#pay close attention to the shading on the trees it's quite good

[headspace-hotel]

I really like your posts about nature and plants. I live in a big city, and I would like to be more connected with the natural world around me, as limited as it may be. I wanted to ask if you might have any advice. So far I know a good portion of the types of trees, wildflowers, and birds. And I like to visit the parks and public gardens. But I would love to take steps to learn even more. What would you suggest? Thank you for your time :)

Once you know what some of the plants and animals are, you are in a good place to pay attention to what they do. What they teach. Their ways, their work. That sounds fanciful. It's not—they are not objects, things, they are creatures. Even plants have ways of living and growing, responding to their environment, and belonging to a community.

Pay attention to the plants that no one planted—the plants that popped up on their own. Pay attention to where they thrive and where they struggle. When you see a sad and frail plant, ask why is it sad? When you see a flourishing plant, ask the reasons for its success. Pay attention to their behavior.

This one creeps across the ground like a shaggy rug, and this one shoots up tall and straight. What does this mean?

When you see a plant growing in an unusual place, ask, How did it get here? Maybe it was the wind? Maybe it was water, or a bird?

Consider first the plants you see everywhere, in cracks in the pavement and in the seams between brick pavers. The brave dandelion, the tenacious goosegrass, the low-creeping spurge, perhaps. Maybe say hello. I say hello to plants. Become familiar with where they grow, their companions, and what hardships do them harm.

It takes repetition to notice how many living things are around you. Look again—there are more plants in the shoulder of the road or the little neglected patch of mulch than you could see before! (Hello, hello, hello, hello. Hello! hello!)

You will start to realize things. It will seem to fall out of the sky into your head. The apparent randomness of the plants that grow in the neglected places disappears. There is an elegance to the ways of weeds: some arrive first, and some come after their companions; some tolerate the harsh baking sun and some cling to shady crevices; some are found in only a specific place...and some are surprises you never would have expected.

Look closely at patches of grass and roadsides and parks, and sooner or later it will happen: Oh. That's not a weed or a wildflower...that's a baby tree.

I got started with growing plants by gently pulling them up from pavement at the shoulder of the road in my neighborhood. It took two months to figure out how to help them survive. The method I worked out was to punch holes in the bottom of red solo cups and use them as pots, keeping them outside in the shade of the Virginia creeper vine, elevated about 2 inches above the porch on some metal shelves I fished out of the trash. Their roots need to be moist, but they can't be soggy—good drainage is vital. I like to mix sand and half-rotted leaves in with their potting mix.

The red solo cup is about as small as you can go without exposing the roots to too much temperature and moisture change. You should not get the plant's leaves dirty or wet if at all possible—bring transplanted is quite a shock, and you can introduce rot and sickness at such a delicate time.

You don't have to grow any plants for yourself, but it is awfully tempting, because for the most part, no one can stop you. That's the thing that was so life-changing to me. Even in a highly controlled human environment, even amidst traffic, extreme conditions, and herbicides, the plants have not given up on us.

I didn't start in the woods, I started on the side of the road, paying attention to the tiny seedlings that were trying to return my home to forest. It was in the world of pavement and lawns that my first major realizations came—oh. Nature is on our side, fighting back. Nature has not left us. They are so brave and so, so tough, and we can take care of them.

And it is true that the diversity and robustness of the forest or the grassland or the bog or the canebrake is incredible compared to the human world, and it makes me sad how few of those incredible living things can survive close to our inconsiderate ways...but the straggling weeds and brave seedlings that emerge are typically here because they are the pioneer species. They are the first: they are adapted to begin the healing after destruction. Admire them for their bravery and aggression. I admire even the kudzu and Bradford pear, even though I also feel sorry for them and the other invasive species as I rip them out of the ground. It's like someone in a zombie movie pulling the trigger on a loved one who has turned, except the monster is even more clearly a result of our own folly.

I could write forever about this, but your journey is your own. Listen to them and they will show you. Behave contrary to the expectations of our world; view other life forms as your neighbors instead of mere objects.

This is the way to unlock the shackles of helplessness. You may think to yourself: Our world is dying, and I can't do anything to help. But you are not alone.

Notice, notice, notice how many more living things can live in the presence of a single tree, how the unkempt areas shelter and protect life. Notice where life is and where it thrives.

And you, a human, can be a caretaker too, protecting life where it reaches out to you. Oaks give you acorns and flowers give you seeds, trusting forces beyond their control to bring them to places where they can thrive. Wildflowers grow in the grass, asking nothing from us except mercy.

Hello Yarrow, who dressed the wounds of Achilles. Hello Dandelion, who resists annihilation, food for insects and humans. Hello Virginia Creeper, who shades my window, shelters my saplings from the sun, and feeds birds on their migration. Hello Pokeweed, giving us your brilliant pinks and purples as dyes, desperate food of the poor and enslaved. Hello American Burnweed, who sequesters atmospheric nitrogen polluting the air. Hello Frost Aster, breaker of cycles, surviving roadsides and lawns, blooming at the first frost with incredible abundance to feed the butterflies and bees. Hello Horseweed, first to evolve resistance to Roundup. Hello Crabgrass, ruiner of lawns, brought here by enslaved people as food.

The pioneer species make shelter for the others. They shade the ground, their scrubby growth catches the leaves and gathers them to rot over the winter, and their roots and dense foliage hold the slowly building topsoil in place and keep it moist. They are weeds, tough as nails and twice as mean. Many are useful, edible, medicinal.

Where plants grow without being planted, that is a sign that the ecosystem we are part of still works to restore it. We do not have to save the world all by ourselves. We have help. The rest of Nature has not abandoned us.

There is no clearly defined answer. It is a journey and a conversation. Listen, pay attention, ask questions of even the humblest little moss and bug and flower. They will teach you.

#nature #plants #plantarchy

[hugsandchaos]

The Dannypocalypse

I don’t know how to photoshop yet, so this will be my first contribution to the Dannypocalypse instead! It’s unfortunately very short compared to my usual work. I think I did a good job despite it, though! Hope you enjoy!

Actual Summary: Warriors has what he believes to be the weirdest nightmare, Danny is confused.

Word count: 1,919

The first thing Warriors noticed waking up was the lack of the smell of cooking food. That, along with routinely having to get up almost before he even realized he was awake when he was captain, helped him push himself to wakefulness almost instinctively. He didn’t pay much attention to that small part of his mind still trying to put up a fight and get him to go back to sleep. It’s lost for years, and it won’t win this time. Although he felt a little bit heavier than usual. Warriors rubbed the gunk out of his eyes before stretching his arms above his head.

He slowly stood up and opened his eyes to see Wild, Wind, and Four huddled together with their backs facing him. Looking around, Warriors couldn’t see anyone else. The clearing they’d set up camp in was vacant aside from him, the three heroes, and the pot. The forest was also oddly quiet, and it was much later in the day. Maybe closer to lunch than breakfast. The realization made a part of his subconscious panic and think that any moment now, he’d be scolded badly, like back in training.

All these things were off and didn’t make much sense. How did he sleep in that late? Or not notice the others leaving? And if the fire was burning, why couldn’t he smell the smoke? He walked towards the three heroes who were probably looking at the ingredients that hadn’t been cooked yet. Maybe they were deciding what to actually cook. Interrupting was usually rude, but Warriors had to know.

“Hey, where are the others?” He asked. The three of them turned around to face him in unison, and to say that Warriors was startled by what he saw would be an understatement.

Where there should’ve been their faces, Danny’s face had replaced them. They all held the same expression, something akin to irritation or semi-controlled anger. Like the expression was asking “Did you really just do that?”. It was wrong. Very wrong. Not only their face, but also their hair was exactly like Danny’s. The unnatural sight was more scary to Warriors than it should’ve been. He’s felt true fear before, fear that erased everything else in his mind until there was nothing left except his internal voice screaming at him to run, and this was pretty close to it.

The sense of dread that came from seeing someone’s face on a person it didn’t belong to made him feel like he was frozen in place. His mind screamed at him to run, to get away from whatever was happening, but he couldn’t.

The three of them stood up. That was the push Warriors needed to finally move his legs and take a step back, then another. Another step back, and the three heroes took one towards him. Even though they weren’t holding any weapons or a shield, that was enough to make Warriors finally turn his heel and break out into a sprint in the opposite direction. Not towards any specific destination, just away from whatever he’d just seen.

Why did they have the new kid’s face?! How did that happen?! It hadn’t even looked like some mask, it was like their very heads were replaced as soon as they turned around. Where was the original? Where were the others? Maybe they knew something.

The worst thing was even though the captain was going as fast as he could, he felt like he was going at a snail’s pace, and it was terrifying. One glance behind him showed the three abominations running after him, still bearing the same expression. The forest seemed to go on for quite a while before he broke out into a large field he remembered passing through with everyone earlier. Standing by a tree in the shade were the silhouettes of three people.

Warriors could see the outlines standing out against the sunlight covered grass behind them, but for some reason, he couldn’t make out who they actually were. One of the shapes looked like Sky with the cape, but the other two were more difficult. Regardless, he sprinted towards them.

“Hey! Sky?! Is that you?!” Warriors asked, sounding more panicked than he would’ve liked, but he felt like he couldn’t help it. The three of them stepped into the light. Sky, Legend, and Hyrule all had Danny’s face and hair instead of their own.”No, it’s not!” Warriors said, answering his own question. He turned to the left and bolted across the plains, still feeling as if he was moving incredibly slow. It was like he was watching everything ahead inch closer through glass goggles.

Still, seeing his friends’ faces replaced with the new kid’s face was unnaturally horrifying, especially when they’re chasing him without opening their mouths to take steady breaths so they could keep going while Warriors feels like he’s suddenly running low on breath. It only got worse when he suddenly found himself re-entering the forest and running along a skinny dirt path. That wasn’t the bad part, though. The bad part was Time sitting on a small boulder to the right of the path. Just like the other six, he too wore Danny’s face.

“Shit!!” Warriors exclaimed as he ran past. Time watched him pass by before Warriors heard the sound of heavy armor starting to move, and he knew that he was about to chase him as well. It only fueled Warriors’ fear even further, pushing him to run past his limits, and that’s just what he did.

The dirt path led him to a spirit spring like the one in Kakiriko village, surrounded by very tall rocky walls consisting of red and orange colors. On the other side, the water turned to grass to support a fence. A fence encasing several Ordonian goats like in Twilight’s drawings along with Twilight himself, petting the goats like there was nothing wrong.

Warriors had his doubts about him being okay and not having Danny’s face, but he had to try. He must know what was going on!

The water splashed loudly as Warriors ran into the shallow lake. Soon, seven pairs followed behind him. The way the water turned from a clear liquid into solid green grass as he grew closer was definitely abnormal. There should be at least sand between them!

He lunged over the fence when he grew close enough, ducking into a roll and standing up quickly.“Twilight! Thank goodness!” Warriors exclaimed. He started to slow down a little as he grew closer to the ranch hand.”Listen, there’s something—“ He stopped talking when Twilight turned around to reveal that he also had Danny’s face instead of his own. Warriors immediately started running again somewhere to the right, and Twilight’s footsteps following behind him never sounded so scary.

He jumped over the fence on the other side of the plain and kept running now on solid ground as fast as his legs could go, and he even did all he could to push them past that. The way the rocky canyon surrounding the spring opened up on the other side to reveal more open space and green grass didn’t make sense. How was he back on the plains?

He’d seen the map had Twilight shown them of his Hyrule, but trying to reach into his memories and get a clear image of it was very difficult. He was running blindly through a world he wasn’t familiar with, and it was one of the worst positions to be in. Warriors continued running through the forest until he spotted a castle in the distance.

Yes! The castle town! He was sure he’d find help there from the guards!

Warriors kept going as fast as he could, fast enough to make part of him tell him to slow down or he’d trip and hit the ground that was slowly becoming white bricks, but he refused to listen. Especially when that small part of him was outvoted by the rest of him. He ran over a wooden bridge going over a river and past the open, unguarded entrance. Once he was inside and saw the crowd, his eyes widened in horror. He forced himself to stop so suddenly that he almost fell.

Every single person, young and old, tall and short, wore Danny’s face. And they were looking right at him.

Warriors turned around to try to get out and get somewhere else, but he stopped when he saw his friends right at the entrance he’d passed mere seconds ago. They formed a wall and blocked him from leaving.

How did they get there so fast?!

The captain frantically looked around. The crowd was slowly closing in on him, but it felt like he only had seconds to do something or some terrible fate would claim him as its next victim. No matter where he turned, the weird Danny-faced-not-Dannys would be blocking any exit. He didn’t want to do this, but seeing no other option, Warriors tried to reach back for his sword. But his hand clasped over thin air. He turned around. He’d forgotten it back at the camp.

Before he could turn back to look ahead, a hand grabbed at his left shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warriors startled awake and inhaled sharply as he sat up. For a while, the world was concealed by several black, fuzzy looking dots, but those soon faded away to allow room for what was actually in front of him. At the same time, he became dizzy when he sat up too fast, so he didn’t process whatever was said to him or even notice it until it was repeated.

“Are you okay?” A voice asked.

Warriors quickly turned to see Twilight knelt down next to him. Warriors felt swarmed with relief when he saw that he had his normal face again, black marking and all. He couldn’t help but breathe out a small sigh as the tension from expecting to see Danny’s face unnaturally plastered on the ranch hand’s head again vanished. He never thought he’d be so happy to see someone wearing a face that was their own.

It was then that Warriors registered the hand on his left shoulder. It was all a dream.

Twilight looked worried as he anticipated an answer.

Warriors took a moment to look around the campsite, just to be sure. Sure enough, everyone had their normal faces. Time, Wind, Wild, Hyrule, Legend, Four, all of them. They were already awake and talking while Wild worked on breakfast. Warriors lifted his arm and put his head in his hand. Twilight still had his hand on his shoulders to try to comfort him.“I think I just had the weirdest nightmare of my life.” Warriors admitted, half muttering it in slight disbelief.

Even though he wasn’t in actual danger in the dream and he was awake now, the fear for his life still lingered in the back of his mind. None of Danny-look-alikes had really threatened him, but the way they kept following him and eventually had him surrounded with the only way out seeming to be with his sword was terrifying.

“Really? What was it about?”

Warriors practically jumped out of his seat and turned to look at Danny. The only one with his face, the way it should be. The hoard of Danny’s flashed in Warrior’s mind as he stared at the teen now with slight distrust.”I’ve got my eye on you.” Warriors said, before he even realized it. Danny, the real one, just looked at him confused.

Bonus:

Danny: *glancing between the other Links, then back at Warriors, utterly confused* What did I do???

(I hardly ever write dreams, but I remember some of mine pretty often, so I tried using some of the themes I’d encounter along with some tips I looked up. Obviously, I used the whole “somehow running very slowly” thing, and since Warriors wasn’t familiar with Twilight’s world yet, and dreams are often mixtures of reality, memories, and imagination, I didn’t think I had to make sure the story went along with the map. I also tried to find some middle ground between not being very descriptive and not giving any description of the dream surroundings.)

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dannypocalypse #Dannypocalypse 2024 #you’re not safe Warriors #linked universe #linked universe warriors #linked universe time #linked universe wild #linked universe wind #linked universe four #linked universe twilight #linked universe legend #linked universe sky

[rxgirlie]

The Girl Next Door part IV

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: sexual content, dubious content, age gap, read the previous tags and use your imagination.

A/N: this chapter was only partially beta’d, so forgive any mistakes. Also I have an issue with using commas where they don’t need to be used.

WC: 2250

That night I fell asleep to the soundtrack of my delusions. My mind ran amok with thoughts of him. Of his hands. Of all the places I wanted them and in what manner. The thing that drove me over the edge was the blue of his eyes and the intensity in which they had looked at me.

I woke aimlessly the next morning, thrashing in bed, absolutely burning for him in ways I had never experienced.

When my phone rang, I picked it up in an alarmingly quick fashion. It was Heather, informing me that the waterline break at The Marina wouldn’t be fixed for about two weeks.

“I felt like Rose floating on that fucking door when I tried to go downstairs,” she laughed out, “seriously, it destroyed so much!”

I thought about offering to fix it myself. Anything to get me out of the house and away from my own self. For a brief second, I entertained telling her about the debacle I had been through, eventually talking myself out of it as she droned on about how something like this would happen to her the first year she had managed the restaurant on her own.

When I finally pulled myself out of bed, I climbed into the shower, turning the dial to the hottest setting. I scrubbed at my skin, along the path his hands had roamed and when I felt myself get turned on all over again, I quickly adjusted the dial to the coldest setting and water boarded myself.

Nothing seemed to help. For the second time in two days, I laced up my tennis shoes and barreled out the door. I decided to go a different way that day. I veered to the left at the end of my driveway, setting a grueling pace. Unknown territory, or at least not as familiar as my old path. My usual journey took me through the residential area, the shade of the trees offering protection from the blistering sun on most days. Whereas left took me towards town, weaved in and out of traffic, and offered little to no protection from the weather. Had I been paying attention, I would’ve noticed the overhanging gloom. Hell, I might have even checked the weather channel. But I hadn’t been, trying to derail my one track mind had taken over most of my common sense. When the first rain drop hit the bridge of my nose, I shook it off. I hadn’t noticed the impending deluge quite literally making its way towards me. It was evident in the way the sun still shone, brightening the steaks of rain directly ahead. When it finally hit, coming down like daggers against my exposed skin, there was nowhere for me to seek shelter. I was at the halfway junction between the downtown area and the residential area, a void that existed between the two, which coincidentally, was exactly how I felt about my life.

I stood there, frozen, and let it soak me. I would’ve stayed there all day had a bolt of lightning not hit a little too close for comfort. I could barely hear the thunder rolling over the sound of my roaring heart in my ears as I took back off towards the shelter of my home.

“Liv!”

I didn’t stop at the sound of my name, better yet, I didn’t stop because of the voice calling my name. It was no use, though, and within thirty seconds, he pulled up beside me, crawling slowly enough to keep up with my pace. He rolled the passenger’s side window down, his gaze flitting across my face and back to the road in succession.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it's coming a pretty nasty storm right now.”

I put my arms out beside me and felt the shards of rain pierce my skin once again.

“It’s just a little rain.”

“Get in the car, Liv.”

“Really, I’m good.”

“Get in the car, Liv.”

Back and forth.

I shook my head and continued running.

“Get in the fucking car, Olivia.”

That stopped me in my tracks.

I turned to him, wiping the rain from my eyes, and put my hands on my hips.

“Not sure if you’ve noticed but you and I cannot be trusted in small, confined spaces. Hell, I might even be gestating by the time I climb out of your car next.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “Stop being dramatic and get in the damn car before you melt, Olivia.”

I didn’t like the formality of his tone when he said my full name. I sighed heavily and yanked the door open, sliding onto the cold, stale leather seat.

“Your kind melts, you know,” under any other circumstances, I would’ve laughed, but at that moment, any crack in my surface would’ve let the light spill in, and I needed to brood.

“If the wind picks up a little more, you might be in danger of a house dropping on you.”

“Just take me home.”

He sped off, making sure to roll my window up in the process.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I wrapped my arms around my middle, my sports bra and running shorts giving me no protection from the blasting air conditioner, and peered over at him.

“The Marina is closed for two weeks because of a waterline break and I’m unemployed. I just got trapped in a fucking monsoon. I don’t know, the list seems to go on.”

I watched as he leaned slightly towards the back seat, left hand still gripping the steering wheel, as his right hand felt around blindly in the backseat.

He dropped his blazer onto my lap.

“Put it on,” he adjusted the heat setting and looked back at me, “or freeze, your choice.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll ruin this if I put it on. I’m soaked.” I held up a strand of my hair and watched as water droplets leaked out onto the center console.

“I can have it dry cleaned.”

I reluctantly slid the blazer around me. I felt clownish, like a little kid trying on their parent’s clothing, by the way the sleeves hung over my hands. The entire thing basically made a dress on me.

“Come work with me,” he said.

“What? I don’t think I’m qualified to work with you.”

“Think of it as an internship. Grade a few papers, take notes, get coffee, make a PowerPoint or two.” He looked over at me and arched his eyebrow. “Surely you could do that.”

“Once again, I’m not qualified.”

“I can take care of that,” he turned right into his driveway and put the car in park. “Just think about it.”

_________________________________________

I thought about his offer for the rest of the afternoon. Weighing the pros and cons in my head, checking each box and then mentally striking through it all. Outside, the storm continued to rage, taking a dire turn around sundown, when thunder shook the house, plunging the entire neighborhood in darkness.

It took me a good while to adjust, feeling my way through the kitchen and over to the designated junk drawer where my mother kept a package of tea lights. Little by little, I lit them throughout the kitchen and living room, making my way upstairs to light a few of the decorative pillar candles my mother kept in her room so I could see my way to and from my bedroom.

With my phone dead, I did my best to keep sane. Brick Breaker would’ve been the best way to do so, but I settled for an old book by candlelight at the kitchen table. It was oddly comforting being shrouded in darkness and before I knew it, I was halfway through the book, the world outside left foreign to me as I meandered through the fictional world wrapped up in its pages.

Three sharp knocks at the door brought me plummeting back down to earth and for a moment, I thought of every horror movie I’d watched that began like this.

I reluctantly opened the door.

He shoved his phone into my face.

“Your mother thinks you’re dead.”

I looked at the phone confusedly, sliding it to my ear.

“Hello?”

She managed to bless me out caringly, a feat she had perfected when I was a teenager. I listened to her intently, walking through the living room and into the kitchen as a series of “yes, mom, I know,” and “uh-huhs,” left my mouth. I perched on the kitchen counter as she made me promise I would call her as soon as my phone was charged properly. Jeryd had followed me, leaning against the entryway, as I nodded along.

I tossed the phone back to him once the call had ended.

“Did you know the neighborhood has a directory?” He asked, sliding the phone into his front pocket.

“No, that must’ve changed while I was away.”

He stood there, watching as I looked around the room, my eyes finally settling back on him.

“Look,” I began, “I’m really sorry about last night. I know it’s no excuse but I was a little drunk. I had no business doing what I did and I really am so sorry.”

He said nothing, head angling to the side as he looked at me, blinking several times, face unchanging.

“Is this the part where I apologize?” He asked, a smirk appearing.

He walked towards me and spoke again, “because, to be honest, I’m not sorry at all.”

He stood between my legs looking down at me for, what seemed like, an eternity. His violent blue eyes illuminated in the strikes of lightning as he leaned down and kissed me. It was gentle, at first, until the urgency set in and we began to push and pull at one another, my legs snaking around his waist as he pulled me closer to the counter’s ledge. We didn’t break apart as he pulled at the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down enough until

I obliged him, raising my hips, parting long enough to watch with wide eyes as he slid them down my calves and tossed them carelessly behind him. He kissed me again, nipping at my bottom lip, as he worked at his belt and button, the harsh sound of leather sliding through his belt loops made me close my eyes and grind against the granite.

“Come here,” he pulled me off the ledge, spinning me around. I couldn’t see him anymore but I could feel his enveloping warmth as his hardened length skittered across my ass cheeks. He didn’t bother removing his pants entirely, evident in the way I could hear the material drag against the floor as he moved forward. He opened me up with deft fingers, entering me in one swift movement.

“Fuck,” I breathed out, leaning forward to rest my forehead against the countertop, hissing as I acclimated to him. He was quick to pull me back up to him, his chest flush against my back, as his hands gripped my hips.

He fucked me mercilessly. So hard and unforgiving that my feet occasionally left the floor due to our massive height difference. Even as my body bowed away from his onslaughts, he kept a firm grasp on me, never letting me get too far away. I felt him everywhere simultaneously. In my guts, my lungs. No part of my body was safe from him.

I mewled for him, clawing at his hands before he finally grabbed them, slotting them under his, over the soft skin of my belly.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” His soft breath against the shell of my ear caused me to shudder.

“Yes,” I cried, “please-“ I threw my head back into his chest, craning my neck uncomfortably in the hopes of getting a glimpse of his face.

He took the initiative, leaning down into my view by way of my right shoulder, gazing at me with eyes of elation, longing, enthusiasm all painted across his features. A look of expectancy flashed across his face and for a moment, I wanted to ask him what more he wanted from me. What more could I give him at that moment than I already had?

He must have clocked it before I did. With no warning, no rush, no ascending the peak and waiting expectantly to plant my flag at the top, it hit me. There was no riding the wave this time. I was the wave.

The noise that came out of me was nothing short of animalistic. Primal, even, reflected more so as I clawed at his hands, shaking uncontrollably as he continued to fuck me through my orgasm.

I came hard, loudly, and messily a second time directly after the first. He came with me, throwing us forward, my chest heaving against the counter top as he groaned into my shoulder blade, rooting his head along the bony flesh, spilling deeply inside of me.

We stayed there for a few seconds, minutes, hours. I wasn’t sure of how much time had passed before he planted a chaste kiss on the crown of my head and pulled out.

I stayed there, unmoving, until he bent low behind me, guiding my feet back into my shorts, pulling them up around my waist. I turned around slowly, watching as he buttoned his pants and began threading his belt through his belt loops.

“So,” he looked up at me with a glimmer in his eyes, “about that job…”

#Jeryd Mencken #jeryd mencken fic #jeryd mencken x ofc #jeryd mencken fanfiction #succession #Justin Kirk

[aurborsau]

Ooo…I like fem!Silverusso, and also fem!Dani Silverusso. For the latter…maybe Dani is in high school, but she’s poor, so she’s had a wealthy benefactor pay for her to attend this fancy school. Dani has met Mr. Silver a few times, and she got quite the crush on this handsome, charming, older man. Still, she doesn’t think an older, wealthy man like that would pay attention to a high schooler like her…Little does she know that Mr. Silver wanted to pay for her tuition in the first place because he found her so sweet and innocent and pretty, and is only waiting for her to grow up a little more before he takes her as his own, and make her his. But he can play with her a bit before then, can’t he?

So good! This reminds me of Fifty shades of grey au. Their dynamic just fits so well. And not to mention FIFTY SHADES OF SILVER. I mean cmon it was made for them.

Dani steps in for her sick roommate Jessica to interview business owner/entrepreneur Terry silver for their campus paper. He’s instantly enamored with the young girl and tries to get close to her any way he can: volunteering at the church she attends, sending flowers and various gifts to her house every single day. Dani never got this kind of attention from a man, so understandably, it scares her away. She buried herself in homework and helping Mr. Miyagis (failing) business while he’s away, trying her best not to think about Terry and his sexy voice and dreamy smile. She snaps out of her daydream when the door to the shop opens, revealing a familiar face. Her heart skips a beat as her eyes lock with the very man she’s been trying to avoid all week, Terry Silver.

He makes an order of ten of their finest bonsai trees and a date. ‘A date? No way a man like Terry wants to go on a date with me. He’s probably doing it to get with my roommate Jessica.’ She reasons. Expect disappointment and you won’t be disappointed.

Though, when Terry arrives to pick her up it was nothing how she expected. He was… kind. Actually listened to what she had to say and didn’t just try to get in her pants. (No matter how bad she wanted it)

Later that night when he dropped her off, he pulled her into a passionate goodbye kiss. Dani would have enjoyed it more if only it didn’t feel so… final.

She curled up in her sheets that night, mind racing with thoughts of the older man. His grip on her waist the entire night, eyes never leaving her form. She imagined what it would be like to sleep with him. His tall, muscular body entrapping her own, like a blanket trying to snuff out a fire.

She tried desperately to push those unholy thoughts aside, even if they haunted her in her dreams.

The next week was spent practically staring at the phone, waiting patiently for a phone call from the man who swept her off her feet. But a call there was not. She couldn't help but wonder what she did wrong. Had she misread the signals? Was Terry just playing games with her? Did he not find her unattractive? The uncertainty gnawed at her, only fueling her insecurities.

Jessica suggested going out clubbing with her, get her mind off of that asshole and find some other guy to mess around with. The whole thing sounded too… chaotic, but that seemed to be the only thing to rid her mind of Terry. After her fifth shot she decided she had enough with waiting for him to call her back. Finding the nearest payphone, she dialed his number. ‘Voicemail, of course’ after leaving a not so heartfelt voicemail that she will most likely regret in the morning, she went back to her friends. A new face joining in. Johnny Lawrence all grown up. Last time she saw him was in middle school, she almost didn’t recognize him with all the girls hanging off of his shoulder. later into the night, they reminisced on old memories and Johnny admitted his adolescent crush on the girl. If she was any less drunk she would have shied away from his touch, but right now all she wanted to do was forget about Terry, and Johnny was a good distraction. Though, she started to come back to reality the second his hand reached under her skirt. She attempted to pull away from his grip but her struggling and pleas were rendered useless. Panic started to set in just as a familiar face came to her rescue. Pushing Johnny off of her, Terry stands 6’5 in all his glory and she swears he looks taller under the fluorescent street lights illuminating the alleyway. Dani falls to her ass onto the wet pavement below, staring up at the man she convinced herself she hated now looked like some sort of Greek god that just stepped out of a playgirl magazine, his hair messy and wet from the rain earlier, and his muscles rippling under the sheer fabric of his tight shirt.

His massive arms easily wrapped around the expense of her body to hoist her up, guiding her to the car he has waiting upfront.

The next morning, she wakes up in Terry’s bed, in nothing but an oversized tee-shirt, not remembering a thing from the night before. Panic starts to set in at the thought that she might have lost her virginity black out drunk. Terry steps out of the shower in nothing but a towel hanging low on his waist. He assures her nothing happened between them and apologized for his behavior the past week. He explained that he was scared of his own feelings and that he should have stayed away from her but the pull he feels towards the girl is too strong to resist.

Slowly, but surely he introduces her to his sadistic world.

(Ok this is getting too long. But I’m obsessed with this au.)

#fifty shades of SILVER #cmon guys let’s make this a thing #daniel larusso #fem!daniellarusso #rule 63 #terry silver #silverusso #cobra kai #karate kid #one sided lawrusso #ralph macchio #thomas ian griffith #silverusso ask

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Love at the Craft Table

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 2, 104

Summary: a flashback to you and Dieter on the set of Bark of Justice

Warnings: Dieter being a bit grumpy, being harassed by a “nice guy”, changing points of view

Check out masterlist here

The craft table was empty. It was safe to venture out there. You were hoping to refill your bottle with iced tea and maybe grab and sandwich before…

“Hey, do you want some sour Skittles?”

You swear, Kevin was a walking jump scare, waiting around for you in the shadows like a creeper.

“Um, no thanks I just…”

“Are you into surfing? I’m totally into it. I grew up near the beach, so I went every day. You must’ve been the same, we have so much in common.”

“No, I didn’t live near a beach, and it got cold a lot where I…”

“Woah, cold in Australia? That’s crazy”

“Tasmania is quite close to Antarctica actually.”

“Yeah, well I don’t surf anymore, and it took me an hour to drive to the beach so…”

You really needed to find a polite way out of this situation, and you spotted him.

“Mr. Bravo, are you needing any help?”

*****

Last day of filming. Dieter sure wasn’t going to miss this crazy month of filming and the crazy prosthetics, but he would miss you. He thought about trying to work up the courage to attempt at flirting but then immediately decided against it. Rule number one: don’t flirt with the people who are responsible for making you look good, no matter how pretty they are.

Speaking of which, she was over at the craft table. He realised he was thirsty, so he headed over there. Where’d this grip git whatever the fuck his name was come from? You clearly weren’t interested in him, but he didn’t seem to get the message. And he didn’t deserve to be in her presence, just take the rejection and move on. Why didn’t assholes take no for an answer?

“Mr. Bravo, are you wanting any help?”

Oh, you were standing right in front of him, looking so beautiful and…pay attention, don’t get lost in those eyes.

“Um, I was thirsty, but not sure if I should stick with the water or just splurge for the last day?”

“The iced tea is nice. It’s peach and I love it or…”

“Well, you’ve sold me on it.”

You gratefully took his tumbler and filled it up for him, his arm being a little stiff from the fake arm you put on him earlier.

“Here you go Mr. Bravo.”

“Please, we’ve been working together for a month, call me Dieter.”

You didn’t say anything, so he awkwardly took a sip. “Hey, that is good.”

You smiled, “Glad you like it.”

“Thanks, you’re a peach!” Why did he say that? That was the most stupid thing to say.

But you just smiled and walked away happy, so it wasn’t too big a disaster. He hoped.

*****

You took the job for Sap of Justice because it gave you creative freedom. The brief from the director was that a man was slowly being turned into a tree, and they wanted it based as much in reality as possible. You spent hours researching cases of people suffering from illnesses which could possibly resemble someone being slowly turned into a tree. They were thrilled with your ideas.

Thankfully the actor didn’t require a full body of prosthetics, and the makeup work was spaced out so he wouldn’t have to suffer. Mr. Bravo only had to spend the second third of the filming in full prosthetics, and he was thankful because he could barely move. His assistant seemed to have scarpered, so you worked double duty as his helper, feeding him between takes and making sure he was still comfortable. You didn’t mind as you could keep an eye on your work. 

You were warned of his reputation, but he was the first actor not to flirt with you. The actor playing the wife murderer leered at you while you put a fake bullet hole in his forehead, wishing it was a real one.

You felt kind of safe around Mr. Bravo. Now was the first instant of him attempting to flirt with you and you had to admit that you like it.

*****

Dieter trudged over to the craft table now that he had a lunch break. He noticed you sitting off to the side in the shade.

“Did you want a seat Mr. Bravo?” you indicated to the seat next to you.

He nodded and walked over while you took your kit bag off the seat next to you. He noticed for the first time it had a big Vincent labelled across it.

“Vincent?” he gestured while he sat down.

“Oh, that’s the name of my bag.”

“He’s not named after Vincent Price, is he?”

“He is! You’re the first one to get it.”

“I don’t know any other Vincents” his stomach grumbled, reminding him why he was here.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you must be hungry. Can I go and get you something?”

“You don’t need to…”

“You’re already sitting down, and I wanted to get myself something, so I don’t mind.”

“Sure um, what do you recommend?”

“I just had the chicken salad which is nice. And it won’t make much of a mess of your face.”

“I trust your judgement.”

You came back shortly with a plate piled with food and refilled his tumbler.

“This is good”

“I know. I feel bad if I take some to take home with me, but it tastes too good.”

“Hey, I like that idea. Should’ve done that myself.”

You both chuckled but then Dieter felt and awkward pause coming up. “So, you like Vincent Price?”

He knew you loved films, often he’d name a random one and you’d know of it, surprisingly for him.

“Of course! That man could read the dictionary and I’d be in awe.”

“I think I watched Witchfinder General five times before I could get the voice right.”

You almost jumped out of your seat in joy, “You can do the voice?!”

But before Dieter could do his best rendition, you were rudely interrupted.

“Hey, did you want any sour Skittles?”

“No, thank you.” Kevin sucked the joy out of you now.

“I’d like some.” Dieter muttered but that grip git quickly shoved them back into his pocket.

“I only had one left so…” Kevin pawed at the ground, “So, I was, we were having a wrap party afterwards. Me and the gang. Would you like to join…?”

“No, thank you. I have things to do.”

“It’s no big deal but, I, we, put together to order in pizza and…”

Dieter butt in, “She said no.”

“Uh…”

“She said no, now do you mind? We’re having lunch here.”

Kevin shuffled off, mumbling something rude towards Dieter under his breath.

“You didn’t have to do that Mr. Bravo.”

“He’s a Skittle stealing git is what he is, so I wanted to.”

“Oh, were you wanting some?”

“Skittles? Nah, your cookies are sweet enough for me.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t flirting, was it? No, it was just a compliment.

“Thanks, um, I should take Vincent to…over there. See you later Mr. Bravo.”

*****

You were definitely developing feelings for the actor. You’d never had any kind of romantic feelings for an actor, anyone, for a while. Always closing yourself off to avoid the hurt feelings of betrayal. This felt different though, like he’d never stab you in the back.

He felt more like a romantic hero than the secret killer. You imagined him with a chainsaw hand fighting deadites and you had to pull yourself out of that pool of swooning. But you had to be professional, he was probably like that with everyone. You really did want to hear his Vincent Price impression.

*****

That’s a wrap was one of the greatest sentences ever uttered. Finally, he can get out of this character, out of this location, out of this costume. Getting out of this makeup meant that you would be out of his life though.

This was his final chance to maybe suggest maybe going out for a possible no pressure drink. But you’d probably say no, so best not to ask in the first place. But what is you said yes? Feelings were hard. Everything was so much easier when he was on drugs, he didn’t have to worry about feelings. Feelings just made everything hurt.

He was quiet throughout his final time in the makeup chair. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to deal with seeing your beautiful smiling face for the last time. He mumbled a quick thank you and left before he felt the tears well up.

Now he was sitting around waiting for his driver, eyes closed and wallowing in regret. He opened them with a sigh and noticed you off in the distance packing away up your car. Maybe he should offer to help? Was that being too forward? It seems though, that someone had the same idea.

*****

“Hey, you want some help?”

How did he learn to move so quickly? And silently? He must be part alien possessed by a poltergeist or something.

“No, thank you, I have a system and…”

“It’s no big deal” ignoring your protests, he grabbed your tote bag and spotted your box of cookies, “Hey, cookies. Why weren’t these at the craft table?”

“I made those so…”

Immediately he opened it and shoved a cookie into his mouth, “These are good. Why didn’t I get one?”

“They’re only for, um, can I have it back please?”

He held it away from you as crumbs spilled out from his mouth.

“Come on, I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Don’t I deserve one?”

You just stood there in silence, arms waiting for your cookie box.

“I’ll give it back to you. If you give me a kiss.”

You felt the panic crawling up along with the tears, “Please”

“Or you could go out with me. That’s all I want from…”

“Please”

Suddenly, Kevin was being shoved against your car. Dieter had him pinned there, holding him with one hand.

“Leave her alone” he calmly stated. With his other hand, he took your cookie box out of Kevin’s two hands. You only just realised how big his hands were and you did the makeup on them for a month.

“Now, if you ever bother her again I will send people after you. Bad people. Because I know some, bad people that is.”

“Okay, okay” he stammered out.

“And apologise to her.”

Kevin barely whimpered out an apology, but it was enough that Dieter eventually let go of him. He almost growled and Kevin ran off like a man who’d wet his pants which amused Dieter. He softened when he looked at you.

“Are you okay?”

You wiped away tears you didn’t know you shed and nodded. Dieter then nodded and handed you back your rescued cookie box.

The act almost made you swoon.

Dieter was glad he didn’t punch that grip git in the face, even though he really wanted to. Punching people in the face was not a good look for an Oscar winner. He scared him good though, pretty sure he wet his pants. He chuckled at the thought of that.

“Dieter.”

He turned around, almost not recognising his name coming from your mouth.

“Um, thank you for…”

“Hey, I’m sure anyone would’ve…”

“No, I don’t think anyone would’ve. Do you want the last cookie?” you practically shoved the box in his face to avoid the embarrassment.

“Uh, sure”

He wasn’t sure if he should eat it now or later, you were fidgeting a lot.

“I don’t normally do this but, would you like to get together and watch a movie sometime?”

Dieter’s brain short-circuited for a second and he answered way too quickly, “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Oh, good” you seem relieved, “What’s your number so…”

Oh shit, “I don’t know, sorry.”

“That’s okay, do you have your phone on you?”

Oh, shit again, “I have no idea where it is.”

You held up a finger, “Wait, two seconds.”

You scurried off, leaving Dieter with nothing to do but he his cookie. You came scurrying back holding a piece of paper.

“This is my number” you said, holding it out to him. “Give me a call sometime and we can organise something. Or text me, whatever works for you.”

He remembered in time not to drop the cookie from his mouth, “Yeah, sounds great. I’ll do that.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know…you really don’t mind getting together to watch a scary movie?”

His brain short-circuited again.

“I’d love to watch a scary movie with you.”

Films referenced: Witchfinder General (1968), Evil Dead 2 (1987)

Lovingly tagging @cevans-is-classic

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter fanfic #dieter x reader #dieter x f!reader #dieter bravo #dieter x honey cakes #love of horror fanfic #love of horror #the bubble netflix #the bubble #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

[silvabacca]

I’ve read some posts suggesting that Crowley is often thrown out of the dreaming by Morpheus, because he stays there for too long. Sooo after reading about it I immediately started writing it, hope you enjoy!!

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS 2, (also no beta we die like every Good Omens fan after season two ;-; )

Morpheus was sitting in the library. Earlier Lucienne gave him some materials that he asked for. After all this mess with the vortex, Corinthian, Desire and a whole mess in a waking world he wanted to only focuse on the matters of the dreaming. He was still in the process of creating new dreams and nightmares, but needed to study a history behind the previouse one, to see where he was making the mistakes that caused him problems.

Completly focused on his reading he didn’t pay any attention to his surroundings. Everyone knew that it was not a good time to disturbe him, so even if someone approached him it must have been a serious matter.

- My lord, - said a voice which belonged to Lucienne - there is a small thing you would like to have a look at.

Morpheus rised his head up, eyes still looking at the pages of the book. After a while he spoke:

- I’m quite busy right now, Lucienne. - He said slowly in a low voice, thought that will do and his librarian will go away and come next time with her problem.

- I can see that, but I think you should really take a look at that.

Dream finally looked her in the eyes. He saw how troubled Lucienne was and decide, that whatever he was doing could wait. He put the book down, on the pile with hundreds of others surrounding him and then he could give his full attention to what his librarian had to say.

- It’s the deamon - she finally spoke, not very delighted at the fact, after a pause she added with a sigh - again.

No more words were needed to be said, the King already knew who it was. He sighed the same as her and got up from his chair. He thanked for the information and decided to go and deal with this problem by himself.

It wasn’t the first time this particular deamon came to his realm. It wouldn’t be a big of a deal, every demon is allowed to dream like any other creature, but this one spend decades in the dreaming. Sometimes even centuries, which was a pain in the ass for Morpheus. Someone could even say that this demon rented a flat in his kingdom.

Which was a half true, expect it was a small cottage on a beautiful field full of flowers which smelled so incredibly. There was also a river, with water crystal clear and forest accros it. The whole scenery, the whole dream was so breathtaking and relaxing to watch, (it was hard to belive that a demon could dream of a place like this).

The house in itself was small, painted white with a black roof. Around it was a garden with every kind of flower known to a human, a swing wide enought for two people to sit which surounded apple trees that gave a cool shade. Everything seemed so peacful and perfect.

Dream was enjoying the view, even he sometimes needed to relax, not really in other demons dreams, but this one was particularly nice. After a while he decided to go through the fence and to go inside the house. Before he could even step in he noticed a curled figure lying on the stairs. It was the deamon that Morpheus knew for eons, but it was a first time he found him in this position. He sighed and decided to come closer and when he was close enought he started speaking.

- Anthony J Crowley, how many times do I must tell you to- Morpheus couldn’t finish the sentance, not after seeing said Crowley crying on the floor. He only managed to whisper oh my, but couldn’t say anything else.

It was a very awkward moment, Dream (who originally came here to kick the demon out) stood there in a complete silence and Crowley who was jest there, crying, sobbing and saying something to himself under the nose. It was so much uncomfortable for Morpheus that he even seriously considered to just go away and let the demon mind his own business.

Then he remembered that his friend told him lately to care more about others, especially people close to him. He wasn’t, in fact, very close with Crowley, non of them would say that they are friends, but it was true that they knew each other for quite some time now. Dream sighed really loudly and looked once more at the miserable demon. Only now Crowley decided to also look in the eyes of the King and just stared at him for a while, expecting for something.

Morpheus said in all his glory and with the most „caring” look on his face that he could manage at the moment:

- Are you unwell, Crowley?

At that demon just frowned and made a really disapointed face, he also sighed, snorted a few times and looked him again in the eyes and said:

- You Endless bastards are soooo bad at this, that it makes it just sad - he snorted again and continued - even more sad than me right now.

Dream found that really amusing, not many creatures dares to insult the Endless and even less does it to their face. He just decided to not bit back at it, because in fact he was terrible at this, so insted he just sat down with Crowley and decided to listen to him.

The demon told him everything that trobuled him, he said what happened with Aziraphale and what was before their parting ways. With each word Crowley started to calm down more, he just needed to let out all his frustration to someone, even if this person was the King of dreams.

Morpheus knew some part of this story already, he didn’t only know the demon, but also the angel, and a thing or two about their adwentures and relationship. Even thou he didn’t hear about the current events, not until now. And the news delivered a heartbroken demon, who was still on the floor.

- Yeah, that would be pretty much everything - Crowlay paused for a moment to sob a little.

- Now I understand why you are acting like this, - said Dream - I’m sorry to hear it, I know how much he ment to you.

Morpheus knew that better than anyone else, he saw that demon’s dreams. He knew for a very long time how much he is in love with the angle. But he couldn’t understand, why they couldn’t be together, Aziraphale also had feelings for Crowley, even if he didn’t fully understand them, he would be happy to hear from Crowley a love confession. „So why they didn’t have their happy ending?” Dream tought.

- Oh yeah, I almost forgot - the demon blurred one last pice of his story - I kissed him, out of desperation of course, but still kissed.

Now all the pieces fallen into their place. Dream looked in disbelive at the man lying on the floor. He placed a hand on his eyes, started to mumble things and slowly started saing:

- Give me a moment Crowley, because I don’t think I understand…

The demon swallowed and started to feel uneasy, how did he anger a King of dreams so much?? The ton of his voice sounded teryffing and furious, yet he wasn’t shouting just slowly saying a word after word.

- You have been in love with this man for more than 6000 years… - he looked demon in the eyes, seeing fear in them wasn’t anything surprising, he continued - and this was the way you decided to tell him your feelings? In the most iapproperiate moment of all the moments you shared and didn’t even wanted to talk things out calmly and peacfully, but insted you came onto him? You didn’t want to hear anything more from his perspective? Didn’t you think, even for a moment, that you two might be misunderstanding each other and only want the best for one another?

There was a moment of silence between them, even the whole dream started to lose it’s peacfulness. Finally Crowlay managed:

- Well, if you put it like that…

Before he could finish the sentance he already woken up, he just got kicked out of he’s own dream, by the Dream of the Endless. He sat up, his heart was still beating like crazy and it took a while for it to calm down. Finally when it was steady he sighed in reliefe, he closed his eyes, looked up and said:

- The thing I have going on with my angle is better than anything you have with your human „friend”, because I never lied to myself that I don’t love my angle and had the guts to confess!!

He slowly opened his one eye to see if the man he just insulted isn’t standing in front of him. When he finally felt enought safe he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

(I don’t that this has a good ending, but it will do)

#good omemes #crowley #good omens season 2 spoilers #the sandman #dream of the endless #dream #mentions of dreamling #maybe next fic will be dreamling idk #no beta we die like good omens fans after season 2 #writing #fanfic

[noalikestodraw]

I’m uploading for the first time in 50 million years! Also I’ve fallen down the Percy Jackson rabbithole for the first time since middle school and so naturally here I am. Will anyone even see this? I don’t know. Either way I’m here and I hope you enjoy :)

#annabeth fanart #annabeth chase #percy jackon and the olympians #the heroes of olympus #percy jackson #look at me market myself #artists on tumblr #digital art #i did the background all digitally and i'm really proud of that #pay close attention to the shading on the trees it's quite good

[poppy-metal]

so uh,,,,this ended up being alot softer then i was expecting LMAO.

Bully!eren x reader

Cw: not alot, some smut at the end. Tame for me but i was in my FEELINGS okay.

Word count: 2.3k

The familiar sleek black of erens benz pulls up to the side of your house as you walk home from a late night trip to the grocery store, pints of ben & jerrys ice cream in the bags, as well as several other snack items one might munch on to cram for an exam, which is what you planned on doing. 

You side step more onto the sidewalk when he pulls up beside you, still driving just slow enough to match your pace. He rolls down the window, jerking his head, “Just the girl i wanted to see,” he drawls hooking his arm out his window to lean out a little, he grins, “its fate” 

You scrunch your nose up and scoff “Stalking is another word for it, jaeger”. You look him over suspiciously, “you wanted to see me?” 

He rolls his eyes. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses, pushed up his forehead. Loitering in front of your house like this, you’re aware of how different the worlds you live in are. Everything about eren is expensive, from his car to his sunglasses to his clothes, even the way he smells, the cologne he wears, all tells how important he is. Meanwhile here you are in your oversized hoodie and leggings, hands full of stuff you’d bought from the convenience store, prepared to spend your night busting your ass to even stay in the college you had to claw your way to get into, wherein he had gotten in without even trying. You’re not self conscious, at least not usually. You’d never yearned to be apart of erens world too terribly, and it was eren who always sought you out, not the other way around, when there was plenty of rich girls right up his alley and status that would be glad to be with him and yet here he was at 11pm at night. You try to push down the way your heart flutters at that fact.

“Uh huh. Get in the car, bambi, m’taking you somewhere” his teeth are a flash of white against the night, promising trouble, as always. Your grip on your bags tightens, as does your heart in your chest. You glance away, “i have to study” 

“Study?”

Your brows pinch together and you hold up your bags “Not that you’d care, jaeger, but some of us have to actually study to achieve our goals. I can't entertain you tonight, im busy” 

Eren doesn’t look put out in the slightest, glancing down at your bags with casual disinterest“You dont need to study”. And then he looks up at you and meets your eyes, your breath catching, they look closer to the shade of seaglass today. “You’re smarter than anyone i know, ___, and i know alot of people. Whatever you want to pass? You’re already there. Just come with me, please”  

Your eyes widen and your heart spasms in your chest, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice. He has moments like this, where he usually teases you and gets under your skin but sometimes he says something that makes everything in you jolt. Its not fair. Its confusing and it messes with your head, makes it fuzzy, weakens you and makes you do things you’d never do with a clear mind.  

You wish you could fight it, wish you could roll your eyes and tell him no and do what you need to do. But you don’t. Huffing you say, “Ugh, fine. Just let me put this stuff up, my ice creams probably already a puddle by now” you turn and rush up to your house, ears burning when you hear him call out, “Thatta girl!” 

You try not to put everything away to hastily, thinking he ought to squirm just a little, but even you can’t deny the eager buzzing under your skin. When you clamber into the passenger seat of his car eren turns to grin at you as he flicks his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Knew you’d see reason, bambi”. You roll your eyes at the nickname, crossing your arms over your chest as you side eye him warily, “where are you taking me jaeger, is this a kidnapping?” 

“Not a kidnapping when you want it, sweetheart”, eren says, putting his arm around the back of your seat as he backs up his car to make a uturn. You dont know if the flustered leap in your chest is from the petname or the way his forearm looks flexing, the cords in his neck prominent as he looks behind him for any oncoming cars. “Just trust me, yeah? You’ll like it” 

You sink in the seat, trying to get away from the warm heat of his arm so close to you, but hes taking it away soon enough, only to draw your attention again to the way his hands look steering the wheel. His hands….You turn to look out the window, opting for silence, because you feel like you’re about to lose your mind. This car is just so..him and its overwhelming your senses. It smells good, it smells like him, his cologne wafting all around you. The sleek interior of his car is crisp, clean, sharp, and just so richboy it feels surreal. You haven’t been in his car before. 

Eren seems okay with the silence though, tapping his finger idly against the wheel as soft music plays from the radio. Its strangely peaceful, actually. Before you know it, the whirring of houses and neighborhoods and highway turns into palm trees and sand. You sit up straighter, coming out of your daze when you realize eren is pulling his car into the sandy bank by a large body of water. The beach. You haven’t had a chance to go here. 

The water looks like black at this time of night, there are no waves, just sparkling dark abyss that stretches out for ages and ages, glittering under the moonlight. There are no other cars parked close to you so its just you, eren, and the sea. 

You spend quite awhile gawking at the ocean before you come to your senses and turn to face eren. He has his elbow propped on the wheel, chewing idly on his thumb as he peers at you from over his sunglasses. A small smile is playing at his lips as he watches you. 

You gape, “What…” 

“You’re cute when you’re excited, you know” his voice is low, dropped in that way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You ignore the way your heart skips at his words, probing him, “Why did you bring me here, ren?” 

He turns to face forward, flipping the radio off so theres no background noise between the two of you. Taking his sunglasses off the folds them and puts them on the dash, sighing as he watches the ocean from out the windshield, gnawing on his lips. Tap, tap, tap, his fingers on the wheel go as you wait for him to speak. “Last week,” he starts, glancing at you, “When we had to do those presentations in class about places we feel at home..you talked about the library” 

He laughs under his breath like its some kind of endearing joke, shaking his head a little. You dont speak. “The library is where i first saw you, you know? I mean, before all this, before i..talked to you, i noticed you before you ever noticed me.” A small secret smile plays on his lips, “You were reading ‘percy jackson and the lightning thief’, and you haid your hair in pigtails. Your glasses were way to big your face. My first thought was ‘wow she looks like an owl’, but then i saw you laugh at something on the page and my second thought was ‘i want to know her’. We were in middle school.” 

Green eyes connect with yours, “You still go there, i know. But anyway..this is. My place, i guess”. He purses his lips “i figure since i'm always intruding on your little sanctuary , i’d let you see mine” 

You take everything he just said in. He’d known about you, noticed you, since middle school? You hadn’t acknowledged him until sophomore year of highschool, hadn’t spoken to him since senior year, when this tug and pull had first begun between you two. You remembered that day, your mother wouldn't buy you the series so you’d relied on constantly re-reading the books at the library. It was around that time you began to see that place as something special, too. Tucked away from the world, you could lose yourself in another's story. It was like magic. And to realize eren had been there the whole time, had glimpsed that, realized that the library was your special place, that he’d even payed attention to your presentation in class at all in the first place...that he was here, showing you something of himself in return, even though you’d never asked. You’d wondered of course. 

Eren was an enigma, he was on most days, the bane of your existence. He had made your life a living hell on many occasions, but with that, he also made you feel more alive than ever before. He’d dragged you out of your bubble and challenged you to see the world beyond school and books and fiction, he raised your emotions and forced you to experience everything head on. Anger, confusion, happiness, anxiety, thrill, lust and…

You look at him. The way the moonlight curls into the car like a kind of mist, making his eyes look absolutely beautiful. The soft wave to his brown hair, his eyelashes, everything about him made you ache with desire. All the time, even when you swore you hated him, you wanted him. 

“Kiss me”. Its whispered out so low, for a moment you worry he might not hear it. Its the first time you’ve asked for him, reached for him first without his taunting to guide a confession from you. With this request, filling the air between you, you’re making it known that you want him, want this. It doesn’t change anything and yet it somehow changes everything. You can’t look in the mirror and tell yourself he doesn’t occupy your mind and your heart anymore. Not after this. 

Eren seems to realize this too, his intake of breath letting you know he heard you loud and clear. “__..” he says, inching closer. His eyes, dark now, are so very hungry as he closes in. In a moment his lips, soft, so soft, are on yours. You sigh into his kiss, opening for him easily when his tongue glides into your mouth. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, tenderly, thumb stroking it. God, you want to eat him, you want him to eat you. The wet smack of your lips fills the car as you hungrily nip, and suck, and kiss at each others lips. 

When eren pulls back, he’s panting, hair disheveled. You don’t remember when your hands first sunk into his hair, but they must have, messed up as it is now. He looks at you like he wants to devour you, he licks his lips. “I’m gonna put your seat back,” he tells you slowly, each word dripping with finality, “im going to kiss every inch of your body and then you’re opening those legs for me and letting me inside, baby” 

You don’t have it in you to act scandalised, you know what you want. You’d basically asked for it. You just nod, never taking your eyes off his face when he reaches down and pulls the lever. And then you feel yourself being tilted backwards as the seat goes back, laying you flat. Your chest heaves with barely contained need as eren then settles above you, every clothed inch of him hovering just barely above you. 

Holding your eyes, eren lowers himself. You spread your legs easily to accommodate him, gasping when you feel his clothed cock settle right against your clit through your leggings. He rocks once, gently, against you, his hair hanging over his forehead as he looks down at you with utter want in his eyes, “Want you to feel me”, he murmurs, and rocks again, “Wanna fill you up so good, you can’t ever pretend that im not apart of you. Because, this, baby?” Another rock, a shuddered moan leaving your lips, “This is it. No ones gonna fuck you like i do, no ones gonna get inside that little head and play the games we play so well together.” 

One of his hands trails up your thigh, dipping his hand under the fabric of your leggings and pulling them slightly down, he pecks your lips, once, twice, three times. “Tell me”, he groans into your mouth, peeling your clothes off you slowly, “Tell me you understand, Tell me this is everything” 

And you tell him. Tell him through your whimpers when he parts the folds of your slick cunt with his fingers buried inside you. Tell him through your moans into his mouth when he shoves his jeans down and splits you open on his cock. Tell him through sighs of his name, when he rocks into you, licking into your mouth as he spears you open. Tell him through the way you claw your fingers down his back when starts to fuck you hard, rocking the car with the force of his thrusts. Tell him through the way you spread your legs, even wider, toes curling as he wrings orgasm after orgasm out of your tight little pussy milking him. 

“Its everything, you’re everything…” You cry out again and again, clutching onto him as he pumps you full of his cum, groaning brokenly into your neck. 

“Fuck”. He pulls back to look down at you, brushing your damp hair back from your face, still inside you. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, you little nerd” 

#eren jaeger imagine #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #bully!eren #aot smut

[wandaromanova]

Little Sister

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: one cuss word, minor BW spoilers

A/N: hello! i’d like to note that this takes place sometime before the events in the Black Widow movie! if you haven’t seen the movie yet, please skip over this story and come back later if you’d like! happy reading <3

anon requested: hiii i have a fluff request after seeing bw haha: could you do nat x fem reader where they're laying in bed snuggling, and r asks her about her family and nat tells her and r notices how cute she looks when she's talking about yelena and it's so soft and ahhhh

Summary: Natasha tells her girlfriend about a piece of her past that she never talks about; her sister.

Word Count: 2K

| masterlist | request rules/guidelines | wips |

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

Natasha Romanoff has lived a lot of lives. She has been through more than most.

Nat had been taken as an infant by an organization that trained little girls to become lethal assassins.

She was psychologically conditioned to become a killer, having taken more lives than she could count.

Eventually, Natasha had managed to break free from the cage she was forced into and was recruited as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent; it was a new start for her, an opportunity to compensate for the red in her ledger.

So, Natasha took her job seriously, saving as many people as she could, even more so when she became an Avenger; one of earth’s mightiest heroes.

Natasha found something in the team that she never really had before; a family. She found a home within the dysfunctional team she had been recruited into.

Not only did Natasha find a family within the Avengers; she also found the love of her life.

Natasha hadn’t even considered the possibility of ever finding love.

For starters, the Red Room had instilled the concept that love was nothing but a distraction; a liability.

She had been taught that love was for children and it was nothing but a weakness that needed to be avoided at all costs.

She was quite literally programmed to be emotionally closed off and to always have her guard up. Letting someone into her heart was a risk she didn’t want to take.

When Natasha gained her independence from the organization, she had to do a lot of self-discovering. She had never been able to be her own person, but now that she could, she quickly learned that she didn’t even know herself.

However, it was Natasha’s insecurities that truly turned her off from the entire idea of love.

How could any ever possibly love her? She thought she was a monster for the things she’d done. She has done the unspeakable since ever she was a child.

What if she wasn’t enough? What if her baggage was too much for someone else to carry? She didn’t want to be a burden. She didn’t want to have to protect someone, just to fail them like she had failed so many others.

Natasha was positive that no one would ever be crazy enough to love her.

Little did she know, she would end up finding someone crazy enough to do so; you.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

When the Avengers were formed, you were extremely nervous about it.

All of the files that you’ve read on your new teammates were unbelievable; they were all phenomenal in their own rights. A super-soldier, a god, a genius, a trained-spy.

You were a spy yourself, so you knew exactly who Natasha Romanoff was. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D legend, the best of the best.

You were more nervous about meeting her than anyone else. What if she judged you? What if she didn’t think you were good enough to be an agent, let alone an Avenger?

Not only was she your superior, but she was also your crush. Yeah, you’d never even met the woman before, but you were crushing on her hard.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, but also quite literally a deadly force. Natasha could easily take down anyone she wanted to, and honestly, you wanted to be one of those lucky people.

When you met Natasha for the first time, you were a flustered mess. The redhead found it amusing, how your cheeks turned a bright shade of red and you stumbled over your words as you praised her work.

Natasha never told you this, but she was immediately smitten the moment she laid eyes on you.

There was a kindness and positivity that just radiated off of you and it was extremely contagious.

You were this beaming ball of light that lit up the darkest parts of her soul.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You got to know Natasha extremely well while being on the team. From observing her closely and paying very close attention to her actions, you had managed to pick up on little things.

She didn’t put any creamer or sugar in her sugar; opting for strong, black coffee.

She was kind of a clean freak. If she saw something out of place, she would be quick to put it in the correct place or position.

When she was happy, she would let a small smirk cross her features. When she was annoyed, she would raise her eyebrows.

When she was stressed out or angry, three little creases would appear on her forehead as her eyebrows would knit together tightly; a subtle frown on her face.

Of course, when you began dating the redhead, you didn’t really have to survey her so closely anymore because she’d tell you things herself.

No matter the circumstances, Natasha would always come to you and rant about it. Whether it was about how shitty a mission went or how she beat Clint’s ass during training; you were the only person she wanted to tell.

Natasha had opened up to you, something she never did with anyone. She told you all about her past.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You had some knowledge of Natasha’s previous life, considering it was in her files, but you didn’t realize just how horrible her childhood truly was.

The Red Room, the heavy weight of guilt that rests on her shoulders, the nightmares that forced her to relive the murders she committed, her time as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, and becoming an Avenger.

She’d go on and on about her road to redemption or ‘clearing the red out of her ledger.’

Natasha was terrified when she told you about her demons. She figured you were going to leave her the second she finished talking, waiting for you to get up and walk out the door, but you didn’t.

So, you completely caught her off guard when you pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, placing a soft kiss onto her temple, the redhead relaxing in your embrace.

“You’re the strongest person I know. It’s not your fault, you were forced and conditioned to do the things you did.”

Natasha focused on the sound of your voice and took in your words as you softly caressed her red locks with one hand.

“Baby, the amount of respect I have for you is immeasurable. I applaud you for turning your life around for the better. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Your words had brought tears to Natasha’s eyes, which was a rare occurrence.

She was expecting you to run for the hills, but you chose to pull her closer instead.

In that moment, Natasha knew she never had to be afraid of love again.

You were the most understanding and accepting person she’d ever met.

You would never judge her for her worst mistakes; Natasha had found the one for her and she wasn’t ever going to let go.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Now, a few months later and a year into your relationship with the Russian, you were both lying in bed and cuddling.

You were both watching a movie when a particular scene came on. It was of a family gathering around a Christmas tree, children excitedly opening up presents with gleeful smiles across their faces.

“You know, my sister and I got to take pictures with a Christmas tree once.” Natasha spoke, her eyes fixated on the screen.

You looked up at her in shock. You didn’t know that Natasha had a sister. She told you that she didn’t even so much as know her parent’s names.

Natasha looked down and noticed your confused expression. She reached for the remote on the bedside table and paused the movie before returning her gaze to you.

“There was a mission I was assigned to in Ohio, as a kid. I was assigned to play the daughter of two other Russian spies, Alexei and Melina. It wasn’t just me though, there was a little girl who was assigned as my younger sister. Her name is Yelena.”

Natasha had a reminiscent, happy smile on her face as she recalled the brief period time of her childhood. She looked absolutely adorable as she rambled on about this part of her childhood.

“We took photoshoots of various holidays to make our family look more realistic. My favorite one was Christmas. Even though I knew they were just empty boxes, I wanted to rip open every single one.”

Natasha let out a small giggle at the thought. Even though she had a smile on her face, you could feel and hear the underlying tone of sadness in her voice.

“Yelena and I would spend hours outside, just playing together. Swinging on the swing-sets, looking up at the stars, bending over backward, and getting into a ridiculous competition to see who could hold the position the longest… I always let her win.”

You could see the fondness in her eyes, the longing. It warmed your heart that there was a small glimmer of light in Natasha’s past. There was at least a sliver of hope that she clung tightly onto throughout her time in the Red Room.

“After 3 years, the mission ended. Yelena and I were sent back to the Red Room and were torn apart from one another.

Natasha’s breathing grew heavier as she recalled the unfaithful day. The sight of her sister being taken, and not being able to do anything to help her; still haunted the redhead to this day.

“There were so many men with guns and armor, they literally ripped us away from each other. I was eleven and she was only six.”

Your heart sunk at your girlfriend’s words as her smile dropped. She tore her eyes away from yours as she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, but failed. You reached your hand up to her cheek and wiped away the fallen droplets.

“I haven’t seen her since. I’d like to think that she found a way out and got a life of her own; a nice, happy life.”

Natasha placed her hand on top of yours before looking down at you once more. You sent her a soft smile when she let out a shaky breath.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I knew that the it was all fake, but it was still the best part of my childhood. It was real to me.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You nodded your head at her words. She took a brief pause, trying to regain her composure, before continuing.

“Even if we have no true relation to one another, and even if I haven’t seen her in years, she is still my little sister.”

Natasha finished off with a big gasp as sobs wracked her body. You sat up from her embrace and pulled her into your arms, just like you had many times before.

You rubbed her back soothingly as she cried into your shoulder, her tears hitting the exposed skin.

“She sounds amazing, baby. I’m really happy that you had some sort of happiness back then and I hope one day you get to see her again.”

You whispered and Natasha pulled away from the hug, still in your arms as her emerald eyes surrounded by a sea of red, a result of her crying.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I doubt she’d even want to see me. I didn’t even try to find her. I’m a horrible sister! I-“

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You immediately pressed your lips against hers, effectively getting the Russian to calm down. You broke the kiss when her breathing slowed.

“Honey, of course, she’d want to see you again. Like you said, you guys are sisters. I’m positive that it was just as real to her as it was to you.”

You reassured your girlfriend, her eyes a pool of worry and guilt. You rubbed your thumb against her waist, the material of your her hoodie beneath your touch.

“From what you’ve told me about the Red Room, it would’ve been impossible to find her. Stop beating yourself up over it. You’re the best, and I’m totally not biased or anything.”

Natasha let out a small chuckle at that and you smiled at her, wiping away the last of her tears. She collapsed into your hold further, shoving her face into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you so much.”

Natasha’s words came out muffled as her face pressed further into your skin.

“You never need to thank me for anything. I’ll always be here for you, Natty.”

You hugged her as tight as you possibly could, her cold skin meeting your warmth. Natasha let out a small sigh at the feeling.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Wherever you go, I go.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader fluff #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow x reader #black widow #request done

[luimagines]

First Kiss! Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Four, Hyrule and Wind!

Content under the cut!

Four

The night was crisp and young as you walked with Four around the forest before Wild had to eventually send out the Wolf to come and find you two if you wanted to eat anything at all.

He walked a little ways ahead of you and grinned when he came across a little tree stump with a small crack down the middle. “I found one!”

“Found what?” You tilt your head. “When you said you were going to show me something, I didn’t think it would be this? Unless it’s still something I’m not seeing yet.”

“We’re not there yet!” Four bounces on the balls of his feet like an excited kid and gestures you to come next to him frantically.

You try to hide your laughter and go do what he’s asking of you.

He’s quick to grab your hand and he takes a breath.

You raise your eyebrow and copy him.

Four looks over to you, knowing that you’re messing with him before he grins and says, “Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

Four starts chanting a spell before you can even think to stop him and your whole vision shifts and everything grows and it’s warm and sweet and there, before you is suddenly a small hut with mouse people that you’ve never seen before. With feathered tails and little hats and ponchos with acorn cups and pots and you take a minute to take it all in.

Four laughs at your struck dumb expression and ushers you forward.

“What is this place?” You ask on a breath.

Four grabs your hand and gestures with his free to the space around you. “This is a safe haven for the Minish or the Picori as they’ve been known to call themselves.”

“Wow...” You feel a bright smile on your face as you head deeper into the little village inside the tree stump.

But alas, it’s only a few seconds before Link is swarmed by the mouse peop- the Minish as they asll seem to recognize him.

“Hello Mr. Hero!”

“You’re back Link!”

“How have you been?”

“Come sit with us! Have a drink!”

“Link, it’s been awhile. Do you have any new stories to tell us?” A group of the mice- minish- you have to remind yourself again- walk up to Link and one dares to loop their around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she says this.

Four grins and pulls himself away much to your relief. “You know it! But not right now.” Four says your name, introducing you to the people who must be his friend before saying he was going to show you around.

One minish girl pouts and goes to reach for his arm again. “But Mr. Hero~!”

“Later.” Four smiles in your direction and takes your hand for everyone to see, lacing your fingers together.

You smile a little more easily and gladly follow him through the town.

And it’s really quite lovely.

But... You would enjoy yourself more if Four didn’t have one of them come up to flirt with him every ten minutes.

You can see him begin to get uncomfortable and he’s already apologized more than once about not being able to give you his full attention and show you around like he wanted. Your heart breaks for him.

One girl though, really pushes your buttons.

It’s the same one from earlier- the one that didn’t hesitate to latch onto his arm. “Link! You’ve been here long enough already! Tell us your stories!”

“Sorry but he’s with me today.” You growled and pulled him away from her.

He lets you.

You glare at the girl who doesn’t seem all that impressed by your attitude and claim. She scoffs a little and crosses her arms. “And you are you supposed to be?”

“His lover.”

Four coughs a little next to you but doesn’t deny anything.

The picori around you all still as if you popped a balloon in a silent room. All activity stops and there’s a nervous air around everyone as they all turn their heads to look at you, Four and the small group of minish girls that backup the original.

The original blinks for a minute before smirking a little. “No you’re not.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped.

You take a step back before a calm washes over you.

She doesn’t believe you?

That’s fine.

You shrug and turn to Four who’s watching everything with intense interest.

You don’t hesitate to pick him up and pin to the wall beside you, kissing him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Like you’ve been dying of thirst and he’s the glass of water you’ve been waiting for. Like you’re about to get heat stroke and he’s the shade to protect you. 

Four kisses you back with a smile on his lips.

Four wraps his legs around your waist and buries his hands into your hair, bringing you closer to him.

He tastes like apples and you vaguely remember the apple pie Four had managed to snag for breakfast earlier. There’s the hint of cinnamon and sweet sugar topping.

“I think they’re together.” Someone says in the background but you’re not paying attention to them any more.

You pull away from Four and rest your forehead against his. “Hey there Lover Boy, sorry about the lack of warning.”

“I am not complaining. That was hot.” He smirks and pulls you back in for another kiss.

Those who were interested in Four back away somewhat and everyone returns, with great difficulty on their part, back to what they were doing before.

Minish are terrible gossips.

But you think you can accept that the news is going to be that Four is with you now.

All those fangirls can back off, he’s yours.

Hyrule

You were in trouble for real this time.

You don’t know what it’s going to take but you think it might just be the end of the road for you.

You’re out of potions, you have no fairies, you can’t move your dominant arm and you’re ninety eight percent sure that you’re leg is broken.

To make matters worse, there’s a whole bunch of monsters nearby that you think you’re going to be unable to avoid when they find you.

Eventually.

You take a breath and try to calm down.

There’s no amount of adrenaline in the world that can help out of this one.

And you know you’re not getting any backup either.

This is it.

You can at least leave this plane of existence with a good conscious and a clear head. You can go down with dignity and you can at least you didn’t go down easy.

You just know that the next fight will be your last.

You try to sit up, ignoring how everything in your body seems to hurt, all for different reasons.

It beginning to hurt more now that the adrenaline is leaving your system and you’re getting tired.

A nap wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe the monsters will find you in your sleep and end you then. they say that’s the best to go. In your sleep.

Or (and you know this is unlikely) they’ll think you’re already dead and just leave you alone. Then you can wake up and try to go find help after you’ve rested a little while. 

It’ll be tough, but it’s possible.

Who’re you kidding?

You’re going to die.

You’re never going to see your family again.

You’re never going to tell your friends how much you appreciate them.

You’re never going to be able to tell that Traveler that you’ve fallen uselessly in love with him. 

You’re never going to see the sun again and sing and laugh and see a future family for you....

You don’t want to die.

A single tear runs down your face and you lean back against a stone wall. the corner you were in is secluded enough but not at all hidden.

You can hear the monsters come closer- they’re fighting something. The chaos is loud and thundering in the otherwise empty and quiet cave. They’re coming in your direction and you start counting the seconds.

They get closer and you see the fringes of one huge moblin take a step back to be in front of you. He’s not facing you- too busy fighting something on the other side but you’re out in the open.

You’re tired.

You take another breath and close your eyes. You hear the moblin go down and die but from what, you don’t know. You can’t even open your eyes anymore, that was how tired you were.

But then there’s a scream.

A familiar scream.

Link.

No, Hyrule. It’s Hyrule. It’s your Traveler.

He sounds horrified, pained and it’s enough to try to get you to move again.

You need to see what caused it, you need to see if he’s ok, you need to see what made him scream like that.

But you can’t.

The most you can do it flop an arm and move your head to the side.

Something lands on your side, you can feel it and if you can’t move you can speak. “Mmm...”

Ok, you guess not.

“Oh my god...” Hyrule voice breaks. He sounds like he’s crying.

Please don’t cry, you think. I’m not worth your tears. Save them for someone who matters.

“No...” He gulps and you can feel him move your head, being as gentle as he can with you. You take the biggest breath you can and try to move your head to the other side.

“You can’t die here.” He says. “I won’t let you.”

You can feel the spell he’s used so often on your friend’s fingertips, flow through you and it lessens the pain somewhat, but you know you’re too far gone. You’re too weak. You want to try to stop him from using all his magic but you can’t but at least you can die happy, knowing that he cared about you. It may not be as deep as you would have liked to take your relationship with him, but this is enough. More than enough even.

You feel him turn your head more and begin to lose consciousness.

This is ok.

You think you can go now.

Hyrule kisses you.

It’s desperate.

It’s longing- painful.

Magic flows through your whole body at an alarming rate and you think you can see a golden glow behind your eye lids that forces you to keep your eyes shut tight from the brightness of it all.

But you can move again.

You bring a hand up to your face, feeling Hyrule’s more clearly and let it rest on his jaw.

Slowly, you kiss back- half sure that this is a dream your dying brain has cooked up to make the process easier for yourself.

It’s not sweet, it’s not gentle anymore and the magic wakes you up again enough where you can feel how tight Hyrule is holding onto you.

You push him away with what little strength you managed to get back and blinked your eyes open.

The golden light fades and there’s sits in front of you, your Traveler.

He’s crying.

You blink and begin to feel more of your body again, confusion drowning you in its wake. “Link?”

Your voice is rough and you feel like you need to cough but Hyrule cuts you off and hugs you close. 

“You can’t die.” He says, gulping down the sob that threatens to break through. “I won’t let you... I promise. You’re going to be ok if it’s the last thing I do.”

Wind

“Wind!” You whisper yell and frantically wave your hand to convince to come over to you.

The boy in question grins and looks around momentarily before jogging over to where you were hidden in the bushes. “What is it?”

“Come with me.” You beam and take his hand, wasting no time in dragging him behind you. “There’s something I want to show you but only you. Wild might destroy it and I’ll never be able to get him to leave.”

“Leave where?” Wind asks in his normal volume.

You spin around and place your finger to his lips before glancing for the others again. When nothing appears to have heard the little outburst you pull away and lace your fingers together. “You’ll see!”

Wind doesn’t know what you’re talking about but the secrecy is fun for him, so he’ll place along.

You take him off the trail and take two lefts, a right then a left and Wind considers you two to be lost the second you make the last turn.

He takes a breath and looks around, each tree looking more imposing than the last but he would have no idea where to start if he were to try and go back. “I think we’re lost.”

“No way!” You snort. “This is my home. We’re almost there.”

“Your home?” Wind stands straighter.

You nod and pull away from him.

Wind goes to reach for your hand again.

You don’t notice.

You instead skip over to one of the trees and knock on it three times with your ear pressed up against the truck. You wait two seconds before nodding and take three large steps to the tree on the right and hit it with a branch Wind didn’t see next to it.

The tree shakes and a rope falls down.

You seem encouraged by this and take the rope, pulling on it with all your might which then drops a small ladder, that Wind sees is held together by ropes and connected to something at the top of the tree.

You don’t hesitate to start climbing , getting half way up before looking down and gesturing Wind to follow you.

Wind grins maniacally and follows you up the ladder faster than you would have thought he’d be capable of climbing.

You get to the top which is blocked off by a bunch of wood, but you know this place and you lift the trap door with ease and climb inside.

You get on your knees and turn around reaching your hand out to help Wind into the tree house.

He climbs in slower than you, glancing around with wide eyes, taking in everything.

There’s a small unmade bed in the corner with two stuffed animals from what he can. One is a dog and another is a bird but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s a small bookshelf under a window that’s propped open with a small wooden board. There’s not a lot of books there, maybe seven at most but that’s more books than Wind is accustomed to seeing in one place and the rest of the space is filled is nick nacks and trinket that Wind assumes are from your adventure. And small chest next to it that must be where your clothes are if the cloth hanging out is any indication. 

There’s also a small- (toy sized) wood stove with matching metal pots and pans and a small sink on the other side of the tree house. Out of curiosity, he walks over and turns on the faucet.

It has running water.

“This is my home.” You whisper when Wind comes to stand up. “It’s little... and a little broken, if I’m being honest. I don’t have the tools to fix it but it’s mine.”

“Broken?” Wind blinks and looks around even more. There’s some rotting wood by the bed, now that he sees it and it doesn’t look like it’ll be able to hold much more weight if it continues without being replaced. It’s holding up the ceiling above your head- Wind instantly feels concerned for your safety should it collapse while you’re there, or what you’d do if it happened while you weren’t there. He’s almost sure now that there’s more that he just can’t see right now, if that was glaringly obvious off the get go.

“Some parts need fixing and replacing.” You admit. “But I didn’t build this place, I just found it and moved in, so I don’t know where I would even start. It’s not safe on the ground at night so I’m better off up here. There’s also some pipes on the roof are beginning to rust and get nasty. It collects the water from the tree leaves when it rains and keeps it in a container buried in the ground, that’s how I have running water. But it’s cracking.”

You sigh and sit on the floor, crossing your legs under you. “I’ll figure it out. Worse case scenario I’d have to leave and find a cave or something to live in but-”

“We can help you!” Wind turns to you and falls to knees in front of you. “Wild’s good at collecting materials. Twilight and Time can help build. Warrior can plan it out. Legend and Four can help with the pipes. You don’t have to lose your home.”

“The others might make fun of me for having this place.” You mutter with a small pout on your face. “But I knew you wouldn’t! That’s why I brought you up here! I may have nothing, but it’s a lot of nothing so I have enough to share.”

Wind leans into your space suddenly and places his lips on yours.

You gasp and touch them with the tips of your fingers, staring at him wide eyed and shocked.

It was just a peck, a butterflies touch, but the look on Wind’s face says something else. It’s heavy with emotion, with concern and care, and there’s a little part of you that finds it more attractive than you thought it would be.

“You won’t lose your home and I won’t let them make fun of you, I promise.” He gulps and bite his lip. “Let us help. Please.”

You blink at him and let the furious blush encompass your face entirely. You shrink a little bit away but smile. “Ok.”

Wind takes a breath and releases it a nervous but joyful laugh. “We’ll go get the others, ok? And we’ll make sure that you’re ok and safe and this whole place will be as good as new.”

You nod with a smile and Wind looks overjoyed that you agreed.

You hum and shift your weight onto your knees as well, leaning into Wind’s space, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder and place a delicate kiss on his lips as well. “Thank you Link.”

Wind also blushes something fierce and he begins to play with his hands in front of him, giggling and bashful. “Oh- Um- Well- I- Uh...You- You’re welcome.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

#goldenclosetnet #magicshopnet #ficswithluv #thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #heartsforbts #bts #bts au #bts imagine #bts fic #bts oneshot #bts smut #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #oneshot.zip #jungkook.doc #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut

[baecvlt]

Stalker Nagito Komaeda x Milf!Reader

this was requested via my twitter:

“Hey! i’ve seen your works and I’m in love. Can I request smut where a stalker Nagito Komaeda becomes obsessed with a milf reader who moves into the neighborhood who’s like a dom in bed and ya know just large bust and taller than him. Thank youuu🤍”

a/n: ofc. but I have my own idea of a dom which i’ll use involving certain things (heed warnings)

warnings: he is so obviously a virgin in this, degradation, slight masochism, asphyxiation, spit, also Nagito calls the reader mommy (side note: nagito is in his early 20s in this, he lives alone. age of reader isn’t specified BUT I say she’s in her late 20s/early 30s)

• • •

It was a bright day...which Nagito despised. It was summer. He hated the sun, hated the mosquitoes, and the unnecessary humidity. It was days like these he wishes he was back at his university dorm. The A/C, the tall tree covering his window and blocking the sun...it was perfect. Hell, he didn’t even hate classes. Yet, he couldn’t live in the dorms forever. When it came time to buy a home, he stupidly did so in fall, moved in during the winter.

Well, no shit the home seemed perfect then. It wasn’t fucking summer. His A/C decided to break, his windows has a great view of the sun, and most of his friends were out of town (all except Hajime, but Hajime is fucking boring and a bummer). Nagito sat on his couch, watching reruns of old tv shows. He took a sip from his nearby glass (cold water), suddenly hearing sounds of what appeared to be a loading van. He looked outside his window.

A moving van?

Right, that one old man who lived there passed away. Freak accident, by the way. Oh well, may he rest in peace. Meanwhile, Nagito was being himself and trying to see who it was. Pretty much, the dude was being nosy. He saw another car pull up. That must’ve been the family’s car. Out jumped 3 kids, what appeared to be 2 girls and 1 boy. An adult stepped out. Nagito decided he’d get a better look at the situation. He put on his shirt, black jeans, and his green hood.

He was “going for a walk”.

Without being noticed, he made his way to the other side of the street. It was a woman, she was taking boxes out of the truck. The minute Nagito saw her it was if he was stricken by Cupid’s arrow. She was tall and beautiful. Her skin complimented her hair and her legs, he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Her breasts...he needed to stop—

“Hi!”

She was in front of him, a warm and inviting smile on her face. “H-Hi,” he muttered. She didn’t hear him well, so it helped that he waved. “I’m new in the neighborhood. We just moved in,” she added, putting the box down. She stuck her hand out, going for a handshake. He shook her hand, her warm hand against his cold ones. Why are his hands always cold? “I see,” he responded, getting his shit together,“I’m Nagito Komaeda. I live across the street”. She introduced herself and complimented his house.

“What a lovely home. I hope the neighborhood is just as lovely”

“It should be. It’s pretty quiet. There’s not many families here. Say, can I help you pack?”

“You’re too sweet! I’d really appreciate it”

He helped take all the boxes in her home, helping load a couch too, and help with other large objects. They finished in 9 hours, taking a majority of the day. “Thanks for helping out, Nagito”. She made a lemonade, handing him a glass.

“Don’t mention it! Also, thank you”

One of the kids ran in the living room where they sat on the couch. He gasped when he saw Nagito. “Mommy! That man looks dead!!!”. Nagito smiled, but his mom was not amused. “Michael! Apologize..”. The kid kept smiling and said,“Sorry!”. He ran to another room. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. Nagito shook his head.

“Hey, I’m rather malnourished”

“Ha. On an unrelated topic, are you hungry? I could make us something”

“Oh, I shouldn’t linger any longer. I wouldn’t want to disturb your husband”

She laughed. “I know you mean no harm, but I’m not married,” she added. “Oh,” Nagito muttered,“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean it in any way”. She shook her head and reassured him it was fine. “Sit, Nagito,” she pulled out a chair,“I’m not letting you refuse having dinner with us. Especially since you were such help”. She rubbed his back before heading back into the kitchen to begin cooking.

She made him a bowl of pasta, adding chicken on the side. Nagito was quite happy. He hadn’t eaten a good meal in so long. Her kids didn’t eat at the table, but on the counter. Meanwhile, she ate with Nagito. Just as Nagito thought he couldn’t grow fonder of her, he did just that. All she did was let him talk about himself.

“Jesus, I’m sorry about your parents? How are you keeping yourself afloat with university and expenses?”

“Academic scholarships”

“Wow, you’re such a smart boy”

The way she phrased it made him flustered. “Thank you for the meal, ma’am,” he muttered,“I haven’t eaten like this in who knows how long”. She smiled tenderly, picking up his empty plate. “Seconds?”. He shook his head.

“No, thank you. I’m already so full”

“I’m glad. You know, there’s always a meal for you in store if you can do me a favor”

“What’s that?”

“My oldest daughter has her final test this week. You think you can help her study? I’ll make you a nice, warm meal every time you come over”

Nagito thought about it. He would also have time around her. Plus, she wasn’t a bad cook. “Of course, I look forward to it,” he told her. “Lovely”. He got up and excused himself to go home. “It was nice having you over, Nagito,” she said softly. He could tell she was getting sleepy. When people are tired, Nagito has noticed that their tone is rather sheepish. She walked him to the door, ruffling his hair playfully and he blushed. “Goodnight, neighbor”.

“Goodnight, you”

Before he left, she stopped him and handed him a paper: (xxx) xxx-xxxx ♡

“Call me when you get home so I have your number saved. Then, I can call you when my daughter, Vanessa, needs help. Take care, okay?”

He nodded.

She closed the door, his thoughts racing on his way home. He picked up some things about her, things she didn’t even tell him. He went home and opened a notebook, writing all of it down. He called her and she answered, her voice as sweet as when he left (only sleepier). “Hello?”. His breath was heavy without realizing it as he spoke. “H-Hey, you told me to call you,” he breathed,“It’s Nagito...Komaeda”

“Oh, hey, angel! I’m not interrupting anything am I?”

“What? No, it’s all good— why’d you think so?”

“You sound like you need to catch your breath, but anyway, thanks for calling me. I’ve saved your number now”

“Oh, great! Well, if that’s all, I’ll let you go to bed now”

“It was. Goodnight, Nagito”

“G-Goodnight”

He hung up, flustered more than ever as he continued to jot down his thoughts on paper. The next day, he woke up at 6am to wait in his car. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. At around 7:41am, his front neighbor and kids headed for their car. Nagito, who had taken a light nap in the driver’s seat, was awoken by the car starting. He waited for the car to drive away just slightly past his house to start his own car, slowly tailing behind her.

He dropped her kids off at the nearby elementary. She got off, kissed them on their forehead (all minus the eldest, who walked swiftly through the gates). Seeing how she cared for them made Nagito feel bad, but all he did was brush that feeling off. Next, he followed her through her daily. As he did, his notes from last night echoed through his mind, adding new detail.

“She works at an office not everyday She doesn’t have allergies but is sensitive to dust Red seems to be her favorite color but always in a darker shade Her daughter is around 10 years old She isn’t vegan but enjoys almond milk Maybe has an issues with abandonment but I can’t assume that either She buys many apples but not the same amount of bananas at the store so maybe she only eats the bananas—”

Just more to add to his notebook.

He got home before she did, writing down what he had learned. His phone rang about an hour later of him getting home. He picked it up,“Hello?”. “Nagito, hi!”. It was her. He started having a mini-panic attack, because why would she be calling him? “H-Hey, how are you?”

“I’m doing alright. I was wondering if you could come over and tutor Vanessa”

Oh, thank god.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be down there right now”

“Great. See you then!”

He was relieved, heading to her home happily. He knocked on the door. When she opened it, she did so with the same warm smile as yesterday. “Thank you for coming over,” she said,“She’s in her room”. Nagito nodded, freezing when she grabbed his hand and took him to the room. Her touch was so soft, noted. They got to the room, where a girl was reading a book on a desk. “Nessa?”. The girl turned around.

“Nagito is going to be here for a few hours to help you out with homework and studying. He’s really smart, so pay attention and be respectful”

“Okay, mom”

She nodded, squeezing Nagito’s shoulder before leaving. Nagito approached the girl, she took her things out. Before he could speak, she stopped him. “Please don’t call me ‘Nessa’,” she whispered,“It’s bad enough my mom does, but not you, Please”.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on referring to you at all”

“Bastard”

“Nessa”

“I guess I walked right into that one”

Nagito laughed, grabbing a chair and sitting next to her. Her work wasn’t what he expected. Is this what they’re teaching kids now? He could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen this type of stuff until he hit middle school. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t do, but damn. All in all, tutoring went well. Vanessa actually learned something today. “Good job!,” he said. “Thank you,” she smiled and hugged him,“I felt so stupid”.

“Hey, its okay not to understand things”

Her mom walked in. “Dinner’s ready”. Vanessa got up and went to the kitchen. “How’d it go?,” she asked Nagito. “Went well, she gets the math now,” he answered. She smiled, thanking him for his help and asking him to join them for dinner. He’d be foolish not to, so he accepted the invite.

Fish tacos were served tonight with rice and beans, another lemonade made. It was different than anything Nagito had ever had, but that doesn’t equate to bad. He actually enjoyed the meal. The kids sat at the main table today, much more respectful than yesterday. “Michael how was school?”. He put a thumbs up, getting back to eating. “And Adrianna?”. She looked up from her meal and shrugged. “What’s wrong?”.

“I’m tired, but class was okay”

“Oh, okay. When you’re done, just take a quick shower and get to bed”

“Thanks”

Nagito thought it was endearing. Seeing how understanding and loving she was, it was refreshing. The kids all eventually left, Nagito finishing his meal. “Did you like it?”. He looked at her, nodding. “Great! Seconds?”.

“Full again. I don’t usually eat, but your food is always so good”

“Oh, you’re just saying things...”

“No, really! Thank you”

He said his goodbyes to the family, walking back home. It was as if he was falling for this woman more and more everyday. He went to sleep, this time dreaming of her. He never dreams, but this time he dreamt she was on her knees for him. Then, nothing else. It was as if his dream teased him.

The next morning, he woke up to some knocking on the door. He looked at the time. 8:23am. He put on a pair of jeans and his shirt, walking to his door. He opened it and there she stood, wearing a black dress and red heels. He assumed she had work and needed a favor before going. “Good morning,” he said.

“Were you following me yesterday?”

Shit.

“I, uh...,” he didn’t know what to answer. He was indeed following her yesterday. He also liked her, so if he straight up said that he was to following her, it’d ruin things. His face was glowing a shade of pink to a slight red as he thought of the right answer. He was still stumbling over his words. “I think it’s kinda cute,” she added. The fuck? “Huh?”. She pushed him inside the house, closing and locking the door behind him. “When a boy follows someone around, it’s because he wants something,” she added, but her tone was so sultry,“Well, Nagito—”. She pushed him onto the couch, leaning in front of him with her hands on his chest.

“—What do you want?”

None of what was happening felt real. Nagito couldn’t find the words to express what exactly he wanted. This was the first time he’d ever been in a situation like this, it wasn’t a bad one either. He began to panic when she straddled him. “Could it be that you wanted me?,” she asked. He frantically nodded and she laughed as she locked her lips with his. He gasped against her lips, kissing back. She slowly trailed her kisses down to his neck, cupping his jaw while grinding on his lap. Nagito moaned, his shaky hands grabbing her ass. She grabbed his hands and put them away from her. “It’s cute that you’re getting this carried away”.

“I’m sorry”

“No time to apologize. Get on your knees for mommy”

Nagito was about to lose his mind when she said that, but he obeyed. Her presence was domineering as he stood on his knees against his carpeted floor. She spread her legs, noticing Nagito desperately trying to get a look. Her red heel stopped him, stepping on his head lightly. “Am I teasing you?,” she asked,“It’s okay to be honest”.

“Y-You are, but its okay. I want to be teased by you”

“You’re adorable,” she took her heel off his head,“Let’s go to your room”.

He practically ran to his bed. He sat and waited patiently. She entered the room, heading to his bed. She began to take off his shirt, admiring his frame. She then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. He kicked them off and sat down. She sat next to him. “Give me your hands”. She held them, frowning slightly. “Boo, they’re so cold,” she teased,“I’ll warm them up for you”. Carefully, she grabbed his left hand, putting his middle and ring finger in her mouth. She licked to his fingertips, leaving him tense and speechless. She stopped and smiled at him.

“This is your first time, isn’t it?”

He nodded shyly. “Don’t be shy,” she said,“I’m going to guide you, but I’m also going to have my fun”. He gulped, nodded. She stood up and removed her dress. She wore a lacy black bra and panties. She brought his hands to her breasts, allowing him to fondle them. They were huge in his hands. “You like them, baby?”. “Y-Yes,” he muttered,“Can you, uh, take....the bra off?”. He was ashamed when asking, he felt desperate. She smiled and nodded, unhooking it and allowing the bra to fall to the ground. He gasped at the sight of her tits, grabbing them. She straddled him.

“Do you know what to do with them?”

He nodded, rubbing one and sucking the other. She moaned sweetly, grinding on his lap. He popped his mouth off them. That was when she took the opportunity to knock him onto the bed. She began to make out with him, shoving his tongue down her throat. They lay sideways. Her hand was on his neck, slightly choking him. He couldn’t resist but try to grind on her lap. She laughed. “Look at you,” she mocked,“Humping my leg like a desperate little puppy”. She didn’t let him speak, sitting up and pushing him back down. “I’m going to give you what you want,” she whispered in his ear,“Take your cock out”.

He was nervous as he did, hands shaky. She blushed a bit at his size. “It’s so big,” she said, straddling him,“I’m going to have my way with it”. “Please, do what you want to me,” he begged,“Abuse me, please”. She didn’t speak, sinking down on it. Nagito gasped, she was extremely wet. She began to bring her hips up and land straight down on it, repeatedly. She put her hands around his throat, now being rougher. Nagito gasped for air, grabbing her hands.

That was a mistake.

“Hands down,” she ordered, striking him across the face. “Sorr-”. He was slapped once again. “Only speak when you’re spoken to”. He nodded as his stomach began to cave in. His cock twitched each time she slapped him, making her moan. She leaned forward, capturing his earlobe between her teeth. He winced, his hands tangling in the sheets. He felt as though his entire body was blushing.

“You’re so sensitive there”

She teased him, kissing the skin and nibbling. His hips involuntarily snapped upward, making her whine. “You’re so desperate, baby,” she laughed,“it’s so cute”. He could feel her warmth running along his cock. He bit into his hand, trying to stop himself from cumming inside her. It worked, but she didn’t like him doing that. She grabbed his hands and kissed them.

“Don’t hurt yourself, put them right here”

She placed them on her boobs. He watched them bounce up and down, grabbing them gently. His rather large hands seemed small on her tits. He was extremely flushed. He took them off her and placed them on her hips. “Open your mouth”. He lay back more and did as he was told. She leaned forward, grabbing his jaw again as she spit into it and kissed him. He moaned when she did, his urges getting the best to him and thrusting upward. He hit her cervix every time, causing her to produce the sweetest and sluttiest of moans. Her walls tightened around him and now he was whining. “Are you gonna cum, honeybun?,” she asked.

“Y-Yes..”

“Where do you wanna cum?”

“I wanna cum...everywhere. I want it. I want it so bad. I wanna cum inside and on your tits, on your ass, y-your face..mouth. Please let me cum, mommy”

She motivated him, riding him harder. “Come on, Nagito,” she whispered,“Cum for mommy. Cum all the way inside her”. He lost his mind after that, groaning as he shot his load(s) inside her. He was still inside her as he tried catching his breath. She rubbed his chest, shushing him. “Good boy, you did so well,” she cooed,“Such a good boy.” He was covering his face, embarrassed and still hard. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?,” she asked. He shook his head, thinking,“Not rough enough”. He whined when she got off, revealing he was still erect. She noticed.

“You wanna go again, baby? Kids don’t leave school till 2:30. We have time for an extra fuck”

“C-Can I?”

“Yes, dummy”

She let Nagito choose how to fuck her. He wanted missionary, mostly because he craved intimacy and she did not disappoint. She kissed and praised him, telling him he was good. She held onto him the whole time and cuddled him afterwards. Nagito felt so special, he felt loved. “I can come over when I don’t have work,” she said,“Would you like that?”.

“I’d love that actually”

“You make me happy, Nagito. I could stay here and cuddle all day”

“I feel so lucky”

He yawned, looking at the clock. “Its 10,” he told her. She nuzzled his chest, humming. “Mmmm, let’s take a small nap,” she whispered,“Okay?”. “Okay”. He kissed the top of her head and held her to him, slowly joining her in slumber.

#danganronpa #fanfic #danganronpa goodbye despair #smut #dr nagito #sdr2 nagito #nagito headcanons #nagito smut #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda #nagito komeada x reader #x reader #danganronpa nagito

[strayen-fx]

Red.

》 HHJ x reader

》 angst, vampirish theme

》 warnings: mentions of blood, hints of physical assault

》 2.1k words

》 a/n: short and simple, after months of writing break. Hope you guys enjoy regardless :)

“Stay away from them, my dear. Save your blood from the horrors of their fangs. Be wary of solitude, and be wary of the crowd.”

It was a day not unlike any other. My morning kicked off lazily, with me waking up almost an hour later than a college freshman was supposed to. Nothing unusual there. I did my usual morning prep, took a cup of grandma’s tea in one gulp, and went my way. I was already late for the train—I had to run after a departing bus with an exceptional speed that would put Olympiads to shame. I got in the room just in time as the bell rang for first period. I came in huffing like an old man, but it’s alright. Way better than walking through the early jam-packed hallways.

The first aberration in my daily humdrum existence happened on my way to fourth period. A student from another department stopped me on my tracks. I knew him; he was a member of the student council. Was I in some sort of trouble?

He introduced himself as Han Jisung, then proceeded to ask if I have seen his friend.

“He’s tall,” Jisung explained. “But like, not super tall. Not the towering-over-people kind. He has a mole under his eye. He’s got black—no wait, I think he dyed his hair again the other day. Anyway, have you seen someone like him? He’s noticeably handsome. I guess. I’m more handsome, though, but you know what I mean.”

The whole school would know who he is talking about. The one and only Hwang Hyunjin: champion swimmer, council member, and just a general talk of the town. The Prince. Even if I did see him around, though, I wouldn’t know. I never pay attention to the people I walk by.

I shook my head and muttered a soft sorry. I did feel bad for Jisung. He looked so worried and dejected, and I can’t blame him—not after after the incident with Seungmin. I can’t really take it against him to worry about his friends. I sauntered off to my next class, my mind still stuck on the fact that a normal person in my school has actually talked to me, and I was able to keep my composure.

Fifth period: P.E. I don’t even know why we still have this subject in college. I opted to take a stroll instead. You see, a huge, dense forest is situated right behind the main school grounds. You could say that the school itself lies within the bosom of greeneries. Unkempt bushes and rows of towering trees stretched over several miles deep, starting from the edge of the campus to god-knows-where. It is my goal to scout the whole area before graduation.

Weighed down by my personal monstrous beast, I trudged through. I walked for at least fifteen minutes before I finally reached the spot—my spot. Sheet of decaying leaves cushioned a huge gray boulder, standing at least ten feet tall, shaped like an odd piece of egg smashed against the forest floor. Against it stood a larger stone, this one dotted with moss and weathered with cracks. They were propped against each other for support, as if stopping one another from tumbling to the ground.

There was a smaller rock at the foot of the smaller stone, and I use it as leverage to climb up and sit on top of the largest boulder. It was my favorite place. Most times I could just pretend that I was alone in my own tiny bubble, at the center of that clearing that nobody else ventures but me. I don’t feel the breath of people suffocating me with every step that I take. I don’t feel my heart thumping with the sight of anyone else. I don’t need to hold back. Here, I don’t feel weird.

But today felt somehow different.

It was awfully silent. The wind felt sharper and colder. Electricity was humming in the air, leaving my skin prickling with discomfort. There was a tension in my veins that I couldn’t quite explain—it felt like an omen of an incoming disaster.

Time ticked slow. A couple hours could have passed—or maybe it has only been five minutes—when a nearby rustling perked up my senses.

Trying to keep my movements as quiet as possible, I hopped down and took up a defensive position, which wasn’t easy to do for a student with no actual weapon aside from an almost-empty bag and a worn-out calligraphy pen. My instincts told me to take cover—but my feet seemed glued to the ground. Sweat trickled from my forehead. My hands started to feel clammy.

And then, just as I was about to scamper away, a figure crashed into view from behind the nearest oak tree. I almost threw my bag towards the person’s direction, until I had a clear view of the intruder’s face.

It was Hwang Hyunjin, wide-eyed and disoriented, with his cheeks and uniform smudged with traces of blood.

“Help me.”

His voice came out as a tiny croak, as if his throat was filled with acid. He stumbled towards me, reaching out his hand for support. I wasn’t able to move an inch—and who could blame me? The situation was way too hard to process.

Hwang Hyunjin, the university prince, was hunched huffing before me, his clothes caked with mud and dried blood, his hair a nest of mess on his head. He had a cut on his cheek, I noticed. His breathing was heavy and labored, as if the mere act of standing on his own two feet required all the effort he could muster.

“Help me,” he repeated.

“What happened to you?” I managed to blurt out. My initial thought was that some random outsiders kicked his butt for stealing their girlfriends. But no—someone like Hyunjin would have been able to handle that. Plus, something in his eyes showed an elaborate fear—something only a beast would be capable of instilling. I should know.

My heart began thumping faster, a colossal drum barreling in my chest.

Just as my schoolmate was about to open his mouth and explain, a loud rustling broke the stillness of the air. Before I could process what was happening, Hyunjin grabbed my hand and bolted away, dragging me with him.

“Don’t look back!” he warned.

I did.

At least a dozen feet behind us was another male, probably as old as Hyunjin. He was sporting our school uniform, walking casually under the shades of trees as if time wasn’t of any matter. What puzzled me, though, was the fact that we can’t seem to distance ourselves from him despite the heavy efforts Hyunjin had been exerting to drag us both away from this newcomer.

I took another glance behind me, and to my surprise, the young man wasn’t there anymore. Nowhere behind us, as if he dissipated without a single trace.

Hyunjin took a sudden stop, causing me to bump my head against his back. I was about to call him out for stopping, but then I saw the looming figure a few meters in front of us.

“You…?” I began, my mind a juggle of unanswered questions. How on earth did that happen? How is he—

Hyunjin's friend, Kim Seungmin, stood before us in his dirty school uniform. He looked pale, his eyes bloodshot, but he was standing there in full grace, very much alive, giving us a toothy grin. “You’re hurting my feelings, Hyun. Why are you running away from me?”

Hyunjin’s grip on my hand went tighter. “Seungmin...”

“Friends are supposed to help each other, am I right?” Seungmin continued, faux dismay dripping in his voice. He bared his fangs, its tips dripping with fresh blood. “So help me, Hyunjin.”

I felt my body run cold. I wanted to scream, run, anything—anything to get away from this. From him. From the two of them. From everything. But Hyunjin's hand remained strong around my wrist, and my legs were close to turning jelly. I could start to feel the fullness in my mouth, the pointy ends of my incisors. Something that only happens when I'm in an extreme hunger or danger.

“Stay away from them,” grandma said. “We are the same kind, but we are different. Weaker. They see us as preys, as special commodities. They can smell your blood despite my concoctions, my dear, remember this!”

Seungmin tilted his head to one side, finally regarding my presence. “And you, over there. I’ve never tried drinking such special blood.” He grinned. “Satiate my thirst.”

The last thing I knew, a strong hand was pressing tightly around my neck, turning my vision green.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“Have you heard of the news?”

“What news?”

“Kim Seungmin was safe! They found him in the forest yesterday.”

“Thank goodness! Was he hurt?”

“He had a few gashes, but he’s fine. Hyunjin found him and brought him to the hospital right away.”

Students filled the corridor, everyone bustling and hustling about the news: after his sudden disappearance, Seungmin was finally found by his best friend, Hyunjin. The latter saw him in the forest, hungry and disoriented. They went straight to the hospital to treat his minor wounds, and that was that—nobody bothered to ask how he managed to lose himself in the wilderness, or how we managed to survive seven days on his own. Nobody asked him stupid and unnecessary questions. Seungmin was safe, and that was all that mattered.

I brushed my way past the milling crowd, flinching at every accidental touch. I kept my eyes on the ground, forcing my mind into silence. I was expecting everyone to be in their respective classrooms at this time of the day, but apparently, the news of Seungmin’s return has become enough reason for everyone to wander about and neglect their individual duties. It was a grand miscalculation on my part—I hadn’t braced myself for this huge number of people.

Not here. Not now. Not ever.

I just have to get back home, and then it’ll be over. My insides would stop churning once I’ve drunk grandma’s tea—that has worked for 18 years now. I can stop this. I can stop me.

I made a run towards the comfort room. To my luck, nobody was inside. I washed my face over and over, as if doing so would cleanse me from the impurity stamped on every drop of my blood. The face on the mirror horrified me—I had to stop myself from punching the glass over and over.

The moment I stepped out, I felt his presence.

He was there, leaning against the wall, lurking behind the shadows. There was a faint gleam of terror in his eyes, but at the same time, I can feel it: the hunger. Lust for meat. Thirst for blood.

“Don’t be like him, Hyunjin,” I pleaded. “Don’t be like us.”

He shook his head in resignation. “It’s too late.”

He took a step closer. Another. He kept on walking until he stood right in front of me, too close I can feel him breathe.

Too close I can see the faint traces of blood on his lips.

“I’m still hungry,” he sobbed. “I’m still hungry…”

Fear was apparent in his eyes—fear of what would happen to him, fear of what he had become. “You will be fine,” I offered, taking his hand in mine. “Trust me on this. It will be fine.”

And then I felt it, stronger this time—the hunger he was talking about. The thirst. My stomach growled in protest at the sight of Hyunjin’s pale flesh. I can smell his blood—I can feel its steady rhythm as it flowed through his pulsing veins.

I need to get home. Maybe my grandma could do something about Hyunjin, too. Maybe she could produce a stronger tea, and both of us wouldn’t have to worry about our instincts anymore.

We stood next to each other for a full minute before he broke the silence.

“We need each other to survive,” Hyunjin whispered. “If we drink the blood of our own kind, we can last for a month without feeding on others.” He freed his hand from my hold and gripped my shoulders tightly. “I need you. And you need me, too.”Hyunjin leaned down until we were staring at each other at eye level. He closed the distance between us. I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I allowed my monster to take ove.

#stray kids au #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #no i dont know what this is #skz au #skz angst #skz fic #skz ff #stray kids ff #hwang hyunjin au #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin au #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin angst #vampire hyunjin #stray kids vampire au #vampire hyunjin au #vampire hwang hyunjin au #yes i will fill all the tags here because i can and i will #i haven’t written in a while #what is this crap #vampire skz au #vampire kim seungmin #han jisung au #kim seungmin au

[yoongiseesawmp3]

punch me - jungkook

back again with another self indulgent fic! enjoy

summary: daycare worker jungkook invites you, his favorite coworker, to the lake with his friends. why the lake? he wants you to see his new sleeve and whipping his shirt off in the classroom isn’t quite acceptable. plus he just wants to spend more time with you. there’s no harm in that.

warnings: none i think! 

word count: 3.5k

you work at a daycare, which isn’t a bad thing. it’s pretty chill, you like the kids and you can take off work pretty easy because there’s tons of subs. but also, not many people are bringing their kids in lately. so that means you and the other staff have been digging into the snack closet so “they won’t go to waste.”

jungkook was the one who suggested it. well, maybe suggest is the wrong word? he got caught up to his elbows in the bin of sweets, so when he turned to face your boss he immediately went into charming mode so he wouldn’t get in trouble. and once jungkook said it, everyone else thought it was a good idea too. hell, you’ve stopped buying snacks for yourself because you just sneak them from work now. wait. don’t tell anyone that. 

anyway, it was a great idea, but that was two weeks ago. now the snack closet is empty and you have a room full of toddlers on the verge of anarchy because of it. because of jungkook.

you just watched him pass by your room, arms laden with cheez-its and rice krispie treats, and you know for a fact he doesn’t have a class today. he’s only here to touch up the mural he’s been asked to paint near the front desk, so all of those snacks must be for him. 

you get the teacher from next door to keep an eye on your kiddos so you can sneak to the front and steal a couple bags of cheez-its (the kids don’t need their own bag, they’ll never know). but you get there and find yourself distracted from completing your mission.

jungkook is wearing old sweats, spattered with paint here and there, and he’s stooped over a bucket of water with a paintbrush between his teeth. it’s cute. 

“jungkook,” you semi-shout to get his attention. you get a sort of “hmgpfh?” in response, and that’s enough for you. “do you seriously need this many snacks? just for yourself?”

“i’m a growing boy, y/n,” he replies, taking the paintbrush out of his mouth so he can dip it into a paper plate covered in red shades. “you can have one.”

“i need three, actually,” you reply, picking them up as you speak. 

“are you a growing boy too?”

“no, i have six little kids with bad attitudes waiting for me in my room so i’ll be taking these off your hands,” you explain, finally turning to look at the work jungkook has put on the wall. “wow.”

“you like it?” jungkook asks, turning to look at you with a smile and a dancing light in his eyes. “is the tree too much?”

“no, oh my god, this is really good, jungkook,” you assure him, tracing your eyes over the wall full of characters and scenery from various children’s books.

“thank you,” he replies. “it’s better than wiping asses all day.”

“watch your mouth.”

“why don’t you watch it for me?” he quips back, peeking up at you with a smirk.

“what does that even mean, jungkook.”

“just thought i’d try to make you blush,” he says with a shrug. “didn’t work this time.”

“i don’t think it works anytime, actually,” you mumble, but he ignores it.

“hey, are you busy this weekend?” he questions, inspecting a bottle of green before squirting some directly on the wall. 

“are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask with a laugh. you watch him frantically spread the paint around to resemble a bush.

“shut up. are you busy this weekend?” he asks again. 

“i don’t think so, why?”

“come to the lake with me,” he says as he stands up to meet your eyes. “one of my friends convinced his uncle to let us borrow his boat. it’ll be fun.”

“do any of you know how to drive a boat?” you ask. “the safety of all this is what would keep me away.”

“i’m sure yoongi hyung will be able to do it,” jungkook says halfheartedly. “but still, the boat could just stay docked. it would be fun either way.”

“when are you going?” 

“saturday, so i could come by yours and get you on my way?” he asks with a lot of hope in his voice. you shrug before responding.

“why not? sure.”

-

so, jungkook texts you late friday that he’ll pick you up at 7am saturday. what the fuck. you wouldn’t have said yes if you knew you had to leave that early, but jungkook explained that he’s the only one the uncle trusts to have the keys, so he has to get there before the world wakes up. but also, has this man met jungkook? jungkook, being trustworthy with small, easy to lose items? please.

nevertheless, you’re up bright and early on saturday with a very large thermos of coffee. jungkook texts you right at 7 that he’s outside, and when you walk out you see him at the back of his car trying to force something into the trunk.

“whatcha doin?” you ask as you approach, noticing his strong legs in his (surprisingly) short swim trunks. you’re now realizing you’ve never seen him in anything other than baggy pants, so his legs are a little...distracting. 

“trying to keep the beer bottles from rattling,” he says through clenched teeth.

“and you’re trying to fuse them together with sheer force?”

“no, i’m stuffing a towel in between them in the box but it’s really tight.”

“if hoseok were here he’d make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke,” you jest. 

“i thought about it,” jungkook replies. “so i guess that counts?”

as he talks, he rearranges the other things in the trunk so it can close easy, and as he lowers the door he turns to you.

“you look nice,” he says, eyes drifting over you quickly. he notices the coffee cup in your hand and smiles. “any chance that has the sickly sweet creamer in it that i like?”

“how would i know what coffee creamer you like?” you ask, slightly annoyed that he just assumes you pay that much attention to him but also annoyed that you got caught. 

“because you like me,” he replies, grabbing the thermos and taking a sip. “oh my god, i love you.”

“you better be talking to the coffee,” you warn him as you grab the coffee back from him. 

“i’ll say it to you someday,” he promises, walking around to the passenger side of the car before opening your door. “if you let me.”

“what’s gotten into you lately?” you ask with a smile. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a little crush on jungkook, and recently it’s gotten worse. after you started working together, you noticed how many shared friends you have, so you’ve been hanging out more and more the past few months. jungkook has always been more than nice to you, but these flirty little comments are a welcome change. you hope they keep coming.

“is it cool if we stop at the gas station real quick?” he asks as he gets into the driver’s seat. “it’s an hour drive and i need gas and snacks.”

“fine with me. how about cheez-its and rice krispies?” 

“i had my fill of those at work this week, thanks,” jungkook laughs. 

at the gas station, you offer to get the snacks while jungkook stays at the pump. you’re looking for your favorite gas station snack, a crappy fruit and cheese danish that you could eat every day. jungkook finds you bent over in the sweets aisle, ass poking out too much for him to pass by and not push your face right into the premade baked goods. he considers it, because funny, but mean. he also considers passing behind you and smacking your ass as he does so you’ll move. tempting, but maybe too far. he opts for just bending down next to you to see what’s so interesting.

“what are we looking for?” he asks, scanning the labels for something to try.

“cherry and cheese,” you tell him, moving a blueberry danish out of the way, hoping to find what you want, but no luck.

“what? that sounds gross,” jungkook replies as he stands. “you like that?”

“it’s one of my favorites,” you tell him as you move into a squat. jungkook slides behind you and looks for his favorite jelly candy as you keep searching. “what’s so gross about it? they go well together.”

“like us.”

“what?” 

“huh?” jungkook asks, staring down at you with a glint in his eyes. the glare you give him is definitely ignored as jungkook looks back up and spots something on the top shelf. he grabs it and hands it to you. “this what you want?”

“yeah, it is,” you reply. “thanks. get another one for yourself.”

“why?” he asks, screwing his face up in disgust.

“because i know you’ll want to try some even with the way you’re acting right now, and i don’t like sharing.” 

“whatever you say,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “now help me find the sour worms.”

-

jungkook tried the danish, and he hated it. 

have you ever seen a baby eating a lemon? it was like that, except jungkook spat what was in his mouth into his hand and then tossed it out the window of his car as he drove. sure, that whole part was gross, but he looked cute when he didn’t like the danish. who doesn’t love babies making silly faces? 

“i can’t believe you like that, but i can’t believe you convinced me to try it,” jungkook complains.

“kook, i think if i told you electrocuting yourself was fun you would try it just because i said i liked it,” you reply. he thinks about it for a moment before nodding, a slight tint gracing his cheeks.

“you’re right, but that’s not gonna make me finish your gross choice of snack.”

“fine, more for me,” you say, grabbing the discarded treat in the cupholder. you take a bite, not really caring that jungkook’s mouth was on it before you.

“omg.”

“did you just say ‘omg’ out loud?”

“yes, why?”

“you’re a loser,” you laugh, taking another bite, causing jungkook to gasp again. “what?”

“it’s like we just kissed,” he replies, almost giggling through his toothy smile.

“what do you even mean by that.”

“we just swapped spit.”

“you’re disgusting. stop talking.”

“hey, you’re the one that wants to kiss me,” jungkook says with a shrug. you want to protest, but you don’t want to convince him that you’re totally against kissing him. you’d actually very much like to plant your lips on his and never let go, but life doesn’t always give you what you want. jungkook notices your silence and smiles. “you’re not denying it.”

“i’m being polite.”

“mmmhmm,” he replies, failing to hide how pleased he is as he pulls into a treacherously sloped driveway. “we’re here.”

-

it’s turning into a beautiful day. the morning chill is starting to slowly melt away, and you find yourself sweating slightly as you help jungkook move all of the junk from his car. he insisted on doing it himself, but you felt super weird just standing there while he huffed and puffed carrying things back and forth, so you finally jumped in. it’s still just the two of you here, the friend’s uncle had successfully given you both a crash course on how to handle the boat, and you’re confident the two of you can share that info with yoongi when he gets here and hopefully no one will get hurt. 

speaking of yoongi, he said he was a few minutes away, and that was more than a few minutes ago. maybe he and hoseok got lost. the final four (as they’ve been calling themselves all morning) will be here later because taehyung didn’t have a swimsuit and they had to make a pit stop at walmart to get him one. you’re familiar with jungkook’s friends, and comfortable with a couple of them, but you don’t know much about taehyung aside from his interest in art and now his view on the boxer vs briefs debate (he was apparently very picky when trying on said swimsuits). but whatever. they’ll get here eventually. 

before you know it, you and jungkook have unloaded all of the snacks, alcohol and water accessories from his car, so all that’s left to do is hang out until the boys get here. 

“you ready?” jungkook asks, offering you his hand. you give him a questioning look and he motions to the boat. “c’mon, we’re not gonna sit here in the sun while we wait for them. it’s hot as balls.”

“but it’s hot as balls on the boat too,” you counter as you take his outstretched hand and let him pull you behind him on the dock.

“yeah, but at least we’re on a boat.”

he leads you to the edge of the shaky dock and let’s go of your hand momentarily to steady himself as he steps over to the boat. he turns back and offers his hand again, giving yours a squeeze as he guides you over the gap of water. the boat is slippery, so you lose your footing slightly and jungkook reacts quickly by wrapping you in his arms. the boat is bobbing a little too much for your liking, but jungkook is giggling and that distracts you enough from the fact that you could’ve fallen just now. 

as you both stand there awkwardly staring at each other, you don’t notice yoongi’s car pulling up to the top of the hill and its two passengers walking out toward the water. 

“oooh, what do we have here?” hoseok asks as he sees you holding onto each other for dear life. you separate quickly, making the newcomers laugh.

“don’t stop because we’re here,” yoongi replies.

“yeah, i can hug yoongi if it makes things less awkward for you,” hoseok offers.

“please don’t do that,” yoongi quips back.

“i’ll get you when you least expect it, hyung.”

jungkook, still standing very close to you, clears his throat and waves yoongi over. you scoot around them to help hoseok with the bag of food in his hands.

“are you sure you know how to drive a boat, yoongi?” you ask. 

“i’m a fast learner,” he replies.

“that’s not very reassuring.”

“i’ve done it before, y/n,” he laughs. “just not with this kind of motor, but it won’t take long to figure out. everything will be nice and safe, i promise.”

“besides, we have jungkookie here to save you even if hyung throws us overboard,” hoseok jokes.

speaking of jungkook, he’s rustling around the boat, trying to figure out how to put the suncover up. his jacket from this morning has been tossed aside, and he’s in a baggy tank top. you allow yourself a moment to admire the way his muscles ripple as he works when you notice -

“you finished your sleeve?” you ask him. his head snaps up in your direction and he smiles.

“enjoying the show?” he teases.

“answer the question.”

“honestly, i wanted it to be a surprise,” he replies, stretching the arm out and turning it around as best he can.

“so what, you were gonna take your shirt off and punch me and that’s how i was supposed to find out?”

“are you offering?”

“i’m just mad you didn’t take me with you! i was gonna get something this time,” you complain with a slight pout, which jungkook scrunches his nose at. you’re really cute, he thinks to himself.

“my artist called me last minute and said they had an opening, so i went in as soon as i could. i think you were still handling six hungry toddlers,” he explains.

“so is that why you invited me today?” you laugh. “you couldn’t think of a reasonable way to take your shirt off in front of me so i had to come with you to the lake for the big reveal?”

“jungkook, if you say yes, then jin and i are giving you the sex talk. you gotta up your game,” yoongi mumbles.

“no,” jungkook insists, ignoring yoongi. “i invited you today because i think it’ll be fun and i wanted you to be here.”

“and he wanted to see you in a swimsuit,” hoseok adds, pulling some cookies out of the bag of snacks. he offers them to you and you gladly accept. then he turns and pops one into yoongi’s mouth as he yawns, before he tosses one over to jungkook, happily shouting “a cookie for kookie!”

“that’s cute,” you smile, liking the way hoseok babies jungkook. it’s got him flustered, and it’s kind of adorable.

“kook, did you hear that? y/n thinks you’re cute,” hoseok sing-songs.

“i- that’s not...i didn’t say that,” you stumble. “the rhyming was cute. if anything, i called hoseok cute.”

“everyone thinks hobi is cute,” yoongi replies. “but jungkook? eh.”

“eh?!” jungkook shouts. “i’m just eh to you hyung?”

“now you hurt the boy’s feelings,” you tell yoongi, and he shrugs.

“you should’ve just called him cute.”

you look over and notice jungkook is staring at you, an eyebrow quirked in a challenge. hoseok is watching and munching like this is a movie, and yoongi looks between you and the so-called cutie and laughs to himself.

“well?” jungkook asks.

“i mean, yeah, you are cute, sometimes,” you begin. “not when you’re being annoying though.”

“i’m not annoying!”

“yes you are,” hoseok and yoongi agree in unison. jungkook huffs at that and looks back at you.

“now my feelings are hurt again. talk more about me being cute,” he pleads as he finally gives up on the suncover and joins you on the wraparound couch of the boat. he’s looking at you with the absolute worst puppy dog eyes, so you keep going.

“uh, you’re cute with the kids i guess? like when they use you as their personal playground and you’re all giggling. that’s cute,” you offer. “or when the little girls get hurt, they always run to you first and you cheer them up with sweet songs.”

“hmm, family planning perhaps?” you hear hoseok joke with yoongi. 

you would go on (or deny how often you’ve thought about jungkook being a dad) but the other car of boys has finally arrived, so the two instigators leave the boat to help them unload. that leaves you next to jungkook, who’s not done talking about the cute stuff.

“i didn’t know you noticed all of that,” jungkook whispers, suddenly sitting very close to you. you try to act like it’s nothing, but he stops you. “ah ah, now it’s my turn.”

“your turn? for what?”

“for talking about how cute you are,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing ever. if he had his way he would be pulling up a whole powerpoint presentation right now, but he has to rely on his words, which is fine. “first of all, you have great style. you’re maybe the only person who can make the daycare uniform look like a capital o outfit everyday you come in. and the way your eyes light up when a kid tells you a story, or shows you something they made? that’s my favorite. wish you would look at me like that someday.”

“you...what?” you almost can’t believe where this conversation has gone, but it’s making your heart beat faster and you’re not ready for it to stop.

“i wish i could make your eyes light up like i’m the only person you can see,” he clarifies, locking eyes with you. he holds your gaze for a moment before his eyes flick down to your lips. you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close, but the movement was obvious. jungkook wants to kiss you. 

“and what would you do if they did?” you challenge, repeating the same glance from his eyes down to his lips. your gaze lingers a little longer, and when you look back up at jungkook you know what’s coming next. that doesn’t mean it’s not shocking, though.

kissing jungkook is like pulling down a piece of the sun and slamming it into your chest. the warmth that he exudes, and the softness of his lips as they caress yours, it’s perfect. but - 

“wait,” jungkook mumbles against your lips. you pull back, worried.

“what?”

“i did that wrong.”

“wha..how? jungkook, i thought that was nice,” you assure him but he shakes his head.

“i did it wrong,” he insists, looking at you and noticing the shine in your eyes that he was hoping for. “can i kiss you again?”

you nod and let out a quiet “yes” before jungkook is cupping your face and connecting your lips again. this one is stronger, more intentional and you’re glad he wanted to try again. not that the first kiss was bad, your mind is still reeling from that first one. but this feels like a kiss full of love. it feels like a kiss from someone that’s been pining for you over bags of cheez-its and funny kid stories, but they didn’t know how to tell you how badly they wanted to do this. jungkook didn’t know how to tell you, but now he doesn’t have to because this kiss tells you everything you need to know.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook one shot

[after-witch]

Sketch Memory [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sketch Memory [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Chisaki lets you indulge in your little hobbies. But he’s starting to suspect that you’re taking advantage of his “generosity.” 

For request: @hello-lucky-luka​ said: Remember that one ask about overhaul’s angel having a boyfriend? Can I request a scenario where she misses her boyfriend a lot that she draws pictures of him to the point where overhaul got his attention and get jealous?

Word count: 2700ish

You’re not lying, you reason. You’re not, technically speaking, hiding anything. Overhaul never asks to see your sketchbook. And he never said you couldn’t draw someone you know. So the fact that you have been drawing your boyfriend every day since your captor gifted you the hefty, nicely bound thick sketchbook is something you force yourself not to worry about. 

Sometimes you find yourself sketching just a bit of him--his hands holding onto his favorite coffee mug, the profile of his face, looking up, staring at a movie marquee on a date night.

Sometimes you draw his face in all its glory--smiling, frowning, annoyed. When you have lots of energy, lots of drive (which is not often, you feel so tired now, all the time; the lack of movement and weariness of captivity is getting to you) you draw an entire scene. Your favorite is the one you’re doing now, though to be fair, every new drawing is your favorite because it’s new. This one, you admit, is exceptionally special. You’ve drawn him sitting in the park, with a book in his lap.

The park, like everything else, is from memory. You wavered on where to put the tree behind the bench, because you can’t quite remember if it’s off-center or not, and whether or not it had a knot in the trunk towards the bottom or the middle. But it’s realistic, and that’s enough for now.

It’s your boyfriend that gives you the most pride in this piece. You’ve outdone yourself, you really have. He looks… alive. Weighty. Real. Real enough that you wish you’d done this in color and not just with your sketch pencils. Real enough that you close your eyes and imagine you’re in the park, that he’s sitting there with his book, engrossed in a story, so engrossed that he doesn’t see you coming. You stop in your tracks and admire his face, preserve the way he looks so focused, so far-away, to memory. You admire the way the breeze gently blows his hair, and a hand absentmindedly pushes his bangs (he needs a trim, or a style) away from his face before he flips a page.

Finally you can stand it no longer, and though you hate to break his concentration, you glide up to the bench and sit next to him. He jumps, but once he sees its you his body tension melts away and he slides closer until your thighs touch. “Good book?” You ask. He nods, then looks ahead. He looks concerned. Or focused. You’re not sure. “Are you okay?” He gives you a look of surprise, of worry, then a smile. “Of course. I just…” His hand fiddles in his pocket. There’s something there, something bulky and square. “Wanted to ask you something…” Your heart is hammering because you know what’s in his pocket and his hand is moving and he’s about to ask you and you’re smiling--

“Who did you draw?”

You’re not in the park--you’re not in the park--and your boyfriend is not here, and Overhaul is looming above you and he’s looking right at your sketchbook.

You slam the book closed and you know in the instant that you do that it was the wrong move. Defensive. Obvious. Shit, shit, shit shit.

You stare ahead and will yourself not to shake.

“I asked you a question, angel.”

“I…”

You don’t know where it comes from, but the courage to lie comes from somewhere, and you deliberately, slowly reopen your book to the exact page.

“Sorry,” you say, finally, looking up at him. You laugh, breathy and light. His face is impassive, as always. “You scared me. I was really focused, trying to, you know, think of what’s missing.” You pick up a pencil and fiddle with it, make a line here and there, useless things really, to make it look like you want to keep going.

“Mm.”

Your heart is beating so hard that it almost hurts.

“You didn’t answer my question. Who did you draw?” To anyone else, his tone might seem casual, neutral. Bored, even. But you know there’s something simmering underneath, the low threat of perceived bad behavior, the low threat of him sitting you down for “a talk,” or the distant promise returning to a particular small room and confinement. 

You force yourself to smile, nervously. No point in hiding the anxiety that he knows is there, after all. “Oh! It’s,” and in a split second the idea comes to you, genius--”just a character from that book I was reading the other day.” You set your book down and casually--you hope it looks casual--reach up to the shelves installed along the walls behind your desk to pluck the book out. “The one about the guy who came home from war and no one remembered him, so he starts a new life in a new town.”

You set the book back in place and glance up at Chisaki, who stares down at you. You’re about to blurt out something, anything, to fill the silence when he nods. It’s a tension-cutting nod, a nod that tells you you’re okay, you haven’t fucked up, he believes you and you can stop feeling like you’re going to throw up now.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the book.”

He’s fine. You’re fine. It’s fine. For now, you think, for now. You want him to leave before he starts asking more questions.

“Kai?”

“Yes?” His eyes crinkle ever-so-slightly. A smile, you think, behind the mask. Maybe.

You smile in what you hope is a sheepish, not nervous, expression. “Could I take a nap today? I’m feeling kind of tired.”

He doesn’t answer right away, which makes your fingers curl on the hard back of your sketchbook. Does he know?

He reaches out with a gloved hand and there’s a split second of fear--you’re done for--before he simply brushes your cheek. One of his rare, yet increasingly common, touches.

“Of course you can. I’ll set a timer so you don’t sleep too long.”

He turns and leaves your room through he unassuming door that connects to his office and you mumble a quiet thank you as it shuts. He’ll know if you don’t nap--you swear he has cameras in the room, though he denied it when you asked--so you tuck your sketchbook into the drawer of the desk and decide to hop into bed. A nap might help you feel less anxious, anyway. Your captor doesn’t let you nap long enough to dream, so you’ll be spared a nightmare.

**

You wake, almost jerking up, to the sudden, loud beeping of Overhaul’s watch--which is strange, because he usually sits in his office while you nap and wakes you up in a condescendingly gentle manner.

You open your eyes and Chisaki is standing silently next to your bed.

“Um?” You rub your eyes, the gentle rest of the nap falling off you abruptly as you take in the unusual circumstances.

You sit up and oh.

He’d holding your sketchbook.

He’s flipping through your sketchbook.

And he’s really, really pissed off. The air suddenly feels heavy and there’s nothing of the cold staleness that usually permeates your mundane interactions with your captor, the awkwardness replaced instead with the gravity of your situation. For the first time in a long time, you remember who has you captive. You remember what he can do. He could hurt you. He might hurt you. Did you anger him enough to break down whatever barriers that have kept him from hurting you so far?

He flips another page and another and lets out a sarcastic hum of approval. You feel your heart beat faster at every sound.

“Is that his hand? Remarkable shading, but…”

He rips the page out and crumples it, tossing it into the large trashcan before flipping the page. “Ah,” he says, voice low and cruel. “Another one of his face.” He rips that one out with particular gusto but it doesn’t crumple--it explodes, pieces of paper flying into the air. Some of them land on you, in your hair, and you furiously bat at them and your heart hurts and you know you’re tearing up and you don’t care.

“Stop,” you say, weak. A whimper. “Stop it.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks and it’s hard to see.

“Don’t argue with me.” His tone is quick and curt, and you know there will be no mercy, no coddling. No soft hushes and shushes. Only coldness. “You’re already in enough trouble.”

At the word ‘trouble,’ you wrap your arms around your chest. Trouble, trouble, trouble. The word carries memories and connotations. Isolation. Anxiety. Boredom. Helplessness. All things you experience on a daily basis, amplified, rolling together in a thick ball that rests at the bottom of your stomach. You can’t go back in your punishment room.

“Look at me,” he says--and you do. You want to get out of trouble. If that’s possible.

Chisaki doesn’t glare at you, not precisely, but his eyes are stern and unforgiving. You wonder if he’s frowning behind the mask, but maybe it’s better not to know. Once he’s satisfied that you’re paying attention, he continues.

“You are going to get out of bed.  You are going to stand next to me. And then you’re going to rip out every drawing you’ve done of this… trash. And you will throw them away.”

You can feel the bitter, acrid taste of your lunch threatening to rise up to your throat.

“Please.” You’re whispering. You don’t have the strength to talk. “Please don’t make me do that.”

Somehow, you know--you know that if you rip up these pages, you’ll start to forget what your boyfriend looks like. The earliest drawings have the strongest features, the ones you flip to when you’re not sure about something. If those are gone, if every study you’ve done from memory is gone, you’ll forget. Just like you’ve forgotten the combination to your locker at work and the street your favorite bakery was on. You’ll forget, without the pages, without the reminders.

You know this. And Chisaki knows this, too. He always knows what you’re thinking, somehow, someway. If you could get a few steps ahead of him for once, keep yourself guarded, maybe he wouldn’t be able to effect you so much. 

“If you don’t want to destroy drawings of this garbage, I can always pay him a visit.” Your entire body goes rigid and you want to cry out and beg him--no no no--but nothing leaves your throat, thick and tight and trapped. Chisaki’s eyes practically glint as he continues. “It might be more satisfying to destroy the real thing, now that I think about it.”

Something in your throat loosens and you stand up, nearly tripping over your own feet.  You grab the book and he lets you, lets you hold it out in front of you like a burden. “I’ll do it,” you murmur, your body trembling. “I’ll do it, just… just don’t hurt him. Please. Please?” You look up and there’s no softness in his eyes, no agreeable smile that you sometimes see when he’s agreeing to give you a treat (because that is your life now, your captor agreeing to let you watch a movie is a special treat to be celebrated)--just passive coldness.

“Do what I told you, and we’ll see.”

It’s a start.

But now you have to do it.

Your drawings. Your work. Your memory of him. All pages and pencil and smudges and tears. Your entire body is trembling--you feel like the ground is moving, swaying beneath your feet. Your hands shake as you flip open to the nearest page.

An early sketch. One where your boyfriend’s face was so clear in your mind that if you had the skills to make photo realistic work, you might have been able to do it. You try to capture it to your memory but the second your hand moves, rips just a little, it seems to fly away. You pull harder and quickly wrinkle the paper in your hands before tossing it towards the trash bin.

You pause too long, apparently, because Chisaki speaks up.

“Keep going. I won’t tell you again.”

And you do. You tear out page after page, your tears flowing freely. You begin to feel numb, after a while, even as you rip out drawings that took you hours--drawings you poured your soul into, whatever is left of your soul after months and months of captivity.

One more to go.

Your hand gingerly touches the sketch that you’d been so proud of earlier. The last page. The last visual memory left--the only one not ripped apart or crumpled or shredded and nestled in your hair.

 You want to lose yourself in it again. You want to close your eyes and pretend you’re at the park and he’s about to propose and your life will be nothing but sweetness and planning for the future. But the air is too thick and Overhaul is staring and he can’t read your thoughts, but he’ll figure it out anyway.

So you rip the page out of the book and tear it in half, jagged and uneven, before throwing it into the garbage.

Your hand recoils from the ghost-like memory of the paper on your fingers and you press them against your chest, above your heart.

Your boyfriend has probably moved on by now. Maybe he’s months deep into a rebound relationship, finding himself brushing away tears at new firsts with another woman, a woman who can’t replace you but who will heal the wound you left in his heart. Who will heal your wounds?

Chisaki is staring at you, you realize, and you drop your hands. You don’t want him to think you’re fondly reminiscing. He could always change his mind about leaving your boyfriend--your ex? What do you call him? What does he call you, you wonder?--alone.

“We’re going to have a long talk about this later,” he says, voice leaving no room for argument. He pauses, and your chest feels tight. Will he tell you that you’re being sent to the quiet room? The thought of being there for days, alone, unable to do anything, barely able to move in the tight surroundings makes you shake and you dig your nails into your arm.

“You can stay in your room. You listened well.”

You swallow, throat tight, and nod. You almost want to smile. You don’t have to go back there, if you listen. You know how to listen, when it comes down to it.

Chisaki glances down at the trash bin and picks it up with his gloved hands, dragging it towards the door.

“One more thing,” he says, glancing back at you.

“Go wash your hands. They’re filthy.”

#yandere overhaul #yandere kai chisaki #overhaul x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

[euphoriyoongi]

Yoongi Historical au/ Royalty au

prompt requested: number 7:

I’m secretly in love with you but you never seemed to give me the time of day but you all of a sudden tell me you love me and my only thought was to make out with you.

Summary:

As the daughter of the military director, you’ve always had a liking towards the crown prince, Yoongi. Now, many years later, as your secretly in love with him, he’s secretly in love with you.

Pairing: prince!yoongi x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: royalty! au, historical au, friends to lovers

Warnings: none.

_________________________________________________

Joseon Era.

As a child, you dreamed to marry Yoongi. Too bad he was way out of your league.

Not look wise, but rank wise.

He was the only son of the king, heir to the throne. Now you were decently high up as well, being the daughter of the military head, but not even close to being able to even dream about him.

You didn't have a chance. Not even a thought. It's not like he would even like you back anyway, given how he was never one to look into your eyes when you'd speak to him, as if talking to you wasn't important anyway.

As you both aged together, you've noticed him always walk around the palace without any guards, always sneaking around to be alone. He'd never want any attention drawn to him, and if you would wave your hand to say hi, well, chances are that he would walk right past you.

It was hard, as the years flew by and you were still left with the heart wrenching feeling of a one-sided love. It was long enough to call it that, since you have been into him since you laid eyes on him.

Your father and the king were very good friends, and would often bring you to visit him whenever they'd have something to chat about. So you would sit off the the side with Yoongi, who never seemed to be able to replace the frown on his face with a smile.

The only time you had ever seen a smile on his face was when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, only for him to drop it as soon as you turned towards him.

Now in your mid twenties, your father is begging you to marry. You are at the age where you should have at least two kids now. For you to be single and constantly training to become a good fighter just like your father was, you didn't believe you had time for children. And anyway, ever since you turned fifteen to now, you used the excuse that you wished to marry when you met the one.

Your father now tried to bring up the conversation of marriage at this moment, and you stood pin straight, facing the target ahead of you with a bow and arrow in hand, ready to shoot. "But y/n, you really have to think about how important it is. You'll be thirty years old in no time!" He exclaimed, and as he slammed his foot down in irritation, you let the bow slide through your fingers, releasing it only for it to hit the corner of the target.

Groaning, you drop the bow to your side. "Father, I have more important things to be doing." You hummed, giving him the side eye as he stared at you with worry. You reached up to dry a patch of sweat on your forehead.

You used to tell him how much you wanted to marry the prince as a kid, but now it seemed too childish to use as an excuse. She knew she would never be able to marry him anyway, since he probably would have to be married to someone specific.

Yoongi was quite the character. He rarely spoke, but always wanted to leave the palace and go into the town, where his friends would live. He had a select few, and would also run into you as you went on errands.

Whenever he'd spot you, either in the palace or town, he'd stare at you for a moment and look away, almost telling himself not to even pay attention to you. It always made you upset, making you wonder why he would never pay attention to you. It's not like he didn't know you.

You lived your whole life pining over him. From the way he slightly dragged his feet across the dirt, to the way he would always wear a large hat to hide his face whenever he'd leave the palace, you loved him. He was the person you wished to marry even after all these years.

It seemed childish, yes. But if you were to marry and bear children, it would have to be to him. And if it wasn't him, well, it was no one. But your dad didn't need to know that information. "Listen, father, I will marry when I find the one." You said to him, lifting up your bow to shoot another arrow. "Just give me time."

He seemed to understand that you were trying to focus, and stepped back a few feet. Hearing him sigh, you gave him a side eye. "Okay okay. I'm sorry. I just want the best for you." He smiled, giving you a little bow in respect. "I'm off to meet the king for lunch. If you would like to pay your regards to him, let me know."

The arrow slipped through your hand again, now completely missing the target board all together. "Will the prince be there?" You didn't mean to ask this, but you couldn't help it. You haven't seen Yoongi for weeks, and you wished to see his beautiful face again. Would it be so vain to just..use the king as an excuse to see him?

Now, the king loved you. He wished Yoongi was as dedicated as you were, and always asked to see you when your father would visit. You had wished that he would ask you to marry his son, but knowing that it would make no impact with the kingdom, it was out of the question. He was probably just happy with his son having a friend of sorts.

Your father let a smirk reach his lips. "Hm. I'm sure he would be, if he's not galavanting in the village or anything."

Maybe she should stop by to greet the king. "I'll come with you." You said, smiling without paying attention. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see me."

Your father laughed. "I'm sure someone else would be happier."

"Greetings, your majesty." You bowed along side of your father as you stood in front of the king, who was sitting under the pavilion.

Smiling, the king beckoned you both to come under the shade of the pavilion.

Sitting next to him was Yoongi, who looked bored out of his mind. His gaze didn't even reach you, and you looked away from him and back to the king as you walked up the stairs. So much for coming here to see him.

The meal went on, your dad chatting with the king and talking about marriage. You pretty much tuned the whole thing out, given that you say next to Yoongi, who scooted over in the opposite direction of you.

Ouch. Now you knew you really didn't have a chance with him.

"I'm surprised you're sitting down with us, my son." The king bellowed, smiling at Yoongi who sat to his right, you sitting next to Yoongi. He huffed and picked up his utensils to start eating. "Usually you're out in the village—undercover I hope."

Yoongi hummed, not even answering with a word, and continued to eat, and the king brought his attention elsewhere. He faced your dad, smiling. "So, I'm surprised your daughter isn't married yet! My my, what a beauty."

You glanced over to Yoongi, who still stared down at his food. "Yeah, she has a few men lined up to marry her." Your father laughed, making the king chuckle as well. Yoongi finally looked up when he heard those words, now paying full attention to the conversation as he gripped his silk gown tightly in his fist.

"Oh I always wondered why a beautiful girl like her was still unwed." The king smiled over at you, and glanced at his son, who seemed to turn a bit red. "Im sure the wedding will be soon then, eh?"

Your dad hummed as he drank some rice wine. "Ah, yes. Whoever is her husband is sure one lucky guy."

"Why would be be lucky?" Yoongi scoffed, sipping his drink. "She's not even that pretty."

Silence. You nearly dropped your cup as he said this, staring at him with wide eyes.

Your dad cleared his throat and set down his cup. "Well at least you spoke today. I haven't heard your voice in ages..." he carried off, seeming offended by Yoongi's choice of words that were against his beloved daughter.

The king glared at his son. "Yoongi, that is no way to talk to our guests." He then looked over at you, noticing your dumbstruck look. "Please forgive him, he doesn't really socialize well."

Yoongi scoffed again, now slamming his cup against the table. "Why are you guys even pestering her about marriage, anyway? She has no chance with anyone other than—" he cut himself off, looking at you with a solemn expression out of all of his anger. When he noticed your eyes droop away from him and down the the table, he sighed and didn't finish what he was going to say.

Everyone was quiet. The sudden outburst from Yoongi put everyone off, even his father. As Yoongi glanced from your dad to you, you had enough of this degrading. Even though he was the one you dreamed to be with, it wasn't right for him to say those things about you.

You stood up and bowed. "I will take my leave." You said, looking to the king and to your father. "Thank you, your majesty."

He signaled oh that it was okay to leave, and you nearly ran down the steps as if to get away from the embarrassment. How did you not know that Yoongi felt so strongly for you in the most opposite way you wanted? What was the reason for him to hate you—

"Y/n!" You heard a voice yell behind you, the smack of footsteps getting louder and louder. You had stopped in your tracks, standing next to your favorite tree in the palace, the beautiful cherry blossom.

It was Yoongi behind you. He had reached you, now bent over and out of breath as if he just ran a mile. "Ah, you're fast."

You turned around with your arms across your chest. "What do you want?" You looked at him in the eye, and he stared back, nearly begging for forgiveness.

He sighed, kicking a rock that was near his feet. "I uh..." he carried off, now not being able to look at you.

No matter how mean he was to you, he always looked stunningly beautiful. His long dark hair was pulled up, his silky gown matching his hair. He had quite the scar across his cheek, but it made him more attractive in her eyes. As he stumbled on his words, you took the chance to speak. “Listen, your highness, I don’t what to hear your explanation.” You seethe, upset about how he feels towards you. “I don’t know what you were trying to say back there, but I got the message. Clearly.” You growled, turning away from him as you kept your tears in check.

Yoongi reached his arm out to touch your shoulder, making you jump. “What? What are you doing?” You asked, looking down at the ground once again, seeing the rock that he kicked was now near your feet.

“I just…” he carried off again, unable to speak the words on his mind.

You needed to get out of here before the tears began to fall. You were the daughter of the military head, how dare you cry over a boy. At least that’s what you tell yourself. You turned around quickly. “No, your highness, I’m not going to stand here and listen to how ugly I am. How I’m never going to be married because of my looks, how I—“

“I love you.” He sputtered out, looking anywhere but your eyes. “I’ve loved you since you taught me how to sword fight…and when you told me my scar was beautiful..” he carried on, now looking into your eyes with a small smile on his lips. “I didn’t mean any of that stuff back there, I was just upset to picture you..getting married to someone else.”

You were shocked. You stood there, your eyes wide open, standing in front of the man you always wished had feelings for you. And now he’s spilling his guts about how he loved you and—well, what the hell?

He stared into your eyes with worry. You weren’t saying anything back, and just when he was going to say something else, you leaned forward and let your lips touch his, out in the open courtyard for anyone to see.

You kissed him with all of the emotions you held back for as long as you could remember, and it startled him. He didn’t kiss back immediately, but as you pushed your body into his and gripped the back of his head to deepen it, he pushed his face towards you and grabbed onto your hips, pulling them flush against his.

His lips tasted like the cherry blossom tea that he drank, and his hands felt like ecstasy as they nearly tore through your clothing. His touch was like a drug you so desperately needed, and the taste of him made you feel even higher.

All that time you dreamed of kissing him could never live up to this moment, and when you pulled away, your hands still cradling his face, his still resting on your hips, he stared into your eyes and began to chuckle. You laughed back, resting your forehead on his.

“So,” he trailed on, his smile visible. “I’ll take that as an I love you too..?”

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fanfic #min yoongi #friends to lovers #daechwita #royalty au #historical au #bts royal au #bts historical au