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darlingofvalyria · 7 months

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❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

#dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond #aemond smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond angst #aemond dark #hotd smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic

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hwaslayer · 5 months

Text

project: make you love me (jyh) | ten.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 5.2k (sorry i know i said 5.5k.. had to chop off a bit and move it onto the next chapter lol)

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, flashback scene, yuyu and yeosang find themselves at a house party ayeee 🤪, yeosang assuming the role of wingman, alcohol consumption, intoxication, a sprinkle of seonghwa, dancing/throwing ass back, cute funny drunk yunho lol, making out, dry humping, sleepovers 😙

one night - sire | mi gente - j balvin | dj turn it up - yellow claw

Yunho looks at himself in the mirror, letting out a deep sigh. He opted for a simple outfit— one that could keep him cool in a packed house and not be too extra for a party. But, the longer he stares at it, the more he feels like he could do better. Or, maybe, you might not even notice him or think much of him in this outfit.

How does he do this?

Honestly, he's not even sure what constitutes a 'house party' outfit.

"Nice." Yeosang nods as he stands near Yunho's doorway.

"It's too plain, isn't it?" Yunho eyes Yeosang's outfit. He's in a loose, black sleeveless top, a bomber jacket, jeans and boots.

"No, why? It's fine." It's Yeosang's turn to eye Yunho in his fit, and he honestly thinks it's perfect for tonight's events. Yunho opted for black jeans, a white Stussy shirt, and his converse. He has a silver bracelet dangling around his wrist, cologne sitting at the corner of his dresser. Yeosang doesn't smell it on him yet, but he thinks it's because Yunho is questioning whether it's too much or not. "You look good."

"Should I add some cologne? A light jacket?"

"Add the cologne." Yeosang laughs. "But, not the jacket. I'm literally only going in this because I'm just there for a few drinks and to be a wingman. Then, I'll see myself out." Yunho smiles and nods.

"Hm." Yunho hums. "I'm just going there for a bit, too."

"Mm, but you're going there to hang out with Y/N and grab her for a few dances. I refuse to leave until you get a moment with her."

"I don't know. What if she doesn't wanna, though? I'm not gonna force her."

"Seriously? With all the little walks you guys take and your study sessions?" Yeosang smirks. "Right." He looks at his phone. "Anyway, we're a bit late. Wanna take a shot or two and walk over?" Yunho shrugs.

"Sure." Yunho takes one last look at himself before spraying a bit of cologne and meeting Yeosang in the kitchen. Yunho doesn't like to drink much because he hates the feeling, especially the next morning. But tonight, he was feeling a little more bold— like he could use the extra liquid courage to be less nervous around you.

Not that he needed it, but it was a party. He'd like to be of some fun for you.

By the time Yunho heads out to the kitchen, Yeosang already has 2 red cups ready to go. He tilts the cup to the side, peeking at how much alcohol was inside—

Yeosang must have wanted him to die.

"This isn't a shot or two. This is half the bottle." Yeosang laughs and shakes his head.

"Not even. I swear dude, you'll be fine. We can pace ourselves when we get there. Plus who knows, they might've taken all the alcohol already."

"It's only been 30 minutes since the party started."

"A lot can happen in 30 minutes." Yeosang picks up his cup and raises it in the air. "Cheers?" Yunho shrugs and taps his cup against his, internally dying at how much alcohol is in his cup.

"Cheers." Yunho swallows the first half in a big gulp before cracking open the coke can. He takes a sip before gulping down the last bit and making a face at Yeosang. "Don't ever do that again."

"You're welcome." Yeosang laughs. "Let's head out and get your girl." Yunho shakes his head, quickly cleaning the kitchen before shutting off the lights and following Yeosang out. Luckily, the party is at a house right behind the complex, so Yeosang and Yunho aren't having to walk too far. As they approach the community, Yunho can already hear the music blasting from down the street, followed by a few echoes of loud yells and cheers. Hearing the noise makes him feel a bit anxious, and he's starting to regret his decision based off of it alone.

But, he commits. He knows he'll see you soon, and things will feel a bit better.

It does help knowing Yeosang joined to make him feel more comfortable.

Approaching the house, Yunho can see that there are people packed on the first floor of the house and into the backyard. He follows Yeosang in, squeezing his way past all the drunk people to head to the kitchen.

"Here, gonna make you a drink to sip on." Yeosang says, pointing at the counter where all the liquor and soda are laid out. Yunho continues to follow along, even if his eyes are searching high and low for you. He hasn't seen you yet, and he's hoping he does soon.

He really just wants to find you and be with you.

♣︎ FLASHBACK

Yunho kicks the rocks beneath his shoes, hands dug deep into his pockets as he patiently waits at the end of the path. He's anxious, and a bit nervous; but overall, happy to finally see you. His head shoots up the moment he hears a door click close, footsteps jogging down the steps.

"Yunho!" You softly squeal, giggling as you run straight into his arms. He wraps you into a bear hug, slightly swinging you around before placing you back down onto your feet.

"Hey cutie."

"I missed you! You're actually here."

"I told you I came home early." You chuckle before gently squeezing his bicep.

"I know, but it's nice to know it's real." You smile. "What have you been up to?"

"Not much. How was your drive over?"

"I fell asleep for most of it. We stopped at a pitstop to grab more grub, but otherwise, it was okay." He nods.

"Club was fun last night?"

"Sooo much fun! I met so many new friends, and the DJ was so good! It was such a good time. I wish you had been there."

"I wish I was too. But, next time. Yeah?" You nod.

"Sounds like a plan."

"I'm happy you had fun, though. You deserved it, all of it." You link your arm around his, absentmindedly following him to his car. You don't realize it until he's opening the car door, gesturing at you to wait until he grabs a few things from the seat. "I have something for you."

"What is it?" Your eyes sparkle as you stand and wait.

"You said you needed to get new lavender for your room, right?" You remember texting him that a few days ago, and you can't help but smile at Yunho's attention to detail.

"Are you serious?" You slightly pout when he hands you the small bouquet of lavender, plus a smaller bag.

"I-I also found those persimmons you like so much." He scratches at the nape of his neck, nervously watching you eye the gifts. Your expression is a tad bit unreadable, and Yunho can't really tell if he's crossed a line or if he's okay. But, to his surprise, you set the things down onto the trunk of the car and jump back into his arms.

"Yunho, you really are the best. Thank you for all of this."

"Of course. I guess it's my odd way of saying congrats?" You giggle, allowing him to press a small kiss against your temple.

♣︎ END

But, unluckily for you, you're having to deal with a drunk Seonghwa who doesn't seem to get the point. You had been avoiding him since you arrived, sticking close to a few other friends in the backyard while watching an intense game of beer pong taking place. The moment you stepped away to go find your bestfriends, Seonghwa comes stumbling out of nowhere— ziplining straight to you once he spots you.

"Babygirl, can we talk?" You can smell the liquor on him, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist. "I've missed you. I've been waiting for you all night. Just give me a few mins—"

"Not now. I'm trying to find my friends."

"Your friends?"

"Seonghwa." You warn him because you know exactly where this is going.

"You sure it isn't Yunho? I hope it isn't." Seonghwa laughs at the possibility even though your expression confirms the answer.

"And if it is, then what? At the end of the day, it isn't your business." Seonghwa scoffs.

"Are you serious? I don't get you. I don't get it. I've been turning everyone down for you, and you don't even realize—"

"Okay, then go do whatever the fuck you want Seonghwa! No one asked you to do that, I told you this was over. Stop keeping tabs on me." You rip your hand from his grip even as he continues to call for you, walking away from the hallway into the crowded, but hyped living room. Every single person in the room was dancing; either with friends or with another person. You catch a glimpse of Yunho standing against the wall with Mingi and Yeosang, flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. He sips on his drink, eyes meeting yours across the room. You're in this cute cargo mini skirt, a cropped tee and Nike dunks.

Goddamn, you look good.

And if it wasn't for all this liquid courage, he wouldn't be thinking about grabbing you for a dance— just for funsies. Bonus that he gets you, all of you, to himself tonight.

You didn't even expect Yunho to show up at this point, being that he's said time and time again that he wasn't into parties. But, you're glad he is. Mingi and Yeosang must have done a lot of convincing, which they did. Though, the other part of it was the fact that he knew you'd be here and that might give him another opportunity to get even closer to you.

"Hey, what the fuck was that about?" Chaery pulls you out of your little staring contest when she comes out of the kitchen and gently squeezes your arm.

"Just Seonghwa being Seonghwa, what else?" You roll your eyes, still appalled at Seonghwa's audacity to try and gatekeep you for the night even though you're well aware there isn't one truthful bone in his body. You ended this, and you had no plans on falling back into his trap tonight.

Not on the agenda.

"Dude, forget him, let's just have fun." Soobin says, pointing at your group of friends in the corner of the room. "Everyone else is over there." You follow them over, eyes glancing over to Yunho again. He's still conversing with Mingi and Yeosang, though his eyes follow yours mid-convo. It's almost like he's waiting for you, or waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his move. You're hoping he does, but you also have no problem making the first move.

Yunho is so, so attractive.

You would be lying if you said your feelings for Yunho weren't growing by the second.

You meet up with your friends in the living room; Hyunjin, Jongho, Taehyun, Minnie and Yeonjun already dancing along to the song and showing off their moves. You, Seungmin, Soobin and Chaery join along, before Yeonjun is passing his flask around so that your group can take more shots together. At this point, you're tipsy and definitely feeling yourself more as the alcohol continues to run through your veins.

Feeling yourself, feeling bold, feeling good despite Seonghwa trying to ruin your night and be all possessive— who the fuck was he to act that way? He didn't want it in the first place, so you'll give him a little taste of his own medicine.

You can't help but turn over your shoulder to see Yunho bouncing along to the beat while Mingi is scoping the room. You can tell he's trying to get Yunho to explore and find himself a cutie to dance with, but he responds with a laugh and a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours [yet again for the umpteenth time tonight] and the tension suddenly increases tenfold through his look alone. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips before he's giving you a small smirk.

You want him.

"Why don't you dance with him instead of eyeing him the entire night?" Chaery says in your ear, making you drunkily giggle.

"I'm too shy."

"Shut up, since when? You look so good tonight, fuck Seonghwa. I refuse to let him ruin your night. Get up on Jeong Yunho, now." She quickly glances at him. "He clearly wants you too." Suddenly, the lights in the living room shut off, obnoxious, colorful disco lights filling different corners of the room. It's clear that the intention behind shutting off the lights was to get everyone to the highest level of hoe tonight, and it's working—

Hyunjin is dancing with Minnie, Soobin and Yeonjun are dancing with some other girls in your class.

Even Seungmin is pulling Chaery to the middle for a fun, platonic dance.

"Go for it, dude." Yeosang says to Yunho, gently nudging his arm. "She'll be out there any second."

"Y/N come out here!" Chaery yells, pulling you deeper into the dance floor with Seungmin. You know she's plotting on getting you closer to Yunho because the two of them are only an arms-length away from where Yeosang, Yunho and Mingi stand. You laugh and dance around with your bestfriends anyway, until you feel a hand gently grab at your wrist and pull you from the crowd. You turn to see Yunho smiling, pulling you flush to his body before grabbing your hips. Mingi is focused on his dance with one of the seniors, leaning back against the wall as she works her ass against him, while Yeosang is pursing his lips together to prevent himself from smiling at you and Yunho dancing together.

And Seonghwa? He shouldn't give a fuck, but he does. Especially when he sits on the random bar stool and catches you having fun with Yunho [out of all fucking people], his girl for the night whining for his attention in between his legs. The worst part is that Yunho can fucking dance.

The sly motherfucker has gigs and can keep up with your rhythm. Since when?

It looks so natural for the two of you to be all up on each other like this, and it makes Seonghwa so fucking annoyed, slightly sick to his stomach even. How the hell was he gonna lose his main chick over Jeong Yunho?

But, you could care less about what he has to think. Right now, all you can think about is Yunho giving your hips a squeeze, fingers hooked into the belt loops of your skirt as he dances against you and works with your rhythm. What a turn on.

After a couple of songs, it's transitioning into yet another song and you're worked the fuck out. You turn to face him, giggling as he keeps you close and rests his hands around your hips.

"Thanks for the dance." You tell him in his ear, hand resting on the nape of his neck.

"Are you staying for awhile?" He asks, pulling back slightly just to read your expression.

"I was, but I don't mind leaving early." He looks at you again, a small smile on the corner of his lips.

"Wanna get outta here then? I'm kinda over it." You chuckle and nod.

"Let me just tell Chaery." You look over at Yeosang, who is still observing the party with another friend of his. "What about Yeosang?" Yeosang hears you and shakes his head with a smile on his face, deciding he'll be home later just to give you and Yunho some alone time.

"No, it's alright. I'm gonna stay and catch up with more people." He lies. You nod, hand laced with Yunho's as you navigate the crowd and gently pull Chaery by the arm. She waves happily at Yunho before she's dipping forward to hear what you have to say.

"I'm gonna head out early." Her eyes widen before she squeals.

"Oh my god! Yes! Be safe, okay?" She points at Yunho. "You better take care of her or I'm chopping your shit off, for real." He winces.

"Yeah, don't worry. I got her."

"See you later!"

"Or not, don't come home! That's fine, too!" Seungmin drunkly adds, making you roll your eyes as you both continue to through the crowd and out of the house.

"Thank god." He says the moment you two step out of the door and get hit with the fresh, evening air. You chuckle as you make your way out of the front yard and out onto the street, finally feeling free from suffering at a crowded, stuffy frat party.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here." You look down at your hands still clasped together. As the cold hits, you're realizing you're still quite drunk and Yunho is too. He's much more talkative and giggly tonight. You like it.

"I wasn't either." He chuckles. "But Yeo and Mingi.."

"They did a lot to convince you, it seems." He shrugs.

"That. And, maybe the fact that I knew you were coming?" You shoot him a look before smiling down at the ground.

"You know you don't have to use the party as an excuse to hang out with me more, right?"

"I don't know, you're a really pretty girl who has a really busy schedule. Thought it was a good way to sneak myself in a bit more outside of school and friends." You snort and nod.

"Yunho, I like your company. We can always hang out. You don't have to subject yourself to this mess."

"Eh, I'd say it was still worth it." You giggle.

"So, where are we going?"

"Down the street and back to my place?" He asks nervously. "If that's okay with you, of course. There's really no intention behind it, and I know you wanted to see my place, so I just—"

"I'd like that." He smiles. God, the fucking boldness spewing out of him right now— who is he?

"Okay." The walk is back up the hill, super quick and nothing too treacherous. Though, it seems like it lasts for 5 seconds when you're holding Yunho's hand and listening to him talk about everything he's observed at the party. He's making you laugh so much that you don't even remember the last time you had a stomach ache from someone telling you their party experiences. Everything is just so natural with Yunho, you can't help but accept the fact that your feelings for him do grow every second you're near him.

"Oh my god, I think I got a workout from that walk alone." He chuckles as he unlocks his door and steps aside to let you in.

"Good, at least our workout is covered for the weekend." You look around at the apartment. It's bare, but it's clean. They have a couch with a coffee table in the living room and a good sized tv. The kitchen is spotless, with a few containers of protein and Shaker bottles lying around the counter [thanks to Yeosang] and some bread and fruits off to the side.

"Wow, it's cozy and clean." Yunho chuckles.

"We try to keep it clean." He looks at you with glossy, drunk-dazed eyes. "And guess what? It's really hard." You snort.

"I beg to differ. You and Yeosang do a good job." He pops into the fridge and flashes a water bottle.

"Well, that's always good to hear." He laughs a bit. "Need some water?"

"Please." He smiles as he hands you the bottle in his hand. You both take a good gulp or two before Yunho starts to slowly walk down the hallway.

"Quick tour - Yeosang's room, my room." He smiles. "End of tour." You laugh.

"Thank you for that."

"Do you wanna hang out in my room or out here? It's up to you, I don't mind either way. Just want you to be comfortable." He says. You point to his door and he simply nods. He swings the door open to his room and it almost surprises you how neat it is inside. You're only peering in from the hallway though, carefully taking steps into his room before you're fully in his space, eyes wandering from wall to wall. He has a drawer against one wall, with a few figurines lining the top surface. He has a corner desk with two monitors, probably to help with his gaming [you assume; Seungmin and Soobin have been trying to do this setup for ages], and a good sized bed that has its navy sheets neatly fixed. His room isn't entirely huge, so it's obvious he's tried to utilize his space as much as possible.

"I feel like I'm intruding in your space, though." You say as you continue to eye his room. Yunho comes behind you, watching as you observe the surroundings.

"Trust me, you're not." He says softly from behind. You feel his presence close in on you from behind, chest almost grazing your back. "You can relax." He chuckles a bit, hoping it'll help you feel a little better. And he thinks it works, especially when you start to walk towards his drawer and carefully run your hand across his figurines and special edition funko pops. They were mostly given to him throughout the years by his older cousins. The gifts will always be special to him, especially now that they've all moved to various places around the world and he rarely ever sees them anymore.

"Do you collect these?" Your eyes are still on the figurines while Yunho follows behind. He shakes his head as if you can see him.

"Not really, my cousins gifted me those."

"Sweet." You glance at him with a small smile. Then, your attention darts to the random pile of photos sitting at the corner. Your hands almost get ahead of themselves, beginning to reach over to grab them when you pause— "Pictures?" You look at him with that doe-eyed look again and he melts a bit.

"I found them while cleaning out a few things. It's mostly with my cousins and—"

"Baby Yunho with mom?!" You raise up a picture, one that has baby Yunho in a hat, striped t-shirt and shorts. He's sitting on the lap of who you presume is his mother, throwing up a thumbs up with a huge, hearty smile. "You are so cute, look at you!" He blushes, but he takes the photo from your hand and snags the others before you can see anything else embarrassing.

"Uh, yeah. That's mom. I need to get a frame for these, but until then—"

"Let me see the others!" You pout, trying to reach for the others in his hand. He raises it, laughing at your effort when he's damn near as tall as the Salesforce Tower in SF. It's so adorable, and so, so endearing that you want to see this so badly. "Yunho, hey." You whine. "That's not fair. I wanna see baby Yunho with his cousins."

"You will, once I frame them and make it look more presentable." You give him an unsure look and he smiles. "Promise." You huff and scrunch your nose. "You're really, really cute, you know that?"

"If you think this is gonna make me forget about it, it's not gonna work Jeong Yunho." You look up at him as he closes the distance between you two.

"Oh, it's not?" He teases, his face dipping down towards you in an angle that'll make it so easy for him to just kiss you, indulge in you, right at this moment.

"Mm, no." You subtly bite onto your bottom lip, but Yunho catches it. There's a small pause, some silence sitting in the air while Yunho's eyes are darting to your features— the mole near your bottom eye lid, long, thick lashes, plump lips.

Yeah, he wants to kiss you.

"Y/N?" He breaks the silence first.

"Mhm?" His lips only a mere inches away from yours at this point and it's obvious where this is going. God, you can't wait.

"Is it okay if I..?" You nod quietly as Yunho leans in to meet your lips. At first, the kiss is soft, sweet. He only pulls back to quickly read your expression, but it doesn't last for long when you're pulling him by the shirt for another kiss. This time, it's deeper. There's hunger, there's need, there's want. Yunho quickly drops the photos back on top of the drawer before cupping your cheeks. His tongue lines your bottom lip before inserting it in, a small whimper leaving your mouth when his tongue starts to dance around with yours. You push him back so that he plops onto his bed, boldly climbing onto his lap without a care in the world as you continue to messily make out with him. The quick moment you release your lips from his, he's chasing after your bottom lip— gently sucking onto it and biting it before pulling back. One hand is at your waist, fingers starting to hook onto the belt loop of your skirt when he feels you subtly grind against him. He lets out a breath while the other hand gently squeezes at your thigh before coming up to cup your cheek. He kisses you on the lips once more before he trails down your jaw, feeling your hips working against him as you let out small moans.

Your skirt is barely doing justice to cover you at this point, and it's driving Yunho crazy.

But, that's what brings him back to reality. Though it's hard as fuck to fully come back down from cloud nine, he doesn't wanna do this the wrong way. He wants to take you out first, wants to treat you properly and have your first time [if ever] naturally occur— not a drip of intoxication. You were worth much more than that, and he was not trying to be another Park Seonghwa who solely treated you like an object, a 'prized' possession; another body he could add to his list.

"Wait, wait." He whispers near your ear after prying his lips off of your jaw.

"What's wrong?" You look at him with some sort of fear, or worry. Yunho immediately shakes his head in response because there's nothing wrong with you; he just wants to do right by you.

"As much as I really, really wanna do this right now, I wanna do things right with you." His eyes land on yours as his thumb continues to caress your cheek. "Especially don't wanna be intoxicated if it ever gets to that point. Is that okay?" You give him a soft smile and nod.

"More than okay."

"Okay." He comes in for another sweet, gentle kiss against your lips— one where he stays there for a bit before slowly pulling back. "I don't wanna mess this up."

"You won't, Yunho. You couldn't." You brush the hair out of his face before lazily wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands rest at your waist while he looks at you, eyes darting across every inch of your face.

God, you are so beautiful. So sweet, and so beautiful.

Seonghwa is the biggest dumbass he has ever come across. But to each their own!

"Do you.. wanna make some pb&j sandwiches? Watch a movie while we lay down? Play a board game?" You giggle.

"Actually, a pb&j sandwich followed by a movie while laying down sounds amazing right now."

"Okay, let's do it." He taps your waist.

"Wait. Do you have clothes I can borrow and change into? Cause I definitely don't wanna lay down in this." He chuckles and walks to his drawer after the both of you get back on your feet. He hands you some shorts and a longsleeve, telling you to use whatever in the bathroom that you might need to freshen up. "Thank you." You plant a chaste kiss to his cheek before freshening up in his bathroom and changing into his clothes. You smile to yourself, smelling the scent of his detergent on the pieces of material, feeling how soft it is against your skin.

When you walk out, Yunho is already toasting some bread while grabbing the peanut butter and jelly. You giggle as you place your clothes down in his room, slipping yourself onto the counter near him while he goes to work.

"Yunho, the peanut butter to jelly ratio is off."

"No, it's not." He holds up the bread slice with a thin layer of jelly.

"It needs more jelly. You can still see parts of the bread cause there's not enough jelly." He laughs and nods.

"Okay, cutie. I'm on it." He adjusts the ratio until you're happily clapping and take the sandwich from him. You bite into it with so much satisfaction that Yunho can't help but be pleased with himself. You're happy. Here— with him and this sandwich.

"Hey." Yeosang suddenly walks through the door and slightly furrows his brows at the two of you laughing over pb&j sandwiches. You're sitting on the counter with Yunho now slotted in between your legs.

"Oh, hey! How was the rest of the party?" He shrugs and tosses his keys aside.

"Alright, I guess. You guys didn't miss out on much."

"Are Chaery and them still there?" He nods.

"Yeah, but they were getting ready to head out too."

"Want a pb&j sandwich?" Yeosang laughs.

"I'm good. Thanks." He spots Yunho's clothes on you and prevents himself from smirking a bit too big. He doesn't know you too well enough to tease, plus he feels like he can't just flat out assume, so he keeps it to himself and bids you two farewell instead. "I'm gonna shower in a bit and head to bed. Fucking beat."

"Goodnight!" You and Yunho call out before he disappears into his room. You and Yunho giggle at each other as you continue to satisfy your drunchies before getting yourselves ready for the movie. The both of you settle on a true crime documentary for god knows why [definitely not shits and giggles], but as long as Yunho was around, you felt comforted enough. He hands you an extra toothbrush from his stash, reassuring you that he wasn't pressuring you to stay unless you really wanted to.

Which, you did.

It was late. You were comfortable in his clothes. Of course you'd fall asleep mid-documentary. Plus, Yunho wasn't gonna let you leave this late even if you lived across the lot.

Once you and Yunho get more comfortable and clean up in the kitchen, he shuts off the lights and closes his door— leaving you to stand awkwardly in his room as you wait for him. He chuckles a bit and grabs his laptop off of his desk before nodding towards his bed.

"You can lay down, you know?"

"It's your bed. You should pick which side you want first."

"I'll hang out on the end so that the monsters don't come and get you in the middle of the night." You laugh and shake your head, slipping yourself near the wall after Yunho pulls his sheets back. He settles in right after, allowing you to snuggle against him as he sets the laptop on his tummy. "Are you okay?"

"You're comfy." He snorts a bit as the movie starts to play.

"Definitely gonna fall asleep."

"Am not." You whine.

"Probably 20 mins tops."

And Yunho's right, except it barely hits 20 minutes before he hears the soft snores against his chest. He smiles down at you before shutting off his laptop, setting it on the floor near his bed before adjusting his position so that the two of you were snuggled deeply under his covers.

He could get used to this, and he doesn't know if it's more of a good or bad thing right now.

But he doesn't ponder for long— setting a small kiss on the top of your head before shutting his eyes and letting the drowsiness take over.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintificreads @primoppang @betray-the-light @aurorasjoongie @wineyoungie @yunholuvrsblog @mingigiggles @jaerisdiction

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beefboyandbabygirl · 10 months

Note

can i request pleasee? wonwoo oneshot based on taylor swift's song "the very first night" because i'm in need of smutty with extra fluffy in it ☹️😔

Very First Night

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

pairing: ex!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, exes to lovers

warnings: this is SMUT MDNI!, oral (f receiving), regular smegular missionary, making out, exes getting back together, brief mentions of clubbing and alcohol, petnames (baby, darling)

quotes from beefboy: "it's FIERCE" (sorry thats the only one i dont feel like scrolling thru all our messages AHHA)

wordcount: 1k

a/n: first request yaaay!! i know im a little late into the game by now (my summer vacay is pretty packed lol), but in case ur confuuuuused, hiii im the bbygirl to the beefboy (aka user @joshibambi), im taking care of all the requests xx. And im gonna be v honest here and say i hadn't heard this song until this request lol, but i took this task SERIOUSLY and i love basing fics on songs (i make a playlist for all of beefboys fics, its true), so like keep em coming. i rlly hope u like it!! (this was a v long a/n lmao i promise they wont all b like this).

You watched his name on your phone screen, displayed in your contacts in a row amongst many other w-names. Wiliam, Wade, Walter- Who the fuck was Wylan? You tried to pay attention to any other name but his.

Wonwoo.

And then you thought, fuck it. It wasn’t like things had ended on bad terms. They had ended on we-are-busy-and-maybe-we-should-try-something-new terms. It was easy. An honest talk on the couch during a chilly Friday afternoon, and you had decided it was the best option. For the both of you.

And it was only after the fourth weekend out with your friends after the breakup, you realized what had happened.

You missed him. You missed him so bad, you wished you could abandon the strong drinks and sweaty air of the bar that reminded you so much of your very first night with him. But you didn’t. You didn’t say a word as you danced under flashes of pink and red with strangers. Nobody knew.

Nobody knew how much you missed him. Not until now.

“Hello?”

He sounded confused, maybe even a little startled when he answered your call. Maybe you should have told your friends so they could have talked you out of this afterall.

“Hey Wonwoo.”

“Hey…”

You realized you hadn’t actually planned what you were going to do from here.

“Do you- Like, wanna come over?”

It went silent on the other end again, and the question echoed in your head, suddenly sounding pretty wrong.

“I mean- Not like that, just like if you wanna talk, you know? Catch up and stuff, I just wanna make sure you’re okay and-“

“Y/n, let me stop you right there.”

Well. That didn’t seem too good.

“I, uh- Okay, fuck, this is really embarrasing, but I’m- I’m already here.”

“…What the fuck?”

“Yeah, and I was gonna do this whole- I don’t know this whole thing, and now you’ve ruined it, actually. So thank you.”

The familiar sarcastic tone of his voice made you giggle as you got up from the couch and sauntered towards the door.

“Really? What kinda thing?”

You were teasing him now, but hell, you had already decided to call your ex on a lonely late night. Might as well go all out.

“This whole…Romantic thing, I know it’s stupid, I’m sorry, but I just-“

Before he could continue, you pushed the door open, and there he was. Not a particularly spectacular sight, to the average person. Dressed in sweats with his glasses (your favorite pair. The slutty ones), sliding down his nose a little, exposing the fact that he probably ran all the way up the stairs.

And still he was beautiful. The most beautiful you’d ever seen him.

“…So do we talk first, or do you wanna-?”, he asked.

“I was thinking fuck first, talk second?”

“I wanna kiss you first though.”

“Kissing is an integral part of sex.”

“I know, but I wanna kiss you now.”

“Was that your romantic thing? Burst into my apartment and kiss me?”

He shrugged.

“I figured you’d like it.”

You took a step closer to him.

“You were right.”

At some point during the kiss you both made it past your doorstep, lips pressed together tightly and limbs intertwined in all sorts of impossible ways.

Once again you were brought back to your first night together. How you practically jumped into his car, and he pressed the gas as hard as he could, and the lights and neon signs were so pretty it felt like they were there just for you. How you stumbled through the hotel room door all smitten and giggling, the sounds of the busy city life behind the window not even coming close to drowning out the sound of your pounding hearts. It was written in the sky that night, the longing, the want, the need you felt for each other.

You were brought back to the present when the air got punched out of your lungs, as your back hit the mattress of your bed. Wonwoo crawled on top of you, his eyes meeting yours.

You kissed again. Your limbs intertwined again, and clothes flew all over your room as you scrambled to get back to each other after all this time. you knew then and there that your very first night together was going to be incomparable to this feeling. This feeling, in this moment.

His lips kissed their way down your body, not leaving a single spot missed until he met your clit, his nose brushing against it ever so lightly.

“Don’t tease, Won- Ah.”

He couldn’t dream of teasing. Not now, when you were right here, and even though he didn’t get to tell you the words he had memorized, he couldn’t really care. Not when all he could think of at this moment, with his lips wrapped around your clit and tongue prodding at your hole, was you.

“God, so fucking good, missed this fucking pussy”, he mumbled into your dripping core as you gripped his hair tighter and gave in to the inevitable urge to grind against his tongue.

“I know you’re close baby, come on. Cum for me darling.”

With one last flick of his skilled tongue you were falling over the edge, a rush running through your body that couldn’t compete with any other feeling.

Still in a daze, his chin coated in your wetness, Wonwoo made his way back up your body until his lips were on your neck and his hard cock was grinding against you.

“Need you Won, need you so bad, please.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, as you ran your nails down his toned back and nipped at his earlobe in a desperate attempt to get him to do something. Anything. Everything.

“I know, I know. Need you too baby, you have no idea.”

He was almost panting, and soon enough his struggling breaths became a long content sigh as your sweet pleas and whines had him pushing into you, your familiar warmth sucking him in.

His thrusts were sharp and deep and fucking perfect. You didn’t want it fast, didn’t want it hard or rough, you wanted it real, wanted it to be just him and you and nothing else.

“Do you know-“

Now he was truly out of breath, heavy sighs and grunts tumbling from his swollen lips right next to your ear as you shut your eyes in pleasure.

“-How much i missed you? Missed you so fucking much, I should have never, fuck, never let anything get in the way.”

God, how nice it felt to know he had missed you. And how nice it felt for someone to finally know how much you had missed him.

Between a hundred more I missed you-es, you dragged each other through the fall, him after you (ever the gentleman), and between many quick kisses and a few drowsy ones you fell asleep in his arms.

Just like the very first night.

#jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #wonwoo fluff #svt x reader #svt smut #wonwoo oneshot #seventeen oneshot #bbygirl🦌

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kynrki · 2 years

Text

LITTLE DETAILS ENHYPEN WOULD HAVE ON THEIR PHONE OF YOU!

— LEE HEESEUNG

would have a widget of you or you two on his phone. 100% can see this happening only bc he wants to see you whenever he opens his phone. he loves looking at you and thinks you’re literally the prettiest out there (bc you are)

— PARK JAY

have you as his wallpaper. aww he would have a candid photo of you when you’re eating or sleeping or jus smiling in general. i could see him putting it as his locks screen so that everyone knows that you’re his and his only. he loves to show you off too.

— SIM JAKE

notes on notes app with all your fav things on. MAN IDK IF YOUVE SEEN THOSE TIKTOKS, where the notes app if filled with everything their partner likes and dislikes and ect? HE WOULD HVE THAT and put a lock on it. def label it as “MY GF🤗💋” and jus have everything on there. like important dates, tiktoks he wants to do with you, ect. i love this man

— PARK SUNGHOON

have a focus with your name on it. LOL i feel like he would wanna keep his relationship private, so i think he’d put a little heart focus with you name so that everytime he opens his phone, he’s met with your name and immediately thinks of you.

— YANG JUNGWON

have a folder of pics of you. WONIE:(( he would be so sweet and save every picture you have ever sent him. whether its a pic of you looking bad or not, he would save it and add it to the folder especially for you!! and if he misses you, he would look through the folder of pics of you and him together :(

— KIM SUNOO

have you as his wallpaper p2. i feel he would be the same as jay except he would probably make you his home screen so that youre more hidden instead. like i think if he was in a relationship, he would wanna be more private but also open about it, therefor you being his homescreen indicates that he has someone. he jus never publicly said it🤷🏽‍♀️

— NISHIMURA RIKI

playlist dedicated to you. STOP I LOVE WHEN PEOPLE MAKE ME PLAYLISTS,, i feel like he would add songs that remind him of you and jus listen to the playlist constantly. and even if you’re with him, he will give you an airpod so that you can listen to it with him. but you dont know the playlist is dedicated to you at all, so youre busy jamming the whole time not knowing anything….

AN — im busy clearing drafts, so there might be many posts tonight😭😭

permanent taglist! @soobin-chois @enhacolor @anotherimaginesaccount @hiqhkey @lil-iva @hearteyes4khloe @sunoo-bby @seung-scrittore @strwberrydinosaur @deeznutsriki @lvepsh @ahnneyong @love-4-keum @kpoplover718 @nvertheless @02sjy @koufiles @w3bqrl @palajae @cowstiddymilk @bigtoewinwin @wtfhyuck @abdiitcryy @pshchives @kimmchijjajang @todorokiskitten @trsrina @shinsou-rii @jovibaes @yenqa

#enhypenwriters #hotelnetfics #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen smau #enha #enhypen social media au #niki imagines #jungwon imagines #heeseung imagines #sunoo imagines #park jay imagines #park sunghoon imagines #enhypen jake imagines #riki imagines

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zvdvdlvr · 10 months

Note

Hey I was wondering if I could request some relationship headcanons for Ponyboy or/and ( what ever you feel more comfortable with lol)Johnny. I get it if you don't wanna lol

❤️

─ dating ponyboy curtis headcanonz

☆ - warnings :: physical injury, alcohal, (past) self harm, past major character deaths, pet names, vague mention of a physical fight,

☆ - k.j.'s diary says... i might die if i don't have my own ponyboy michael curtis

𖥸 antici-

before johnny and dally died, pony would never find the balls to talk to you, especially if you're a Soc

honestly wouldn't be to picky about looks but if you're a looker than even better 🤷‍♀️

but anyway, pony is super closed off after his friends' deaths

if you were dating hefore he went missing, then chances are he'll only talk to you at first

general dating HC's:

super cuddly in private

not big on PDA: hand holding, linked pinkes, arm-in-arm, a kiss on the cheek... that's about it

but when you're at the house or alone you already know ponyboy is gonna be lovin' on you like no tomorrow ♡

lowkey into pet names, specifically sweetheart, darlin', baby, angel

absolutely melts if you called him pet names too

loves when you where his clothes, it makes him feel proud to know you feel safe and protected enough to wear his- his!- clothes

private relationships >>> secret relationships

ponyboy would only really tell the gang about being with someone only when he knew you were a good thing for him

that would be about... a year into your relationship

pony's slowly learning to be a kid again after everything he saw and did, so never rush him or push him to talk about 'those days' unless he comes to you first

loves forhead kisses

writes down lines from books and poems and songs that remind him of you

made a playlist or twelve he plans to give to you someday, maybe after you get married (if that's something you both want)

you and the gang are what keeps him going. make sure that you tell/show him that he's okay and you see how good of a person he is. ponyboy curtis needs reassurance.

loves little spooning almost as much as he loves big spooning

honestly a cuddlebug

like pony is just so soft and warm he just ugh.,&@(

would ask you to help him bleach his hair again when the original color started showing :( <3

the rest of the gang would love you because you keep the curtis brothers intact and well. that's a lot to say most days

would get in a fight for u even if it meant going to jail

always goes straight to you after a fight

after all, you're his home, his person, his love

if anyone can take care of him: it's you

the first 'i love you' was from him

after a fight he was getting cleaned up by you

you were both in the living room, occasionally glancing over at darry and soda to make sure they were still breathing (they both got concusions) and were about to wake both of them up when pony stopped you

"i love you, y/n. i love you. you don't have to day it back or anything, i just- i just wanted to tell you."

you softened, and gingerly tilted his head up to place a soft kiss on his lips

"i know, sweet boy. i love you too."

manz was purring fr

-pation 𖥸

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puffein · 8 months

Text

FALL PARTY | late spring [ii.]

summary: you persuaded wanda to go to the party with you but at what cost? pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: the usual angst lol word count: 1069 a/n: idk how to feel about this but please enjoy!

series masterlist playlist!

New Brunswick, New Jersey

November 2021

"We should go, Wanda. I bet it's gonna be fun!" your voice booms from the bathroom, Wanda looks up from the book she's reading, her feet tucked tightly under her thighs. She shrugs and then realizes you cannot see her across the room.

"I don't know. I don't like parties," she says quietly. You got out of the bathroom wearing something that screams party girl. Wanda's eyes linger on you, for a little too long and abruptly looks down on her book.

You bit your bottom lip lightly, thinking of different things to persuade her. Fall exams week just ended and you badly want to go to the party and drink the stress of studying all week away, but if Wanda won't go then the decision is settled. You wouldn't want to leave her behind even if it means ditching a scheduled plan with your roommate.

"Okay, we won't go then," you said, your arms reaching out to smooth strays of her long brown hair.

She sighs, "No, you go. I can stay with Darcy or something." She shrugs, untucking her feet and placing them solidly onto your black carpet. Her eyes muster a wavering stare, eyelids drooped as her glinting green eyes filled with doubt.

You roll your eyes at her, sitting beside her, "Party won't be fun without you."

Shoulders rigid, you tense as her eyes stare right at your face, analyzing your features, observing how she examines every person her eyes settled in. Sometimes, fright would swallow up your whole essence, afraid she would analyze something out of you, something you deeply hid under.

Fear would always strike up at your chest whenever she does this, the staring, the head tilting with eyes determined, afraid she might see your feelings for her. She didn't have to know the affection you have for her goes beyond the borderlines of platonic warmth.

Then she looks away, brows furrowed, "I'll go then." her voice quiet. You see the fiddling of her hands and the nibbling of her bottom lip.

"We don't have to— wait, really? I mean, I'm fine with just staying here with you, we could watch movies or some—"

"You persuaded me anyways with that rat eyes."

You gasp at her dramatically, her laugh resounding in your all too quiet dorm room. Your face flushed at the sudden laughter she had emitted, the melodic laugh stabbed right into your chest with its sharp edges, however, instead of feeling pain all you have felt is fondness and devotion for the laughing girl.

That's how you found yourself and Wanda huddled together in a crowded room, sound blasting all over the place, people swarmed together to dance and sway their bodies closely. You felt the burning touch of her fingertips, her hands tightly grasping at your waist, leaving a fiery coil at the pit of your stomach. You try not to think too much of her touch, you knew Wanda hates crowded rooms, which makes her feel too close to people.

You now kinda feel bad persuading her in something she deeply despises and watching her clutch at your side like a terrified puppy made you want to back out of the party and spend the night watching her favorite sitcoms.

Your thoughts snap in place as you felt her tugging you impossibly closer, you lean into her ears, "Wanna grab drinks?"

Her wide eyes peer at yours and nods meekly, you smile at her encouragingly, wrapping your fingers around her wrist delicately, you pull the two of you out of the crowded room into a corner with much more space and none of that sweaty college students around.

"Stay here, I'll get you an apple juice." you playfully utter.

Wanda rolls her eyes, her cheeks turning pink as she scrunches up her nose endearingly. Huffing, she says, "Very funny."

You wave your hands in the air while walking away, steps bouncing lightly towards the kitchen of whoever house this Stark dude stole. Proud surrounds your chest at having the ability to find a space solely for Wanda. Not only for Wanda but for you and her too.

"I thought I will be ditched. Surprises." curly fiery red hair comes into your view, and you glance at her with brows raised high.

"I never ditch you."

"You did. Three days ago claiming it was yours and Wanda's sitcom day. Oh, and that coffee plan we had a week ago which totally got bamboozled as you said your best friend feels weird so—"

"Jesus. I get it." you sigh defeated, shoulders slump but a mischievous glint surrounds your roommate's eyes.

"Just ask her out." she suddenly suggests, lower back positioned right at the kitchen counter, slender hands grasping a small drink with lots of ice.

You shake your head, "No way, Nat. Wanda doesn't —"

Your words die down as your eyes settled on your best friend, tucked in the corner of the room but this time she's not alone. A tall blonde man stands beside her, he keeps a respectful distance between them, head bobbing and his interest is piqued at whatever your best friend is babbling about.

"—like me." you continued. Your Face scrunched up in a weird, pain, embarrassment kind of way.

Wanda doesn't like talking to strangers, much less babbling her night away with a man she never met before.

So, watching her step out of her comfort zone for someone she had never met gave you a very weird erupting feeling of sorrow and bitterness. You could practically taste the dejection and wretchedness of the hurling realization that this man might be too special for him to get Wanda to break the walls she had put herself and gaze at him like he was the only being who matters in the entire space.

That was the night you very first felt a strong feeling of patheticness.

You will always be the girl admiring the person she deeply loves from afar, who will always be positioned at the sidelines, who will always be the best friend, and will never be more than that.

Other than that, realizing that you were the one who persuaded her to come to this party made you sick. To come into the very place where she met the man she will be marrying 3 years from now.

Safe to say, you are the cause of your very own heartbreak.

general masterlist ◄ ►

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fanfiction #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff mcu #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff marvel

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kingofbodyrolls · 1 month

Text

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | three

🐴Chapter summary: You win some and you lose some— isn’t that how the saying goes? But when you keep messing up, how long does it take for your sister to get enough of your fuck ups? 🐴Chapter title: Sometimes 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: some sexual tension and angst! A storm is brewing ⛈️ + a horse in pain (colic), also Jessi is a real pain in the ass in this chapter, sorry. 🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!) 🐴Word count: 11.8k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Sometimes” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note(1): I’m not a vet okay– so some of the descriptions regarding veterinary treatment of horses might not be 100% spot on, lol.

Also, I know that you all want MC and Jimin to get together, and it is coming soon— I promise! 🫶 The next chapter is actually one of my favorites 🥰

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“Sometimes at the edge of sight Something moves which isn't there You turn to look but it's gone, it's gone Was it ever really there Yet it touches you Softly touches you And then it begins again” - ‘Sometimes’ by Rebecca Lavelle

Perplexed, you question why Jessi deemed it a brilliant idea for you to single-handedly corral the sheep into the pen. You move at a measured trot, employing subtle cues with your legs on Marshmallow to orchestrate the intricate dance required to guide the sheep to their destination.

Eager to excel and make a lasting impression, you're determined to master the task your sister entrusted you with. The desire to earn Jessi's approval fuels your determination, pushing you to strive for excellence in her eyes.

With a subtle click of your tongue, you skillfully guide the reins, prompting Marshmallow to gracefully trot to the right and deftly corral a stray sheep back into the fold.

A sense of surprise washes over you as you realize just how adept you are at this task. It feels surprisingly easy, and a newfound energy surges within, allowing you to even whistle a tune as the ranch comes into view on the horizon. The girls await your successful return at the shed, a testament to your growing confidence. Almost there.

Grinning ear to ear, you reach the gate of the pen and energetically wave to Ara, Soo-ah, and Ha-rin, your sister nowhere to be seen.

Approaching the gate, you deftly lean over Marshmallow, swing it open, and expertly turn the horse around. With determination, you guide the sheep into the pen, where the girls await, poised for the upcoming shearing.

“You did such a nice job!” Soo-ah's voice echoes with admiration, her wide smile and doe-like eyes expressing genuine appreciation. You nod in gratitude, turning Marshmallow toward the barn to return him to the field, a sense of accomplishment swelling within you.

Guiding Marshmallow into the barn with deliberate ease, you orchestrate a gradual slowdown. With a practiced motion, you swing your leg over the saddle and dismount, grounding yourself with a gentle touch on the barn floor. “Such a good boy,” you murmur affectionately, your hand caressing Marshmallow's neck, eliciting a delighted response from the appreciative horse.

Effortlessly unhooking the girdle from the saddle, you carefully lift it off Marshmallow's back and return it to its designated spot on the saddle hook in the corner. He stands patiently, awaiting your return to relieve him of his bridle. A soft click of your tongue signals him to follow as you lead him gracefully to a paddock.

As you swing the gate open for Marshmallow, you marvel at the grace with which he bounds into the paddock, joining the rhythmic dance of the other horses. A peculiar warmth envelops your heart, a sense of fulfillment washing over you. The silent camaraderie among these majestic creatures stirs a deep nostalgia, making you keenly aware of how much you've yearned for the company of horses.

With a heart brimming with affection, you stride purposefully back to the shed where the girls await assistance in shearing the sheep. The prospect of shearing, an uncharted territory for you, looms uncertainly. Doubts flicker like fleeting shadows—will you navigate the shearing process with finesse, or fumble in your attempt? The anticipation lingers, but optimism threads through your thoughts as you hope for a seamless endeavor.

The girls deftly corral sheep, ushering them one by one into the bustling shearing shed. Jessi, now a commanding presence, orchestrates the operation with vocal precision, her directives ringing out amid the flurry of wooly activity.

“Go grab a sheep!” Jessi commands, her voice cutting through the wooly chaos. You heed her directive, but the task is easier said than done. The sheep evade your advances, darting away like fleeting shadows, leaving you in a comical dance of pursuit.

Balancing on the delicate line between assertiveness and consideration, you tread lightly with the sheep. Jessi's voice echoes in your mind, emphasizing the significance of stress-free herding. You avoid being too imposing, a mindful dance to ensure the flock remains undisturbed by your presence. Struggling to find the right pace, you navigate the delicate task of herding without causing distress. Yet, your caution results in a slow, deliberate progress that doesn't align with Jessi's brisk expectations.

“What's the hold up?” echoes your sister's impatient voice from within the shed, prompting an audible sigh of frustration to escape your lips.

“They run away as soon as I approach! I can't catch a single fucking one…” you lament with a deflated sigh, watching Ha-rin effortlessly wrangle a sheep into the shed for Jessi to shear. The task seems so effortless for her, and you can't help but feel a sense of frustration settling in.

“You've got to assert yourself without stressing them out!” Jessi's instructions echo from the shed. Easier said than done, you think to yourself.

Why can't she take charge of the herding, leaving you to shear the sheep? After all, how hard can that be? You've handled clippers while cutting hair before!

“Can’t we switch places?” You groan audibly, surrendering and entering the shed. Inside, you find a visibly sweaty Jessi and Soo-ah hard at work shearing sheep. They sport tank tops, drenched in sweat, and you glance at your hoodie, realizing it's time to shed that too. Without second thoughts, you peel it off.

Jessi looks up, setting down the clippers after finishing with one sheep. As it walks off into another pen, she questions, “Do you really want to shear the sheep?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, standing in your tank top, determined to dive into the task at hand. After all, how challenging could it really be?

Jessi chuckles, clearly amused by your determination. She powers down the clippers and stretches her back, beads of sweat tracing a path from her hairline down her face. She breathes heavily, as if she's just completed a vigorous run.

She explains, wiping her face with a cloth, “Just pull this to start the clippers, and again when you're done with a sheep.” Her smile is encouraging as she heads outside into the brisk, hot sun to fetch sheep for you.

Jessi hands you a squirming sheep, and its resistance is evident as you grapple to steady it in your arms for shearing. The sound of Jessi's laughter echoes through the shed as you wrestle with the stubborn creature. You grasp the clippers, initiating their hum, and lower them toward the sheep's wool. Yet, the distressed animal resists, and your attempts to shear off even a single piece of wool are thwarted as it breaks free, darting around the shed in a state of panic.

Laughter erupts in the shed, a symphony of joy, and Jessi joins in with such enthusiasm that she clutches her stomach. Tears, mingled with sweat, streak down her face.

“You have to hold it down, gently though,” Soo-ah instructs, her hands expertly guiding the clippers through the wool of her own sheep. The ease with which she maneuvers the tool makes you realize that she's mastered the art, turning the seemingly complicated task into a graceful dance with the clippers. You watch, determined to learn, as she transforms the shearing process into a captivating display of skill.

“Okay,” you affirm, a newfound determination burning in your eyes as you prepare to make another attempt.

Jessi deftly catches the elusive sheep that had evaded you earlier, guiding it back to the pen with a gentle touch. She shares insights about the importance of letting the sheep de-stress before attempting to shear, imparting her seasoned knowledge in a blend of expertise and empathy.

Jessi strides out to fetch another sheep, its wooly resistance evident in the struggle against her hold. Passing the lively bundle of wool to you, she entrusts you with the task. Cradling the spirited creature in your arms, you activate the clippers, their hum filling the air as you carefully guide them over the sheep's body, determined to conquer the challenge of shearing.

The sheep surprisingly cooperates, holding still as you work the clippers through its wool. Just as you start feeling victorious, Jessi reenters the shed, her expert eye catching a potential mishap.

“Not that close to the skin, or you’re gonna cut it,” she advises, and a frown creases your face. Examining your progress, you notice the sheep's skin perilously close to being nicked. Quickly shutting off the clippers, you release the half-sheared sheep, which makes a hasty escape. Fortunately, Soo-ah intercepts and expertly completes the shearing process.

Frustration bubbles within you as you groan, “Fuck. This is hard.”

The sense of failure looms large – unable to smoothly handle the sheep, struggling with the clippers, you question your competence. What, in this unfamiliar environment, can you actually accomplish?

The stifling air in the cramped shed starts to feel suffocating, prompting an urgent need for a breath of fresh air.

“Did you expect it to be easy?” Soo-ah inquires, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Your head shakes in uncertainty. Perhaps. All you yearn for is to excel, to instill a sense of pride in your sister, to debunk the notion that you're merely an inept city dweller. However, in this moment, that's precisely how you perceive yourself.

“You know what– I'm going to take a breather and catch some fresh air,” you declare to the girls, conceding once more. This situation is not to your liking; you yearn to contribute meaningfully on the ranch. Yet, you can't shake the feeling that you're merely impeding everyone's progress.

The girls offer silent nods as you exit, no further words exchanged. Your head hangs low; pride in your performance is absent. You could have done so much better. You just feel so fucking useless.

Your feet guide you outside, greeted by the blazing sun and its intense heat. Grateful for the comfort of a tank top, you make your way to the paddock where the horses leisurely graze. As you open the gate, a mental note reminds you to turn around and ensure its secure closure this time.

Your steps lead you without a clear destination, winding through the landscape until, unexpectedly, you find yourself atop a hill. From this vantage point, the entire ranch sprawls beneath you, yet you choose to avert your gaze. Instead, you turn to face the captivating expanse of the blue sky meeting the rolling green horizon.

As you exhale, your body gives in to a slight slump, settling onto the soft grass. The weight of perceived failure rests on your shoulders. Despite the rational acknowledgment that shearing sheep for the first time comes with a learning curve, the nagging desire to impress Jessi fuels your frustration.

Why can't you do better?

It's a question echoing in your mind, a silent plea to yourself to rise above this initial struggle.

As thoughts of obtaining Jessi's signature to sell your share of the ranch swirl in your mind, a surprising realization hits you—you're starting to embrace the charm of this vast, open land. The expansive landscapes, the crisp air, the vibrant green grass under the endless blue sky, and the twinkling stars at night, all things the city never offered. Despite labeling yourself a city girl, you're slowly discovering a newfound connection to the land you used to call home. Could this place, once abandoned, become home again?

Now, as the landscape of the ranch paints a new picture in your mind, you question whether you could reclaim that sense of home. The uncertainty hovers, a cloud casting shadows on your future. Is this rural life meant for you? While Jessi revels in your recent misadventures, you can envision her sharing a beer or uncorking a bottle of wine with the girls the moment you depart. A smirk tugs at your lips as you ponder her probable preference for beer, and you find yourself smiling at that fact.

A yearning for deeper understanding tugs at your core as you grapple with the realization that you might not know your sister as intimately as one would expect siblings to. The echoes of your departure from this place, a mere kid back then, reverberate through the unspoken words that now hang heavily in the air between you and your sister.

The scars of the past loom large, raising the daunting question: Can time and memories ever bridge the chasm caused by years of separation and untold pain?

As a sigh escapes your lips, a subtle uneasiness takes root in the pit of your stomach, casting a shadow over your thoughts. The gentle caress of the wind on your face seems to mock your inner turmoil, and a low groan escapes you. Despite the reluctance gnawing at your resolve, the undeniable truth lingers – you must return to the shed and confront the unfinished task that awaits.

Maybe you could do something different instead of shearing or gathering sheep. You don’t really want to do that again anytime soon. Maybe you could collect or sort the wool that the others have sheared?

As you gaze up at the vast expanse of the sky, its hues shifting subtly with the passage of unnoticed time, a realization dawns upon you. It's a silent cue to return to the shed and rejoin the collective effort. As you descend the hill, the silhouette of a black and a blue Ford Ranger gradually comes into view, parked near the paddock. A peculiar flutter dances in your chest, a subtle rhythm that you attempt to dismiss, choosing to bury it deep down.

As you approach the shed, the crescendo of voices builds a symphony of anticipation. Upon pushing open the door, a medley of scents assaults your senses—sweat, the unmistakable essence of hard labor. The scene unfolds before you: men toiling away, clad in tank tops, their bodies glistening with the evidence of their exertion, each droplet of sweat a testament to their dedication.

At first glance, your eyes lock onto Jimin, his tousled blonde locks clinging to his perspiring forehead as he skillfully shears the sheep handed to him by Ara. His muscles ripple beneath the strain, defining every inch of his biceps—a visual feast that leaves you momentarily captivated. Unconsciously, you find yourself licking your lips, entranced by the alluring spectacle of him immersed in his work.

The veins in his arms dance beneath the surface, as if daring to break free from their confines, a mesmerizing display of controlled strength as he maneuvers the clipper with precision around the sheep's body. A surge of something indefinable stirs within you, igniting a cascade of flutters in your chest. Flutters dance in your chest, and the heat intensifies, making it suddenly challenging to draw in a simple breath in the midst of the scorching atmosphere.

The beads of sweat cascade from his hairline, tracing a rivulet down his face, and the droplets rhythmically dance along his arms as he deftly pulls the lever, silencing the clipper. The sheep, now freed, scampers towards the other pen, leaving a tangible sense of accomplishment lingering in the air.

Entranced by his every move, you find yourself in a spellbound reverie. When his gaze locks onto yours, revealing that he's caught you stealing glances, a mischievous and knowing smile curves on his lips.

In that moment, you sense the impending danger he poses to your heart.

As your gaze shifts to Jungkook, you observe beads of sweat mirroring his brother's exertion, his muscular biceps defined beneath the strain of wielding clippers on the sheep. The strands of his black hair cling to his head, forming enticing curls at the ends.

As your eyes traverse the scene, they settle on Hoseok, his luscious brown hair adhering to his face due to perspiration. In a tank top that clings uncomfortably to his sweaty body, he expertly drags sheep from the pen to join Jessi, Jimin, and Jungkook, who are engrossed in the current shearing process.

Next, your gaze descends upon Yoongi, immersed in the task of sorting the wool. With silver hair that curls at the ends from the heat, he emits a groan of frustration while scrutinizing the wool. Intrigued, you approach him, a curious lilt in your voice as you inquire about his current endeavor, genuinely captivated by his activities.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m classifying the wool,” Yoongi's fingers deftly navigate through the wool, inspecting it for imperfections as he classifies it. When he looks up at you, his gaze locks with yours, and a hint of invitation colors his voice as he asks, “Do you want to help? It's easy,” he adds, extending the offer with a subtle challenge in his eyes.

You smile warmly at him, nodding in agreement. The prospect of contributing in a meaningful way lifts your spirits. Yoongi takes the lead, guiding you through the intricate process of classifying wool. He imparts the nuances of the task, pointing out imperfections that could downgrade the wool's quality.

Yoongi proves to be excellent company. While he remains mostly silent, the occasional grumble escapes his lips as he meticulously identifies imperfections in the wool.

Out of the blue, you turn to Yoongi, curiosity lighting up your gaze. “Do you like horses?” His response is a subtle smile accompanied by a nod. In the quiet exchange, you sense that he might be a man of few words, his thoughts and emotions hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be unraveled.

As you glance upward, you find Jimin's eyes fixed on you, an intensity that seems to penetrate your very soul. Uncomfortably exposed, you quickly shift your gaze away, unable to withstand the weight of his stare. It's as if he possesses the ability to see through your every layer, leaving you feeling vulnerable and laid bare.

As you approach the halfway point, beads of sweat dotting everyone's exerted faces, a welcomed break arrives. Ha-rin swoops in as the savior, distributing ice-cold water bottles to the parched crew. You practically guzzle down an entire bottle, the refreshing liquid providing a much-needed respite from the relentless heat.

Cool water trickles down your collarbones, and you sense Jimin’s gaze lingering on the droplets. Sweat continues to bead on his face as he dives back into the task of shearing the remaining sheep.

Jessi reenters the shed, her sudden return catching you off guard. You didn’t even know she left. “What the hell is this?” Her eyes narrow at the sheep tags, a visible frown creasing her face—oh, she’s not happy.

Your fingers pause their work on the wool as you look up, meeting Jessi's intense gaze. The tension in the air becomes palpable, and you can't help but feel a knot forming in your stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“These are the wrong sheep,” Silence descends like a heavy shroud as Jessi's words cut through the air, freezing every motion in the shed. Her revelation hangs in the space between the hum of the clippers and the suspended breaths of everyone present. Your hands, once deftly working with the wool, now hover in limbo, caught in the gravity of her words. All eyes converge on you, and the weight of your mistake settles like an anchor in the pit of your stomach. Unable to face the accusing gazes, you avert your eyes, well aware that you fucked up big time.

Your sister marches towards you at the wool pressing station, her voice cuts through the air like a whip, each word laced with frustration. “You gathered the wrong sheep!”

Her accusation lands on you like a blow, and you instinctively shrink under the weight of her anger. Hovering over you, she delivers her disappointment with venom, making your body tense in response. The air thickens as she paints the picture of the setback you've caused, and the realization of your mistake casts a shadow over the shed.

“Now we have to gather the right sheep and shear them too..” Frustration lines her face, and beads of sweat form a trail down her hairline, leaving traces on her tank top.

In the blistering heat of her frustration, your sister's words cut through the air like a searing wind. “We are going to be behind! And it’s your fucking fault!” Her accusatory finger points directly at your retreating form, each word a sharp pang echoing in the shed.

The weight of your mistake presses down on you, and you can't bear it any longer. Stepping back, you find yourself in the spotlight, all eyes still fixed on your figure. The suffocating tension hangs heavy in the air, leaving you with a sense of regret that matches the scorching heat around you.

As you retreat towards the door, you catch the remorse and sadness in Jimin's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the chaos unfolding. Pushing yourself outside, you crave distance – an escape from the suffocating atmosphere, from the weight of your failures, and from the relentless series of mistakes that cling to you like a shadow.

Without warning, your feet break into a sprint, the sting of unshed tears threatening to overflow. In the midst of your rapid escape, you acknowledge the bitter truth – a familiar refrain that echoes in your mind: you should have seen it coming; after all, you have a knack for unraveling everything you touch.

Barely a few steps away, a familiar silhouette catches up – it's Jimin. As you reach the outskirts of the main house, standing in the yard, he utters words that echo with a plea, “Please come back,” his voice infused with a tenderness that tugs at your heart.

You exhale a heavy sigh, pausing before taking tentative steps toward the house. Slowly, you pivot your body, facing him with a mix of reluctance and curiosity.

“I fuck everything up Jimin,” you confess, releasing a heavy breath and exhaling deeply. “I feel utterly useless on this ranch.”

You sense your mind descending a ladder it shouldn't tread, but you can't resist. The overwhelming feeling of uselessness sends your thoughts into a tailspin.

“It’s to be expected. You’ll get better.” As he attempts to reassure you, his words only partially register, drowned out by the surging frustration within. A turbulent blend of anger and irritation courses through your veins, and you clench your fists, struggling to steady the rapid rhythm of your heart.

Out of the blue, you throw a question at him, breaking the silence. “Do you think I belong here?” The unexpected inquiry catches him off guard, evident in the momentary gape on his face.

“I do,” he starts, his words carrying a subtle plea, and you're left wondering why. What prompts this earnest assurance from him?

“I believe you just need time,” he adds, a reassuring smile gracing his face.

“I don't think I fit in, and I feel like an imposter,” you state, the words escaping your lips with a blankness that mirrors the emptiness inside. It's as if all the fight has been drained from you. Thoughts of returning home and calling it quits start to seep in, contemplating whether this life is truly meant for you. The allure of the city beckons, a retreat from the challenges on the ranch and perhaps a way to keep a safe distance from your sister. The idea lingers, tempting you with the notion that everyone might be happier that way.

You feel the raindrops patter on your skin, a cascading rhythm that mirrors the tumult within. Jimin appears unfazed, embracing the downpour without hesitation. The deluge intensifies, nearly drowning you in its relentless flow, mirroring the suffocating feeling of your struggles on the ranch. Is this torrential downpour a sign, urging you to contemplate the idea that perhaps it's truly time to head back to the city?

“We should get back,” Jimin suggests, attempting to guide you back, but the allure of the rain refuses to release its grip. The downpour descends heavily, clinging to your hair, a weight that feels like both burden and baptism. With raindrops tracing trails down your skin, it’s almost as if you’re being cleansed. As he observes your entwined hands, Jimin releases an audible sigh.

“You belong here,” he whispers, his voice a gentle caress, and a distant memory awakens within you— Childhood days resurface, a time of carefree laughter, a handsome boy uttering those same words when your father tore you away from this very land.

His touch crackles with an electric charge, igniting your skin in a dance with the pelting rain. It's a strange collision of fire and water, the contrasting elements creating a sensation that defies the damp surroundings. Instead of quenching the internal fire, the rain seems to stoke its flames, the intensity growing and nearly overtaking you.

His simple words act as a catalyst, reigniting the spark within you. With a heart fluttering to the rhythm of a wild stallion's gallop, you sprint back to the shed hand in hand, a small newfound determination propelling you forward in the pouring rain.

The lingering sense of uselessness persists, a relentless storm within. The weight of failure bears down on you, exacerbated when Jessi emphatically states that wet sheep can't be sheared. Her reminder echoes in the air, emphasizing the crucial task of gathering the right sheep after the sun works its magic to dry and warm their wool.

Amidst the tumultuous events, a haunting trio of emotions persists – regret, failure, and the sting of embarrassment.

As you move, the gentle yet commanding gaze of hazel eyes tracks your every step, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, creating an undercurrent of anticipation.

Frustration fueled by recent setbacks propels you to reach for your phone, fervently scouring the internet for information on handling your inheritance. Can you maneuver through the legal intricacies to sell your share of the ranch without the elusive signature of your sister?

In a moment of urgency, you delve into the unexplored territory of your inheritance, frantically searching on your phone. To your surprise, the results reveal a glimmer of hope – selling your share of the ranch without your sister's consent is not just a possibility, but a potential reality.

Despite the unsettling churn in your stomach at the thought of selling your share without your sister's knowledge, there's an undercurrent of reassurance. The knowledge that you have this option as a fallback provides a sliver of comfort, a lifeline in case Jessi refuses to grant you her signature.

Even as the warmth of this place and its people seep into your heart, the truth remains unchanged—you were never destined to stay. The allure of a potential sale, with its promise of financial security, continues to beckon, a lingering reminder of the transient nature of your stay.

As Ara flashes you a warm smile while tidying up a horse's stall in the barn, she extends an invitation, “Do you want to come into town with us?”

You're already lending her a hand, a task you're proficient at among the few things you've mastered during your stay.

“Sure,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug, the prospect of joining them in town offering a welcome diversion. With nothing pressing on your agenda, the possibility of a change of scenery beckons.

After completing the task of clearing out the stalls, you step into the yard, heading towards the pickup truck where Ha-rin awaits. The afternoon briskness plays with the strands of her short black hair.

As you all squeeze into the car, Ara takes the driver's seat and steers towards town. The road stretches out, and a contemplative silence envelops the vehicle. Unsure of what to discuss, you resist the urge to fill the void with forced conversation, allowing the rhythmic hum of the engine to create a canvas for unspoken thoughts.

Ara, surprisingly swift behind the wheel, navigates the journey to town in under two hours, leaving you both impressed and slightly questioning the safety of the speedy drive.

Nevertheless, here you are, immersed in the charm of the small town, wandering the aisles of the local grocery store.

Your trio navigates the aisles in unison, methodically checking items off Jessi's list. The simplicity of the task doesn't escape you, and you're determined not to let this be another thing you mess up.

As your gaze sweeps across the formidable grocery list, you notice an abundance of canned goods, sacks of flour, bags of rice, heaps of pasta, and an array of frozen items. The sheer quantity raises an unspoken question in your mind – is Jessi preparing for an impending event, or is this a routine restocking?

You cast a frustrated gaze away from the overwhelming list, you can't help but voice your exasperation. “Do we seriously need every single thing on this damn list?” The question hangs in the air, met with amused chuckles from the girls, their eyes twinkling with shared understanding.

Ha-rin offers a smile, her explanation accompanied by a purposeful stride as she guides the cart through the aisles, steadily accumulating the items on the lengthy list. “It's mainly for backstock. Stocking up helps us avoid frequent trips to town,” she shares, her words carrying a practical wisdom that resonates with the challenges of ranch life.

As you navigate through the aisle, the sultry tones of a familiar voice reach your ears. “Come on. It'll be fun in my car.”

Turning the corner, you spot the source—Jungkook, once again in the midst of his charming antics. A chuckle escapes you at the scene: his body leaning into the woman's like a predator and its prey. The pang in your chest is fleeting this time, a mere echo of the past encounter when you found yourself pressed against a wall with Jungkook.

Ara joins you, a shared chuckle escapes her lips as both of you catch sight of Jungkook's flirtatious spectacle. Deciding not to linger, you continue your journey further into the store, leaving the scene behind.

“I feel like I see Jungkook everywhere I go,” laughing, you share your observation with Ara as the cart, now laden with supplies, glides toward the cashier. The recurrent presence of Jungkook in unexpected places has become a quirky pattern in your days.

“Jungkook's reputation with the women in this town is legendary,” Ha-rin remarks, rolling her eyes with a smile. “Not that he's not sweet, but it's as if he's eternally searching, never quite satisfied,” she muses, the words more of a contemplative murmur than a deliberate statement.

As you ponder Ha-rin's remark about Jungkook, a fleeting thought crosses your mind. Could it be true that he, like everyone else, is on a quest for ‘the one’?

At the cashier, you efficiently load all your items onto the till, settle the grocery bill, and proceed to wheel the cart out to the pick-up truck. The teamwork flows seamlessly, and thankfully, the task is swiftly accomplished.

Securing the tarp over the backload of the truck, you turn to Ara and Ha-rin with a curious glint in your eyes. “Do you guys know when Jungkook moved here? I don't recall him being around when I was a kid,” you inquire, a tinge of nostalgia coloring your voice.

As you all climb back into the truck, you can't help but feel a sense of relief with Ha-rin taking the wheel this time – a decision that, for some reason, gives you a comforting notion of safety.

“Jungkook actually moved here shortly after you left,” Ara reveals from the front seat. The engine roars to life as Ha-rin takes control, steering the truck back towards the ranch.

“His mom married Jimin’s father, and they embraced the Park surname as their own. Jungkook’s actual last name is Jeon,” Ara shares, her laughter filling the truck's cabin as she turns to face you more directly. “And here's a tidbit for you: Jessi and Jungkook are actually best friends.” The revelation catches you off guard. Despite their apparent closeness, you hadn't realized the depth of their friendship until now.

“They’re always bickering,” Ha-rin chimes in with an eye roll, steering the car down the main road.

“They just need to fuck each other, that’s all.” Ara declares with a laughter that echoes through the truck.

You join in her laughter, though a peculiar unease settles in your stomach.

You sprint down to the main house, your feet drumming angrily on the dirt, the rhythmic pulse of your heart echoing in your ears. Bursting through the door, you dash into the kitchen, seeking out Ha-rin. Panting, you lean against the door frame, catching your breath.

Gasping for breath, eyes wide with urgency, you implore, “Do you have the vet's number?”

Worry etches across her face as she abandons the vegetables on the countertop. With a swift motion, she retrieves a piece of paper from the fridge, hastily jotting down the vet's number.

“What's wrong?” she inquires, concern lacing her words.

You spill the urgency in your voice, “It's Cinnamon, he's just laying down in his stall and I can't get him to stand. He seems to be in pain.”

“This is Namjoon’s number. Call him, and he’ll get here as soon as possible.” She hands you the slip of paper, and as you're about to turn away, heading back to the barn, you flash her a soft smile, gratitude lingering in your gaze.

“It sounds like he might have colic; do everything you can to make him stand up, okay?” She continues with a sense of urgency, turning her attention back to preparing the vegetables for tonight's dinner. You respond with a firm nod, then hastily leave the kitchen, the house, and sprint toward the barn, the piece of paper tightly clenched in your hand.

Cinnamon remains on the ground, emitting a strained whine that sends shivers down your spine. His condition is visibly deteriorating. Anxious, you retrieve your phone and the piece of paper bearing the vet's number. Your fingertips glide across the glass of your phone, tracing unfamiliar numbers before decisively pressing ‘call.’

“Hello, this is Namjoon. How can I assist you?” His voice carries a gentle warmth, hinting at a reassuring smile even through the phone.

“Hey there! My sister's horse is in bad shape. Any chance you could swing by and check him out?” you implore, crouching beside Cinnamon and gently caressing his soft coat.

“Absolutely,” he responds, and a brief pause follows, suggesting he's gathering supplies, the distinct rustling audible. “Mind filling me in on what's going on with the horse?”

After a brief hesitation, you gather your thoughts. Uncertain about Cinnamon's ailment, you decide to echo Ha-rin's suggestion, your voice conveying the worry that grips you. “I suspect it might be colic. He's lying down, and I can't get him to stand up.”

As Namjoon offers advice over the phone, the urgency in his voice becomes apparent. “It might be colic. Try your best to get him up and walk around if possible,” he instructs, the audible sounds of a car door opening and closing in the background. Then, he queries, “Where did you say you were again?”

You chuckle, realizing you hadn't given any information about yourself, let alone an introduction. “I'm at Bora Ranch,” you quickly provide, hoping the vet can navigate his way to your location without further delay.

The silence on the line for a few seconds feels like an eternity, but then his voice resonates close to the phone, “Wait... Are you Jessi’s sister? Is Cinnamon sick?” The urgency in his tone heightens the gravity of the situation.

You nod fervently, forgetting for a moment that he can't see you, and respond, “Yeah, that's right.”

“Okay. I'll be there soon,” he assures you before the line goes silent, the distant hum of a car engine starting in the background. Anxious, you pray that Namjoon arrives quickly; the agony of watching Cinnamon in pain becomes more unbearable by the moment.

You attempt to coax him with a gentle tug on his halter, but Cinnamon remains stubbornly unmoving. It's as if he's determined to stay sprawled on the ground. You wrestle with the conflicting thoughts racing through your mind – would it truly be detrimental if he stayed down? Uncertain, you recall the vet and Ha-rin's advice, urging you to encourage movement. Faced with uncertainty, you resolve to heed their counsel and make a concerted effort to get him back on his feet.

“Come on, buddy, rise up... I beg you to get up,” you groan, attempting to lift Cinnamon's head, but your efforts prove futile. Time seems to blur as you persist in coaxing Cinnamon to stand, your frustration mounting.

Just when despair threatens to settle in, the distant hum of an incoming car reaches your ears. A surge of gratitude washes over you as the vet's arrival feels like a lifeline in this desperate situation.

The nearing footsteps echo steadily, building anticipation until a towering figure emerges before you. Lifting your gaze, you lock eyes with the imposing presence that has just arrived.

His physique commands attention, a robust build accentuated by broad shoulders and encased in a blue coverall with sleeves artfully rolled up, revealing powerful biceps. Yet, his face carries an inviting warmth, and a friendly smile plays on his lips, instantly putting you at ease. Dimples grace his cheeks, adding a touch of approachable charm as he surveys you and the ailing Cinnamon.

“Greetings, I'm Namjoon, the vet,” he declares, placing his toolbox down before extending a hand for a firm shake. His neatly cropped black hair impeccably frames his face, and you take note of his confident yet gentle demeanor. As you introduce yourself as Jessi’s sister, you step aside, creating room for him to enter the stall and assess Cinnamon more closely.

“I'll conduct a thorough examination, but at the moment, colic appears to be a likely diagnosis,” he mentions, retrieving a set of instruments from his toolbox. With precision, he begins scrutinizing Cinnamon, attentively listening to the rhythmic sounds of the horse's stomach through a stethoscope

“Hmm. Could you fetch that tube protruding from my bag?” He motions towards his toolbox, and you swiftly identify the requested tube, presenting it to him. “Appreciate it,” he responds with a grateful smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of professionalism and warmth.

“Could you hold the tube for me? I need to step out to my car and retrieve a bag of fluids,” he entrusts you with the tube before swiftly heading outside, returning promptly with the life-saving liquid in hand.

“Appreciate it,” he acknowledges, reclaiming the tube from your hands and linking it to the translucent bag of vital fluid. Squatting down beside Cinnamon, he gently coaxes the horse's mouth open, inserting the tube into his throat. The sight is unsettling, prompting you to avert your gaze; it's too distressing to witness.

“The fluids will aid in rehydration,” Namjoon enlightens you, sensing your reluctance.

“The tube is in; you can turn around now.” A soft laugh accompanies his words, prompting you to face the scene unfolding before you. Witnessing Cinnamon receiving the vital fluids is a reassuring sight, and you find a glimmer of hope in the expertise of the skilled veterinarian.

“I've administered some medication to help him relax and alleviate the stomach discomfort. You should be able to get him on his feet in a few minutes,” Namjoon explains, rising to his feet and offering you a reassuring smile. His confidence in the treatment plan eases your worry, and you feel a sense of gratitude for his expertise.

“Jessi never brought up having a sister until about a week ago, so your existence was a bit of a surprise,” Namjoon chuckles, casually leaning against the stall's wall.

“That's not entirely surprising. I left this place as a kid, and now I'm grappling with this unexpected inheritance that's become a puzzle I can't quite solve,” you admit, absently scratching the back of your head in a gesture of nervous uncertainty. It's not that Namjoon is making you uneasy; rather, it's the delicate balance of deciding how much of your story to unveil. Some cards, you’ve learned, are meant to be held close to your chest.

“You know, you could always stick around and build a life for yourself here with your sister,” he suggests, a contemplative smile playing on his lips.

“I've been thinking of heading back to the city... Things are a bit complicated around here,” you admit, reflecting on the numerous times you've stumbled and the strain it has put on your relationship with Jessi.

Without waiting for Namjoon's response, Cinnamon unexpectedly stirs, lifting his head with a renewed vitality. Rushing over, you grab his halter and gently coax him back onto his feet.

The tube slips from his mouth with a resonant clatter, and Cinnamon vigorously shakes his head, dispelling the fatigue that weighed on his robust frame. As he rises to stand firmly on all four legs, a wave of relief washes over you, reassuring you that he's on the path to recovery. You offer him a gentle pat, your touch a soothing affirmation of his regained strength.

“If you've got other matters to attend to, I can handle walking him around. My schedule is clear at the moment. I'll look after him until Jessi returns,” Namjoon suggests, securing a tow rope to Cinnamon's halter before leading him out for a stroll.

“Sure thing,” you respond, reflecting on Ha-rin in the kitchen, realizing she could probably use an extra hand. Expressing your gratitude, you head down to the house, relieved that Cinnamon appears to be on the mend.

Teaming up with Ha-rin, you dive into preparing tonight's dinner, savoring the lively conversation between you. A part of you acknowledges the inevitable longing for these moments once you return to the city. For now, you hold onto these cherished times with everyone on the ranch.

As the clock ticks towards dinner, and with no sign of your sister in sight, you notice Namjoon's car still parked by the barn. Determined, you make your way up there, ready to announce that dinner is served, extending an invitation to Namjoon to join if he wishes.

In the warm embrace of the lingering weather, you embark on a short walk towards the barn. The muffled voices of your sister and Namjoon greet your ears, growing more distinct as you draw near. As you gently push the barn door open, an unexpected sight unfolds before you—they share a tender kiss.

Stunned, your mouth hangs agape, and instinctively, you retreat behind the barn door, veiling yourself in the shadows to avoid catching their attention.

Your decision to conceal yourself feels somewhat irrational. The sight of your sister engaging in a kiss is surprisingly jarring—perhaps it's the sheer unexpectedness. In your mind, you didn’t think she had a romantic bone in her body, and this revelation leaves you in a state of bewildered surprise.

You push open the barn doors, breaking the tender moment between your sister and Namjoon. A faint blush tints your cheeks as their gaze shifts to you. “Dinner's ready,” you announce, a casual invitation extended to Namjoon. Without waiting for their response, you swiftly retreat, your steps carrying you back down to the house.

The unexpected sight quickens your heart, a strange warmth flickering within. It's comforting to see your sister finding solace, someone to lean on as you prepare to depart. Reflecting on your own shortcomings, you realize you've been more of a burden than a support. But perhaps, in Namjoon, she's found a source of stability you couldn't provide.

The dinner unfolds seamlessly, with Namjoon proving to be delightful company. A subtle undercurrent of emotion lingers between him and your sister, evident in shared glances and unspoken words. Witnessing this connection stirs a surprising sense of joy within you, a genuine happiness for your sister.

“Thank you for calling Namjoon, when you saw that Cinnamon was sick,” Jessi's gratitude catches you off guard, her eyes expressing a tenderness you've rarely witnessed. It's a surreal moment, as if a different, softer version of your sister is speaking. She’s even thanking you. Is this moment real?

Namjoon's words carry a reassuring smile, his gaze fixed on you. “Thanks to your prompt call, Cinnamon will be back to his spirited self in just a few days.” His words accompany a gentle smile, his touch offering comfort as he playfully nudges Jessi's shoulder.

At last, a glimmer of success amidst the string of mishaps.

A warmth blooms within your chest, and a genuine smile graces your lips. It's a small victory, but in this moment, you revel in the relief of having played a part in something that didn't unravel under your touch.

As the sun shines high, casting a warm glow upon the barn, the rhythmic symphony of saddles being fastened and horses being prepped fills the air. You meticulously saddle up Marshmallow, your loyal companion, while Jessi tends to Cinnamon, who has thankfully bounced back from his bout of colic. In the background, Ara, Ha-rin, and Soo-ah bustle around, collecting saddles and bridles for their own equine companions. Each of their horses, with coats of varying browns, don distinctive stockings, that makes it easier to tell them apart.

“Are the guys meeting us here?” Curiosity colors your expression as you inquire about the guys, your gaze following Jessi's skilled hands as she readies Cinnamon.

With the saddle securely in place and the bridle in hand, Jessi exudes confidence, her words carrying a definitive tone, promising the imminent arrival of the guys, “Yeah, they’ll be here at any moment.” Stepping out of the barn, she leads Cinnamon with purpose.

As you prepare to tack up Marshmallow, the task of fastening the girth on the saddle demands your attention. Yet, in the midst of the routine, Marshmallow stands patiently, a paragon of trust and reliability. With practiced ease, you secure the girth, appreciating the unwavering steadiness of your equine companion before moving on to put on the bridle.

While you meticulously attend to Marshmallow, the trio of Soo-ah, Ha-rin, and Ara prove to be swift in their preparations. The clatter of hooves signals their efficiency, and before you can lead Marshmallow out, they're already guiding their horses into the open, joining Jessi in the vibrant embrace of the outdoors.

After meticulously preparing Marshmallow, you guide him out of the barn to find the girls eagerly mounted on their horses, a scene brimming with anticipation. They sit poised, their eyes on you.

Gracefully mounting Marshmallow, you settle into the saddle with practiced ease, a seamless fusion of rider and horse. Alongside the girls, you wait for the guys to arrive.

On top of the hill, four men adorned with cowboy hats emerge as the charge down the hill with an effortless equestrian elegance. The rhythmic cadence of hooves makes your heart feel giddy with anticipation and you take a moment to appreciate how incredible they all look on horseback.

Jungkook commands a fiery red stallion, its thick mane billowing gracefully in the wind, embodying untamed vitality. Meanwhile, Jimin guides a sleek black horse, distinguished by elegant white stockings that accentuate its majestic presence. Trailing closely behind, Yoongi and Hoseok navigate their sturdy brown horses.

As they approach, the undeniable allure of these men becomes even more apparent. Is everyone in the country just handsome?

However, it's Jimin's eyes that captivate you instantly—deep pools reflecting a passion that seems to run as profound as the countryside hills. The cowboy hat sits stylishly on his head, allowing strands of his blonde hair to playfully escape. His green checkered button-down shirt clings snugly to his well-defined torso, sleeves casually rolled up. The denim pants and boots bear the marks of hard work, adorned with the earthy traces of the ranch.

Jungkook dons a shirt that molds perfectly to his sculpted pectorals, paired with snug denim jeans and sturdy boots. Yoongi opts for a white tank top, showcasing his lean arms and defined biceps. Meanwhile, Hoseok sports a loose gray shirt that complements his easygoing style, paired effortlessly with denim pants.

“Hi,” resonates in unison from the group of guys as they approach you near the barn. A smile graces your lips, but your attention quickly shifts to your sister, fully aware that she's likely crafted a meticulous plan for the upcoming cattle drive.

“Nice of you to make it in time,” Jessi grunts, a small smile playing on her lips, punctuated by a chuckle.

“Someone had to spend an eternity getting ready,” Jungkook quips, rolling his eyes and nodding toward Jimin. He follows it with a nonchalant shrug, not bothering to deny it.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Hoseok asks, brimming with eagerness to get started. Jungkook scoffs beside him, “Boss? She’s not your boss– I am.”

Hoseok burst out in a beautiful, contagious laughter, echoing through the air and drawing a chuckle from you.

“Kook, just shut up,” Jessi laughs, her voice carrying a hint of playful exasperation. Then, she takes a deep breath, steadying her posture, “We'll move the cattle from the northeastern paddock to the one closest to the Bell Ranch.”

Amidst nods from everyone, Yoongi leans down, patting his horse's neck with a soothing touch that elicits a deep, resonant whine from the animal. “Anything else?” he asks, his voice a calm undercurrent in the anticipation-laden air.

Jessi's gaze sweeps across the group, her eyes meeting each one in turn. A stern but determined expression settles on her face.

“This is a stress-free drive, so remember, no pushing the cattle!” Her words hang in the air, setting the tone for the upcoming task.

Jessi orchestrates the plan with precision, assigning roles to each member of the team. “Me and Soo-ah will take the front, Ha-rin, Hoseok, Kook, and you,” she points directly at you, “will cover the sides, and then Jimin, Yoongi, and Ara will handle the back of the herd.” Her directive gaze holds a sense of purpose, and a unanimous agreement ripples through the group.

“Let’s get going!” Jessi announces, her voice bubbling with excitement as she nudges Cinnamon into a spirited gallop. Eagerly, the rest of the group surges forward, and you, too, urge Marshmallow into a rhythmic canter, the rhythmic beat of hooves creating a lively symphony as the cattle drive begins.

To reach the north-eastern paddock, the journey takes you over rolling hills and through a small forest, where fallen trees create impromptu jumping courses. Jungkook, seizing every opportunity, guides his horse with finesse over the natural obstacles. Yoongi and Hoseok follow suit, while Soo-ah and your sister eagerly join in on the exhilarating equine adventures.

As the group revels in the joy of riding, laughter fills the air as they expertly guide their horses over logs and obstacles, showcasing their agility and camaraderie. Meanwhile, the rest of you opt for the smoother path, enjoying the less rugged terrain.

Amidst the playful antics of the group, you observe Jimin refraining from the lively jumping games. However, his infectious laughter resonates, and his eyes crinkle in mirth.

you sense his attentive gaze lingering on you as you ride, creating a flutter that dances in your stomach reminiscent of the last time you felt his eyes roam your body.

As you reach the paddock, Jessi gracefully maneuvers Cinnamon into position, opening the gate from atop his back. With a synchronized pace, you guide your horses through the entrance.

“Alright, everyone, let's find our positions. And keep in mind— stress-free!” Jessi's eyes pierce through the group, emphasizing the importance of a calm approach.

The importance of a stress-free approach for better cattle sales echoes in your mind, a principle she insists upon even when the herd isn't up for sale yet. It's Jessi's commitment to consistency, and you brace yourselves for the task ahead, determined to maintain the calm demeanor required for a successful drive.

Jessi and Soo-ah kick their horses into a measured trot, leading the way towards the grazing cattle. The rhythmic beats of hooves on the ground set the tone for the impending drive, as you and the rest of the group follow, creating a unified force propelling towards the herd.

With precise coordination, Ha-rin and Hoseok elegantly flank the right side of the cattle, while you and Jungkook synchronize on the left. Together, you form an unyielding circle, ensuring the cattle remain contained within your guiding presence. Bringing up the rear, Jimin, Yoongi, and Ara stand as guardians, securing the boundaries of the moving cattle.

As you gradually set the cattle in motion, your horses step purposefully, nudging the herd forward with a deliberate yet gentle momentum. The realization dawns on you that this endeavor could stretch into hours at the current pace. A silent acknowledgment passes through your mind – a subtle premonition that your ass is going to hurt after this damn long cattle drive. Sigh.

Adjusting yourself in the saddle, a subtle awareness creeps over you, when you feel a tingling sensation run through your body – the distinct sense of Jimin's eyes tracing your movements. Expectantly, you turn to meet his gaze, only to find his attention fixated on the cattle, his expression unreadable.

The vast expanse of open land surrounds you, the lush green grass beneath your horse's hooves and the endless blue sky overhead create a beautiful image, like straight from a painting. Despite the scorching summer heat, you appreciate the breathability of your t-shirt, confident it shields you from overheating.

Glancing at Jimin, clad in a button-down shirt, you can't help but wonder if he's feeling the heat, beads of sweat possibly forming beneath the fabric.

As the chatter of small groups fills the air, you and Jungkook maintain a contemplative silence, guiding the cattle towards Bell Ranch at a deliberate pace. The rhythmic hoofbeats and the collective murmur create a serene backdrop to your silent partnership, each of you immersed in your own thoughts as the herd moves forward.

Jungkook maneuvers his horse closer to yours, prompting a curious look from you. Leaning in, he turns his head in your direction and asks, “Are you alright?” His voice carries a genuine concern, and you find yourself captivated by the unexpected tenderness in his eyes.

His unexpected question catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily wide-eyed. A soft chuckle escapes him as you gather your thoughts.

“I'm fine,” you assure him with a gentle smile, the warmth in your expression matching the pleasant day unfolding around you.

His words hang in the air, laced with a playful smile that reaches his eyes. “I've sensed a bit of avoidance on your end since the barn party,” he says, punctuating the statement with a wink and a teasing smirk.

Your words rush out, a mix of surprise and reassurance. “I really wasn't avoiding you,” you start, hoping to convey that any perceived avoidance was unintentional.

“Are you hurt because you wanted a relationship with me?” His words, delivered with an air of casual curiosity, strike a chord within you. The nonchalant tone belies the complexity of the question. In the initial moments, a pang of hurt may have flickered, not due to a desire for a relationship, but from the lingering sense that there might have been more beneath the surface between you.

His unexpected question leaves you momentarily flabbergasted. “No, Jungkook. I've just heard a lot…” Your sentence hangs in the air, interrupted by his swift interjection, “That I fuck around a lot?” The weight of his reputation hangs in the air, injecting a charged energy into the conversation.

As you nod in acknowledgment, he erupts into laughter, exuding an undeniable sense of self-contentment. There's a certain admiration that sprouts within you, witnessing his unapologetic confidence.

“Yeah, I’m not exactly cut out for relationships. I just wanted to clear the air, make sure you weren’t expecting something more from me,” he grins, and you reciprocate with a smile of your own.

“I don’t, but I’d love to be friends with you?” His face lights up at your words, a radiant smile nearly outshining the sun. Laughter bubbles up from within you, a newfound lightness filling your chest now that you’ve cleared the air.

Just when you anticipate him riding away, he edges even closer, your horses nearly touching. “Actually,” he leans in, whispering in your ear, “I've noticed the way Jimin looks at you.”

Your ears and cheeks blaze with heat, and your heartbeat quickens, as if a spark could set you ablaze at any moment. Has Jungkook truly sensed the simmering tension between his brother and you? While in conversation with Jungkook, the weight of chocolate brown eyes drilling into your back intensifies, a silent observer.

A nervous chuckle escapes you, blending with Jungkook's laughter beside you. “I've also noticed the way you look at him,” he adds, his eyes glinting with a playful understanding that hints at the unspoken connection between you and Jimin.

This revelation tightens the grip of anxiety around your chest, your heart threatening to burst forth. You believed your feelings were veiled in subtlety, yet Jungkook's revelation suggests otherwise. Your palms turn clammy as his warm breath grazes your ear, a sensation that sends electric shivers coursing through your entire body.

Jungkook straightens up on his horse, creating some distance that allows you to breathe more freely. However, his words hang in the air, echoing in your mind. “You should make a move,” he suggests casually. Yet, his words echo in your mind, almost making you choke on the fresh air, and your eyes widen. Does he really think you should make a move on Jimin— won’t that be weird?

An awkward chuckle escapes your lips as you voice the concern that's been gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

“I mean, he's your brother… Won’t that be weird?” The words stumble out, a bit disjointed, revealing the nervous energy that now dances between you and Jungkook. The admission of your attraction to Jimin hangs in the air, making the situation more delicate than ever.

His honest words wash over you, a tide of reassurance in a sea of uncertainty. “I don't think it's weird, at least not for me,” Jungkook confesses, and suddenly, the weight of apprehension begins to lift. His understanding response offers a newfound comfort, nudging you to consider the possibility of embracing your feelings for Jimin.

He leans back into you, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “Also, he's looking at you now, practically undressing you with his eyes.” The words send a thrilling shiver down your spine, creating an electric surge inside your body and a charged atmosphere as you process the realization of Jimin’s lingering gaze.

You gulp, acutely aware of Jimin's lingering gaze that has been like a steady flame throughout the day, igniting a fire in your body that you're hesitant to stoke. Jungkook chuckles at your nervous reaction, and in that momentary distraction, you both fail to notice two cattle slipping away from your side.

“The cattle are out!” The urgency in Yoongi's shout pierces the air, and without a second thought, you and Jungkook kick your horses into a gallop, chasing after the errant cattle. Jimin swiftly takes your place at the side of the herd, seamlessly filling the gap left in your wake.

Side by side with Jungkook, you expertly corral the two stray cattle, seamlessly reintegrating them with the rest of the herd. Yet, a discerning glance from your sister reveals your momentary lapse in attention.

Her voice carries a hint of frustration as she scolds, “Didn't I emphasize a stress-free drive?” Her eyes reflect irritation as she shakes her head disapprovingly. Resuming your original positions with Jungkook, Jimin strides purposefully back to his spot at the rear of the herd.

Apologizing, you attempt to justify, “I'm sorry, but they were making a run for it…” However, Jessi isn't willing to accept your explanation.

Her frustration boils over, “You always mess things up—the feed, the tire, the gate, and now this!” With an exasperated exhale, she falls silent and resumes her position at the front of the group.

Your complexion drains of color, the weight of Jessi's accusations sinking in. Has she been keeping a tally of your every misstep? You're well aware of your frequent blunders, but Jessi's direct call-out stings.

Gripping the reins tightly, you feel frustration coursing through your veins. With a deep breath, you fight to regain composure, not wanting to distress Marshmallow with your unsettled state.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook attempts to offer reassurance, but you're in no mood to accept it. The exhaustion of another setback on the cattle drive weighs heavily on you. “It's not okay,” you groan, a sense of deflation settling in. It seems like setbacks always find a way to plague you.

You pivot on Marshmallow, addressing Ara with urgency, “Ara, can we switch places?”

Ara offers you a gentle, reassuring smile, nodding in agreement as she guides her horse to your side. With a turn, you position Marshmallow at the back, now flanked by Jimin and Yoongi.

Frustration envelops the atmosphere at the back, and it's mostly yours. A silent tension lingers between you, Jimin, and Yoongi. It crosses your mind that they might be hesitant to engage in conversation, a realization that irritates you further.

“Just let it go,” Yoongi utters, his gaze fixed ahead, and for a moment, it's unclear if the advice is meant for you. Your retort comes swiftly, “Easy for you to say; you're not the one stumbling at every turn.” A frustrated exhale follows, tension thick in the air.

“He did in the beginning,” Jimin chimes in, a playful smile accompanying his laughter. Yoongi, rolling his eyes at Jimin’s jest, contributes, “I did. You learn from each and every one of your screw-ups.”

“It's pointless,” you sigh, a heavy sense of defeat settling over you. It's time to call it quits.

Jimin visibly startles at your candid statement, a subtle flinch in his movements. The tension radiates through him, evident in the stiffening of his shoulders. Yoongi, wisely choosing silence, refrains from adding anything further, sensing it's not the moment to provoke.

The remainder of the drive proceeds with minor mishaps, and you successfully avoid major blunders in the back. However, upon reaching Bell Ranch, Jessi's dissatisfaction with your performance becomes glaringly apparent as she candidly expresses her discontent.

“I don’t want to get into it,” you share, burdened by your own errors and unwilling to hear your sister enumerate your shortcomings in ranch life. Surprisingly, she heeds your request, allowing you to brood in solitude while the others relish a well-deserved sip of water, celebrating the triumph of a fruitful cattle drive.

A somber cloud seems to loom over your head, making it challenging for you to partake in the joy and success radiating from the others.

“I’m going back to the ranch,” you announce to the group, their expressions registering surprise before they nod in acknowledgment. Striding purposefully, you make your way back to where Marshmallow is tethered to a post, swiftly mounting him. A gentle squeeze of your legs, and he bursts into a rapid gallop, carrying you away.

You surge over the undulating hills, the lush green grass beneath you, a cascade of dirt trailing in the wake of Marshmallow's swift strides. Granting him the freedom to unleash his energy, you, too, allow your emotions to unravel. This gallop, akin to the refreshing rain, brings a cleansing sensation, each stride lightening the burden on your mind.

As the ranch emerges on the horizon, you guide Marshmallow into a brisk trot, the anticipation building with each step. Upon reaching the barn, you meticulously strip away his gear, setting him free into the paddock alongside his equine companions, the sun casting a warm glow on the familiar surroundings.

Determined to shift your focus, you stride purposefully toward the main house, contemplating the idea of preparing a hearty dinner for the returning group. The uncertainty of their arrival lingers, but the thought of a satisfying meal upon their return fuels your motivation to create something special.

Seeking refuge in the kitchen, you throw yourself into the rhythm of meal preparation, attempting to drown out the echoes of your perceived failures. However, just as you find solace in the routine, a gentle pattering on the roof and windows interrupts your thoughts – the subtle arrival of rain.

As you lose yourself in the culinary dance, time becomes elusive. When you finally lift your gaze from the bubbling pots, a captivating sight unfolds outside the kitchen window – the girls, drenched from the rain, riding back on horseback. The tantalizing aroma of dinner fills the air, and with their return, you hope to satisfy not only their hunger but also the unspoken cravings lingering in the rain-kissed atmosphere.

In a swift transition, they sweep into the house, their laughter mingling with the aroma of the rain outside. Together in the kitchen, a collaborative symphony ensues as you and the girls put the finishing touches on dinner, setting the table in the warm glow of the living room. Despite the subtle undercurrent of Jessi's irritation, you forge ahead, determined not to let it cast a shadow over the convivial atmosphere you're creating.

Amidst the shared warmth of the dinner table, Ha-rin expresses her gratitude, breaking into a chuckle that echoes the sentiment of relief. “Thank you for taking the reins in the kitchen,” she acknowledges, savoring the anticipation of a meal without the familiar duty of preparing it.

As you share a smile with Ha-rin, a peculiar tension lingers around the table, casting a shadow over the meal. Your appetite wanes, reduced to absentmindedly stabbing at the food on your plate.

“Why do you keep messing up?” Jessi's voice pierces the air, frustration palpable as her gaze locks onto you. The question hangs in the room, demanding an answer you're not sure how to provide. Honestly, the reasons behind your repeated slip-ups elude you, leaving a disconcerting silence in their wake.

You release a frustrated sigh, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Clenching your hands in a bid to contain the brewing storm of emotions, you admit, “I... don't know.”

The confession hangs in the air, a raw acknowledgment of your own confusion and struggle.

Jessi's frustration explodes, her voice cutting through the air like a sharp gust of wind. “I give you clear instructions, but you manage to mess it up every time!”

Her words reverberate across the table, a storm of tension settling over the room, leaving the rest of the girls in hushed silence, their eyes darting between the two of you as the confrontation unfolds.

“I'm well aware that I mess things up, but damn it, I'm trying!” Your voice echoes with a mix of frustration and desperation, the words carrying a weight of both anger and a plea for understanding.

“If you can't handle it, then I don't want you here,” she declares with unwavering determination, and you find yourself gaping at her. The simmering anger within threatens to boil over, your hand involuntarily unclenching as the tension in the room tightens like a coiled spring.

“Maybe I should just leave then! Sell my share of the ranch,” you retort with a sharp edge, your heartbeat quickening as anger boils inside, transforming your thoughts into a seething red haze.

She scuffs, “Just go, but you’re never getting my signature.”

“I don’t need your signature. I consulted a lawyer, and he said I don’t need it,” you assert, crossing your arms firmly over your torso.

Jessi's face turns pale at your revelation, and she hisses, “You wouldn’t dare!”

She's fuming, but you don’t care.

Unaware of the startled looks from the girls, Jessi has risen from her seat, poking her finger at you. “You wouldn’t dare,” she repeats, her voice seething with disbelief.

“I would,” you declare with unwavering certainty, rising from your seat across from your sister. The air crackles with tension as both of you yell at each other, and it feels like there's no turning back now.

Blinded by rage, you find yourself panting and seething, the room tainted with the color of your fury. The atmosphere becomes oppressive as Jessi slams her hands down onto the table, her words cutting through the air like venom. “I don't want you here. Get the fuck out, and I mean it this time,” she commands, each word carrying the weight of finality, stinging and lingering in the charged silence that follows.

“FINE,” you hiss, your hands clenched in frustration, a turbulent storm of emotions swirling within. It's a bitter realization that this place isn't for you, that your sister neither wants nor needs your presence. With a resigned exhale, you retreat from the table, striding out of the dining room and into the solitude of your guest room, the weight of rejection settling heavily on your shoulders.

You yank open your bags, tearing the closet apart to gather your belongings. The relentless rain pelts against the windows, mirroring the storm of emotions inside you. Frustration wells up within you, and as you navigate the room to collect your scattered belongings, the blur of tears makes it challenging to see.

Damn it.

This wasn't the outcome you anticipated.

You never quite found your place here, and perhaps you never truly belonged. Uncertainty engulfs you, a whirlwind of thoughts storming within your mind. Yet, now you're bound for the city. Your heart tightens at the prospect of returning, leaving behind a place that, against all odds, had grown dear to you.

But in the grand scheme of it all, none of it holds significance now. You hastily cram the remaining belongings into your bags and sling them over your shoulders. Your initial packing was minimal, and your city friend's contributions were modest, a reflection of the short-lived stay you had anticipated from the beginning.

A heavy sigh escapes you as you exit the guest room, traversing through the familiar dining room. Pausing in the doorway, you let the weight of the moment settle, and with a resigned tone, you utter, “I suppose this is our farewell.”

Ara, Soo-ah, and Ha-rin bid you a somber farewell, their eyes reflecting sadness, but as you turn to face Jessi, her gaze remains stubbornly averted. The palpable tension weighs on you, causing your shoulders to slump in defeat. With a heavy heart, you step outside, making your way to your parked car.

As the rain continues to cascade around you, you disregard the wetness, traversing the distance from the main house to your car. The downpour soaks you thoroughly as you hurriedly stow your bags in the vehicle. Seated inside, a poignant moment unfolds, mirroring the tears glistening in your eyes with the relentless rain outside.

With a heart weighed down by the burdens of departure, you insert the key into the ignition, the mechanical click echoing the emotional weight within. As the engine hums to life, it serves as a reluctant melody to the bittersweet symphony of leaving.

An unsettling sense of déjà vu envelops you as you bid farewell to this familiar haven for the second time. Yet, this departure bears the weight of your own volition, amplifying the melancholy that lingers in the air.

Regret creeps in, leaving a bitter aftertaste as you press down on the gas, steering the car away from what you once called home, now fading into the rearview mirror.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜 I’m not really feeling very well at the moment. I’m very depressed and I was even hospitalized last week because of trigger warning suicidal thoughts… anyway. I’m struggling, but I enjoy writing this, and I’m gonna see it to the end, even though I feel very disheartened by the notes (I really shouldn’t look, but I’m only human, lol. And I’m comparing it to my other works, not other’s because that can get dangerous real fast!). But anyway. Writing is therapeutic for me, but posting seems to be the hurdle for me now… so I’m thinking— only thinking, that this story might be the last one that I post. I don’t know yet. Just a thought. Anyway. I’m very happy to have some lovely friends here— thank you guys! You already know who you are 🫶✨

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Note

Congratulations on the milestone!✨✨

I wanted to request a bts headcanon! There was this one trend on tiktok last year that was like “you’re not dating but you’re not just friends either” lol so I guess like a bts in a situation type of thing? Thank you thank you! 💕

tysm!

i know exactly what trend you're talking about and i was never sure if that was supposed to be, like, an actual situationship or like that more cutesy in-between crush & dating stage so i'll try to do both.

once again tag teamed this with @hot-soop bc i have no original thoughts.

come tell me how wrong i am :)

headcanons: bts in a situationship

seokjin —

has the least situationship energy out of all of them imo. mr. domestic king of commitment probably wouldn't be able to handle the uncertainty of it, but could be convinced if the other party wasn't ready/didn't want to commit.

(let's be real, it's impossible to not be in love with him, so [rihanna voice] good luck with booking that situationship u speak of.)

thinks he's being chill and in actuality is being the least chill person alive. red ears & neck 25/8.

does the "let's just play one more round of mario kart" con until the next thing you know it's 2am and the only way you're getting home is an overpriced rideshare, so whoops, might as well stay over, what would you like for breakfast?

strikes me as the type that'd be similar in that in-between stage, too, but way more acts of service.

picnics in the park, polaroid pictures of things that remind him of you, beats that video game level you're stuck on without you even having to ask, rambles on and on about his webtoons, chill weekends spent together at home.

yoongi —

completely down for a situationship. might be made for it, actually. you don't even need to ask.

however. realizes he's Emotionally Compromised and has his "oh shit wait what the fuck" moment months in. good luck sorting that mess out!

yoongi: it is very obvious i have feelings for this person and it is very obvious where we stand with one another.

also yoongi: disappears for a week bc of work and doesn't say a word.

also also yoongi: casually shows up at 3am and wants to hang out like disappearing without a word wasn't at all weird and confusing as fuck.

also also also yoongi: has the nerve to be confused when you call it off because he doesn't seem interested.

spends the next few months overthinking literally everything and reappears with a wall of text detailing everything he likes about you.

in that more cutesy in-between: playlists, "do you wanna hear what i've been working on?", open the door please it's 1am and yoongi's outside with takeout, absolutely giddy when he gets to teach you about his interests.

hobi —

can't see him being all that different from the way he'd be in an actual relationship, tbh, which is both a blessing and a curse.

a f f e c t i o n a t e

(but is it "i like you and want to be with you" affection or "i do this with literally everyone there is no way to tell if it's something more" affection?)

king of overcommunicating! good morning texts, phone calls before bed, memes and silly pictures throughout the day.

wants to trade ootd pics. sends you one everyday even if you don't reciprocate. pouts for days if you playfully roast his fit, but sometimes he needs someone to be honest about those questionable shoes he wears.

somehow knows literally every person to exist. has a friend who works at that cool new club downtown. the gallery with that hot new exhibit. knows someone who knows someone who works with that band you can never get tickets to see.

ensures you will never want for anything while you're with him.

namjoon —

ooh boy.

quiet. a lil obsessive. observant. can definitely be jealous. the kind of guy who loves to think he's good at situationships until he's in one and realizes very quickly he's not.

has a natural urge to play games to test you then have an existential crisis about whether that makes him a bad person.

wants to have all of your attention but will not ask for it. wants intensity but questions whether that’s sustainable long term.

ghosts when he’s in his feelings but writes you long, thoughtful paragraphs when he’s drunk. "that one guy who jerked you around in college" vibes.

will break your back and your heart at the same time.

in that cute in-between: museum dates. meetups in the park in the middle of the night to stare at the stars and get all philosophical. let's go try out that new distillery and catch that new arthouse film after. does this guy even have friends? because it's been 8 years and you still haven't met them.

jimin —

fun until it isn't.

lively and sweet and easy until it isn't.

flirts with literally everyone but gets real petty and kinda mean if you do the same.

thinks he isn't good enough. wants compliments and validation. another chronic overthinker. playful banter until he takes it too seriously and needs reassurance that you do actually like him.

not a ghoster but also not good at ending things so just lets it go stale and wither away.

dates? drinking and dancing. maybe one of those sip and paints. tickets to the ballet. competition shows at his place with takeout.

cuddly and affectionate but why does he call all of his friends his soulmate?

in the in-between: loves showing you off. would probably love to do your makeup. sickeningly sweet comments on all your ig selfies. always holding your hand.

taehyung —

intense. has a tendency to get a lil self-centered and disappear in that big noggin of his.

physical rather than emotional. will blow your back out in 10 different ways before he tells you he likes you.

(and only does this at 5am when he's drunk and just spent the last half hour crying to jimin on the phone.)

insecure so he plays it carefree and silly, but, dear reader, it was not, in fact, carefree and silly.

golden hour. takes the best photos of you on film. paints you silly things and nearly cries when you actually display them. can't cook but tries making a date of cooking together anyway; cons you into paying for the takeout after it inevitably fails. record stores. red wine.

jungkook —

either a major fuckboy or the most sensitive man on the planet there is really no in between here.

either never commits or is ready to get married the second time you hang out.

no chill. someone please remind him to be normal about this.

j e a l o u s !

facetimes you in the middle of the night just because.

learns all your favorite songs on guitar. loves a photobooth; keeps the film strip in his wallet. teaches you how to play video games but gets really pouty when you wind up being better than him. diners at 2am; a milkshake with two straws. obnoxious gym selfies. pretends he doesn't want to sing your girl group songs at noraebang yet suspiciously knows all the choreography.

shy shy shy

#work: 1kfm #bts headcanons #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #jewel answers #jewel writes

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meanbossart · 1 month

Text

A long over-due ask compilation (Art & Music)

It's vaguely based on a short story from the book "The Consumer" by Michael Gira, specifically "The Boss". I think it came up in conversation with a friend or something when I was picking a new username, so that's how we arrived at it - this was almost a decade ago so, my memory on it is a little hazy!

{MORE UNDER THE CUT]

HAHA thank you so much!!! Glad you enjoy what I do 😎🍻

I BELIEVE this little guide I put together over here might be helpful to you, also! I touched on pretty much everything you brought up.

As for reference material when it comes to facial expressions, I have a mirror next to my desk which I glance at often and make weird faces at LOL and for consistency, it's really a matter of learning to dissect and remember facial structure. It's just something you end up developing an eye for when you've done it for long enough! Naturally, if we're talking about drawing existing characters, it's always helpful to just look at some pictures of their mugs and take a minute to define what features about them make their faces recognizable - I touch on this at the link above as well!

I do plan on making a "drowstarion" (love that, by the way LOL) playlist eventually, life's just been kicking my ass and I hardly have the time 😭and when I do, I just wanna draw.

Otherwise I don't have any other playlists floating around at the moment, BUT the one my boyfriend made for his Vellioth comic can be found here, and it might scratch a similar itch!

Thank you! I believe this was in reference to this post. Something like that takes me about... An hour??? If we're talking just the colors, at least. Though that's a really rough estimate because I take a lot of breaks, so my sense of time when I work ends up pretty skewed. Even if the application of the colors themselves took less than 20 minutes I probably spent 2 hours just staring at it LOL.

My friend, I have no idea. I'm in a constant battle between "I want to draw more realistically" and "I want to simplify my art so I can draw more/faster". What you see is the result of that ongoing brain-tug-of-war.

Also, just the way I assume everyone else develops theirs - they see stuff they like and emulate it until their art is Frankensteinish enough to be it's own unique thing!

I'm far from a Type O Negative buff, BUT I'm happy to share some of my favorites with you! They're quite scattered across a couple of their albums so I'm not sure I have a favorite, but I would say October Rust is a good starting point.

In no particular order, these are my most listened tracks of theirs: -Love You to Death -Black N.01 -Haunted -She Burned Me Down -Can't Lose You -I Don't Wanna Be Me -Be My Druidess -September Sun -Tripping A Blind Man

Alas, I was one of those people who was already drawing in kindergarten 😅 though I would say I only started taking it seriously when I was around 15-16 years old. As someone who has tried their hand at several other hobbies since reaching adulthood, I get what you're saying that it can kinda feel like... You missed the wagon? I've felt that way about all kind of things lol

That said, I've seen adults managing to develop their art skills extremely fast and effectively before. Understanding where and how you need to improve, and how to follow lessons/guides best is something that is vastly improved by maturity and knowing how to best hone your time, attention, and resources - and those are skills we completely lack as children. So, I sincerely believe that as long as you commit yourself, you can definitely get to a point that you're happy with in a couple of years if not less.

JUST DO IT BUDDY we are all just people looking through a screen and you won't ever see, talk, or meet 99% of the folks who ever clap eyes on what you post. Whenever you start getting nervous about sharing something, take a minute to ask yourself why you're nervous, and if none of the reasons have any genuine substance besides being afraid of what people "might think", just go ahead and post it. You're no mind-reader after all, and if you are, I doubt you can hear what a guy from Argentina or wherever is thinking about the art you made.

Point is, nobody online can touch you 🤷and if someone doesn't like what you do, they can simply choose to not interact with it, and if they do you can block and move on. There are zero reasons for you to feel "bad" about putting up a doodle when our experiences on the web are so easily curated nowadays.

#ask compilation

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luvring · 4 months

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Helloooo, your Ais and Mhin hcs are so nice omg! Can I ask for some Kuras headcanons, if you'd be so kind?🥺 Many thanks in advance💛

KURAS HCS 3

gn!reader | hello it's me :-) thank u vry vry much anon wherever u are I hope i reach u.... telepathically telling u i have done more hcs o7

nooo kuras don't have doctor handwriting noooo look at me... it's cursive and can be pretty but also the doctor handwriting curse :( /affectionate but if he's writing something for you he takes care to make it neat + makes your name look extra nice

kuras wearing all black instead of all white.... 😵‍💫like imagine him dressing up and you're staring as he walks past... and he goes to ask you a question, pausing when he notices your gaze evidently not on his face. he's amused by this obviously as he walks toward you and tilts your chin to make eye contact. your face feels warm while he teases you, tells you he's flattered you like his change of attire, but mind answering if you've seen his coat nearby?

writer who needs help with medical jargon and information and comes to kuras who's already expecting it after the 4th time. he hums and takes a few moments before casually replying with his thoughts. sometimes though if you're not paying enough attention, he says something super inaccurate (something about a heart disease when asked about a punctured lung) to see how much you write down before noticing

not very good at making playlists... or like, his music taste isn't very vast and there's a chance he doesn't know many artists in the genres you enjoy. he does try his hand at making one when he overhears it's a cute gift, but it doesn't end up seeing the light of day because he's unsure you'd like it ^^; he doesn't actually delete it though, so if you really wanna see it, he'll let you

^ feel free to make a playlist for him though! he'll let it play quietly as he works (so long as it isn't something that requires his full attention) and tells you his favourites the next time you see him :-)

! body doubling. nothing else to add

kuras offering to pay for you while out shopping.. you say he doesn't have to, but he says you've picked out something nice and you like it, so why wouldn't he?

i imagine that kuras doesn't really. keep up with...internet jokes and such... so if you're out with a friend and talking about something related, there's a good chance that his eyebrows are a little furrowed as he tries to understand. like, you know when there's a popular post going around and you say "did you see ___" and your friend immediately knows what you're talking about when you didn't even finish describing it. yeah he has no idea what's going on how did they pick it up so quickly

^ tries quite hard though. he does. but some memes have like 5 layers of lore and context and he just kind of sighs and laughs in defeat

also i think kuras might be a little nervous to meet your friends at first ^^; but intrigued/happy too !! he listens to you describe them so he can put names to faces (won't tell them what you said exactly, like he won't be like "oh, you're the one who..." but there'll be recognition on his face, and if it comes up he'll smile knowingly), plus he likes watching you enjoy yourself with them!

if you name your plushies he picks up all their names quite quickly. this also applies if you have a lot of figures/favourite characters! he'll notice if you've moved them around at all, and somehow remember one of their birthdays too?

there is a silly image in my head of kuras using a silly straw. like him working on some important document and sipping on it

^ also getting him to use cute bandaids and such... like if you cut yourself on something and he goes to get your bandaids and they're pokemon or sanrio. LOL. he finds it amusing when you ask if he wants some of your stash—you're always willing to share after all

you find out he's centuries old and start calling him old man. ask if his back hurts from his age And height or if he knew the dinosaurs (?? imagine they exist in the TS universe) etc etc. though watch out for any back pain jokes because if your posture is worse than his he'll throw it back at you :(

#touchstarved #touchstarved game #kuras x reader #touchstarved kuras #last point sad face bc thatd be me :( straightened my posture as i typed it...#im always nervous im repeating hcs from older posts.. if i do can u tell me. but kindly and gently and with love

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cherubispunk · 5 months

Text

UP IN YOUR ARMS (CHAPTER ONE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.

a note from Lucy: chapter one! I'm digging my own grave here. thats all im saying. i promise it is focused on joel and the reader later in the chapter. im just setting the scene for differnt relationships in the series.

playlist

wc: 6969 (haha lol) Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.

series m.list | m.list

The jazz band was one of the finest groups in the city. ‘Only the finest for The Canary Club’, as Johnny had put it.

Johnny Boy Finnick.

Now he was a man. Played sports in college, muscular, strong arms that pinned you to the wall or mattress or table. Hands that shuffled playing cards with ease and had you screaming far after the night was over. Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that never fell out of place from its slicked back style. Not even after he had crushed someone's jaw under the weight of his pummeling, bloodlusting fist.

Johnny made a name for himself bootlegging liquor, too young to fight in the first world war. Took over as The Boss of Boston. It’s how he got his name. Johnny Boy. Fresh faced but the heart of a ragged old man. Lost it all after the second world war, gained it back not long after. A killer with a bone deep yearning for blood, money, violence, and you.

He sat in his pressed suit, legs parted as he leaned over to display his full flush to the table, flashing a killer smile when he collected the money off his right hand man and three more of his boys. You smiled from the bar, beads of your dress twinkling in the low light of the speakeasy, ready to waltz over with another old fashioned and drape yourself in his lap.

“Thanks, Henry.” You smiled at your oldest friend, taking the drink he had placed down in front of you on the bar. Henry was your age, 25. A boy from Hartford, Connecticut, grew up in Kansas, then moved here looking for work in a big city. Honest, hardworking. Sweeter than cherry pie. And his little brother Sam was just the cutest pip you'd ever seen.

“No problem, Doll.” He teased, which deserved a roll of the eyes from you.

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”

“This would make it…” he glanced up for a second, as if calculating within his mind, “one too many times to count.”

“Funny.” You gave him a quick bitter smile. All in good fun, clearly, for he took no offence. He just shot you a smile, running a clean rag over the bartop, collecting two glasses and wiping the rings of condensation they left upon maplewood.

“Your man looks thirsty. Might wanna take him his drink now. Before he gets the wrong idea about me talking to ya.” You sighed, craning your head slightly to look back at Johnny who scanned the place with a scowl. It made your skin crawl the thought of his temper snapping again. Despite it, you left Henry with a playful wink his way before swanning back over, placing Johnny’s drink in front of him and a vermillon kiss to his cheek.

Johnny sneered at the affection, wiping your lipstick stain from his cheek. All the confidence you had fell to the floor and shattered miserably. Liquid courage sloshed on the cured wood floor.

“Fuck’s sake, Doll. What you do that for?” He demanded of you, the disgust in his cruel cerulean eyes sending a chilling, agonising jolt down your spine.

“Sorry, Johnny.” You shied away, folded your hands together, eyes on the floor.

“Ain't you gotta powder your nose or something? Go on. Piss off.”

He was right. You’d be on soon. Drenched in the spotlight. Under the scrutinising, side cramping glare of everyone's eye. You could do with the quiet. So you shuffled off to your dressing room without a word more, holding back tears with your breath.

In the mirror, you mourned the girl you were. Mourned the life you had before it all turned upside down. Mourned the man you fell in love with. And the monster you had no choice but to stay with.

—

Joel was fuming. If you touched his skin you'd reel back with a scorched yelp because his blood ran hot, fast and thick under his flesh. Trust Tommy to catch himself in the web of underground crime. Always a joiner. Always a deserter too when things got heated. And who was left to untangle him from its intricate, venom snared weave? Joel ‘Gubbins’ Miller. He might as well have ‘mother to my brother’ branded on his forehead. Because that's what he was now.

The war ended four years ago and ever since Tommy had been searching for his purpose. Preached about it round the dinner table in their grimy, mildew inhabited apartment like a preacher would his sermon. And every time it set Joel’s teeth on edge. Because he knew what came after the downfall. The pickup.

Now, however, Joel was determined to nip this lunacy in the bud. Tear it up from the soil by the new roots.

The Canary Club was one of the few remaining speakeasies around in Boston. To a cop it was practically a ghost of an establishment. Might as well not be there. But to a man like Joel, whose brother never stopped babbling on about the next best thing he had cooking for himself, it was as easy as pie.

A shroud of cloud hung just above Boston’s looming buildings, teaming with the early moon to create a murky gloom over the dim city’s sin. It seemed to fill the hollow, smoggy air as they cast dark, taut shadows over the slick, grimy roads. The sky threatened rain for the third day in a row. A place that reeked of underground crime, drug rings and watered down, once bootlegged alcohol, laced with what one can only assume to be illegal too. All of that was washed down with the constant sour smell of new rain upon dirty tarmac. A city plagued and tarnished by its own rejects.The promise of work bought them in. But the lifestyle spat them back out. Chewed up and ruined by their own humanising hope.

He and his brother came in search of work. They were getting nowhere down south in Texas. On the dole and barely able to afford a loaf of bread between the two of them. Even their own mother hardly recognised her boys after the war. Said they were empty shells of men. Husks of the boys she raised. Killers.

The woman was a pacifist at heart. And it was a trait that Joel not only saw as weak, but typical of women. Or that's what his father had socialised him into thinking. He didn't know where his father’s ideals ended and his started. As the days went by he saw more of the violence his father harboured in himself. Grimaced at the lug in the looking glass.

Joel was no pacifist. But he didn't storm through the doors either. No gun was in hand ready to send people screaming bloody murder. That was stupid. A mistake that he knew could wind him up on the concrete in the flooded gulley with a bullet in his head where blood and water could finally mix. Instead he stole in quietly in the ambience of playing cards and a Jazz band, ordered himself a drink, and sat at the far corner of the bar where it was dimly lit. Just enough for him to see his drink and the room, but his face still remained shadowed.

While he sipped in ponder, he took the chance to people watch. Scan the patrons for any uncanny resemblance of dear Tommy. But nothing. He seemed distracted by the careful and steady hand that polished glass after glass, though each of them were spotless before touching the rag.

A pointless task. Some may say sisyphean. But the boy doing so knew when eyes were on him. It was a very rare occurrence if not related to his race. People of any darker colour were ogled often in these parts despite it being more accepted within the north of America. There was still divide and segregation. However, this new patron wasn't looking for Henry’s skin colour, rather contemplating how on earth a boy such as him had ended up in such a place. What connection he had to the gang. Was he like Tommy? Roped in at the side of the side of the road and choking on his remaining pride. Or in a sticky financial situation? All these questions seemed to circle like the rag in the crystal glass Henry held.

“What’s your name, kid?” Joel asked him with an ex-smoker's voice, brow dark in the shadow. The boy looked up, eyes youthful, but they'd seen things no man should have to.

“Henry.” He said after a beat, quick to refill Joel’s glass when it was empty besides a drop circled thin and amber in the bottom. “Yours?” Joel lifted his head, taking a sip before placing his glass back on the bartop in furrowed brow contemplation.

“Joel.” He leaned forward on his forearms, haunched over the bar, before looking around again. “Whatcha doin’ here, Henry?”

Henry laughed slightly, looking down at his feet before back in Joel's eyes. And what he was met with was the hollow ache of a man scarred by war. Henry’s face fell flat.

“Working.”

“No…I mean in Boston.”

Henry cleared his throat at the sudden, and even brash way Joel approached his question. So much that it took him a second to frown and then reply.

“Came from Kansas. Hard for a black kid to find honest work there. Especially with a family to look out for.” His words were solemn and reflected a truth Joel knew all too well growing up down south. Even if he never lived it in his own white skin.

“You look a little young to have a kid.”

“I don’t. I got a brother.” Joel nodded as he listened, waiting for him to go on. Which he did after a beat of silence. “Bright kid. Bright future too. He’s deaf though. Got a lot stacked against him in this world. Mom can't bring in enough to fund education for ‘im. So I stepped up.”

“No Daddy?” Joel asked and Henry shook his head. “How’d you end up here then?”

“A girl.” The look Joel gave Henry was sceptical. But the young boy was soon to put a stop to it all. “Not a girlfriend. Just a girl. We grew up in the same building. She moved up north for a life and I followed a few months later. She met a guy. A wealthy guy. And she wrote to me often of how swell Boston had been for her.”

Joel wasn't the questioning type. Neither one to beat around the bush. But Henry intrigued him. Reminded him a lot of Sarah. The challenge she had faced with the colour of her skin that he, as a white man, would never understand. He felt a guilt about it every day that flared up in the dark of night before his eyes closed for restless and futile sleep. “And this guy?”

“Him.” Henry nodded subtly over to the table of men playing cards. Poker. A game Joel knew well in the frontline and in Egypt where he fought. Him and a few others often huddled together in their own game. Nothing but the last pair of intact socks to bet on, or a single cigarette to get them through the night. Joel quit smoking the moment he got back. Knew it was something that made him unpredictable and jittery in the best of situations. “Johnny Boy Finnick. A big name in these parts.”

Joel followed Henry’s gaze, but his attention was snagged by the unmistakable head of dark curled hair facing away from him. He knew his brother anywhere and his blood began to boil as he threw back his second drink and slammed the empty glass on the bartop.

“Hey, man-” Henry tried, shoulders straining as he stood to attention. Joel didn't pay him any mind. Merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before his bar stool sharied upon the varnished wood floor. He cared not for the noise. Only the feeling he would get once his closed fist met the bone on the bridge of Tommy’s nose.

Trumpets flailed to a stop and drums failed mid blow. The room fell silent after a chorus of gasps.

He loved his brother. Deeply. So much it caused a chasm of a rib cracking hole in his chest every time Tommy slipped up. But he saw red now it all caught up behind his lids that blinked once. That split second of not seeing and before he had a chance to second guess, he was gripping the back of tommy;s collar and wrenching him up to his feet to deliver a shiner to the face.

Tommy staggered back, and everyone at his table stood up with the intention to harm. Yet no one but the brawling brothers fought. As he gained his footing again, he also gained his senses, recognising Joel anywhere.

“Joel, what the fu-” He was hardly able to finish before another shooting pain split his bottom lip open and Tommy’s mouth was filled with the taste of his own bitter blood. Blood he and Joel shared and were now shedding in a futile fight of nothing but testosterone. That was enough to send the same foul blow to his kin. Joel winced, knowing the crescent of a bruise that would bloom on his cheekbone overnight. One of Tommy’s many rings sliced his skin. He felt warmth in crimson dribble from a fresh flesh wound.

“Hey!” One loud and bellowing voice that had the power to command a whole unit of men boomed out before neither Joel or Tommy had the chance to throw another fist. It was for the better. Any more and Joel’s knuckles would have bruised purple. A colour of shame.

It was Johnny. And his face was stoic as he stared each brother down with a burning gaze that had even Joel’s hairs stood on end at the nape of his neck. Like an army stood to attention before the first charge. Except he didn't move. Joel knew now where he stood in the food chain of this speakeasy. And it was right at the very bottom. “You!” He pointed at Tommy. Go clean yourself up.” And Tommy went as pale as a funeral sheet before nodding meekly. His face melted from shock to shame in the blink of Joel’s very eye before he grumbled something under his breath and passed Joel with a sharp clip to his shoulder.

It's his turn now.

At this point you'd come out to see what the commotion was for. The walls, while thick upstairs in the printer's press, were thin in the basement. And you;d heard silence and the spit of a man as his blood splattered with spit on the floor in the doorway.

“The fuck do you think you’re doin throwin’ fists in my god damned club for?!” He roared. And Joel had to take the duration of both inhale and exhale to get his lips and tongue to work. But the scowl on his face said it all. “Huh?!” Jonny’s nostrils flared like a spanish thoroughbred bulls’.

“That’s my brother you got workin’ for ya. I ain't havin’ him in some shady drug ring you got goin in. I aint!”

Jonnly was no stupid man. Hr was smart. Quick minded and knew a man with balls. But Joel also knew very little. So this one time, he took the approach of calmness, and used his usual lying tongue for truth. Any other time it would she forked like Lucifer's serpent form. But now he was a man of coolness. “Right.” Johnny nodded at him, his tone was one that could soothe a ravenous bear. But with an edge as sharp as a knife. So sharp it could slice skin in one swift swoop. “Sit down.” He commanded calmly. “Let’s get you a drink.”

With a wave of his hand a cha was pulled out. Two heavy handed brutes shoving Joel down into a chair, an old fashioned presented to him by Henry in front of him on the maplewood table. Then Johnny addressed the room gently. Set its patrons at ease. The music played its jazzy, jolly tune once more. People spoke again.And Johnny took his seat opposite Joel.

“Look here…” The gangster waited for Joel to give him his name. Which he did. “Joel, I appreciate a strong swing as much as the next guy. But I don't appreciate it in my establishment.” Joel nodded in understanding. His temper ashamed him. How it ran hot under his skin. Fizzled white when provoked until he saw red in rage and swung. Never blindly though. He wasn't a loose cannon like the broken soldier stereotype enforced. Just a fractured man.

“You’re a soldier aint ya?” “Was.” Joel said gruffly. Curtly and he brewed a stare across from Johnny.

“Oh, nah.” Johnny shook his head, swirling his drink in the crystal glass, “Once a brother in arms, always a brother in arms. The war sticks with ya. You’re a soldier.” “Fine. Yeah, I'm a soldier.”

“I know the war. I served like you. Left a boy and came back a shell of a man. Now look at me.” Joel took a moment to calculate his motive here. Johnny’s arms stretched wide with a smirk of pure pride as he gestured to the heart of his Boston crime empire. “I got money. I got birds.” He held up his glass to Joel, “I got liquor.” then leaned forward and spoke in a grave tone, "What you got?”

Joel swallowed harshly, unable to answer because he had nothing in reality.

“You got a job?” He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No.”

“Figured. Hard finding work when all the women are competent enough to do it themselves. Fight for your country. End up on the streets. You don't die a hero like you thought you would. No one knows your name.” He scoffed, holding fingers up in air quotes around competent. It left a bitter taste of disgust in Joel’s mouth as the father of a daughter. Curled the edges of his tongue distastefully. Made him kiss his teeth to hold back the insult. “Well, people know my name.” Johnny paused again, the air grew thick between them and smouldered on their shoulders. He was squinting at Joel opposite him, sizing him up. Joel was rugged. A strong build and most likely a strong character too. Something Johnny could always do with having in abundance. And so when the devil's own smirk curled at his lip, Joel felt a question brewing at the very tip of his tongue. One that would change his life for better or worse. Regardless of it he declined or accepted. “And they could know yours too.”

Joel didn't want to admit it for the sake of his crumbling pride, but the man had it all. Even a good five years his junior, the man made a living for himself. Picked himself up from the dirt and used bloodshed and bodies for the foundations.

“I could use a guy like you–”

“No.” Joel put his offer down flat before it had the chance to meet the air.

“Hear me out.” He said calmly, and held up a hand, “A roof over your head. A steady income. A little extra dough in ya pocket?” Johnny rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the older man's face. An action to which Joel’s nostrils flared. It was embarrassing to even mull over. “Come on,” Johnny smirked. “Give it a go.”

The southerner’s lips pursed, as if he was thinking it over. Which he was. But to what lengths would he go? Sure, Joel was conditioned in a short few months to kill. He was good at it. Mowed down men on the frontline like clockwork. And his trigger finger twitched at the thought of holding that power once more. But that didn't mean he was a man without morals. The men’s blood he;d coat his hands in had families. They were someone's son. Probably someone's husband or father. Joel knew the hollow ache loss left. The imprint of a shadow it left. The chasm ripped in your chest. Loss felt like an agonising, deep, helpless pit. But here was Johnny, throwing him a rope

“You know, you’re right. This ain't the time to talk this over.” Johnny held his hands up and leaned back in his seat before they clapped back in his lap. Now you were at Johnny’s side once more. But the figure of Joel in his chair had something jumping in your bones. Tongue curling to taste his very words. “Dollface here will patch you up.”

You raised a brow, giving the two of them a dirty look. “Excuse me? Do I look like a nurse?” You shut up when Johnny glared. Swallowed your pride, and sighed inwardly. You both hated and loved the power he held over you. As much as you despised it at times, Johnny had your being wrapped around his finger like a puppeteer holds his strings. And tightly. You felt his tug at the strain in your limbs.

“And you come back here tomorrow. We’ll talk in my office over a drink and a cigar. A good fucking drink.”

—

Joel swallowed harshly when he saw you. Eyes, wide and decorated by dark mascara lashes, white liner on lower waterlines, face of a doll like Johnny’s nickname for you suggested. The red lipstick you had re-applied moments prior was glossy, inviting him to stumble over velvet words he would hear you speak. Lean closer so the blood red could graze the shell of his ear while you would whisper a dirty joke at him.

He followed as you led him down a corridor off to the other side of the bar. Your dress seemed fit for hypnotising him into your bidding. Surely you were a siren who climbed the strats of a pier of the east coast and arrived here. Something about the beauty you wielded was not the everyday sort. It was the type you see women bend over backwards to achieve even a glimmer of for their man who came back after work. He could see himself now. Loosening his tie, hanging up his coat and hat. Leaving his briefcase and sanity at the door to see you in a pinafore and pin curls. Pretty gingham dress. He’d sit at the table and either be presented by you or a meal for his satiation. He’d prefer to devour the sweetness between your legs.

Your hand in front of his face had his attention now. Fingers snapping. Nails manicured and painted the same shade as your lipstick.

“Hey, you listening?” You asked, face set into displeasure. Joel straightened as he cleared his throat.

“What?” His tone was gruff and he mirrored your expression to you. His southern accent catching you off guard, but is intriguing.

“I said sit down.”

Joel looked over at the chair set at a vanity mirror you gestured to with an extended arm. The second time he had been asked to be seated. The second time he obeyed.

You took your time to wet a washcloth in the small basin in the corner with warm water. Took the bottle of whiskey you stashed last week from the bottom of a rickety chest of drawers. Joel watched you in the mirror, eyes narrowed a fraction to make sure you were of no threat to him. He knew he could take you easily. In more ways than one. The power imbalance had his length twitching in his trousers.

Your hands weren't gentle as you sat on the vanity between his legs. You took his stubbled chin in your grasp and jerked his head up into the light, tilting it to take a closer look at the gash.

“Stay still.” You said curtly, holding the rag to the opening of the bottle and wetting it. You then pressed it over the pad of your finger. The initial touch made his teeth bare at you and a hiss to escape his mouth. His large wrist enclosing around yours to make you stop. “I said,” And you yanked your wrist from his hold, “stay still.”

He did as he was told again. Silence setting his between the odd hiss from him and twitch of muscle under weathered skin. The crows feet at the side of his eyes were old. He clearly had lost his smile to something in the past. But you didn't ask, only wondered as you wiped the dried blood clean from his wound. “Fuckin grown man and you cant take a little sting of a cut.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself in amusement. Followed by a small huff of dry laugh.

“Maybe if you weren't digging your fingers into a fresh bruise I wouldn’t be wincin’.” You shot him a look and let go.

“All done.” And you held up your hands for good measure.

“What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, tossing the rag aside and crossing your arms. He reached for the whiskey and took a large gulp, pursing his lips at the slow burn in the back of his throat.

“None of your business.”

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name.” He stated lowly. He was right. But you found a sick satisfaction in having any man you liked bend to your will. Answer any question you so pleased to hear the answer to.

His bones groaned as he stood up from the chair. Your coat draped over the back of it fell to the floor and you swiftly got up to swipe it from the floor and hand it on the hook on the back of the door before pressing your back to it and facing him. Blocking his exit. “Move.”

“Tell me your name.” You crossed your arms, jutting your chin up at him.

“Don’t make me move you, princess.”

“Tell me your name.”

Joel bit his tongue, the vein in his neck starting to pulse visibly under his skin that once again went hot.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I’m nosy.” You smiled, sarcastic and saccharine. “And i want to know the name i’ll be moaning tonight as i touch myself under the covers.”

“Fuckin-” His jaw ticked, nostrils flared in his disdain. You kept your smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a small guttural noise from the back of his throat. A headache was starting to coil behind the strain of his eyes. “Joel.” And he looked back up at you. It still wasn't enough “Miller.” Your smile was genuine this time, just as sweet. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straight from the door to hold out your hand and give him your name in return. He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and swerving you. He pulled the door but you used your body weight to slam it shut with your back again. A loud slam and a creak of protest from its hinges.

“Where are you from, Joel?”

“Is this a game to you, girl?” Joel growled.

“Yes.” The smile you had was sly. Foxy. A single finger ran down his chest and dared to slip just under his shirt’s collar. “I like games.”

“You don't wanna do that.” He warned, dark eyes burning you up inside from your very core. It was the look of a man’s lust that had been left untouched, unloved for quite some time now. It strained at his morality. But who were you to give up the warning and keen hand of a man who so desperately needed a release to the coiling tension of his shoulders. You saw it. Felt it in the rhythmic yet chaotic hammer of his heart against his ribs. As if it were trying with all its might not to break his own bones clean in two and lurch from its enclosure of flesh and bone.

“And why not?” This was a devils game of chess. Careful calculated words from loose tongues and taking each other's moves in as you exhaled a counter. And oy had him three moves from checkmate. His king weak in defence, your advances stronger by each word that fell into his eras from your red painted, enticing lips. He could feel his limbs being string up for you to pull at like a puppeteer in an advanced level of her craft. But he was no kind man. His words were even less forgiving than his disposition.

“Because I aint a kind man. Haven't been for a long while. And I know types of things a man like me would wanna do to a pretty girl like you.”

“I doubt it would be anything new.” You cooed, watching your finger as it traced a line lower over his buttons, stopping at the top of his belt buckle and just shy of teasing at the growing bulge in his trousers.

The tension between you was thicker than molasses. And it seeped through the cracks of his better judgement to the part of him that hungered for touch. That was ravenous for a single one of your fingers.

“I don't think Johnny would like that.”

“And I didnt like the way he spoke to me earlier.” You pouted. The way a child would when dined a sweet treat before dinnertime.

“That aint a good reason to start an affair with me. Because when i get my grubby hands on ya there ain't no going back, doll.”

His words were enticing you more. To have a man obsessing over your body. Your curves. Your voice singing his name as he fucked you dirtier than anyone into anything. Joel was that man now. He knew it in the very marrow of your bones that you were trouble. His new little minx. So it was no surprise when his lips crushed yours under the full weight of his sexual frustration.

It was needy. Heated. A clashing of tongues and teeth as he pressed you with his entire simmering being into the wood of the door. His bulge grinding desperately into your thich that parted his legs.

His tongue swiped your lower lip before drawing it back between his teeth for him to suckle on until it tingled deliciously. He was jealous with his touches. Groping your hips as the sating of your dress that crumpled to the floor. It revealed sweet sweet skin. Skin Joel wasted no time in delving in for the first damning lick. A pleasure to every sense. Sight, taste, touch, smell, sound.

Heavy breaths were exhaled into the dewy skin of your clavicle, tongue languidly sliding over the high points of your collarbones and enclosing in a sharp suck over the skin just above your right breast. It sent a chorus of heavenly sinful, light and airy monas from your mouth and floated into his ears. His lips were chapped and weathered in contrast to the silk smooth of your skin. It was delightful.

He went lower, got to his knees as he drank up the sense of a woman's skin for the first time in years. This was the taste of true damnation. He was past the opening of hell's gates and somehow found heaven in the parting of your thighs down the newly trodden path of your navel.

He pressed his open mouth to your clothed cunt, tasted the seeping slick you gave him on his tongue and gluttonously inhaled your musk right at the apex of your thighs. Your fingers tangled into the curls of his messy, wind wrecked hair. Keening your hips up to press into the curve of his aquiline nose, and riding the burning in the pit of your belly starting to grow. Your head fell back against the door. Your mouth unhinged and letting out moan after sigh after mewl of his name. His face buried between the meat of your thighs as his hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them so he could push his face deeper between your folds. Your underwear drenched and ruined from your wetness and his spit while he tongued your hole through the flimsy lace.

You pulled him back, smirked at the wreck he was with his lips sticky and shiny in the light of your dressing room. To then pull him up to your lips so you could curl your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself on him. It’s where the taste belonged. Among notes of whiskey and chewing tobacco and drugstore gum.

His large hands pawed at your hips once more, listing you so your legs could wrap obediently round his waist. That's how it worked now. He wanted, you gave. And willingly like the sounds that fell into his motu like sweet, freshly harvested honey. Ut had the feel of money. Powerful and green like spring leaves. But with the warning of rotting when summer meets its tragic and fatal end. It was like trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Near impossible. The last sip of a drink that would ensure drunken and slurred movements. It took even the nest of a man his entirety to deny you, But deep down, Joel was a weak man. Strong in body, maybe mind too. But weak in soul. And he gave in with the cashing of your back against the vanity mirror.

He had his faults. He knew that. And you did too. It had you wondering how a man like Joel loves. Did he change for his chosen lover? Or was he just as rough a callus as he was with everyone else. Would he destroy and ache and leave you wondering when your body would be at his whim next and how he would bend it to his will. Or would he let you lean into his embrace as he kissed down the column of your throat to the holy entitled epiphany between your thighs. The glisten of your hot cunt aching to be touched by anything. His everything.

So you reached for his belt. So you undid it along with his buttons to touch his heated skin, To feel the blood flow beneath as the strain of each of his muscles. You ran a hand across his chest and he let his head fall back as a woman touched him for the first time as a man of war. A veteran.

He felt like he had been cast in gold by the sun for the first time in his life. Shed his skin for a new layer reserved just for you. As if he was thanking whatever resided up there for you. He was no believer in god, but, Jesus Christ, he was starting to believe in some form of higher power. You were proof that there was a blessing for him to steal away from the world. It was in your sound. Your taste. Your touch. It beckoned him the way your finger did, curling into the collar of his shirt to clash your lips with his and let. He had no autonomy over the moan that fell into his mouth where it festered at the back of his throat and was swallowed with a desperate and heady inhale.��

You trod roads into his skin with your touch. Ones he knew he would follow later that night in an erotomaniac’s pleasure. And you finally pulled his length free from his trousers. Your underwear was soon to follow and your slick aided the way he managed to sink so smoothly into your sopping heat. A squeeze he would commit to memory and savour like the taste of fresh and ripe fruit. Because you were. Fresh and youthful in age. Ready to be devoured to the core as a gleaning red apple would be. The very same one that even took in the garden of eden. Temptation. Fruit flesh to signify sin.

He took his first bite out of you with a satisfying crunch. And keep devouring until there was nothing left but the remnants of your birth, ready to be resurrected, grown again in the form of a new tree.

He stilled once he bottomed out, letting himself bask in the moment. The first time he was nestled deeply in the walls of your cunt. He heard your quiet whimpers for him to move. Felt the way your pert nipples brushed his sweat slicked skin. It was a ghost of a memory the last time he felt this. The heat of someone in the throes of intimacy. And it was all over him. It was the very air he wes starved of. The past was all paled in comparison because of the way your hips bucked pathetically to feel his thrust inside you. To get him going. No one had needed him this rawly, this undignifying before.

A single hand clamped over your mouth, stilling your movements. He felt the tickle of your exhale against the pinky finger.

“Stay still…” He commended with a swallowed down groan when you clenched around him, ironically repeating your words from earlier.

You looked at him. The glazed over, far away look in his eyes. His voice low and laden in a gravelly tone that came from the very back of his throat. You pulled him forward to lick it out again with your tongue when his hand fell to your throat. It gave a warning squeeze. And you once again canted your hips in protest.

This time he moved. And it was like poetry as it hit that toe curling spot inside you. Made your eyes close in blissful ignorance of what this would do to you. YOu slick drooling from your cunt onto his shaft until it shined at his very base and dripped down his heavy balls.

His hand squeezed your throat tighter. Had you yelling for him in a suppressed squeal. His other hand clamped around your mouth for you to moan into. Your words of praise lost on his ears, listened to by his palm instead. Every devil was fuelling this act of infidelity. This act of carnal sin you both needed. Ut unwound your bones, but had the coil in your belly cramping with each swift buck of his hips.

You met his swift thrusts in a desperate attempt to be of use to him. Finding it hard to breathe, yet alone Your cunt spasmed delectably. Searching for a new feeling. A feeling primal and dirty as the streets of Boston. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your legs trembled while he went on, giving you something you would remember from this day forward, A sentence of being binded to him.

You were in the arms of the devil himself. St his ,ercy. Nsd nothing felt more thrilling than the pleasure that rolled at a landslide's power and pace down your spine into your core.

Another squeeze round your throat. Another unhinged moan into his hand. He snarled, baring his teeth at you before pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down. Your eyes closed and painted a picture of stars. You were close to seeing angels by now and the deep ache of pleasure grappled your flesh and had goosebumps flicking up to attention over your flesh.

His chest heaved with each curl of his hips. Your exhales heavier by the second while you moaned his name like a mantra to his hand. His teeth imprinted on your back like a randhishing. A mark of the sin that was witnessed by the two of you that day. Your voice was shrill. A repeated ‘Joel! Joel! Joel!’

“Fuck, yeah, sing f’me doll. Sing f’me. Let em know who’s doin’ this to you.” He panted in vain. “Tell me.” “Feels so good–”

“Again.” He demanded.

“Feels so good! Too good!”

And it was. He had you burning white hot at the end of an illicit teather. You gripped his back with talons of hellbirds. Clawing at his shirt clad back. The wings of hi shoulderbales. The snake length of his spine.

“That’s it. Tell ‘em. Tell me! Tell me in making you feel fuckin’ good.”

“You are. Harder Joel.” His pace was like poetry. Ripped you in tow and had you displayed to him. One knee was hooked over his hunched shoulder, spine curled as his forehead pressed to yours. `The new angle had you singing like a songbird. High and melodic in tune. Your kitten heel slipping off and clattering to the floor without a second thought. The head of his cock nipped your cervix. The lewd wet sounds of your pussy smothering him in your slick and your shared moans filled the room. Everything of you was his now. You couldn't even think of giving this up to Johnny. Yes, he fucked you dirty. But Joel fucked you like it was his sole purppose of living. Like it was what gave him life.

You fell. You fell as soon as you hit your climax with a mewling moan that ended Joel right there and then. Coming together with heavy breaths and shaking, trembling chests. His release inside of you, strings of his come smearing you in him. Marking you for later. Well and truly ruined for any other warm body that dared to slip into your sheets.

But falling was not the problem. Only when you hit the ground is what causes all the grief. And the look you shared once the gold haze of afterglow faded was what confirmed this.

What have you done? How would you live without this?

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