
You close the distance between you, and press your mouth to his. 
He sighs into you, his grip tightening on your waist for a moment, and you push yourself closer to the circle of warmth that is his body.  
His fingers graze the edge of your shirt, then push it up, rough palms sliding over your back again. His hand is so big, so warm, it spans your back and then covers your ribs. You gasp into his mouth when the pad of his thumb caresses the curve of your breast. 
Goosebumps erupt along your body. “Joel,” you murmur against his mouth. 
“Mhm,” he hums. “I know, honey. I got you.”  
He touches you there again but doesn’t go any further. You shiver and press your mouth back to his, tasting the mint of his toothpaste when his tongue slips into your mouth. 
Moonlight filters pale and bright into his bedroom, and when you pull away his eyes are dark, hungry. You wish you had the courage to feed that gaze, but you aren’t there yet. A stab of guilt pierces your lungs. He’s so patient with you, and you can’t help but wonder if one day that patience might run out. 
Instead of lingering on that, on wondering how much time you could possibly ask him to give, you offer him something else. “Can I show you my tattoos?” 
He blinks at you, pink, kiss swollen lips parting. “If you want.” 
“But do you want to see?” 
“Baby,” he touches your cheek, traces the line of your jaw. “I’ve been dreamin’ about it since you told me about ‘em.” 
You squirm, embarrassment crawling up the inside of your belly. “You have?” 
“Mm.” He kisses you again, his mouth lingering long against yours. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breath against yours. “I think about you all the time.” 
You get your knees beneath you and push up from your place beside him. Joel turns on his back when you swing one leg over his waist and find yourself, boldly, very much in his lap. His hands anchor on your hips, thumbs beneath your t-shirt.
“Oh,” you say, pressing your hands over his, something nervous wriggling in your gut. “Sorry. Is—” 
You try to move away but his grip doesn’t change. “It’s all right,” he says evenly, the barest hint of something tremulous beneath. 
Before you can think about it more, overthink being in his lap or how much of you you’re about to show him or how heavy and uncomfortable his hands might become, you release his wrists and tug your shirt up to just beneath your breasts, so your ribs are visible. 
Those feelings don’t come though. You don’t feel anxious or weighed down or wrong. 
He’s looking at you and touching you and seeing you and it's fine. It’s fine because it’s Joel. No one had ever understood you before the way he has—not your family or your friends or any previous partner. They try, but Joel just seems to know you, understand, without really trying. 
Joel clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he lifts one hand to your tattoo. When he traces the ink, you exhale against his curious fingers. It tickles. “That’s real pretty,” he says. “Antlers. It really suits you.” 
“Thank you,” you murmur. “Deer are like good luck, I think. They know things.” 
He looks at you like you’re some ancient creature he can hardly believe exists. Embarrassment claws at you but you don’t look away. “That so?” He looks at the ink again, tension slicing through the air. “Jesus you’re somethin’.” 
You don’t get a chance to respond because he meets your eyes again and asks, “Where’s the bee?” 
You laugh and the acid burn of uncertainty disappears. “How’d you remember about the bee?” 
“‘Cause I’ve been wonderin’ about it too.” He’s still absentmindedly tracing the antlers, the moss and the flowers that loop through the branches of the antlers. His expression is open now, curious and needy. “It ain’t on your hip, if I’m rememberin’ right.” 
You shift your hand to your sternum and carefully tug your shirt up a bit higher. There, nestled between your breasts, is a tiny, tiny bumblebee. “Well, ain’t that a surprise.” He shifts his hand up and covers the bee with his thumb, the length of his fingers sitting right beneath your breast.
An ocean wells up inside you, threatens to break apart your ribs. You lean into his hand, your chest warm, catching, like fire is spreading from all the places he touches you. The knuckles of his other hand drag up your side. 
You shiver under his eye, fighting the urge to look away, to tug yourself out of his grip. But the thought of losing his warm hands against you is worse, it outweighs everything else.  
“Where did you think it was?” You ask, hardly able to breathe. Everything in the world narrows down to his dark bedroom, his eyes skating over your newly revealed tattoos, milky moonlight parting the tiny space still left between you. 
“I couldn’t get it out of my head that it was on your hip.” 
You laugh and Joel keeps looking at you, his eyes flicking between your bared skin and your eyes. The room is warm, his gaze heavy. “You’re real pretty. Did I ever tell you that?” 
“Once or twice, maybe,” you smile.  
“Mm.” 
You cup one hand around his wrist, the pressure of his hand against the swell of your breast sending shockwaves through you. It’s all you can focus on, the slow sweep of his thumb against sensitive skin. You push his hand harder against you until it feels hard to breathe. 
You think about how much Joel gives you, how carefully he listens even when you don’t speak. 
He deserves to know you hear him, too. That you see what he wants, that you hear what he’s saying, and that you’re trying. 
“You show me what you think,” you say. “And I—I get it.” 
“I don’t think you do,” he says, eyes dark. He reaches for you slowly, giving you time to tell him to stop or to pull away, but you don’t. You desperately want him to keep touching you with his safe, patient, cautious hands. 
Slowly, you’re pressed back into the sheets. Joel goans, a pained sound that means his back or knees hurt and he won’t admit it. 
He settles himself against you, his body fitted against the cradle of your hips. Joel is heavy against you, but comforting. His fingers clench around yours, and for a long moment he just looks at you beneath him, starved eyes skittering across your skin. 
“You all right?” He asks gruffly, like there’s something tangled in his chest. “You say it. If you aren’t.” 
“I’m okay.” 
You reach up and touch his cheek, then the tail of his eyebrow, as he assesses you. He tilts his chin down, brows lowered heavily over his eyes. You can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. You warned him that you were hard work, and he meant it when he said he didn’t mind, that he didn’t think you were. Caring comes naturally for him. “Really. I would say it. I trust you.” 
He nods once and your chest hitches when he dips his head and presses his mouth softly against the bee and then the antlers. 
The rough feeling of his beard against your skin tingles. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, and you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Joel’s are pressed to your sides, forearms snugly against your body, warm and twitching. You settle on his shoulders, the wide planes of his back, so reassuringly large against your body. 
Then, his tongue, firm and soft, slides over your skin. Over the bee and the tips of the antlers strung through with ivy and flowers, over the underside of your breast. 
You gasp and arch against him and you suddenly know exactly where you want your hands. You tuck them against the back of his head, threading through the feathery gray strands to keep his mouth against your skin. 
Want tightens between your legs, makes your belly ache. Your nipples tighten painfully hard. A whine catches in your throat that you know he hears because he answers you with a low groan of his own against your throat when he sucks a kiss to the underside of your jaw. 
It’s overwhelming. You want to push him away and pull him closer. You want to bury yourself inside him and never look into his eyes again. You want this feeling to last forever. You never want Joel to feel lonesome again. You want him to be able to ask for what he wants, to let you give it to him. 
Your ex again, flashes through your mind, an unfair comparison. How rarely he’d kissed you, shown you affection, for just the sake of it. 
You want you want you want you want—
You want—
“I want you to tattoo the cover up,” you say suddenly. Tears salt that backs of your eyes, tightness itching at the back of your throat. You hitch your knees up around his ribs, fear that he might pull away swimming to the forefront of your mind. It’s dizzying, because your instinct has always been to move away, to put space between you and things that might hurt you. You’ve given Joel so many pieces of you; he could break every part of you, if he really wanted to. “If you still—if you want—I mean—” you stammer. 
His head lifts and your thighs clench because you want him everywhere and nowhere all at once. You want him to want you as badly as you want him, and that just doesn’t seem possible. Not in all the ways you mean anyway, the kind where you tuck yourself inside his ribs, and into the dark places in his mind, like love letters that will never be sent. 
You love him, you think. You love Joel. 
It doesn’t feel like enough. The word isn’t big enough to encompass what he makes you feel. The feelings worming around in your chest are expansive, wide as the night sky, splattered with stars and distant galaxies that have yet to be found, let alone described. 
“‘Course I want to,” he says easily. “Of course, I will.” 
“Tomorrow?” You ask breathlessly. 
“If that’s what you want, honey.” 
You nod. “It is.” You suspect you could say you wanted him to do it right at that moment, and he’d find a way to make it happen. He’d drive you to his studio in the dark. He’d sit with you until morning bruised the sky, until the peach of the sun dripped sticky sweet down the horizon. “I want you to do it. I want it to be from you.”
“All right,” he agrees. “Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll go and do it.” His hand slides down your side to your hip, then your thigh. “You okay?” 
You nod. 
“You have to talk to me,” he says. “I ain’t a mind reader.” 
“I know,” you admit. “I’m sorry I put so much on you to figure out.” 
“That ain’t what I meant.” 
“But that’s what you do. You figure me out.”
Joel pats your thigh and then presses the pads of his fingers to the hinge of your jaw. His eyes search yours for a long time, black in the low light of the room.
He kisses you until you start to fall asleep, the lazy press of his lips whispering things you can no longer hear.  
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Morning dawns bright and warm. 
Joel gets up long before you even stir. You’re curled as close to him as you can get without actually touching him, hands tucked beneath your face, lips parted softly. You’d migrated to the center of the bed, taking up space he’s not really keen on reclaiming. 
The memory of your skin against his mouth, all the other places on your body he’d like to touch and taste, is like nectar, like the sweet promise of a good dream after a long day. You aren’t ready for that though. Not yet, anyway, and that’s all right. 
But he’s only a man, and he’s painfully hard. 
Before, you were like a deer he’d accidentally come upon, skating around the rim of his peripheral vision. Now, you’re still doe-eyed and watchful, but you’re closer; you’re relaxed, lying in the shade of trees you trust, at ease. 
Your hand twitches toward him when he presses a slow kiss against your temple, the jump of tendon beneath his mouth soothing somehow. He pulls the sheet up and tucks it around your shoulders, because without him next to you the draft from the fan overhead is too cool for you. 
He takes care of himself in the bathroom without much fuss, and then feels a little bit guilty for it when you’re sleeping on just the other side of the wall. It wasn’t the first time though, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. 
In the kitchen, he makes coffee just the way you like it, with a little bit of cinnamon in with the coffee grounds. The coffee creamer you like is sweet, so he sets that out with a spoon next to a pale blue mug, pours himself his own cup, and relocates to the back deck. 
The trees at the far edge of the property are still dark and skeletal, the thicket full of shadow and the buzz of night insects. 
Even at the end of October, it’s still warm. A breeze ruffles his hair, shakes the nearly naked trees and sends a cascade of brown and orange sifting to the ground. Next month it would cool off, just a little. 
He hadn’t told you when his birthday passed in September, that you’d inadvertently spent that day with him. Sarah and Ellie had tried to get him to tell you, but he hadn’t been able to stomach it. 
Dread accompanies that day. 
It hadn’t always, just since Sarah was little, like his body was braced for a tragedy that would never come. He couldn’t have you be a part of that too, though the girls had pointed out you would eventually notice his lack of a birthday, if you were around long enough. 
He’d cross that bridge if he ever came to it. It’s hard to imagine he’d get you for that long.  
It doesn’t take long for you to find him. The flood of morning sun has passed the tree line and twists dappled green and yellow circles over the deck. When you push open the back door, you have your cup of coffee in one hand and the neck of the guitar in the other. 
He’d have to get you your own. Either that, or make one for you.
“Hey,” you smile at him as you set your steaming cup down on the patio table. 
“Mornin’. You sleep okay?” 
“Mmm.”
Joel expects you to ask him to play, but you settle down in the chair next to his, your bare knee pressed against his, and adjust the instrument in your lap. 
The sound is clumsy, but beautiful and careful, when you play. Joel’s glad he decided to teach you. He just listens and watches you. Your expression is thoughtful but closed, like you’re somewhere else. That’s how he thinks too, music in hand, mind far away. He likes that look on you, until you suddenly pause and glance up. You watch him for a long moment with those doe eyes of yours, folding your arms around the body of the guitar. 
You lick your lips and his eyes flick briefly to your mouth, the plush curve of your lower lip. He hadn’t kissed you good morning. “I want to figure you out too, you know,” you say. 
You hold his gaze for just a second before dropping your eyes to the wooden floorboards instead, fidgeting like you’re repressing the urge to curl in on yourself, fold yourself away. “You got me all figured out, honey,” he assures you. 
You shake your head and lift your eyes again, tapping your nails against the wood. “You—” you pause and swallow, “You’re allowed to want things from me, Joel.” 
Something falls in his chest, like he’s missed the last step on a long staircase, gravity turned against him. 
His heart lurches up into his mouth, tangy with some unknown fear. “I do. Trust me, I do.” 
“Why don’t you ask?” 
“Honey—”
“I know,” you say softly. “I know. I know how I am and how—” you stop and flounder, frustrated for a moment. “I know I’m not easy to ask. But you. . . I don’t feel that way with you anymore; I’m not afraid anymore. And I want to be enough for you. I hope I’m not too slow about it.” You look away again. “I want you to know you can call on me, too, Joel.” 
He clears his throat but the tightness doesn’t go away. “You could never take too long. I don’t mind waitin’.” 
“But?” 
But, he’s bad at this.
But, he loves too hard, cares too much. 
But, part of him is convinced that the loneliness is deserved. Everyone seems to leave him, someway or another. He’s just preparing early for it this time. He’s never held onto a romantic relationship before, so why should this one be any different than all the ones that came before it?
He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t want; he gives and cares and that’s why people stay. It really doesn’t have all that much to do with him, or what he wants. 
“But you don’t want anything from me?” You ask, your voice noticeably smaller, and the warm morning suddenly feels cold. 
“It ain’t that.” He should say more, but nothing else comes out, words trapped like moths inside a lamp. 
You swallow and nod, like you’re battering back your instinct to flee, to think the worst. You’ve come so far and it’s hard not to feel a little pride, that you stay, that you aren’t worried, not usually, that he’ll hurt you someway. He’s reminded of the first day he’d tattooed you, how one misplaced word was enough to have you jumping to your feet, fretful and afraid. “I like spending time with you. I like touching you. I can give that to you.” 
He doesn’t answer and you eventually continue. “You can’t protect me from the whole wide world. Not even from you. I’m making a choice. To be here with you.” And he knows you’ve seen much more than he wanted you to, that you’ve seen the interior of him, bleeding red, splattered onto everything he touches. You’ve seen the want, the need, and you’re still here. 
He’s still not sure letting you care wouldn’t end with you leaving. But he doesn’t see what other choice he has. 
“Okay. But you promise me somethin’,” he says. “Just one thing and I’ll try.”  
You tilt your head, the picture of a curious little doe, almost nosy, peering into unfamiliar woods. “What?” You ask, looking away as you set the guitar aside.  
“If you ever want somethin’ better for yourself. You tell me. And you go.” 
Your eyes snap back to his, mouth parted in shock. “Joel—”
“I’m serious,” he snaps and you recoil a little, hurt in your eyes. “You deserve better’n this. Better than a lonely old man.” 
You shoot up from your seat in a rare show of anger. And that surge of pride hits him squarely in the chest again. He’s proud of you for that. For standing up for yourself, for letting yourself be angry with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice doesn’t raise in volume, but it is waspish, venom laced. “Better? What’s better for me than you?” 
“Honey,” he says, softens his voice. “Just ‘cause you opened up with me, don’t mean I think I get to keep you.” 
Your shoulders loosen and you step closer. When you reach out, God help him, he leans into your hand. 
Gentle fingertips run along his shoulders, bite into the knot at the top of his spine. “Keep me,” you scoff lightly. “I want you to keep me.” 
You don’t protest when he winds an arm around your waist and tugs you down into his lap. You’re warm and soft and frowning so hard at him. There’s a divot between your eyes that he wants to press his thumb over, to smooth away. Instead he takes your wrist in his hand and traces the tattoo on your forearm. “You’re the only one who’s ever wondered if they should,” you say. “You aren’t keeping anything. I’m giving you something no one else ever even tried to earn.”  
He doesn’t answer immediately, a hot fist around his words. He’d rather walk away, not talk about it, not talk about himself. But that would break all that hard won trust.  
“I just can’t have you feelin’ like I’m your problem,” he admits, voice graveled and scraping. “Like I’m holdin’ you down.”  
“It’s okay to need people,” you answer, ignoring him. “I want to take care of you too. I want to be here with you.” You slide your hand over his shoulder again. “Even if it's just like this. Especially if it's just like this.” You scratch your fingers through his hair. Sun spills around your shoulders, blinds him when he looks up at you. “I know how much you like it. And you can tell me when you need something. I’m still learning your tells.”
He chuckles at that, let’s you keep touching him, because he does want it and you don’t seem to mind so much that he’s just some lonely man. “All right,” he runs his hand up your thigh to your hip. “Promise me anyway.” 
“I promise,” you say. “To learn your tells.” 
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You make breakfast without burning anything, while Joel watches, hip leaned against the counter. His smile is soft, affectionate. 
Warmth balloons in your chest, bursts in your veins like champagne bubbles. You managed to reassure him, you managed to say what you want without feeling bad about it. 
“Lonely old man,” you burst out with a laugh. “I’m lonely and old.” 
Joel rolls his eyes when you dig your elbow into his side. “You ain’t old.” 
“Neither are you.” 
Joel buys you coffee from the little cafe you always stopped at before visiting him at the studio. He drives with his hand in yours. He opens the passenger side door for you and gestures you ahead of him into the studio. 
After going through the usual motions of disinfecting and sanitizing and picking one of the many, many, many coverup designs he’d sketched for you and getting the stencil on right, you find yourself in much the same position as the first time you got tattooed by Joel. 
Joel isn’t talking. He’s taking his time looking you over, intense and careful and muttering about that bastard that had dared lay his hands on you. He’s meticulous in everything he does, but especially when it concerns someone he cares about, when it comes to you. 
You’re lying down, studying the side of his face. He touches you without asking, and you don’t flinch once. The memory of his body against yours sends a flushed heat over your skin. Your scalp tingles with it, your toes curl with it. 
He finally seems satisfied after a few long minutes, his hand on the curve of your elbow. You nod your consent when he looks at you, tattoo gun poised in his other hand over your shoulder. “Sure?” 
“Never been surer.” You smile and then cover the hand resting on your elbow. He gives, you give back. “You don’t like it when I say thank you.” 
“I don’t,” he grunts. There's a blush beneath his beard.
You sweep your thumb against his knuckles, and think about how different that first time had been. Joel had reassured you, gave you a physical anchor you hadn’t known you needed, kind and steady and already lodged somewhere deep inside your heart.
Now you can give that back to him. 
“Okay.” 
But he knows. You know he hears it anyway.
Still, you want to say it. 
“Thank you, baby. For giving me back to myself.” 
He leans over you, and you tilt your chin up so he can kiss you. 
“Couple sessions, okay?” He croaks when he pulls away. “Don’t want to wear ya out.” 
There is nowhere in the world you’d rather be.  
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💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞
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highvern · 6 days
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Patterns II
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader
Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst
Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?
Chapter Warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, hand job, dry humping, oral (face sitting), lots of teasing/minor degradation if you squint, overstimulation, breath play
Length: ~9.9k
Note: part 2 is here, let's goooooo! thanks for being so patient and thank you @millennial-fangirl and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing!
Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)
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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!
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Avoiding Wonwoo post D-Day, as Amina calls it, proves to be surprisingly easy. An entire week of back to back meetings leaves you blocking off parts of your calendar just to use the bathroom. And according to the grapevine, there’s been zero proof of life from Wonwoo’s end either which has caused Mingyu to break out in hives. 
But as the weekend draws closer you’re given the greatest gift the universe can bestow.
“Monday is a disconnect day for the client which means all of us are on black out. No emails, no phone calls, nothing.” Mona announces in the team huddle.
Tears of joy bead in your eyes at the news. However, it's short lived.
“We’ll need to hit the ground running when we come back so make sure everything is done Friday. Even if you have to stay late. Understand?” 
Your laptop pings with a message in the corner.
Gerard: how does she make free PTO sound like hell?
Y/N: i think she said it was her special talent when we did ice breakers at the beginning of the project
Gerard: oh yeah right after she said she hates puppies
Y/N: and joy
Mona slaps her own computer shut, sending you ten feet in the air before continuing, “If there isn’t anything else. We can wrap this up. Shoot me a message if there are any questions.” 
“And how will you be spending your new found free time?” You ask.
Gerard holds the door open as you walk past, “The way the universe intends. In bed, sleeping. Maybe I’ll finally unpack my suitcase from the last trip Mona dragged me on.”
“Wasn’t that like, a month ago?” You ask.
“And?”
The rest of the day is a blur, rushing from meeting to meeting with barely enough time to breathe. It’s only the end of the day that grants you the next glimpse at the world outside the dreary office walls. Albeit through the bright screen of your cell phone.
Once back at your desk, you unlock your phone to find several unread messages. Several from Amina document her jealousy that you and Lisa have long weekends. Lisa offers to kick Mingyu off the long planned trip to the adorable bed and breakfast she found for their anniversary. 
Amina 🍑💗: FREE ME FROM THE SHACKLES OF CORPORATE AMERICA
Y/N: Your honor free her!!!
Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: Girls trip! Girls trip! Girls trip!
Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: mingyu will understand 
Y/N: I am begging you to go have gross emotional sex somewhere other than our apartment
Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: we’ve done it plenty of places that arent the apartment :) 
Y/N: whore
But a separate thread unleashes a coldsnap in your veins.
Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): forgot to give these back…
Attached is a photo. A familiar swatch of cotton contrasting with the rich navy of his blanket in the background. His long fingers grip the hem, involuntarily jolting memories of them curled around your body.
Upon realizing you’re sitting out in the open staring at a picture of your panties, you hastily lock your phone and shove it into the deep recesses of your purse. Thank the stars no one else was around to glimpse the crude picture or the sudden sweat along your brow. How dare Wonwoo’s first attempt at speaking to you post hook up be a picture of your underwear in the middle of the work day. Who did he think he was?
Overcoming the initial embarrassment that floods your system, you decide to ignore his bid for attention. If you ignored him then he wouldn’t know the power he held. Plain and simple.
The next few days fly past without incident. Wonwoo remains silent and allows you to fall back into forgetting his existence.
As Friday hurdles forward, the usual shenanigans of bar hopping is replaced by plans for a movie night. You aren’t the only one suffering from sleep deprivation; Amina’s job ran her into the ground, and same with Lisa’s. 
The idea fills you with dread, spurred by yearning to spend every moment of free time to catch up on sleep. But knowing your friends, the probability of successfully ditching is on the negative side of zero, especially since you’ve barely spoken to one another all week and they’d both be out of town for the weekend.
The atmosphere of the office is sullen. Late Friday afternoons are reserved for pretending to work and gossiping. Unless you work for your team. In which case, you’ve spent the past hour agonizing over different powerpoint transitions and if they convey professionalism yet approachable.
A throat clearing behind you breaks your trace.
“Okay, I need to go home.” 
Looking up from your laptop, an aura of visible graveness radiates from Gerard. His theater minor really came in handy.
“Why?” You ask skeptically. 
Gerard was nice. But he wasn’t that nice.
“Because I’m already going to be stuck here all night.” He sighs. “And there’s no point in both of us suffering. You have the report ready?”
“Yeah, I just need to make a new powerpoint and get it finalized.”
“Then let me handle it. Mona wants me to re-do the other report you need for the deck so I’ll make it when I’m done.”
Hands moving of their own volition, you shove your scattered belongings into your purse. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” He groans. “If I need something I’ll call. Now go. Be free.”
He shoos you without another word, diving into his own computer. Before Gerard can change his mind you’re in the elevator and own your way home.
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Thirty minutes later, you find Amina and Lisa already in the midst of a full apartment clean up. A 2000s playlist blasts from the speaker on the counter while Amina shoots daggers at the furniture in the living room.
“Do you think we should move the couch?” Amina shouts at your entrance.
Her lips move but you can’t hear anything over the blasting noise. “Huh?” 
“The couch!” She repeats after cutting off the sound.
You nod before realizing you're still in work clothes. Rushing to your room, you quickly change into something more presentable.
When you return, Lisa is in the kitchen putting away dishes. You and Amina descend on the living room, heads bobbing in sync to the music while you work. Under combined efforts, the space shifts from wild disarray to sparkling clean in no time. 
Moving in sync, you both work to tetter the furniture into different arrangements. It takes four attempts before she throws her hands up, accepting defeat and moving to the counter to join Lisa. You fail to silence a half hearted cheer before flopping down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.
“Who said they were coming again?” Amina asks, her head resting on her arms crossed in front of her on top of the cool marble.
“Mingyu, Soonyoung, Eva,” Lisa pauses as she scrolls through her texts to find confirmation. “Wonwoo.” 
Both Amina and Lisa snap their necks to pointedly look at you.
Much to your own disappointment, your cheeks heat. Avoiding the scrutinous gazes of your roommates, you roll off the couch and busy yourself with replacing the pillows and blankets Amina tossed aside earlier.
“Have you talked to him at all?” Amina questions, walking over to reorganize the coffee table, sweeping their trinkets and books away for the drinks and food that would soon be spread atop it.
“Nope.”
“He hasn’t texted you or you haven’t responded?” Amina’s eyebrows furrow, as if Wonwoo’s silence is the most confusing thing between you two.
“He hasn’t texted.” You lie, pulling at a frayed thread at the corner of the pillow.
Lisa joins the effort, folding blankets and organizing them in piles. “Well that’s lame.”
“I’m sorry? Weren't you the one who threatened to kill him?”
Lisa rolls her eyes. “So? A girl can’t be dramatic?” 
“There’s dramatic and then there’s you.” Amina chimes.
“Whatever.” Lisa scoffs before looking at you. “Wonwoo’s cool but if he ghosted you then he’s a loser.” 
You shrug before responding, “It was just a one time thing. It’s not like I was reaching out to him either.”
“I thought you said he was good?” Amina asks with round eyes.
“He was but it was just a one time thing. Let’s not make it weird, okay?” You wait until they both nod before continuing. “What time is everyone coming?” 
“Around seven, I think?” Lisa throws the question to Amina.
“Yeah, seven.” Amina answers, eyeing the furniture again. 
Glancing at your phone you spot the time, 4:46PM. Perfect. 
“I’m gonna shower and take a nap,” You call, heading down the hall.
Once in the bathroom, you undress as the water warms to a tolerable temperature. Finding it suitable, you make to enter but the dig of your phone distracts you. The screen illuminates and you spot a familiar name.
Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I was planning on coming with mingyu tonight but if you don’t want me to I'll hang back
Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything
Strange as it may be, you're oddly endeared by his consideration. But his last messages sit on the screen just above and cut the warmth short.
Y/N: and yet there’s a picture of you holding my panties that says the opposite
Y/N: im not spooked so easily
Locking your phone, you jump in the shower. The hot water lulls away the anticipation flooring through your veins. It didn’t have to be weird. Tonight would prove it.
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The short nap leaves you disoriented but the laughter of friends draws you out from the covers. Bravely, you change out of pajamas into more presentable pajamas consisting of sweats and a sweatshirt. Once settled, you slide into the hall and meet company. 
Turning the corner and entering the kitchen, you scan the group. Eva and Soonyoung sit across the counter, both of them smiling your way. Amina is fussing about, attempting to organize the drinks spread across the counter into some kind or order. An expensive bottle of liquor Mingyu no doubt supplied sits in the middle like a prize, however he’s nowhere to be seen along with his roommate and girlfriend. You try to assist Amina but the space between the island counter and the stove is barely large enough for one body, let alone two. Amina shoos you away after barely a minute.
A trio of voices echo down the hallway.
“Every project he doesn’t want to do just gets thrown on me.” A deep voice complains. “I don’t even know what his actual job is.” 
The timber sends electricity down your spine. You try not to stare as Wonwoo steps into the light of the kitchen trailing behind Lisa. Apparently Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Lisa were tasked with food duty; however, Lisa's hands are completely empty. A stark contrast to Wonwoo and Mingyu behind her balancing several stacked boxes between them. 
You exchange a brief friendly smile with Wonwoo, before he continues with Mingyu. Shoulders sagging, your relief is only momentary. The weight of your friends watching the interaction is unbearable, despite everyone being wrapped in their own conversations. Lisa and Amina argue over the best order to organize everything while Mingyu sets about actually arranging the boxes. Soonyoung and Eva exchange gossip at the counter, their own laughter slicing through the air above them.
Pouring yourself a drink, you snatch the pitcher next to Eva, no doubt containing one of her deadly concoctions. Filling the glass halfway, you take a sip. Fruit and spicy sweetness tingling on your tongue followed by the warmth of cinnamon. The slight burn is masked with a deceptive tang of citrus. It goes down much too easily for the amount of alcohol Eva includes in her drinks. You estimate it’ll take two servings before you’re asleep against the arm of the sofa. Empting the glass, you pour another helping and cast off from the counter. 
Heading into the living room, you beeline for a spot on the sofa before anyone can object. Despite Amina’s attempts earlier, a few people would have to take to the floor and you refuse to be one of them.
“Alright everyone, come eat.” Amina calls in the small space.
You forgo the pizza for now. There would be plenty after everyone settled. Wrapping in one of the large fleece blankets, you burrow down into the sofa. Bending your knees, your legs cross while you lean back into the seam between the plush cushion and armrest, head perfectly positioned to see the television. 
Your cup empties before anyone comes to join you. Lisa and Mingyu squash into the recliner on the other side of the living room, the shabby chair groaning any time their weight shifts. You hope it's enough of a deterrent for their determined wandering hands. Many movie nights had been ruined because of their less than family friendly activities. Amina settles in front of the coffee table amongst the pile of cushions and thick blankets. Eva and Soonyoung curl up on the loveseat against the wall.
Wonwoo crashes down into the space next to you, sending a tight lipped smile at your responding frown. His legs spread apart as he leans forward to eat. Your shin brushes against his thigh through the blanket but fatigue prevents any sort of reaction beyond registering the presence of his body. 
Someone knocks out the lights and your eyes cement shut. The horror movie Lisa chose begins, lights from the screen dancing across your eyelids. It's a shallow rest at best, allowing you to catch snippets of dialogue from the characters and muffled whispers from your friends. But it’s like being underwater, senses dull as you experience it all from far far away.
You even forget about Wonwoo until he leans back into the cushions. The contact from his thigh breaking when he props his legs on the coffee table. A particularly loud scream comes from the TV but it's Wonwoo’s voice that startles you.
“Mind sharing?” He whispers, asking for permission despite already lifting the corner of the blanket draped over your knee.
You shake your head, nuzzling further into the armrest and away from temptation.
Wonwoo untucks the fold of the blanket from under your legs, stretching it across his lap. The heat of his side radiates into you even more. Even in your lethargic state the hyper awareness refuses to fade. It stokes a part of you wishing to move onto his lap and work you both back into the blissful high of a few nights ago. But you refuse to acknowledge the craving to dive into him, press your face into the front of his sweater and allow the beat of his heart to lull you into a rest.
You're fully aware all you need to do to get the first thing is let him give it to you. You were the one who ran away, shunned his attempts for a repeat, ignored him. Wonwoo provided several opportunities for a repeat of Friday night, now it was up to you to accept his invitation. 
But try as you might not to care, the dread of what your friends will think rears its head. It's a cop out; no one really cares that it's Wonwoo, only happy you’re finally getting laid again. 
You need to act before your nerve fades but in a room packed full of watchful eyes you’re unsure how to proceed. Feigning a yawn, your eyes pry open to lazily scan the room. Soonyoung has Eva between his legs, her back resting against his chest.. From where you are sitting it's evident they both have their eyes glued to the screen, Eva takes movie night too seriously to allow any funny business. Amina slouched down enough you can no longer see the top of her curly hair. Cautiously swiping at Lisa and Mingyu, it takes only a second before you look away. Thankfully Eva insists on blasting the TV volume to a deafening decibel. 
The movement of Wonwoo’s chest, lulled by the shallow rises and falls, clarifies in the fliting light of the screen. More memories of flushed skin shuddering with ragged breaths come to the forefront. Following the curve of his throat to the arch of his jaw, you find Wonwoo already staring back from the corner of his eye.
He arches an eyebrow, challenging and curious. It demolishes whatever resolve you possess to not look away. Instead, you focus back on the movie while untangling your legs and resting them on the coffee table next to his, ankles crossing under the blanket. The sudden motion leaves the entire span of your right leg flush with his left, a comforting warmth spreading between the layers of thick fabric between.. 
In the haste, the top of the blanket falls down to your lap. You tug it back up swiftly, wanting the layer to conceal your next action from the rest of the world. Satisfied with re-arranganged fabric, your hand doesn’t return to its previous home in your lap. Instead, it rests in the small stretch of space between you and Wonwoo, allowing your shoulders to brush lightly and her fingers to ghost along his thigh.
The heat of his sideways gaze continues to heat your cheeks despite your attempt at playing oblivious. Shifting closer, you pause; Wonwoo doesn’t take the opportunity to move away. Instead, he presses back. Some twisted part inside your mind relishes in victory.
Wonwoo’s left arm slouches down from its place on top of the cushion, joining yours in the space under the camouflage of the blanket. The back of your hands timidly brush before he extends his arm. It's sweet for a moment; shy and coy. But Wonwoo doesn’t allow you to sink into the gesture because his hand rests on top of your thigh and squeezes.
Thankfully you’re far enough back that no one can see unless they turn their neck so far it almost snaps off. Even then, the thick fabric of the blanket doesn’t give away what's happening underneath. The only clues are your labored breath and the shit eating grin threatening to split Wonwoo’s lips. The two couples on either side of the room are in far more compromising positions but with Wonwoo’s hand so high on your leg, you might as well be nude.
Calloused fingertips begin tracing across the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. Without thinking, your ankles uncross, letting your legs part slightly to grant him more space. A wince escapes between Wonwoo’s teeth from your nails digging into his own thigh.
Wonwoo’s hands are lazy in their journey upwards. Fingers massaging firmly against the supple skin, pulling at the flesh with a fraction of the intensity he’s capable of. His thumb kneads into cords of muscle, working out the knots he detects along the way. When he grazes the edge of the large bruise, you stiffen.
Most of the hickies he gifted that night healed, some already disappearing completely. The one he’s prodding now stubbornly remained, much to your mortification. With the irritated skin still sore to the touch, you were constantly reminded of its presence each time you moved. In your peripheral, Wonwoo turns his head. A downward twitch of your jaw motions for him to continue.
The scene on the TV is almost pitch black, throwing the room into a similar darkness. Wonwoo makes use of the cover and creeps his hand past the waistband of your sweats. He lets his palm rest against the lower part of your stomach, the pleasant warmth seeping in, soothing the nerves. The respite is short lived when his long middle finger traces along the elastic of your panties, teasing the skin under the band.
Sweat blooms on your brow and your breath grows stunted. It's embarrassing how worked up he has you. Barely twenty minutes into the movie, less than five of Wonwoo’s touch and yet the distinct wetness between your legs swells. But rather than relief, Wonwoo waits. And he waits. And he waits.
What is he waiting for? You think.
Eventually the movie will end, signaling your friends to get up. The second any of them spared a glance at your corner of the room everything will become clear and exactly what takes place under the blanket will become easily decipherable.
But there is nothing you can do to make Wonwoo’s hand dip lower and feel the dampness he spurred. Attempting to distract yourself from suffering, you switch focus on controlling your breath. Counting slowly to four while inhaling, holding for another four, and then exhaling in the same measure. Even your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh follows the rhythm. 
Mouth watering at the tense flex of the muscle under your fingers, you indulge in the visual of his room again. This time, he’s in nothing but his sweatpants, shirt nowhere to be seen. Red nail marks marr his chest and his hair is wild. You’re perched in his lap, completely naked and grinding against the evident bulge, dripping a wet spot on to the gray fabric. Wonwoo would watch while you used his body to get off, his hands tearing into the sheets. Fantasy Wonwoo would beg. He’d beg to kiss you, beg to touch you. Nothing like the devil sitting next to you, forcing you to plead for every once pleasure. 
Next time Wonwoo would beg. But patience was never a virtue you took pride in. 
Your hand wanders higher, finding exactly what you knew you would. Everything in you fights against grinning like the cat who got the canary. Despite the fact that you haven't really touched, Wonwoo is half hard. Even more satisfying is how he strains against his pants with only a few teasing passes.
He releases a heavy sigh when you push against him a little more firmly. Breaking attention from the movie, you sneak a peek at his reaction.
Wonwoo’s features are void of emotion. No matching bead of sweat at his temple and the heat you feel on your cheeks fails to present itself on his. Not even a wrinkle across his forehead. He almost looks…bored. It's a stark contrast to what you can feel under her palm.
But then you look closer and discover a discrete clench of his jaw and the minute flare of his nostrils. A glimpse at his neck highlights the stiff muscles, taunt like he’s fighting to break out of his own skin. You can’t stop looking. Subtle as the signs are, Wonwoo is just as much of a mess as you are. The only difference being he’s better at concealing it. 
Wonwoo continues to play with the band of your underwear, content to pull the elastic and let it snap against your skin, providing no solace. It's maddening but gives you a chance to brace for his next move. He really only has two options, pull his hand away and end the game. Or push his fingers down further and indulge. 
When a deafening scream blasts the TV prompts everyone to jump, he strikes. Wonwoo’s fingers wedge in the tight space between your legs. The sudden intrusion makes your thighs clench, a detrimental mistake since it forces the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit. He wastes no time before prodding against the soaking fabric curiously. Extending his fingers downward, Wonwoo teases at your entrance through your  underwear. You could cry at the relief but control yourself, lip nearly splitting from biting back a squeak. You’d sell your soul to the devil if it meant you could be alone, sitting on his lap as he talks you through it, whispering for you to be good while he stretched you over his cock again and again. 
But that's impossible. So you’ll settle for this.
Your friends are none the wiser while you build each other up under the blankets. When you stuff your hand under Wonwoo’s waistband, you find out he is certainly not wearing underwear. Immediately you take advantage, letting your thumb graze against the weeping tip. The angle doesn’t allow for a smooth so you play with the head, letting catch on his slit to over and over. Each pass earns you a shudder of his stomach against the back of your forearm.
Wonwoo pushes aside the thin strip of your underwear, two fingers tracing your entrance before dipping inside, curling up to his middle knuckle. It’s hardly enough to get off but the threat of getting caught spawns more and more arousal. At this rate, your sweatpants will be sporting a wet patch if they aren’t already.
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She’s so fucking wet. Wonwoo thinks, the revelation sending a shot of want straight to his cock. He curses whatever he did in a past life preventing him from hauling you into your room and burying himself inside your cunt until he passes out. The irony of the position isn’t lost on him. Wonwoo waited all week for a green light and of course you decided to give it to him in the middle of a packed room with a dozen prying eyes and ears. But he isn’t one to shy away from a challenge. If you want him to get you off under the blanket, then he’s more than happy to rise to the challenge.
Wonwoo repositions his hand, allowing his fingers to play with your clit, abandoning the shallow thrust at your entrance. When his fingernail scrapes delicately over the bundle of nerves, a whimper breaks from through your parted lips and almost blows their cover. 
The movie, unlike you or Wonwoo, is at its climax. Loud screams and distorted music occupy the attention of everyone in the room. But still, you both pause, frozen and waiting for a sign someone heard. Wonwoo debates pulling away. He’d seen the film before, and while his mind struggles to remember the plot he knows there's simply not enough time left before the credits roll and the illusion is shattered. 
Brain riddled with hormones and lust, Wonwoo faces an impossible choice. Call timeout and hope you’re generous enough to give him another chance. Or, he can make the most of the opportunity literally at hand and pray he’s fast enough. 
He’d already waited an entire week, what was another day? And if he waited then maybe he’d get to fuck you properly, away from any onlookers. Where you can sing all the noises that drive him crazy.
The way you play with his cock makes confident he’ll get another turn; so, with herculean effort, Wonwoo extracts his hand from your underwear, moves it back on top of her thigh and gives a minute squeeze in apology. He looks down at your face, witnessing the moments of confusion. Your eyebrows knot under his scrutiny.
“Later.” He mouths, hoping you’ll accept his promise to finish what was started.
In an instant, confusion transforms into cold rage. Features smoothing, your chin tips in defiance. Wonwoo already regrets his decision, tempted to go right back to where he left off but you look like you might rip his arm off if he tries. You turn back to the movie and ignore his existence. 
The hand in his pants doesn’t leave, and a chill of fear trickles down his spine. You aren’t prone to violence, but having his most prized possession in the palm of your hand, coupled with the sinister coldness on your face doesn’t inspire any faith that he’ll walk away unscathed.
Wonwoo isn’t sure how much time passes before you act. Seconds drag on, forcing him on the edge of his seat with anticipation. The knee closest to him bends, your foot resting on the end of the cushion, providing a tent of space over his lap. A decisive twist of her wrist catches him off guard. The space between his lap and the blanket hides the rough fists of his cock with their friends only feet away. The motion steals his breath; the way you use the slick to slide across his shaft, squeezing tightly to the point stars float in his vision.
With embarrassing swiftness, he’s close. Teeth pinching at his lip barely prevent the grunts building in his chest; praises for the devil next to him dying on the tip of his tongue. Wonwoo’s hips threaten to cant up, matching the rhythm of your hand with his thrusts. The warning signs of his end sizzle through his veins, the fuzzy snaps of pleasure racing up his spine. 
Wonwoo takes one last glance at your face, finding he’s already being watched. His eyes scan the mischievous smirk on your lips and realizes a second too late that he fell right into a trap. Without warning, your hand stills.
You smile sweetly as your hand slips out of his pants, snaking it into the bottom of his sweatshirt to wipe the mess of cum against his stomach. When your hand leaves his body and returns to your own lap, Wonwoo he’s been punched in the gut. 
He has no time to ponder what the hell just happened because the credits roll and Amina is already up and moving towards the lights. Wonwoo rubs his eyes, thinking about anything that will make his hard-on deflate before he has to stand up. Cold showers, old neighbors morning sex routine, getting hit with a car… he repeats like a mantra.
On his left, you hop up, all but skipping down the hall and into the darkness. Wonwoo wants to chase and finish whatever the hell just happened given that his cock is soft enough he can tuck it up in his waistband. But his phone buzzes before he can. The screen lights up with a new message from the minx herself.
Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)
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The next morning, Wonwoo wakes with utter disbelief at his life. Your texts  into his skull.
Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)
Wonwoo: Next time?
Y/N (lisa roommate): you can think of this while you wait
The photo haunted him in his sleep. He stared at it for so long he’s sure he could draw the details from memory.
On your knees facing away from the mirror, your ass is on full display. Wonwoo doesn’t know it is better or worse that you’re lent forward with a lewd curve to your spine. Better because he can see everything. Worse because he received it minutes after you fled to your room, which means the wet cling of your panties to your folds was his doing. 
More effective than the picture is the fact you were all but twenty feet away in the privacy of your room, taking nudes while he pretended everything was normal. The entire time he helped tidy up, the walk back to his apartment, and long before he fell asleep, Wonwoo wondered if you were touching yourself. He wanted to ask; ask if you were thinking about him while you did it and if you weren’t, could he give you something to think about?
But every time he opened the thread to message you his finger refused to type. Wonwoo remembered what it was like to have you on your knees. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. But now he has an idea what you look like from the back and it might end his life.
Instead of spending the night with the subject of his desires, Wonwoo found himself the subject of torture. Lisa came back to their apartment so the couple could leave first thing in the morning to some rural bed and breakfast outside the city to celebrate their anniversary. Apparently, they decided to start their celebration early. Hours of Lisa and Mingyu going at it across the hall stretched on with no end in sight. 
Their usual antics would piss Wonwoo off but he’d deal with it. However, last night it only reminded him how much he is not getting laid and he has no one to blame but himself. Crushing a pillow over his head, Wonwoo attempted to make up for the sleep he is already desperately missing. 
His efforts were hopeless. Barely five minutes passed before he turned fitful, tossing and turning without finding comfort. Every trick he knows failed; counting his breath, meditation, relaxing music, turning off his phone. Nothing works. He gives up after an hour.
When dawn came, Wonwoo’s bad mood set in to plague him the rest of the day. 
Sheltering down in his room, he remains hidden until he is certain Mingyu and Lisa are long gone. When he does finally leave his bed, the choke of storm clouds outside have darkened the skies to the point that if not for the clock on his phone he would think it's closer to midnight than it is to noon.
When he decides to step out to grab food, his mistake doesn’t hit him until he’s already shut the door. 
Wonwoo’s keys are still on the kitchen counter. Next to his wallet. And his will to live. 
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Several streets over, your day is going much much better; refreshed from a full night sleep and the thought of what Wonwoo’s face looked like opening the picture.
Lisa and Amina granted clemency last night, cleaning the mess from the evening before abandoning you for the weekend. Lisa off with Mingyu while Amina joined the college friends on their annual retreat (re: party weekend at the coast). Leaving you all to your lonesome for the next two days, nothing but rest and relaxation dancing on the horizon.
The murky darkness of thunder and rain outside the window is staved off by the warm glow from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the dancing lights of the TV as a random show whispers quietly. The warm air is clogged with the sweet smell of vanilla and bergamot from one of Amina’s large candles that rests on the coffee table. And bundle on the couch in the same blanket soiled from the night before, you doze off like a house cat. 
A rogue buzzing pulls you back from the shallow slumber, eyes cracking open lazily to search for the device lost in the cushions. By the time you find it, the call has gone to voicemail. The notification on the screen means you must still be dreaming.
MISSED CALL: Wonwoo
A flash of panic tightens your chest. A million thoughts race by, all regarding what could prompt Wonwoo to call you. He doesn’t call you. In the year and a half you’ve known each other there isn’t a single instance of it. The complete uncharacteristic nature of it has you calling him back before giving it a second thought.
“Are you home?” Snaps through the speaker after the first ring.
He sounds pissed. It’s not the usual sarcastic lit that graces his interactions. It’s dry and pointed and already grating your nerves.
“Well, hello to you.” You sneer back.
“Hi.” He deadpans. You can feel the eye roll through the phone. “Are you home?”
“Why?”
It’s 9pm on a Saturday night and both your roommates are out… of course you’re home.
“I’m locked out and I know Mingyu gave Lisa a copy of the key.”
“You’re locked out?” You parrot. It’s not that it’s an impossible situation, it’s just ridiculously unlucky timing.
“Good to know you’re listening.” He bites.
“Actually, come to think of it, I’m out of town.”
“Y/N…” He interrupts, voice clearly exhausted.
Normally, you would goad him until blue in the face. His stunt last night doesn’t warrant patience. But you know he’s had a week from hell too based on what Mingyu and Lisa shared.
“Yeah I’m home. But Lisa took her keys with her so I doubt the spare is here.”
“Great, just fucking great.” He erupts.
You wince, “Sorry.” 
Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. The measured cadence of his breath echoes through the line. When he finally speaks again he sounds calmer.
“Not your fault,” he murmurs. “Timing is just shit given the week I’ve had.”
“Your landlord can’t let you in?”
“Not answering his phone.”
“And Mingyu?”
“Also not answering.”
After that, words fail you. But given Wonwoo truly seems to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, you throw him a bone.
Readjusting the phone on your shoulder, your hands pick at the frayed hem of the blanket. “Look, if you want to sleep on the couch here, be my guest.”
Silence.
“If you’d rather call a locksmith go ahead.” You rush. “Just thought I’d offer.” 
“If you wanted a slumber party you could have told me.”
Apparently, even poor luck can’t prevent Wonwoo from being a complete smartass.
“Have fun sleeping outside!” You croon sweetly, looking for the button to end the call.
“Wai—”
Phone locked and tossed to the floor, you burrow back into the nest of pillows and blankets. Any prior  drowsiness transforms into irritation. 
Less than a minute passes before your phone begins ringing once more.
 It's your turn to snap at him. “What?”
The pause on the other end of the line is heavy. 
“I was being an ass.”
“You’re always an ass.” You respond with a deep sigh.
“The locksmith won’t come till morning so…”
Despite your better judgment, you take pity on the poor man. 
“Come over.” You concede, cringing at the implication of the phrase. Wonwoo is coming over because he’s locked out. Not for any other reason. He’s desperate and needs somewhere to crash until his landlord can let him in.
“…Thanks.” 
The call ends.
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Wonwoo knocks on the door twenty minutes later. You can’t believe what you see through the peephole. He’s soaked down to his skin, hair matted to his forehead despite the hood of his jacket. The chill of the hallway makes him shake like a leaf in a windstorm. When you finally open the door to face him, he’s somehow worse than he was through the glass.
If it was under any other circumstances the cling of the hoodie against his broad chest would stir something inside you. But Wonwoo has never looked so… pitiful.
“Oh my god,” You manage, choking on laughter.
“Are we just gonna stand here or can I come in?”
Shouldering open the door, you snicker as Wonwoo steps around. At least until he starts abandoning his wet clothes once inside.
“Wait, let me get some towels.” 
Running to the bathroom, you snag whatever towels can be spared. You catch yourself in the mirror before exiting. Messy hair with an indent on your cheek from the crease of the pillow is the least of your problems. There's stain on the front of your sweater from the leftover pizza scarfed down for lunch and you aren’t wearing a bra. 
It doesn’t matter considering Wonwoo looks like a drowned cat but you’re still self conscious. The best you can do is splash cold water on your face and remember he is worse off than you.
Wonwoo waits right where you left him by the door, dripping more water with each second. His bare chest glistens in the dim light. When he looks up from his phone you chuck a towel at his head. 
“You can wait in the bathroom while I find some dry clothes.”
Wonwoo trudges behind as you lead him back the way you came. 
Once again, he immediately unbuttons his pants without regard for your presence. Deft fingers make quick work. You remember where you are when he goes to force them down.
Wonwoo meets your eyes in the mirror, “Staying to watch?”
“I’m just gonna…” You mumble, looking anywhere but at the show he puts on.
The door latch clicks just as the heavy thuds of his soaked clothes land in the sink. Leaning against the opposite wall, your head gently rests against the cool surface. A deep sigh leaves your nose.
You’ve seen Wonwoo naked. Your hand was down his pants less than twenty four hours ago. A picture of your ass lives in his text messages for Christ sake. Seeing him shirtless and wet shouldn’t have you blushing like some virgin.
Ruminating on your momentary lapse of dignity will get you nowhere so you start hunting for the collection of Seungcheol’s clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser. A few months ago the sight would have sent you to tears. Now, it’s comical. The fleeting memory of Lisa’s bewildered face when you choked down sobs after Amina threw out your ex’s toothbrush rears its head. Crazy how things can change so quickly from hurt to nothing.
You're in and out of the bathroom in a flash, collecting wet clothes in exchange for dry ones. Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t jest from behind the current.
While he continues to shower, you’re busy with making the couch habitable. Knowing you can’t deal with another of Wonwoo’s uncouth comments, the blanket you previously used is exchanged for the one draped on the armchair. Rather the blanket Mingyu and Lisa sullied than the one tainted by yourselves.
Wonwoo comes down the hallway just in time, toweling at his damp hair. 
“Well, this is it.” You say, avoiding eye contact. “There's a charge plugged in near the TV you're welcome to use. Um, good night.”
“Gonna make me sleep all by myself?” He plops on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. Wonwoo’s too cocky for someone who looked like he drowned on dry land twenty minutes ago. 
Wonwoo’s triumphant smirk doesn’t last when you plop a heavy knitted quilt over him. He scrambles free but you’re already halfway to your bedroom.
Scoffing, you respond,“What? Are you scared of the dark?”
“If that's the excuse you need to come over here, sure. I’m terrified.”
“Awww,” you coo sarcastically. “You’ll cope.”
In the confines of your room, you manage the first deep breath of the night. You won’t be able to sleep. Not with him so close. Not when temptation is just beyond the door and down the hallway. 
How dare he ask you for a favor and then act like an ass. Of course, he’d use something so unfortunate to get his dick wet. 
More steam pours from your ears as you ruminate. Pacing back and forth you scoff at his audacity until it boils over and you're stomping back into the living room.
“You know I’m doing you a favor by letting you stay here.” You fume, stopping a few feet away from where the biggest pain in your ass rests. “I could have let you go to Eva and Soonyoung’s and deal with their bullshit but I didn’t.”
Wonwoo lifts on one elbow, eying you silently. 
Faltering under his gaze, you continue to ramble. “How dare you ask me for a favor and then act like a pig.”
“You’re right.” 
“What?” You choke.
“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo concedes. 
You falter for a second in disbelief, mouth gaping over silent words. It couldn’t have been that easy. 
“I shouldn’t have believed you giving me a handy meant more than it was.”
Huffing, you stop and turn back to your room. “You’re insufferable!”
“And yet, you still sent me a pic of your ass.” He snorts, collapsing back into his pillow. “Pick a lane, Y/N.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Flinging your hands in the air, you return back to your room to stew until morning.
“So that picture was all talk?” Wonwoo yells in your direction.
He wants a reaction and that's exactly what he gets. Pivoting, you storm back in front of the couch. 
“Oh! I’m all talk? You’re the one who can’t even finish what he started.”
“And what did I start?” He sneers, sitting up. 
You know what he’s doing. Attempting to rile you up until there's no choice but to give in. And it’s working. Wiping that stupid smirk on his face is as simple as swallowing his cock until he’s nothing more than a twitching mess. But if Wonwoo wants you, he’ll need to try harder than goading a response out of you. 
Biting back you prod his chest, “Nothing worth my time, that's for damn sure.”
“Really?” Wonwoo asks, rising to his feet. “Didn’t seem that way last night.” 
Chest to chest, he’s more intimidating but you won’t falter. Instead, you switch gears. Your finger skims dangerously close to the waistband of his pants. 
“I’m a really, really good actress.”
A battle of wills ensues. Wonwoo stares you down, unflinching at your smirk. He’s pissed at the implication. It's clear in his body language; tense shoulders, shuddering breath. 
Your fatal mistake comes when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. The memory of what they felt like jolts an ache in your bones. 
A tilt of his chin is all the invitation you need to drag his mouth to yours.
Wonwoo has you perched on his lap in an instant, legs splayed over his spread thighs and his hands pulling you forward. It's clumsy but eagerness blinds you both to anything beyond the powerful drag of your core hips against the tent in his pants.
Twisting a hand in the short hair at the base of Wonwoo’s neck, you tug hard enough to move him how you want. A throaty moan is the only response he gives, easily following your demands. But the way his large hands grab at the curve of your ass move you how he wants.
He groans into the curve of your shoulder with the next cant of your hips. “God, you’re so hot. Shit.”
Despite the chill that has creeped its way inside the apartment, you’re burning up; skin flushed and hot to touch. The hand not tangled in Wonwoo’s hair slips under his shirt, nails skating up the taunt muscles of his abdomen. His own hands echo the path, finding their way beneath your sweater.
Wonwoo lifts your sweater and swiftly drops it to the flooring, busying his hands with cradling the soft skin he’s uncovered. He leans away to break the kiss, but you manage to drag him back. 
“W-Wonwoo, fuck,” you curse, clinging tighter when he breaks the contact and drops his mouth to your chest.
His teeth scrape against your collarbone, leaving you dizzy and desperate. Head in the clouds, you fold and bend as he tortures your breasts. The rough pad of his thumb leaves goosebumps in its wake, skating across your nipple until it pebbles. One reflex you twist the fist of his hair harshly when he pinches and are rewarded with a moan and rush of his cock into your covered cunt. 
A hot trail of sloppy kisses sends your heart into a tailspin. Wonwoo must feel it with the way he licks and sucks your nipple; pulling until it pops out of his mouth before he leans back to repeat the motion once more.
Eventually, Wonwoo’s borrowed sweatshirt is abandoned on the floor as well but neither of you find the rush present from your previous romp. You follow when Wonwoo leans back, flat against his chest.
Hazy fatigue swells around the edges. The feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, and roaming hands brings everything to a calming lull. Without the fog of alcohol or the threat of nosey friends, you explore each other with feather light touches that turn into gentle gropes, and hot wet kisses that transform into drags of teeth and lips. From shared exhaustion, running on nothing less than minutes of sleep and a near lethal dose of caffeine, you sluggish trapeze through the motions. 
Taking advantage of the moment, you discover exactly what Wonwoo likes. When you rake a hand through his hair, nails pulling through the damp locks to scratch against his scalp, then Wonwoo shudders and sucks at your chest with more enthusiasm than before. He likes when you bite him, his hips rutting up harshly with each nip at his throat.
Each breathy sigh you release spurs him on. Melting into a needy mess, you can’t find an ounce of embarrassment; even as Wonwoo massages your cunt through your sweatpants and pathetic whimper after pathetic whimper pours from your throat.
Having his focus on you makes you crave him more. A never ending cycle of want. 
“Please,” you beg. The second the word is out of your mouth, Wonwoo is ushering you towards your room.
You trip through the living room with Wonwoo’s mouth still latched to your chest. Pinned between the back of the couch and his body, he sucks until your shoulders cave and you force him from his hiding place. 
“What?” he smirks into your jaw. “What do you want?” His hand sneaks its way under your pants, squeezing a palm full of your bare ass before slipping down further. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He nips at your chin, fingers dipping into your entrance. “So messy for me.”
Your hands scramble for something to comfort from the onslaught. Wonwoo is already back between your breasts, humming around the flesh every time you shudder from his ministrations. He twists his fingers into your core, the noise loud despite the cover of your pants.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you rasps under the prod of his thumb against your clit. Rather than succumbing to the mind numbing assault, you jolt into action. 
Wonwoo angles his hips just right when he realizes your aim. It’s too easy to force your hand under the fabric and find him hard and waiting just like last night. But unlike last night, you don’t have to hide. And the freedom dooms him from the start. 
Anchoring one hand on his chest, you push until he’s upright. He’s a wreck; eyes half shut behind the lens of his glass and lips a delectable shade of red. You pull your hand out of his pants and lap away the evidence of his arousal, delighting in the way a vein on his neck jumps when you give them a lewd suck.
Turning, you saunter down the hallway, shedding the rest of your clothes as you go.
“Coming?” you call over your shoulder, pinning Wonwoo in place as you bend to slip off your sweatpants, flashing him the barest peak of your cunt, before continuing to your room.
You don’t hear him following until you're at the threshold. A rush of footsteps and then he’s emerging from the darkness, eyes taking in your naked form. Wonwoo looks like he’s been starving and you’re the first meals he’s about to have in years.
Wonwoo pins you to the wooden door, one hand finding your jaw while the other bats your legs wide before roughly swiping at your sensitive clit. 
“You’re such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear.
Two fingers tap against your lips. Without hesitation you present your tongue, lapping the digits like you would his cock. Wonwoo watches with so much heat in his gaze you can’t stop a moan from slipping free when he puts pressure on your tongue and causes you to drool. He makes to pull away but stops when you grab his wrist and force him in place.
You suck his fingers deeper, eyes never leaving his the entire time. The pressure against the inside of your cheek leaves you reeling. Pure desire inks your brain and makes you desperate. 
Both unsatisfied, you let Wonwoo go. He’s quicker than you imagined. A force full grab of your jaw tugs you away from the door and into his mouth. The slide of his tongue against your own verges on pornographic but you're too busy focusing on the same fingers you’d just been sucking on splitting your folds before stretching your walls. 
Slowly falling to his knees, Wonwoo shoulders under your leg until your pussy is splayed for him to enjoy. The trail of hot kisses across your hip do nothing to comfort you. Not with the swift pace of his hand.
“Are you gonna do something or just stare all night?” 
The strip he licks up your core, tongue flat and heavy, makes you double over. Wonwoo remembers exactly what buttons to push to shut you up, overwhelming you with his mouth and hand buried in your cunt along with the hand continuing to tweak your nipples. 
“Fuck,” you mewl. “You can do—shit—better than that.”
The raze of his teeth on your clit is punishment enough for the outburst. But Wonwoo loves to prove a point. His pace becomes slower than ever, still hard but the tempo of his hand is reserved. It makes you hot all over. Choking on air, your brain melts and bones jelly under the lashing of Wonwoo’s tongue. 
Just as he finds the perfect angle, he falls back.
You snap. “What the fuck?”
He doesn’t answer. Wonwoo pulls away his hand and rises to his feet. Once nose to nose, he smiles. The sudden change is disorienting. Even more so when he leaves a gentle peck against your cheek and heads for the bed.
Perching on the bed, he leans pack on to his palms and presents his lap like a throne. “Come here,” he commands.
Scrabbling into his lap, Wonwoo catches you off guard. His hands strike across your waist as he leans back, shuffling you up his chest until your knelt over his face.
Your hands steady on your thighs, brushing his. In an uncharacteristic act of sweetness, he tangles his fingers with your own. 
The gesture leaves you reeling. “Wonwoo?”
His hands curl around your thighs and force you down onto his waiting tongue. There's no build up, only hunger. Wonwoo points his tongue and uses it to trace hard circles around your clit before suck so harshly you buckle in half. 
If Wonwoo minds he makes no show of it. Instead, he pins your tangled hands in place and licks deeper, tracing anywhere he can reach. Every muscle in your body jerks from the sloppy way he eats you out.
Sweat blooms on your skin. Each breath stilted and you’re drooling when cracks open an eye to take him in. The flex of his biceps when you lurches against a vulgar suck of his mouth. Even the mop of his hair buried between your thighs makes you whimper. 
One hand leaves your, reaching around and pinching your ass punitively.
“Work for it,” he hums into your pussy.
Not needing to be told twice, you rock where your bodies meet. Your free hand tangles in his hair and uses the leverage to grind against his tongue. Wonwoo’s hand continues to follow the curve of your ass until he’s able to tease your entrance. 
Foul noises radiate from where he works you, from his hand and your mouth. Spit and arousal smear on his cheeks and you can feel it against your thighs bracketing his head.
You want to see his face. The heat in his eyes when he’s focused on something, focused on you, making you cum. You pull Wonwoo’s hair again.
“Focus,” His muffled voice is thick and broken, like he’s getting off just as much as you are.
Whining from the vibration against your clit, tears threaten to fall from how tight you pinches your eyes shut from the onslaught. 
“Wonwoo, I’m—” you sob. “Please, fuck. Please, I’m gonna cum.”
The world holds its breath. And then it shatters into a million pieces.
You’re whole and not. No more than a supernova. Whine after whine claws its way out of your lungs until you choke on them.
Wonwoo pays no mind, continuing to work you until you try and fall away. But he expects it, moving with you and staying between your thighs like you haven’t cum at all.
“Too much,” you gasp when he spits on your ruined cunt.
Flashing the pink of his tongue, he sneers your own words back with acidic sweetness. “You can do better than that.”
Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he digs in again. 
It hurts. Wonwoo isn’t easing you into a second orgasm. If anything, he’s bullying it out of you. 
And you take it.
“I can’t,” you plead, dipping your chin to meet his eyes and beg your case. “Too much, Woo. I—”
Wonwoo leans back and slows the three fingers buried inside you. The hand pressed to your stomach rises to cup your face, his thumb tracing the bow of your lips. 
“You can.” He coos. His thumb slips into your mouth a second before he spits on your clit and uses his soiled hand to slap.
The scream ripping its way out is silenced by the digit in your mouth. Wonwoo dives back in, taking zero mercy. Your hips buck into his mouth involuntarily and the bastard laughs.
“See? You want it so bad, don’t you baby?” 
His thumb pops from your mouth but not before you manage a quick nip. The look on Wonwoo’s face tells you it was the wrong answer to his question.
Your breath falters when the faintest amount of pressure ghosts along your throat, waiting for your okay before committing. 
Spreading your legs wider and tucking your hands behind your knees, you nod, “I want it.” 
Pupils blown wide, Wonwoo goes rigid before exploding into a frenzy. 
He sucks your folds into his mouth, hastily laving you in his spit before forcing another finger inside your tight hole. 
“C’mon, you can do it for me. Give me one more.” He demands while coming up for a breath. “Such a fucking mess for me.”
Your hips snap harshly, nails digging into his wrist resting on your chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!”
Feet planting onto the mattress, you rock against his face with more force than before. A cacophony of vulgar squelches and desperate whines fill the room. He squeezes until stars dot your vision from the lack of blood flow only to release with a rush of lightheaded bliss. Using your hands to tug at your sore nipples, you finally give Wonwoo what he wants.
“W-Wonwoo, so good.” You pant. 
He cleans up the mess the same way he made it but with a gentler touch. It doesn’t stop the quivers of overstimulation from wrecking your nerves but he whispers an apology for each one and rubs it into the crease of your thigh when you wince.
With a final peck to your clit, he releases you.
Wonwoo’s chest heaves, eyes drooping in lust or fatigue, you don’t know. Maybe both. When he rises from his spot between your legs, you scramble for his face. Mouths meet in a slow kiss, nothing more than a languid press against one another and a few deep breaths. You taste yourself but ignore it. You’re too tired, too sated, to care. 
You try and palm his cock, eager to return the favor but Wonwoo shifts away. He crowds you up to the pillows, pulls you into his chest, and sends you off to sleep with his lips against your forehead.
You simply lay there, curled around one another until sleep claims you.
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Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi
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gatorbites-imagines · 7 months
Note
Hello~!
So may I request a poly ghost face (from 1996) where they have an autistic trans!reader. Ik a lot (I'm projecting) the reader stims vocally by mimicking what they say, and they have a special interest (am like bugs, gore, sharks, dinosaurs, something around those lines yk? I feel like gore would fit) the reader rambles and rants Abt their special interest a lot! Just those kinds of things. I feel like you'd be able to capture this perfectly, thank you! Have a wonderful time zone :)
Poly Ghostface x autistic trans male reader
Headcanons
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I always headcanon Stu as having something like ADHD, or just more hyperactive autism.
Been a while since I wrote about these two, huh? I’ve kinda missed em, ngl. Hope it’s alright I took some liberties with the hyperfixations :)
I can imagine that maybe you were friends with Stu when you were kids, because you were both “weird” in other people’s opinion. Stu because he was too hyperactive and could never sit still, and you because of your weird interests and how you were quite antisocial at times.
Time would pass, you guys would grow older. Stu would become someone popular, as his erratic and hyper personality becomes something others admire because he’s fun, whilst you stay being the weirdo with too much interest in medical texts, insects, and decomposition.
Neither of you meant to do it, but you would grow apart. Stu would get his new friends, specifically Billy, and you would stay by yourself burying yourself in your special interests. Its not strange to find you flipping through medical books or books about the horrors of war and medical malpractice. The more pictures the better.
When its not medical texts and war pictures with as much gorey detail as possible in the text and pictures, you can be found reading about death and the work of being a mortician, the way a body decays, and all that.
And when its neither of those things, you can be found looks at bugs, lifting rocks or moving trash to see what critters you can find. You have a sketchbook you like to draw in, three ones at that, one for each hyperfixation since you don’t wanna mix the information in them.
Its in the many niche medical books you learn about being transgender, and suddenly how uncomfortable you are in your own body makes sense. You don’t need any friends, or your families support to transition, that’s what you tell yourself at least.
You haven’t really had any real friends since you split form Stu when you were kids, and your creepy interests chase off anyone who might attempt to befriend you.
So, when you show up one day to school and openly tell people you are now a boy, no one really questions it, because why would they? You’re already weird, and compared to all your other quirks, being a boy is probably the most normal thing about you.
Through all these years you haven’t experienced as much bullying as you probably would have anywhere else, all thanks to Billy and Stu.
Stu because he still sees you as his friend in some way, and Billy because he’s fascinated by you. One day after you had come out, he walked behind you and saw you drawing detailed diagrams of top surgery in grotesque detail, and Billy has been hooked since.
At some point you and Billy would end up talking, one way or another. Maybe it was at the video store around Halloween one night, maybe the year Sidney’s mom died, and Billy would ask your opinion on the horror movie selection.
Youd grimace and say they sucked since the gore was so unrealistic, which Billy, the freak, would definitely ask into why you thought so. This would lead to you infodumping to him for a long time, going through multiple movies and explaining how its unrealistic and what would have made it better.
As infodumping goes, you don’t even realize how long you’ve been standing there talking to one of the hottest guy at your school about fictional gore, until Randy has to tell you guys that the store is closing soon.
You end up getting real embarrassed about wasting his time like that, which Billy is quick to tell you that nothing was wasted because he loved talking about it with you and hearing what you had to say. He would love to talk again some time.
You don’t really believe him, until he searches you out the next day in your shared free period when you are sitting outside drawing bugs and beetles, dragging Stu with him of all people. You haven’t actually interacted with Stu in a while, so you cringe and get jitters when he hugs you and gets into your personal space.
Its Billy who has to remind him of personal space, and before you know it, they’ve asked in about your special interests, and then they just sit back as you infodump and show them the pictures and drawings you have in all three of your sketchbooks, making the two Woodsboro killers fall for you harder and harder.
Time would pass and you three would start spending a lot of time together, Billy and Stu always hanging around you to listen to what you have to say, never growing tired no matter how much you infodump.
Stu would be the first to confess his feelings, as he feels fast and he feels strong, so one day when you two are laying on his bed and you’re talking about the difference between two beetles who look almost the exact same, whilst also talking about lungs and how they’re built, Stu just leans over and kisses you.
You would be so confused, until Stu tells you that he really likes you, he would even spill the beans that Billy feels the same way too. As if summoned, Billy would show up and Stu would be all like “right Billy? You like him too, right?” and Billy would facepalm cuz he planned on confessing in a much better way.
But hed agree and say he fell pretty damn hard for you, but neither rushes you in your decision as they know it’s a big step. I can imagine Stu also rambling about how hes always liked you since you were kids, even before you transitioned, and how he actually started liking you even more afterwards because you looked so much more comfortable with yourself and who you were.
At some point you would come to the conclusion that you felt the same way, and boom, now you got two boyfriends who like you for who you are, and would stab a bitch if they tried to disrespect you in any way, shape, or form.
When the ghostface killings happen, you wouldn’t be at the party since they are super overstimulating, but you would go to the hospital to check on Billy and Stu since they are the only “survivors”.
I thought it would be funny if you developed a special interest in the ghostface killers and started a fourth sketchbook filled with your notes and theories, but you would keep it hidden form Billy and Stu because you fear it would trigger their trauma, since you don’t know they are the killers.
The fourth sketchbook would also have rants you can’t put anywhere else, like how certain people have hatecrimed you because of your gender, or because you are “weird”, and how some dark sick part of your brain wants the ghostface killers to kill them.
At some point your boyfriends would find the sketchbook and go through it together, whistling as they see the detailed analysis made for each kill, and how you are so close to figuring it out. But when they read all the stuff you’ve written you never told them, it angers them that people have been hurting you without them knowing.
You wouldn’t have told them since you didn’t want to worry them, and it wasn’t their fight in your opinion. Billy and Stu decide that they have to pull out the masks once more, seems they have a couple of horrible people to get rid of for mistreating you.
Imagine your surprise when one night you walk into your room stimming with both your hands and repeating stuff that Billy and Stu said earlier that day, only to find not one, but two people wearing ghostface gear in your room.
It takes you a little too long to even spot them as you were scribbling in your death sketchbook, having gotten a sudden spark of inspiration on the way home from your apprenticeship as the local funeral home.
You almost get to scream before they pounce, never actually hurting you but clamping a hand over your mouth, their gloves wet with what you can smell is blood. After they make you promise to stay quiet, they unmask and reveal who they are.
You buffer like an old computer for a little too long, before smacking the shit out of both of them, wacking them in the chest for not telling you. Your opinion on death and murder are probably really twisted, and the people they’ve killed have either hurt you or you had no relationship with them.
It does light up every light in your hyperfixations though, and you might demand them to explain what killing someone is like, or what a freshly killed body looks like for your sketchbooks.
Billy would grin and try to kiss you, because how can you be so perfect? But you’d wave him off with a grimace and demand Stu explain once again what it was like stabbing someone so you can get it all down in your book.
I don’t know if youd join them as a third Ghostface, but they might take you along every now and then, letting you roam the place after they’ve done their thing if the chance is there. I could imagine them taking pictures of things for you too.
I’m imagining them both dressed up as ghostface, except no mask, both kissing at your cheeks and neck and being all lovey dovey and almost purring, whilst you are sketching down the different pictures and notes about them.
They love you so much, its insane. You’re gonna have them hanging on you for the rest of your life, sorry man, I don’t make the rules. Even if you move to another city and start studying to be a professor or like, investigator for the FBI, they would go with you. It would even help them in their Ghostface work as you are an expert in them not getting caught.
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tanoraqui · 2 months
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obviously the Historical Figure Episode(TM) of Doctor Who that I’d write would of the Noted Author subset endemic to the RTD Era; it’d be called “Spiders in the Trenches” and be set in the middle of World War One ft. one Lt. John Tolkien.
idk if the main aliens are spiders or if they're just using giant robotic spiders as soldier-minions. Either way, Tolkien is a little too defensive when he says he's not afraid of spiders.
The alien invaders want some sort of shiny mcguffin, maybe as a power source for their ship? Or for a mega-weapon? We do not want them to get it, at any rate. Race to find the Shiny Power Jewel-Thing which has been lost somewhere in this like 20-mile radius of the Western Front.
When our heroes narrowly beat the spiders to the SPJT, Tolkien realizes that the spiders only ever attack at night because light hurts them somehow, so he holds the SPJT up as it flares and shouts, "Get back, foul creatures! Back into the shadows from whence you came!"
(They're from the dark side of a tidally locked planet, and made for extremely low-light conditions? The SPJT flares because it's controlled telepathically and it connected to Tolkien's mind when he touched it?)
Ideally Tolkien's first encounter with the Doctor is that he wakes up in the trench one day (after losing some men to a mysterious monster in the darkness a couple nights ago?), and there's 2 random strangers in weird clothes idly singing and playing an instrument which they stole from someone a couple bedrolls down. (This works well with Fifteen & Ruby's established inclination to music!)
We do need an Eowyn Moment, because that's iconic, but I'd split it: for dialogue, at one point the head boss evil alien boasts, "No human can defeat the Tenebrarachnid Empire!" and the Doctor replies, "Good thing they've got me, then."...
[I don't know if this is a Fifteen line yet. I know it's a very Eleven line]
...and there's a soldier in Tolkien's unit who is revealed to be secretly a woman! Who disguised herself as a man in order to enlist for ??? reasons, and who dramatically pulls off her hat to reveal her long hair.
The third notable local character is the sort who inspired Sam Gamgee, "...the English soldier, [like] the privates and batmen I knew in the 1914 war, and recognized as so far superior to myself.”
^those two can have a romantic subplot if it fits (comrades-in-arms is also extremely good). Tolkien, however, at some point shows Ruby the picture of his wife Edith which he carries at all times, she of the black hair and bright grey eyes, and is obviously ready to monologue about how wonderful she is.
In the same scene(?), Tolkien looks up at the stars and says their brightness shining afar, clear of all the horrors on the ground, is always a source of hope and strength to him.
Maybe also in the same scene? Tolkien is shown to make up stories for fun, or to read them in his little spare time - fairy tales and mythological epics. Maybe he tells them to the men around the fire, maybe he keeps a little notebook, maybe he just admits to daydreaming... When asked why, he paraphrases his quote from later life, " Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?"
At some point (Star-watching scene? when the Doctor inevitably has to explain that aliens exist? when they're all saying goodbye in the end?) there's a line drawing attention to the Doctor's parallels with Eärendil - eternally wandering figure of hope, sailing the stars in a ship with a light on top, not quite mortal...
Tolkien DEFINITELY tries to figure out the alien language, in writing or speech.
Something the aliens are doing is making people sick. Maybe the attacking robo-spiders are venomous, maybe there's a toxic byproduct of the alien ship, maybe it's a deliberate first assault of the planned invasion... By the end of the episode, Tolkien is very ill. The Doctor has figured out an antidote and given it, but Tolkien says goodbye to him and Ruby only to stumble to a medical outpost - from where, the Doctor explains to Ruby, he'll be sent home with this bad case of what's assumed to be trench fever. Between the fever and the brief psychic entanglement, and unentanglement, with the SPJT, he won't even remember most of this, and what he does remember, he'll put down to fever dreams amidst the horrors of war.
But he'll remember some things! He'll remember an eternal wanderer of the stars, unaging and undying and ever-hopeful, heralded by light (and a vworrrp vrorrrp noise).
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empress-simps · 3 days
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Line That Leads To You
Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader AU: Soulmate AU CW: Language, Genre: Angst with a happy ending (don't worry guys) Summary: You make Sirius realize that having a soulmate isn’t all that bad— that he too, will have his happily ever after.
Note: One of my favorite tropes to write, soulmate AUs! Sirius just needs love and affirmation. I love writing for this! Enjoy! Picture is from pinterest, credits to the owner!
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You know, Sirius never really believed in those pesky soulmates stuff. It irks him to no end, and makes his head hurt.
The topic makes him snappy, bitter, and it leaves him feeling angry. To whom? The world— the one who’s responsible for everything that has to do with soulmates. He thinks it is a bunch of bollocks. It’s a pathetic little concept that everyone seems to be too invested in.
Sirius would be very much happy to tell you it doesn’t really end with a happily-ever-after.
“I’m telling you, Prongs. It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sirius tells James one time at the drawing room in the Potter Manor. James shakes his head, disagreeing with his best mate.
“It isn’t always like Walburga and Orion, Pads.” James gently tells him, eyes swimming with empathy for Sirius. “Just look at me, Lily and I are together, finally.” Sirius can’t help but scoff, shaking his head in a disagreeing manner.
“That’s because you were already pathetically in love with her before you even knew she was the one, Prongs. Same thing for Lily, but she was quite stubborn trying to deny what she felt about you. You guys are actually made for each other.” James lets out a laugh, the memories resurfacing making a love-struck smile appear on his face (Sirius gave him a disgusted look)
“That’s what soulmates are, Pads. You’re supposed to complete each other, balance the other person out” He pursed his lips and sighed, there’s no way Prongs could understand his opinion on the matter.
Complete each other, huh?
Then can someone give him a reasonable excuse on why his parents broke each other? One descended into madness; the other doesn’t really seem to care as long as the noble house of Black lineage will continue.
Sirius bites his bottom lip, deep in thought as he stares at his pinky, willing the connection to be seen; a red string that was tied into a bow that leads to Merlin-knows-where. It serves as a connection; the string that he and only his soulmate can see whenever they want. He tugs on it curiously, awaiting any reaction with bated breath. He almost scrambled away when he felt the other end also tug it. Sirius was utterly terrified, a shiver crawled up to his system, it’s foreign feeling for the Black’s eldest son. It made everything feel too real. A fact that he desperately tries to deny.
That night, before they returned to Hogwarts as sixth year students was the last time he ever willed to see the annoying little string in his pinky, not caring if his supposed other half was finding him or already found him.
Maybe it had to do with his twisted upbringing. He saw how his father cut the string tying him to their mother, the purple string that bound them together turning gray and withering away.
He saw how Regulus flinched, no one should’ve seen a scene like that, but they did. Someone severing their connection to someone who should’ve been with them through better or for worse, the one that fate intended for them. Their life got worse just after that, forcing him to flee and leave his younger brother behind at the deranged hands of Walburga Black.
“You should eat more, Reggie.” You turned towards the quiet and reserved Slytherin, pushing his plate closer to him, which made him wince. “I am quite full.” You raised a brow “None sense, all you did was sip pumpkin juice so you better do as I say or I’ll tell Evan and Junior.”
“Do you know that you boss people around quite well?” He grumbles, shoving a few spoonsful of dinner in his mouth as you hummed in approval, cracking a small smile. “I was told.” Your eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, it seemed to gravitate you, pulling you in.
Looking down at your pinky, you willed the string to be visible to you. Seeing the red string attached to Sirius Black made your stomach churn; was it butterflies? Unease? You don’t particularly know, having mixed reactions to the string that leads to your other half.
You’ve known for over a year now, keeping it to yourself as you quickly figured out that he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.
“Reggie! Reggie!”
You exclaimed, slapping the poor boy’s arm as he was currently staying in the L/n Manor. He looked in your direction, quite annoyed, he was interrupted reading his book. “I’m reading, Y/n. You know, you should too. It’ll do you some good.” He sassed, trying to find which part he stopped reading. “My soulmate! They tugged the string!” You gushed, “They must be looking for me too, right?” You asked no one in particular, you can still feel the tingles you felt, how your heartbeat picked up, and how you felt like you were in could nine.
Quite the opposite from what Sirius felt, huh?
You never told him, never planned to. It was quite clear what his views are on the concept of soulmates when you saw him snogging different girls every week. It wrecked you; you swore you felt your heart stop beating every time you see him loving a girl other than you even just for a week. It sounds stupid and all, but you would give up everything just to know what it feels like; how he will look at you with love and adoration in his eyes, how his touch and kisses would linger on your body, and how his voice would sound like as his breath fans in your ear, whispering promises of love.
You looked at him from the Slytherin table; so close yet so far.
Regulus noticed, the all too familiar broken look in your face. His heart hurts for you, even if you do not tell him, he already knows. Seeing his brother’s indifference, Regulus’s gaze hardened. How could he have the guts to do this to his soulmate?
The memory of their mother's despair, the way she withered away after their father severed the bond, was etched into his mind. Regulus does not wish for anyone to feel that way, he does not wish upon it even in his worst enemies.
It was a pain no one should endure, a lesson that should have been learned.
Yet there sat his brother, laughing with his friends and willfully ignoring the pulls of his heart. The person who held the other end of this unseen tether, was beside Regulus. Your soul ached as you watched your soulmate. It was a betrayal of the heart's deepest connection, and it stirred a tempest of fury within Regulus that he struggled to contain.
“My brother is foolish. Eat.” He states, pushing your food and placing the cornbread on his plate to yours. She cracks a smile, chuckling. “Alright, Reggie. You’re lucky I love you.” You pat his curls, proceeding to eat the bread, smiling a little. Reggie never really shares his food with anyone, except for you. You’re the only exception.
“Padfoot.” Remus starts, looking out of the window as Sirius lays down lazily in his bed, looking at nothing.
“What, Moons?”
“If I say that I have an inkling on who your soulmate is, would you… look for them?” Remus asked cautiously. Peter and James perked up, eyes wide with shock. How could Remus possibly guess who his soulmate is? Unless… They’re also in Hogwarts?
“Don’t start with that crap, Moony.” Sirius sat up; a scowl displayed in his features as his grey eyes turned stormy.
“Don’t you even feel the slightest amount of guilt in your system as you snog other girls?” Remus frowned.
Sirius’s scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists. “Guilt? For what, Moony? For not wanting to be chained down by some ancient magic?” His voice was a low growl, barely containing the emotions that surged within him. “I won’t be dictated by fate. I make my own choices, and I refuse to be bound by a bond I never asked for.”
Remus’s expression softened, the lines of concern etching deeper into his face. “It’s not about being chained, Pads. It’s about finding someone who complements you, who understands you in ways no one else can.” He paused, his gaze steady and piercing. “You’ve seen what happens when that bond is severed. You’ve seen the pain it causes. Is that what you want for yourself? For your soulmate who’s probably hurting somewhere?”
Sirius looks down, biting his lip and playing with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t plan on severing our bond, Moons- “
“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Remus spat, Sirius flinched, looking at anything but them. He knew deep down that Remus was right. He can’t deny he also wants to look for his soulmate. The only thing that was holding him back is that he’s scared. What if your story would end similarly like how Walburga and Orion’s did? Dread fills his system as he reflects on how he slowly realized he’s becoming like his father. Peter and James exchanged a glance, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon them.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of finding her… Scared of repeating the same mistakes.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Remus’s. “But you’re right. I can’t keep running from this. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.”
James offered a supportive smile, feeling happy for his friend. Sirius stood up, his posture straightening as if shedding the weight of his fears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find her,” he declared, his voice steady. “I owe it to both of us to at least try.”
“That’s our Padfoot.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief as Peter nods encouragingly at Sirius.
The next daylight soon came. Sirius gulps, looking around the great hall, feeling quite overwhelmed at the number of students entering for breakfast, eating, or chatting amongst themselves. For the first time in a long time, he willed the red string of fate to reappear within his vision.
Ah, there it was. The red string connected to someone from the Slytherin table. Sirius felt his heart drop, seeing the end of the string connected to your pinky. “Y/n?” The name left his lips in a hushed awe, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the string connected to your pinky. You, who laughed with such ease beside Regulus, were the missing piece.
Whether it was some brotherly instinct, Regulus looked at him, shooting him a warning stare as if to say: ‘If you hurt her, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.’
Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing eyes set on his friend. “Found her, Pads?”
“Yeah. Found her, Moony.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” James chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as Peter silently cheers him on. “Go on, before you lose your nerve.”
Sirius took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of Regulus’s protective stare. It was a silent challenge, a vow to keep your heart safe from his brother. With a nod of acknowledgment, Sirius stepped forward, crossing the small distance between the Gryffindor table and Slytherin.
“Y/n,” he said, standing before you, the red string pulsing with a life of its own.
You stilled, slowly looking in his direction. Eyes wide with surprise, searched his for a moment before softening. “I was wondering when you’d come around,” you teared up, making Sirius’ heart ache.
Sirius extended his hand, the red string wrapping around both your destinies. “Let’s talk, yeah?”
And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined, Sirius knew that whatever the future held, he had made the right choice. For in finding you, he had found a new path that began to unravel, one filled with hope and courage. The buzz of Great Hall continued, but both of them felt time still, feeling the bond weave into their souls deeper.
Sirius’s and Y/n’s story had its flaws, but it was theirs, uniquely woven by the red strings of fate.
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goldenfigtree · 7 months
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Tick Tick Boom
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Summary: A tiny glimpse of what it's like to be in a relationship with Leon. More specifically, when Leon gets jealous...
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem Reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: Fluff
“One more day” you murmur to yourself, drawing a red X with a dry erase marker on the calendar hanging on the fridge door. For a normal person, the fact that there was one more day left until their significant other came back from work would be exciting. Yet, your impatience seemed to overpower optimism at the moment. It was killing you on the inside to wake up to, not him but the lonely indent of his side of the bed instead.
So much so, you didn’t get a blink of sleep since he left. Dark shadows of puffiness circled your eyes, contorting as you impatiently rubbed them in hopes that when you stopped, you would be in tomorrow. But no, life didn’t work like that unfortunately. With a groan vibrating in your throat, you plop onto the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table and point the remote at the tv.
Maybe some tv static would drown out the repeated disappointment of experiencing another boyfriend-less day. It wasn’t guaranteed but you’d do anything at this point to try and ease your anticipation. The Gilmore Girls theme song played as per usual, you bobbing your head along with it, the evidence of some strands of your hair defying gravity exposed by the sunlight projecting through the windows of your apartment. Your eyelids began to slowly slide down, luring you to sleep before quickly snapping up. You keep trying to fight off your body’s need for sleep until your vision immediately goes black.
Back to back the episodes played, but you didn’t notice. Head leaned back on the couch’s head rest, your mouth falls agape from the angle. You were out like a light. So deep in slumber, the jingling of keys and the creaking of the front door left you un phased. Kicking off his boots, Leon drops his luggage at the door and follows the sounds of your snoring. A warm smile forming on his lips as he eventually takes in the sight of you fast asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. An amused chuckle leaves his lips,
Stealthily sitting next to you on the couch, he pulls out his phone and takes a photo. Surely this is what you meant when you asked Leon to take candid photos of you right? Either way, he was keeping it, every picture he had of you, unflattering or not, was adorable to him. Not realizing the flash was on his phone, he blinks in surprise when your snoring abruptly stops. Slowly, you drowsily blink your eyes open and shoot your head back up as you smacked your lips. Squinting your tired eyes to adjust to the sunlight and to figure out who was sitting next to you, you’re met with Leon’s royal blue eyes. A sleepy grin creeps onto your lips as you lean forward to pull him in for a hug,
“You’re home” you say sweetly in a rasp residue of your nap. With a deep chuckle of intrigue, he pulls you into his lap by your waist while you instinctively drape your arms around his neck.
“Sorry I woke you” he murmurs as you sleepily drag your lips along his. He could feel the smirk curling along your lips as the two of you kissed,
“No you’re not” you bluntly retort pulling away to give him a knowing look. He merely smirks back, letting a puff of air exhale through his nose in amusement,
“You’re right, I’m not” his arms tighten around you body as he leans in to feel your soft lips against his. His smirk failing to fade away as he feels and hears you giggle mischievously against his lips. Subconsciously, he inhales deeply and releases in a sigh. Feeling that he can finally relax.
“You’re early” you eventually say after pulling away,
“They let me go for good behavior” he jokes with a grin, clearly proud of his dad joke. Unamused you raise an eyebrow,
“Ha-ha” you deadpan, “I missed you”
“Missed you more” Finding that saying it just wasn’t enough, he proves it by squeezing you tighter with his biceps, earning a strained panic noise from you as you tried to wriggle free,
“Okay, okay I get it” you squeal, patting his biceps, “uncle!  Uncle!”
Letting go, he smirks as he watches you pant for air and weakly punch his chest as punishment, “sorry did I take your breath away?” He proudly flirts. You can’t help but snort at his cheesy attempts,
“Jesus Christ you’re on a roll today” you say breathlessly, a smile you fail to control appearing. You can’t help but giggle at this rare sight of cheesy, happy Leon. The rarity of it wasn’t this side of himself in itself but it was coming home from a mission and being this way. Usually, when he walked through the door, he was either exhausted, grumpy, or very very clingy.
Can you blame the man?
This side of Leon that you were currently enjoying was usually cocooned until the next day or two when he recovered from the work that often drained him mentally and physically.
“Yeah I am” he triumphantly agrees, “hey, let’s go do something”
“You’re not tired?” You ask, tilting your head to the side,
“Of course I am, but I hardly get to come home early, we should celebrate” he suggests with a shrug, trying to play it off cool. But, you saw right through his nonchalant act. The excitement that danced in those blue irises was a dead giveaway. Combing his bangs back, you kiss his forehead lovingly.
“Yeah we should” patting his pecks over his t shirt, you hop off him and head to the bedroom to get ready.
After a nice dinner at your favorite place downtown, the two of you stroll along the paved streets, and with little convincing, some shopping,
“Thanks for this babe” you coo happily hooking your arm through his and resting your face on his bicep as the two of you walked out of a store with a large paper tote bag in your grasp swinging with every step,
“Any time” Leon modestly responds, a shy smile on his lips as he looks down at you. He felt a twinge of pride that he was able to get this reaction out of you and it only compelled him to want to spend more on you. Before he could continue his mission of spoiling you, however, a voice calls after you causing the two of you to halt and turn around. A man that perfectly resembled the description tall, dark and handsome came running up to the two of you. It was none other than your ex boyfriend,
“Hey! Small World” He greets heartily, seamlessly pulling you into a hug, “Wow you look great!”
“Declan! It’s been a minute” You greet being the first to pull away from the hug and make your way to stand alongside Leon, a sweet smile on your lips. Since the two of you ended on good terms, you didn’t think twice before greeting him happily.
Leon on the other hand, wiped the grin from his face and replaced it with a stoic expression. He took a good look at him, remembering you mentioning his name once. Something along the lines of Declan agreeing with you that you were better off as friends. Yet, Leon had an inkling that was far from the truth. Narrowing his eyes he watches Declan like a hawk as you and him catch up,
“Oh! Declan, this is my boyfriend, Leon” You cheerily introduce, gesturing towards him with a hand. You blink a bit in surprise by the sudden firm grasp of your hand in Leon’s and look up to see Leon with a polite, closed mouth smile. Leon doesn’t say anything and only nods to Declan in greeting.
Don’t show weakness
he thought to himself. Even though he would like to tell this guy to back off his girlfriend, the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you by making a scene. He didn’t wan’t to show Declan that he was threatened by him either. Even though he was. Just a tiny bit.
“You’re a lucky guy, my friend” Declan charmingly says with a toothy grin,
Friend? We are not friends
His disgruntled thoughts circled around in his brain, yet the polite smile remained. He had some good practice with it, constantly working along side the president. Letting go of your hand, his hand instead travels to your lowerback and pulls you subtley to his side,
“I know” He responds, his tone friendly, mismatched with the triumphant smirk on his face. Declan’s pearly white smile remained, yet his eyes were boring into Leon’s skull like laser beams.
“Well, it was good to see you” Declan eventually bids his goodbyes, “It was nice to meet you, Leon” with a polite yet somehow sour goodbye, Declan leaves the two of you to enjoy the rest of the evening. Leon didn’t mention the encounter for the rest of the night, which would be puzzling to some. However, after all the years you two have been together, you sort of knew how he ticked. It was only a matter of time that he would bring it up and do so abruptly,
“He’s definitely still into you” Leon blurts out, raising his coffee mug to his lips. It was the very next morning, where you two often shared a cup of coffee, hair in disarray from the night before, and you magically wearing the shirt he was wearing last night; a tradition that you two stuck to religiously.
Tick Tick Boom. There it was.
His blue eyes stared at you as he gulps down the remnants of his coffee, nervously. You stifle a giggle at his sudden burst of nerves that he was so desperately trying to hide. You merely shrug and smile at him reassuringly,
“Doesn’t matter, I’m taken”
Eyebrows scrunched together as if processing her response he murmurs softly, almost to himself, “Right” quickly he clears his throat and repeats it more confidently before tilting the mug to sip the rest of his coffee, “Right”
Chuckling and shaking your head, you take his mug from his grasp and place it on the kitchen counter, “Someone’s jealous” you tease in a sing-song voice, wrapping your arms around torso,
“Busted” Leon bashfully admits planting a kiss on the tip of your nose, hugging your shoulders, “I just love you too much to give you away”
“You couldn’t give me away even if you tried” his eyes avert, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he believed it. So, you cup his face with a hand, soften your voice and look into those eyes that captivated you at first sight, “hey, I’m not going anywhere alright?”
Leaning his face into your hand, he turns to kiss your palm, and smiles, this time more securely, “alright”.
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misguidedasgardian · 7 months
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I need to... (1)
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1... Get the f*ck out of here
MASTERLIST
Summary: An awful event leads you to rethink of everything
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader (for now)
Warnings: There are mentions of them being Minors! at some point in their relationship, cursing, cheating, angst, depression, age gap (not for reader), coercion, toxic relationship, drinking alcohol to cope, in some countries it is underage drinking, (reader is 18). might forget some warnings…
Wordcount: 4 k
Notes: This just started like a blurb, and now we are here. AAAHHHH this is going to be soft, romcom sort of thing, but a bit angsty at first… 
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You knew him like the palm of your hand, and that is how you could pinpoint the exact day something went wrong, were perhaps his affair started, you couldn’t be sure 
You wanted to go to Winterfell University, it was far North in the continent, they say it was always winter there, cold, and wild, but you had seen pictures and had been there briefly on vacations with your family and you absolutely loved it, besides, it had a great program on what you wanted to study, you wanted an adventure, you wanted to completely change your surroundings, get out of your comfort zone, fly off the nest. 
But Aemond, your loving boyfriend and highschool sweetheart didn’t think so, you didn’t want to break your relationship, besides, Aemond’s family owned an airline, it would be a four hour journey to meet you there. But he insisted it was too far. You believed that on the one hand that a time apart could be good for you, you would miss him more, and therefore your reunions would be way more intense and hotter, but no.
An that time it made sense, you were drawing your future together, so he convinced you to go to Dragonstone University with him. The university of his dreams. 
It was completely his environment, the university specialized on what he wanted to study, diplomacy and political sciences, so for him it was a perfect fit. 
But not for you
All the alumni were perfect, serious, dressed like they all belonged to old money, just like Aemond, he was like a fish of the same pond, and you? were a fucking Alligator. You felt big, clumsy, unwanted. 
There wasn’t a career in design, like the one you wanted to follow, instead, there was plastic arts and photography, even architecture, so, in your first year, you made sure to take a couple of subjects leading in all of those directions. 
That was your first mistake.
You should have stayed in architecture, maybe, photography even, but instead, you decided to take a course with Professor Alys Rivers. In a plastic arts class
That was your second
Soon you became some sort of friends
She was tall, beautiful, dark long locks, big green eyes, the woman was stunning, young, just started teaching, and soon she became your mentor
You liked her 
She realized you were frustrated, and take special care in you, mentoring you, and keeping you close to her, she told you maybe you would be good at teaching, and maybe she wouldn’t have taken so long in deciding she wanted to teach
She was thirty five years old
But as Aemond was thriving, you were quickly losing yourself
Classes were boring, didn't raise your interest, the people here were strange, you were afraid to say you weren’t making any friends and not for the lack of trying
It got so bad you only went out with Aemond, who was even after a few months, the most popular guy in his class, it was becoming a very unbalanced relationship
You and Aemond had grown up together, you were neighbors with his nephews Jacaerys, Lucerys and joffrey, the first one being your classmate with Aemond
You played together as children, and in eleventh grade he had formerly asked you to date him, to be his girlfriend
Both your families were ecstatic
HIghschool sweethearts, you knew each other forever, you were going to marry and live  a perfect life, Aemond wanted to be a diplomat, and you were catching up to be his beautiful, smart, joyful trophy wife.
You didn’t see it that way then
You wanted to follow a design career, he didn’t take you seriously, but encouraged you
The problem is that Winterfell was too far away, so he convinced you to take architecture courses in his university, the best one in the country for what he wanted, the kind of university that grooms the men and women that were going to take over the world one day. It was huge, a big castle from five thousand years ago, the least you could do was enjoy the architecture. 
He was the perfect man, the perfect boyfriend, the one your parents would adore, and they did, he was chivalrous, patient, kind, generous…
You introduced him to your favorite teacher hen you ran into each other at the campus’ coffee shop
That was your third mistake, to invite Alys to join you both to take a cup of coffee, 
If you only payed attention to the looks they gave each other 
“So she is the teacher you have talked to me about”, Aemond said sheepishly, you only hummed as you kept reading a tome about a tyroshi painter who was the first in drawing the human body in all its forms, he was sort of famous, had lived more than a thousand years ago
“Yes, she is so sweet”, you whispered, “she is an artist, but so down to earth you know?”, you said without even thinking, “you can completely see the process behind her works, she is amazing”
Aemond had the luck (or money), to get single in the dorms, so he slept alone, so you could stay with him anytime you’d like, and you really liked it, your roommate was a bit mean.
And suddenly, Aemond has to study… a lot, you didn’t sleep with him anymore, even though your after class activities were as active as ever.
He was concentrating on his classes, (or that is what you thought), so you were going to start and do the same, and you tried, so so hard
But you were failing
You were already started the last month of the semester, and two of your teachers told you unceremoniously, that you were failing
BAD
You barely contained your tears, your lips were quivering and your nose tickled, and you went to the only person who could bring you comfort… one of the two… your professor Alys, whose class you had been getting pure A’s in
You never saw it coming
Her classroom was the last one in one of the towers of the incredible castle, and when you started climbing up the stairs, your stomach sank
It was late, the sun already hiding on the horizon, but you knew she was still in her atelier, and there she was
You could what the moans and whispers before you saw them, your cheeks heated and a sick curiosity made you sneak a peek inside the classroom
Oh how you wish you didn’t
There she was, your thirty five year-old teacher being pounded by your nineteen year old boyfriend 
You’d recognize that silver hair anywhere, everywhere
You wanted to throw up
Alys and Aemond, Aemond was fucking Alys
Together
Fucking
Sweating 
You just stood there
Your arm moved alone, as you raised your phone and took a picture of them, you could need it for later, but it wasn’t you who made that decision, it certainly wasn’t you
You were crying
You covered your mouth to sob outloud and for them to hear it, and you walked away, it was a miracle you managed to went down those treacherous steps and not smash your head, perhaps you would have preferred it, to smash your head against the stone floors, to turn off your head 
the tears stopped, and your feet moved on your own as they took you out of there, you didn’t want anyone to see you, you didn’t want to give this university more of you, not your tears, not more of your efforts, no nothing
You didn’t go to your room, you couldn’t, you know she was going to be there, Maris Baratheon, and you couldn’t face her, not now, not ever. 
You needed something else…
So you walked to the only bar near campus, many of your classmates would call it a “slum”, it wasn’t very popular with students, and that’s exactly what you needed.
You sat on a stool on the bar, and waited for the bartender to get to you, didn’t push him, just looked at the 
“looks like you need a drink”, you looked to the side to find a young guy, maybe short twenties, dark born hair, green eyes
“Don’t I?”, you mocked, smiling shyly, he was cute. You couldn’t help but notice his Winterfell University Jersey. He offered you a pint, and you took it gladly, you really needed it, “aren’t you a bit far from”, you pointed at his chest where the varsity letters told you where he was from, he only chuckled 
“They sent me in a… diplomatic mission”, he said with a mystery tone, and wiggling his eyebrows
“Are you recruiting students to go to the far North?”, you said, and if he said yes, you were going to beg him to take you with him
“Yes”
“Oh”, you seemed truly amused so he offered you his hand
“Ben Tallheart”, he whispered, and you shook his hand, giving him your name. “What do you know about the university anyways?”, he asked, taking a sip of his beer
“I wanted to apply there”, you answered, and he looked at you surprised, “I wanted to take the designer degree”
“Why didn’t you?”, he asked
“I decided to follow my boyfriend here, who I just found out is screwing my plastic arts teacher”, he spitted his beer 
“What?”, he asked, not knowing if to laugh or just be horrified
“Yep”, you said, taking a long sip of your own beer
“Uf, that must be tough”, speak of the devil, your phone started ringing, to no surprise, you discovered it was Aemond who was calling you, and fuck it hurt
“I’m gonna need something stronger than this”, you said to him, canceling the call, you just wouldn’t let it ring, you wanted him to realize you had hung up on him. Ben smiled, asking the bartender for two tequila shots
It was to pints later and five tequila shots, that you were laughing your face out, hugging him with one of your arms the shoulders of Ben
“I want to go to Winterfell, fuck this college”
“Yes, fuck it!”, he said, “this college sucks, filled with stuck ups…”
Your phone had ringed so much it vibrated off the table and it was currently missing from your earshot and eye shot 
You didn’t want to know either
“You think they’ll take me?”, you asked him with teary eyes
“Of course they will!”, he laughed
“Half semester?”, you asked 
“Of course!”
“Let’s fucking do it!”, you cheered, and everyone in the bar cheered with you, “I need to get the fuck outta here”, you said, and Ben laughed wholeheartedly.
The rest of the night was a blur, you knew Ben had walked with you back to campus and accompanied you to the door of your room
“My stuck up roommate is probably in”, you told him, and he nodded
“If you meant what you said”, he said, “and you are truly interested in coming to Winterfell University, here”, he passed you his presentation card, “give me a ring tomorrow”, you only nodded
“Thank you”, you whispered, and he only nodded, and left you.
You entered your room and there she was, your roommate, putting innumerable creams in her face 
“Eh, where have you been?”, oh that tone
“What?”, you asked, already coming down from your binge, “what do you care?”
“Ugh, you’re drunk!?”
“A little”, you grumbled, dropping to your bed
“Iu”, she whined, “Aemond was here you know, looking for you”, she told you, “you truly don’t deserve him, he was so concerned”
Oh poor Aemond, he couldn’t find you after he was fucking your plastic arts teacher, i bet that filthy motherfucker didn’t even shower before he came looking for you
“I bet”, you whispered, you then remembered you couldn’t find your phone, probably was still on the floor of that bar… Shit you were going to need it if you truly planned on contacting Ben for that transfer. 
But tonight you couldn’t do anything because you were practically kicked out of that bar, it had to be tomorrow, so, to the horror of your roommate, you just dozed off, dressed in the same clothes, reeking of bar and secondhand smoke. 
The next morning you woke up and thankfully, you were alone, your head hurt, but not as much as your heart.
Gods it hurt
You had burned the image of Aemond and Alys, fucking on top of her desk, and you couldn’t believe it. Aemond, your Aemond.
Your nose started to tickle, knowing you were about to cry you stood up, and searched for a change of clothes, you took your towel, and went straight for the bathroom, to wash your night off of your hair.
That morning you had classes with profes-… with that bitch Alys, so you didn’t even bother showing up. And since most of the college was in classes by now, you found yourself alone in the big bathroom.
You hadn't cried until now, but as you undressed yourself and got under the generous flow of water, something inside you just… unraveled. You started weeping uncontrollably, choking with your tears and the water, you hugged yourself under the falling boiling water seeking for comfort, but you couldn’t find any
Every breath you took hurt, deep within your chest, and you cried and cried until you felt your eyes sore
Your Aemond, your boyfriend, the one that gave you a promise ring… the one you knew since kindergarten, the one who was your first kiss, your first… everything! He was cheating on you with your own professor, Alys, the one that encouraged you and tried to nurture you, and guide you through this uncertainty in this part of your life. The one that you considered to be your only stone here besides your loving boyfriend
What was wrong with them? 
What was wrong with you? What did you do wrong? you chose school because of him, you changed careers, you endured a hell for him, you dressed how he liked it, to arranged your hair the way he liked it, you stopped doing things you enjoyed, stopped watching films that made you laugh because they were “childish”, you stopped listening to upbeat music because it wasn’t “proper”
Everything for him
You loved him with all your heart
You knew Friday morning he had this debate class, very important and he couldn’t miss it, or he would have been throwing your door down, so you took that as a sign, you needed to work fast and sneakily.
You needed to get out of here
You didn’t want to see him ever again
So you ran back to your room, got dressed quickly, and the first thing you did was run back to the bar, where the cleaning lady returned your phone to you.
You turned it on and to no surprise, you found thousands of texts and missed calls from Aemond
“love where are you?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m coming to your dorm”
“Maris says you were not there, wtf? where are you?”
“You clearly don’t want to speak to me, but I just wanted to know you are ok”
“I don’t understand why you are doing this to me, did I do something wrong? Are you mad?”
“The least you could do is face me like an adult”
You rolled your eyes as you read the messages, he growing angrier, trying to turn this on you
But then he sent a video of a instagram story, of you and Ben hugging and laughing, taking tequila shots, it was uploaded by a classmate of Aemond who had clearly saw you
“I see that you were not alone, I can’t believe you would do this to me”, he wrote, and you chuckled darkly, the audacity of him had no limits whatsoever, “I just wanted to see you, and be with you, I wanted you to help me study for my finals, I know this few months had been hard on you, but I least I thought we had eachother”, but then it got worse, he send you a picture of a flower bouquet and a dark red box, “I wanted to gift you this, to show you how much I love you, and how much I was looking forward to a future with you”, you couldn’t kept walking, you had to sit down in a bench looking down at a cliff, you couldn’t even walk because of how much you were crying.
You couldn’t believe this
Why would he do this to you? you had given him your everything, you had sex almost every day, you complimented each other, you told each other everything, you were what you thought a power couple, only that he had all the power while you were his cheerleader…. 
This fucker, you wiped your tears angrily from your face. 
You were feeling a pain in your chest and you truly believed for a second you were having a heart attack, that you were positively going to die right here in this rusty bench, alone.
Your drunken thoughts from last night came rushing back in, of wanting to transfer to Winterfell University half semester.
It was an insane thought
But you also believe you couldn’t stay here, for what? this isn’t what you wanted, the only thing you thought you had was Aemond, who you just found out fucking YOUR teacher in the classroom. Staying here was insane, you had no friends, now you had no boyfriend, no career 
When you finally calmed down and walked back to your dorm room, Aemond was waiting for you right outside. 
And it's like all your convictions of leaving him and this school faltered just like that, just seeing him like that standing, his furrowed brow looking concerned for you. He was worried bout you, for a second you even believed that this was all a misunderstanding, they he couldn’t possibly do this to you 
Right then and there you just wanted to beg him to stop, to stop his affair and look you in the eye and promise you it was never going to happen again, that he loved you, that you were the one. That he was drunk, or she made him do it. She coerced him into it.
But then he looked at you, and his concern went to annoyance 
“Where have you been?”, he asked, walking towards you, “I was concerned for you!”, he immediately went to himself and what he was feeling, and you didn’t know where you got the strength from, but you looked at him, serious in the eye
“I failed color theory and anatomy drawing class”, you said, looking him in the eye, and the worst part is that you weren’t truly lying. His face softened as he looked at you with pity, “I feel like a massive failure, and I didn’t want to cry to you because you are already in the excellency program”, you whispered, looking at the ground in front of you
“So your solution was to go drink at a bar?”, he asked then, again, annoyed 
“I found this guy that was from Winterfell University, the one I wanted to go, and asked him about the programs…”, he sighed
“We talked about this”, he said, “that college is not even ranking…”
“I don’t care Aemond”, you whispered, “I just need to sleep, please, and you are going to be late”, you whispered, not daring to look him in the eye
You believed you knew his schedule, but apparently not, because when he was supposed to be in study group, he was fucking your teacher… 
“Are you going to be alright?”, he asked, “because I need my study partner”, he said, trying to sound hopeful. Yes you helped him study, you prepared flashcards for him, because you knew he had visual memory so he studied better with colors and images, so you prepared his study material and quizzed him
Maybe a couple of times with stripping quizzes… 
Oh how foolish you had been
“Yes Aem”, you said, managing to smile at him, “I just need some time”
“You have it love”, he whispered, “I love you”
“Love you”, you closed the door gently, leaving him outside, and threw yourself in the bed, hiding your face in the pillow and weeped a bit more.
Perhaps you should face Aemond, hear what he has to say, you wanted to believe it so badly, that there was something else to it, that perhaps…
You were a fool
They were fucking on top her desk… what else is there? he was cheating on you, she was violating hundreds of protocols, so was he
You dozed off to sleep
You woke up when your roommate entered the room
“You still drunk?”, she sneered
“No”, you whispered, “just tired”,  you didn’t even know why you bothered 
You have made a decision…
You were going to leave this place
You were going to leave and not tell a soul, not even Aemond, you were going to disappear from his life, from one hour to the next
You contacted Ben, and he told you everything you need to know, the semester was almost over, but the next one was just around the corner, and you had to do this, not even for spite, but because this is what you wanted from your future
So you did the only thing you could think off
So went to speak with the dean
She was an old family friend, she knew your parents and family since forever, she was very professional and never showed favoritism, but, you knew you were on her good side
“I want to know if I can transfer to another university”, you asked shakily, once she invited you to take a seat in in front of her desk, she looked at you puzzled
“Did something happen? the school year is not even over yet”, she said with her kind eyes, truly worried for you
“I realized I didn’t choose the university for the school path I wanted to take”, you tried to explain, but the sorrow in your face made her believe you were not being truthful, or that you weren’t telling her the truth, “I choose Dragonstone because of love”. you continued, “and now I don’t have that love, and… I want to study a design mayor”
“I see”, now she was more pleased, “Where would you like to go?”, she asked
“Winterfell University”, you said without even thinking about it, she only nodded
“I have a good friend up there”, she said, “so the change wouldn’t be the problem, you have the grades and the Maester exams scores in your favor, but, are you sure this is what you want?”, she asked.
“More than anything”, you said with a smile
Rhaenys Targaryen was the cousin of Aemond’s father, but they didn’t get along very well, it was messy, she was the Headmaster to Dragonstone University
“You will have to start in the middle of the year”, she warned, and you only nodded
“It’s what I want”, you assured her, she looked at you, analyzing you 
“Good, but first, I need you to finish the courses you are in”, your face said it all as it froze in place, looking at the face of that witch is the last thing you wanted to do
“That is expected of me”, you said, and smiled, she smiled back
“I’ll start with the paperwork, I have already received a letter of recommendation from Ben Tallheart, a representative of Winterfell university that is in the grounds this week”
“Yeah, I’ve met him”, you said smiling shyly
“Good luck finishing the rest of the courses”
Luck, you will need.
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After chapter notes: look, if I stopped and wrote all the details of their relationship, this whole fic would be around them, so I narrated what happened instead of making the reader “live it”, get my meaning? This is about healing and seeing that there is something more than “that great love”, so I didn’t stop to focus on the toxic relationship with Aemond, so… One mroe chapter of reader's mess, and we are off to Winterfell! jeje
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