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soapskneebrace · 5 months

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imprimatura

muses - part one - next

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x f!Reader Word Count: 2.8k Rating: Mature (mostly Soap being Soap) Warnings: please see this post for notes about this reader character Also on Ao3.

An artist meets her muse, and a solider meets his.

He arrives early as you’re setting up for your students, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and the first thing that crosses your mind when you lay eyes on him is Jesus, he’s fit.

You are no stranger to bodies. Hundreds of them have cycled through your studio, all shapes and sizes and colors; you think you may know every dip, every roll, every hard angle and soft curve that a human body is capable of holding. The mystique of defined muscle has long lost its novelty. Bodies are bodies, and each holds the same value as the next when subject to brush and canvas. It never matters, you teach your students, what a body looks like in the modeling chair. It only matters if they can reproduce it accurately.

Even so, when a body like this walks in, you really can’t help but take notice.

Decadent muscle, fed and worked well, round and full with hydration. It’s impossible to miss, even through his clothes; each group delineated clearly, gracefully, as if sculpted rather than built, and alive with soft, subcutaneous movement. It’s indulgent to look at, the comfortable breadth of his shoulders and chest down to that slight taper of his waist and bulk of his thick thighs. It’s a physique no hard-bodied gym rat could hope to achieve merely with extra time at the racks—a physique that is easily, harmoniously attractive in its makeup of muscle and healthy fat.

The man is also mohawked and suntanned, and his mouth rests at an angle that suggests he often smiles—as if he knows that Michelangelo would have swooned at the sight of him. He comes into your classroom, saunters over to you, and stops precisely two paces away from you.

“Sergeant John MacTavish,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand you’re the instructor?”

He has gorgeous, vivid blue eyes (pthalo and cremnitz, with a touch of hamsa). You blink several times. Fit is still rattling around your skull, and begins knocking against sergeant at the same rolling frequency as his warm Scottish brogue. You realize his hand is still outstretched and quickly take it to shake.

“Yes!” you say. His palm is tough, callused, and not soft in the slightest, but very warm. “Nice to meet you, sergeant.”

He gives a grimace. “John’s fine. Or Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Nickname, y’know.”

Neither of you have released from the handshake. Soap’s grip is firm, the kind of firm that suggests he can squeeze much, much tighter if he needs to. And if the grip isn’t any indication, the broad forearms, dusted soft with dark brown hair, certainly are.

Black lines, a sword and helmet framed in laurels, catch your notice. The ink has the soft edges of having lain in the skin for a few years. You turn his arm to see it more fully. “Oh. Nice tattoo.”

He looks at the ink as if it is entirely new to him, and then gives an easy grin. “Thanks. I’ve got a few more too. Hope they aren’t hard to draw.”

When you loosen your grip on his hand, he releases you immediately. You still feel the squeeze in your bones even as you drop your hand to your side.

“So, then, Soap,” you say, “have you ever modeled before?”

He shakes his head, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans. It tugs the waistband just a bit, revealing a sliver of warm, tan skin (raw sienna, flesh ochre, naples yellow). “Should have, honestly, with how much it pays.”

“It gets very boring, very fast,” you say. “What do you plan to wear for the breaks?”

“Was I supposed to bring that m’self?”

You are unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and going a little sheepish—as if expecting a reprimand. You suppose it’s a valid expectation to have, in his world. You aren’t terribly familiar with the military, but you do know it’s one hell of a stickler for rules.

You also can’t help but admire the appealing pull and stretch of his bicep and deltoid, the flex of his pectoral as he lowers his arm.

“Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go see if I can find something for you?” you suggest kindly, letting him off the hook.

“Sorry,” he says, pretty blue eyes filled with genuine apology. “I’ll remember nex’ time. Thanks.”

The expression is so hangdog that you almost want to pat his head and noise at him reassuringly, like an actual dog. You press your lips together to hide a smile, and leave the studio.

When you get back from the models’ changing room, you find Soap with one hip against the counter where you’d been organizing your supplies, one knee loose and shoulders set at a relaxed angle. You want to laugh at his easy contrapposto. He’s going to be an excellent model. You can feel it.

It looks as if he’s moving around the sticks of vine charcoal with one outstretched finger; he pulls his hand guiltily away when you reenter the studio, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence of his snooping. It makes his pectorals bunch and round out, gathers the thickness of his biceps up into chiseled, full definition.

You lift one brow at him as you walk over.

“Never could keep my hands to m’self,” he admits, still sheepish.

“It’s alright,” you allow, smiling back. “Do you draw?”

“Used to,” he says. He looks back at the charcoal. “No time, now.”

“Are you deployed often?” you ask, taking the opportunity to look at his face.

Beauty is cheap in art, but you notice it all the same—appreciate the strong brows, the hard angle of his jaw, the dark stubble of a beard you suspect he can’t keep shaved down, and the long scar that cuts through it across his chin. The light brown of his complexion is speckled with sun exposure, and there are the faintest of creases at the corners of his eyes, which you expect will deepen into genuine, gorgeous crow’s feet as he ages.

He’s not all rugged, though. There is a soft, thick curl to his lashes, which are as dark as strong coffee or expensive chocolate, and an equal decadence to the pink, plush little swell of his bottom lip—which, in the very middle, has the smallest of divots, as if he regularly spends time biting it.

They’re traits that are far too sweet to belong on an otherwise masculine face, and their effect is such that they turn an objectively average set of features into a shockingly attractive portrait—that suddenly has something fluttering, just a bit, in the roof of your stomach.

He looks at you, and catches your survey. You can see him realize you’d been watching, the knowledge of it blooming in ocean blue eyes like ink dropped onto linen.

“More often than no’,” he answers, showing teeth in a crooked, interested grin. And now he’s looking at you—attention flitting across your face, dropping down your body and jumping back up to meet your gaze. The creases deepen at the corners of his eyes.

The fluttering intensifies. The sudden role reversal has you feeling at once flustered and unmoored. You are never the subject of any perusal—always comfortably the observer.

“Well—” you try, and you’re embarrassed at the low tone of your voice. You clear your throat. “Well, let’s make use of the time we have you, then.”

His smile remains, cocksure and easy. “Let’s.”

He knows the effect he’s had.

“Anyway,” you say, blinking several times and proffering the sheet you’d retrieved, “none of the other models are your size, so I’m afraid this will have to do.”

He takes it in his hands, which are sun-dark and striking against the clean white linen. “So it’s a toga, then?” he asks.

“Whatever you like. Let’s go over the basics, and then you can undress.”

“Oh, already, aye? Y’move fast, hen,” he drawls, still grinning. “I like it.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t feel embarrassed enough not to laugh. You busy yourself with tapping your charcoal sticks back in place, putting them back in an even row ascending in order of length, and saving yourself from having to look him in the eye. “Ha! We don’t do a lot of foreplay in this studio, I’m afraid.”

“No?” Soap hums, and he steps closer. He’s very warm, enough that you can feel it even with the space between you. You do have to look at him then. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting pretty shadows on his cheekbones as he gazes down at you. “That’s a shame. I’m right partial to it.”

Your brows lift, and you will your pulse to remain steady even as you inhale, catching a thread of—cologne? Aftershave? Just plain deodorant?—coming off of him. The scent caresses you, almost beckoning you to lean forward. You swear you can see the thrum of his heartbeat, there in the soft hollows by his Adam’s apple.

You blink. He is your model. “Well—I’ll try to set you up as best I can, anyway. Follow me, please.”

And you turn your back on him, because this is your workplace, and you are at work, and if you don’t get on with things you might do something stupid like actually flirt back.

Soap hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived at the art studio. He’s never been to one before, much less one housed in a university—which he has also never been to—and hell, he only ever took one art class in high school.

If pressed, he’d have imagined old brick walls covered in diagram posters, shelves of supplies in all colors, the smell of paint hanging permanently in the air. What he finds instead is modern, clean, and impersonal. Stage lights hang from fixtures in the ceiling, pointing at a platform in the back center of the room. A tight line of easels, all folded up, stand pressed into a far corner, next to a tower of stacked chairs, and waist-high cabinets line half the room against the bare, painted cinder block wall. The linoleum floor looks new.

None of this, however, has any opportunity to disappoint him. His final unmet expectation, standing across the room and organizing a tray of art supplies, is a very welcome surprise.

You’re bonnie. Like, every point on his wishlist bonnie. Christ, he must’ve done something really good lately, because he can’t imagine just lucking into this. There’s not a hard angle to you, all sweet and soft, but when you meet his gaze during introductions there’s a sharpness to you that skewers him through the chest. You are much smarter than him, he can tell immediately.

He’s always had a thing for smart women. Soft ones, too. And if that weren’t enough, you let him flirt shamelessly with you, while checking him out the whole time.

Steaming Jesus.

You direct him to get onto the platform and sit down, still clothed, in an armchair draped in another pristine white sheet. The stage lights are bright overhead, and they highlight free-floating wisps of your hair in gold.

“You want to ensure that you don’t rest your weight on only one or two points,” you explain. You have a nice voice. Steady, confident—this is your territory, your studio, and in it you are clearly the master. “The main danger is that your arms or legs might fall asleep, and you won’t realize it until you get up, in which case you’ll fall. We can’t touch you, so we can’t save you from that.”

“Y’canna touch me?” Soap repeats.

“Not without your explicit consent,” you say.

He smiles at you, the kind of smile he saves for bright nights at the pub over platoons of shot glasses. “I explicitly consent to you touching me.”

The corners of your mouth tug upward, just a bit, and you look away, clearly bashful. Something in Soap’s chest starts beating a drum. He knows already he’ll ask you to drinks after the class ends tonight.

“I doubt I’d be able to do much,” you say, “you’re a bit more substantial than the usual models.” Your eyes flick down his torso and back up.

“Guess I’ll have to follow your advice, then,” he says.

“You should,” you say, and he looks at your thigh shamelessly as you pat it—even beneath your jeans, he can see the ripple of the impact. “One of the worst-case scenarios is nerve damage.”

“So you have done this before!”

He can’t help it—Soap’s imagination runs wild. Titanic, draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls wild. It’s not exactly polite to imagine a teacher naked while she’s in the middle of giving him directions (and Jesus, what a concept, he might be half-mast already), but Soap has always found that people like it when he’s a little rude.

You drum your fingers. “I have.”

He finally hears the nerve damage part of your instruction. “How, uh—how bad can it get?”

The drumming stops. “For me? It just starts to twinge a bit if I sit on this side very long. So don’t rest your weight all on one hip, yeah?”

Concern assuaged that he had not ignored your genuine pain in order to objectify you, Soap grins. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Also—even if it doesn’t hurt, Soap, you can stop at any time, okay?”

That has him blinking. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesnae?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. This is your first time modeling. You don’t know how you’ll feel, sitting here with your clothes off and everyone looking at you. If you need to stop, I want you to stop. I’ll make sure you’re paid anyway, so don’t worry about that.”

You are…so serious about this. The line of your brows is furrowed, imploring, like a little discomfort on his part is a violation of the highest order.

“Sure,” he says, a little dumbstruck and mostly lying. He’d be a rubbish soldier if he tapped out of a little thing like sitting down, but it’s nice that you care.

You purse your lips, nod, and then move onto the task at hand, stepping back and then down off the platform. When you begin to survey him—gaze flitting up and down his body, more pensive than appreciative—he has to resist the urge to flex.

Instead he watches you as you look at him. He especially likes, he decides, the slope of your nose and the smart, serious press of your mouth. You could get him all turned around, he thinks, if you gave it half a try.

Your tits are also great, but that’s by the by.

“Try resting your elbow up a little higher, and twist at the hips a bit,” you instruct, and Soap obeys. “Hm. How would you feel about crossing your ankles?”

You continue like this—nudging him in directions he doesn’t think make all that much of a difference, standing in different positions around the room to check the angles. He half-wishes he could step out of his body and join you, curious as he is about what you’re seeing, what your students will see. He’s not sure he has any clear expectations for how the class will go, but if you’re any indication, it’ll be more fun than he expects.

“Not sure if I’ll remember how to get back into this,” he says, partly to be helpful and partly to get you to talk to him again.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you say. “Okay, I think that’s a good one, you can move now—I’m going to start setting up, the students should be here any minute.”

He stands, and you turn away to collect your supplies, so Soap figures this means it’s time for him to strip. He pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the chair’s arm, unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his knees.

“Soap!”

He freezes. Then he looks at you. You’re blushing again, deep and saturated, mouth parted in surprise and hand pressed to your chest. He does not miss the quick flick of your gaze down his body; he’s probably violated some rule or another of the studio, but he can’t help but grin.

You’re adorable.

“Gotta happen eventually, right?” he says.

You cover your face with your palm. “I was going to leave the room first!”

“First time someone’s wanted to run away when I’m takin’ my clothes off, I won’t lie—”

“You just come get me when you’re done!” you say hastily as you beeline for the door. “I’ll be right outside!”

Soap chuckles a little when you’re gone, the door slamming mortified behind you, and folds his clothes up behind the armchair he’ll be sitting in. You’re so cute. He can’t wait to sit naked for you for the next three hours.

And he’s definitely asking you out for drinks.

Author's Note: THE PROMISED FIC. I really hope y'all enjoy this one, I've been teasing it since March and I have so many plans. This fic has a special place in my heart because it's drawing heavily from my college days--my bachelor's degree is in fine arts, and I have a lot of fond memories of many hours in the studio both as a student and as a model.

I expect this series will also have a looser timeline than my Neighbors series, so I'm open to suggestion in terms of scene ideas! I already have plenty, but if I know my mutuals, y'all might have some good ones as well. No promises I'll write them, but you never know.

Thanks everyone for your patience, and I hope you'll look forward to where this fic goes!!

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http-tokki · 2 months

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don't go insane

~ choso kamo x fem!reader (tattoo artist choso au) ~tags/cw: mature content, lil smut, explicit language, talking about the pains of being a woman (iud, pap smear etc), aged up yuji. ~ mixed/third pov ~ wc: 2.5k ~ part of need to know fic: chptr one

~a/n: very small chapter because believe it or not, this took so much mental effort to get out, I could not figure out how to progress it past the initial meeting but the next part is coming soon, this is a lil taster

Saturo was no help. A constant barrage of jokes flooded your phone screen in every form possible, with an encouraging text from Suguru slipping into the stacking text notifications, the former however was no help. The little goblin made of nightmares named Anxiety settled into the walls of your stomach, poking at the fleshy, spongey insides and giggling each time you clenched your fist. The repetitive motion usually calmed the nervousness, a habit developed in early childhood that had so far in life been a great distraction from the impending doom that seemed to encompass you each time you stepped a foot outside your front door, but today it was no help at all. Afraid of looking silly in front of two rather attractive men you find yourself abandoning the action in favour of a more discrete tactic, one you had vowed to give up in response to the scar tissue that had built along the inside of your bottom lip.

Getting out of the house these days was a little tougher and required more effort and energy to step out into the world and socialise, and that was okay; at least, that’s what your therapist tells you each time you fork over two hundred and thirty dollars for a sixty-minute session. It is all right to be a little uneasy when going out into the world because everyone else is just as unconfident in their footing, and you can only control your actions; the decisions made by others are uncontrollable and unplanned, and that’s okay. It’s all okay, it’s all fine. Fine. You feel your lips pull down into a frown.

“Hey, you all right?” a voice asks from your left.

You turn to face the voice and are greeted by the smiling boy who had greeted you.

“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks,” a sigh whooshes from your body. “Just a little nervous about being alone is all.” You feel your mouth mirror the smile he gives you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Yuji!” the boy beams and leans further over the counter. “And don’t worry, Choso is very chill; he’ll even let you pick the music if you ask!”

You genuinely smile at his childlike demeanour, and your stomach knots loosen a tad. Yuji is warm, his energy comforting and familiar as if you had met him once before, and come to think of it, he did look rather familiar to someone you had met when you were younger.

“Have we met be-“

“Did you want to – ohh, sorry. You first,” Yuji stumbles over his words, pausing and gesturing you to finish your thought.

“I was just going to ask if we’ve met before, You’re familiar.”

Yuji beams at your question but shakes his head, pink hair falling over his forehead. “I don’t think so, I would have remembered such a pretty face.”

Warmth blooms in your cheeks at the blatant flirting, and you’re flattered and maybe a little too old for him.

“Can you stop flirting with my client?” Choso walks into the foyer, holding stencils, ID, and consent forms in one hand, and a pair of grey slippers in the other. The shoes looked a little too small for someone of his size but they could just be normal size and look tiny in his gigantic hand.

Locking eyes with your artist, you finally get a good look at him and he is unnervingly beautiful in a way that you never thought anyone could be. Deep shadows cradle tired mulberry-hued eyes that are framed with thick lashes that fill you with no end of envy, and his face is exhausted and gaunt, yet the fullness of his cheeks and lips suggest that he is healthy and not malnourished in any way apart from sleep maybe. A raised but old scar ran over his nose, tinted a slightly darker shade than his porcelain complexion, but it was the imperfection, the rip in what is undeniably a beautiful artwork of a human, that made him all the more gorgeous and the hair, oh god, his hair. Raven-coloured locks fell to just above his shoulders in messy layers and pushed back from his face with a zig-zag headband that had your chest heating in both envy and desire.

More heat spreads across your face, tinting your ears in a soft blush at the heavy emphasis on possessive adjectives, and you know he doesn’t mean it that way, but you can’t help your heart's racing.

Yuji frowns, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“She could be my client,” he turns back to you, eyes wide in asking “and Cho can supervise, I need the training.”

You frown, dramatic apology written across your features as you look towards Choso. In any other instance, you would be willing to sit for an apprentice but you had been wanting something done by Kamo for months now and as much as you didn’t want to disappoint Yuji, you wanted Choso’s work more.

“Not today, bro. I’m sorry.,” Choso beats you to the punch, slashing through his apprentice’s hopes to tattoo and score a date with one clean strike. “Ask Yuki when she comes in; she’ll let you.”

Yuji’s pout deepens, and you can’t deny he is cute, but maybe next time, when you need a little filler or you have some cash to spare. You share a frown with the pink-haired boy and turn to Choso, careful to avoid eye contact as he holds out your identification card and the pair of slippers.

“These are for you if you want to change out of the boots.” His eyes flick down to the heavy Doc Martens that adorn your feet. “You can go into the room, I’ve just gotta grab a few things from the storeroom.”

Oh, that’s why they were so small. You accept the shoes and card with a shy smile, thanking him quietly for the unnecessary kindness with the borrowed slippers and follow him down the small hallway. You want to say something, a small joke to fill the silence, but nothing comes to mind, your brain suddenly devoid of any thoughts other than how much you wanted him to pin you against a wall. Fire twists in your gut at that image. Strong tattooed hands pinning yours above your head as his mouth trails down your neck, nipping at the delicate skin of your throat, then collarbones, then chest. How easily he could rip the front of your dress open, hands groping and mouth biting.

“I’m just gonna duck out to grab some more ink cups but make yourself comfy. You can sit wherever until we put the stencil on.” Choso stops in the doorway of his space, gesturing into the room with an open palm. “Bathroom is down the hall” he jabs behind him with his thumb.

With a shaky breath in, you nod and step into the room, carefully avoiding any contact you might have with him in fear of possibly melting into nothing but a puddle of blood and bones. He gives you a tight smile before disappearing down the hall. How were you meant to have him tattoo you if you could barely hold it together when there was space between you both? Your skin is burning, tingling with whatever it was he made you feel and there was an ache so deep in your chest it hurt, but all those things could be anxiety, could be caused by the fact you were out of your element and not by the fact you were about to be tattooed by the most gorgeous human you had ever seen. Or maybe it was your body telling you that you needed to get dicked down by Choso Kamo. But anxiety and horny go hand in hand, right?

“Can you relax for me?” Choso’s request is soft and accompanied by small taps along your spine as he readies your skin for the stencil.

A shaky breath leaves your lungs as you whisper a sorry and roll your shoulders forward in an attempt to shed the stiffness that had taken over your entire body the instance Choso’s fingers brushed across your skin.

Your poor body has not known relaxation since stepping into the small studio. Between the constant heat coursing through your veins, your heart racing to the point of panic and your stomach twisting so uncomfortably good, you couldn’t focus on anything apart from the man before you, well behind you. Initially, you had wanted the tattoo running along your forearm, having just enough space for the small dagger and wings but after Choso had suggested moving the piece to run down your spine, your mind had been changed. It was perfect! You had been wanting to get something along your vertebrae for months now but hadn’t found anything you loved enough to commit, until now.

What you hadn’t accounted for was how it would be tattooed. You had very well thought you would be lying face down on the bed, Choso hovering over you as he inked your skin but that would have surely been murder on his back and judging by the looks of him, he was not ready to make that sacrifice, so now you sit comfortably on a small cushioned stool, hunched over the bed to allow Choso access to your bare back.

Oh my god, you weren’t going to make it through the appointment.

Warm hands are laid flat against your shoulder blades and you flinch, unaware you were going to feel the full weight of his hands on you.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean-“Choso rushes to apologise, removing his hands as if having them on you was a great offence.

“It’s okay. You just scared me, I didn’t know you were going to touch me.”

“Oh, uhh is it- am I going to “he struggles with the sentence, unsure as to how to word his question without sounding like a misogynistic asshole. “Are you going to be okay with me touching you? For the tattoo!” Choso all but shouts the end of his question, the clarification sending heat to both your cheeks.

“You can touch me, it’s okay.” You nod, perhaps a little too feverishly than you wanted to but you needed to ease his worries that you might be that kind of client.

The kind of client that flinches at every pass of the gun and begs for breaks every ten minutes. You know first-hand how embarrassing it is to watch someone cry and whine because of a tattoo as if the pain was unbearable and unavoidable. You had suffered through years of period pains, laser hair removal, IUD insertions, pap smears, getting smacked in the boob right before your period, eyebrow threading and so much more and even then, you refused to make a sound. Almost passing out on the gynaecologist’s table when she rammed the measuring rod right up into the top of your uterus, and even then the only sound that came out of you was a small ouch. You refuse to be seen as someone who would flinch at a tattoo.

Choso smiles back, restrained and small and you worry that maybe your over-enthusiastic consent may have contributed to that less genuine more annoyed retail worker smile and you find yourself starting to spiral into thoughts of needing to apologise and make up for the weird tension that now filled the room but that would be three steps backwards according to your therapist.

‘It is not your responsibility to figure out other people’s emotions before they have them and even then, it is not your responsibility to fix or change it’

Each week you are reminded of that in that small corner office and you’ve heard those words so many times, you might as well get it tattooed on your arm to remind you of that fact.

So instead of opening your mouth and spewing word vomit everywhere, you smile back and take in a deep breath, nodding at your artist to continue prepping your skin for the stencil.

Choso sits behind you, gently laying the paper atop your skin, lining up the tip of the dagger with vertebrae, and he has to concentrate extra hard to stop his hands from shaking because he cannot place this stencil on you for the fourth fucking time. It had taken him three attempts already and not because of the size of the drawing or the curve of your spine, but the fact his mind wandered away each time his skin touched yours. Wandered to a place where no client should ever be found, a place reserved only for fictional characters and the occasional crush but here you were, front and centre in Choso’s mind. Bent over the tattoo table, dress pushed up just far enough for him to watch his cock sliding in and out of you, slick and precum dripping down your thighs and pooling on the sanitized floor below. Your hands grip the edge of the foam mattress, the other held behind your back fingers entwined with his as you whined and moaned, crying out Choso’s name as you barely held it together before coming all over his cock with a whimper.

The image has Choso’s cock hardening in his sweats and he curses the fact he decided to change into comfy clothes instead of the jeans he wore this morning. His attention needs to shift away from the thought of you and to the present reality of you. Looking up, he catches you already staring at him and for a split second, he freaks out and looks down at his crotch. Had he said something out loud? Or accidentally made it super obvious he was insanely horny for you? The anxiety seems to do the job as he feels his dick softening, heart racing for another reason entirely.

“Do you need me to move or help you out with anything?” you timidly ask, brows furrowing in worry at the fact he had not been able to line the stencil up yet. Would he be okay to tattoo you? His hand did seem to shake a lot.

Choso shakes his head, puts down the stencil and reaches for the roll of paper towels on his station. “I think I've just had too much caffeine and it’s giving me a bit of a headache.” His gloved fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “My hands don’t shake this much, I promise. This has never happened before.”

Yeah, he’s never had a client so insanely hot he has been unable to do this job. Choso was not going to make it through his appointment alive.

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pierperian-leisure · 25 days

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I'll Take My Whiskey Neat

The saloon was dim and lively, with the warm lights casting a molten glow over the villagers inside. Shane and Sam sat in the corner by the fireplace, with the younger man lively gesturing to the older in conversation, with Shane secretly smiling at the boy's gesticulations behind his beer mug. Leah and Elliot sat next to each other on the other side of the bar, each artist gently swapping pieces of conversation from the day and the progress on their respective crafts, and hollering could be heard from the next room over as Abigail, Sebastian, and Alex competed around the pool table.

Harvey sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey neat that Gus had stocked away for the doctor specially. The amber liquid was a warm rush down Harvey's throat, a rich yet ultimately fruitless distraction from his wandering mind. Lewis and Marnie sat only a few stools down from Harvey, and he hoped desperately that they wouldn't pick up on him eyeing the saloon door every few seconds.

The doctor sighed, swirling the remaining whiskey in his glass. He wasn't waiting for the farmer, no more than anyone would wait for any of their other friends, Harvey tried to convince himself. No, it was normal to anxiously watch the door until one's friend entered the bar where all the other town's people were gathered, normal to anticipate the way the ambient lights would glow in the farmer's eyes, how her hair would curl gently around her face, loosened from the day's work. These were all normal behaviors, completely, the doctor told himself, as a flush rose on his cheeks not just from the drink in front of him.

If he were honest with himself, though he rarely was, Harvey wasn't entirely sure when his friendship with the town's farmer became something more. Harvey could recall her first week in town, taking over her grandfather's farm, and running about the town introducing herself to the town's people. Harvey would never forget how the sun light glittered off her hair as Penny shyly opened up to her, or the sound of her laughter with Alex and Sam running outside. But most of all, Harvey would never forget the simultaneous peace and butterflies that filled his chest when the farmer made her way into his clinic for the first time, like being faced with one's future all at once. The farmer bounced into his waiting room, chatting with Maru and Evelyn, asking so sweetly how even cranky George was doing, that Harvey stood struck in his spot. There was no time though, as soon Harvey stood face to face with the energetic young lady. Her beaming smile and citrusy scent had Harvey enraptured at once, and warmth flooded his chest even more when the farmer grinned and extended the black coffee to him. She had found his favorite from Maru, and the two had left him none the wiser. Harvey didn't recognize the butterflies in his stomach at the time, determined after years of medical school and cultivating proper doctor patient relationships to digest the feelings before they could grow. But with every weekly coffee shared, each wine testing for the farmer's burgeoning winery, Harvey was swallowed up into friendship and eventually, the infatuation that had him in his predicament that night.

The doctor wasn't used to romantic feelings, having never been the recipient of them growing up and too busy and professional later in life to act on them. He felt like a school boy struck dumb with his first crush, and even worse, on his closest friend. Harvey stared into his glass, torn between waiting for the farmer and sorting through what to do about the bubbling feelings in his chest.

It was at that point that the farmer finally burst through the saloon doors, laughing alongside Maru. The two had become fast friends, and Harvey both loved and cursed that fact as it made even more of an excuse for the farmer to stop by the clinic often, a problem as the doctor's feelings grew.

He had been right, though. The bar lights twinkled in her eyes, highlighting the glow on her cheeks given to her from days working the farm in the summer sun. The farmer was wearing her hair back in a braid, customary to keep her hair out of her face on long days on the farm and in the mines, with wisps kissing along her temples. A pair of shorts hugged her hips, strong from hard work, and a white blouse made her look absolutely ethereal. Harvey was dumbstruck at her beauty, desperately trying to hide the fact behind his whiskey glass.

The farmer made light conversation with the other villagers, laughing through the crowd and playfully swatting at Elliot's overly verbose flirtations. Eventually, she made her way to the bar, plopping into her usual seat beside Harvey. His breath caught in his throat, had she always smelt that nice? Warmth practically radiating off of her? The tall doctor hunched his shoulders, trying to remember how to breath with all of those thoughts about the farmer running through his head.

The farmer called Emily over, chatting with the other woman and ordering a drink for the night. A whiskey on the rocks, inverse from Harvey's own. The farmer had tipsily confessed to him one night just like this that she couldn't handle the straight whiskey the doctor preferred, but wanted to at least try. It had sent a loving flush to the doctor's cheeks then, flattered and touched by the woman. Harvey didn't hear her call over another drink for himself as well, jostled out of his reverie when the two glasses were set down before them.

The farmer grinned up at Harvey, a teasing glint in her eye. The doctor simultaneously loved and slightly feared what that glint may bring. The farmer chatted with him as usual though, asking how his models were going, how the work at the clinic was treating him and if he was eating like he should. The flow of conversation eased Harvey into their usual repertoire, with Harvey eventually comfortable enough to tease the farmer about her latest risky excursion into the mines, chiding her to be more careful, that he didn't want to stay in business that badly. The giddy peace Harvey usually felt with the farmer settled into his chest, though he couldn't help but notice the farmer slinking lower and lower on the stool beside him, eventually resting her head against his shoulder.

Harvey did his best to stay as still as possible, flushed with the current position he and the farmer found themselves in and determined not to startle her off and break their shared moment. The farmer must have felt Harvey turn into stone, as she titled her head up, eyes sparkling, and asked the doctor to walk her home. Not an usual practice between the two, but something felt different about it tonight.

The doctor stepped down from his stool, holding his hand out to the farmer, and led the two of them through the saloon's crowd and to the door. Harvey could feel the eyes of a few of the more observant town's people on his back, but told himself nothing should appear out of the ordinary, and focused on the feeling of the farmer's smaller, but tougher, palm in his. The pair made their way through the summer night, a gentle wind ruffling their hair and giving the air a pleasant, playful edge, the only sound the doctor and farmer's footsteps on the path's cobblestone. The silence was comfortable, and Harvey glanced down at the top of the farmer's head, gently resting on his arm as they walked. If he didn't know better, Harvey would have sworn he felt a smirk from the farmer pressing into where she gripped his arm.

The two finally reached the farmer's property line, soon stepping up onto her porch. Without warning, the farmer stopped dead in her tracks, using Harvey's forward momentum to pull him to turn and face her. He had been right, a smirk attempting to appear innocent played at the farmer's features, as she tried to school them into something nonchalant and unassuming. The summer air turned heady and promising, an electric current zipping its way through Harvey's gut. The farmer gazed up at him through her eyelashes, sweet and playful, before swinging to her tip toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of Harvey's mouth. His mustache bristled at the movement, and the doctor's knees nearly gave way beneath him. While he was still in shock, the farmer giggled. Before Harvey could come back to his senses, the farmer thanked him for walking her home, slipping into her cabin, a pleased look on her face at the stupor she had left Harvey in. Harvey stood on her porch, shocked, hand gently brushing his lip and facial hair where the farmer's lips had pressed.

It was a small gesture, but a sweet one. Nearly too sweet, but maybe, just maybe, something for Harvey to pin his hopes on.

#harvey sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley harvey #harvey x farmer #harvery sdv x reader #afab farmer #blatantly a reference to that one hozier tik tok

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thefoxtherapist · 1 month

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Surprise Kisses!

tags: Sebastian x gn!reader, Shane x gn!reader, Leah x gn!reader, Abigail x gn!reader, fluff, kisses.

Sebastian made a face as oil dripped onto his cheek, it wasn't that he hated it, but the texture of the oil certainly wasn't great. He lowered his arms from the underside of his motorcycle, staring up at the various bits of metal.

He still couldn't figure out what was causing that-

A sharp exhale escaped him as the creeper he was on was pulled out from underneath him. A shadow was cast over him as he blinked up at the sky? You. You pressed your lips to his, surprising the poor programmer, dark green eyes widening.

"Just wanted to say hi on my way by." You stood back up, taking a step back, he felt you push the creeper back under his motorcycle. The man took a moment, setting the wrench down on the concrete beside him, he pressed his hand to his face and laughed.

"Love you too.." Sebastian snickered despite hearing your quickly receding footsteps on the grass.

Shane kicked rocks as he walked across town, it was too early, Joja Mart sucked, and he wanted to go back to bed. Or the saloon. But he tried not to go to the saloon as often as he used to. He kicked another rock, watching it skid across the floor.

"Shane!"

He stopped, turning his head to spot you rushing towards him. He didn't really high time, but he'd make time for you. Even if it was raining and soaking through his hoodie.

You stopped suddenly in front of him, arms shooting out to wrap around his waist. "What-" He was cut off by your lips on his, warm despite the rain. He tried to kiss back, but there wasn't much time before you were pulling away from him.

"Have a good shift! I'll see you after work!" He pivoted to watch you run off towards the beach bridge. Shane shook his head, continuing his way to Joja Mart, maybe his shift wouldn't be all that bad after all.

Leah looked out at the lake from her spot sat at the edge of the pier. She sighed, placing her sketchbook beside her, she couldn't quite find any inspiration for what she wanted to draw. The artist leaned back on her hands, tilting her head up to look at the sky.

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine something in her mind, pull from a different creative outlet. Something blocked the sun on her face, and she quickly blinked her eyes open. Purple eyes stared into yours and she squeaked.

You kissed her quickly, snickering as you pulled away from the surprised redhead. "That old tower is always so pretty when the flowers bloom on it!" You commented with a sigh, standing up straight.

"Not as pretty as you though! Bye, sunflower!"

Leah turned and watched as you ran back down the dock with a laugh, she felt the smile spread across her cheeks. She would never get tired of the endless inspiration you seemed to bring her. She picked her sketchpad back up.

Abigail looked around as she passed the sign beside the front path of your farm, smiling at the name plastered on the old wood. You were proud of what you built, and she was proud of you! If only she could find you.

She gasped when your arms wrapped around her from behind, your lips meeting the back of her scalp. "Hi, amethyst!" You greeted her, loosening your grip so she could turn in your arms in order to face you.

"And here I wanted to surprise you with a kiss."

The woman leaned forward, kissing your nose as she had intended to do all along. You beamed at her when she tilted her head back, always a great way to end the morning. "Did you need any help with the farm today?"

"Hm.." You trailed off, and she could watch your face change into an exaggerated thinking one. Abigail knew just from your expression you'd finished everything. "I think I have one carrot left to pick!" You grinned at her.

Abigail rolled her eyes and gave you another squeeze before managing her way out of your arms. "Then I guess I'll have to play my flute to encourage the plants."

"That's a great idea, amethyst."

#stardew valley x reader #sebastian x reader sdv #shane x reader sdv #leah x reader sdv #abigail x reader sdv #༻Tenebris #stardew valley

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pnsteblnme · 9 months

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tattoos together ✿ g.s.

pairing: georgia stanway x reader

summary: georgia gets her first tattoo, even if it doesn't go according to her plan.

warning: none i think? just my writing :o

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i got this request a couple days ago, i hope you enjoy it!

you can find part two here :)

“Welcome in, how can I…,” removing your gaze from the sketch you were about to put away, your eyes connected with pools of glistening honey, irises swirling like sweet nectar. Feeling yourself drowning in the warm haze of brown, your breath getting caught in your throat and your mouth opening, you shook yourself out of your daze, “…help you.”

Flinching after your last words came out embarrassingly breathless, you sent an awkward smile that turned into a real one when the blonde girl looked at you with nothing but kindness, “Hey, I had an appointment for today.”

You scanned the calendar on the desk in front of you, “Georgia, right?”

Nodding her head, said girl let her eyes travel over your form as you stood up. She couldn’t help but study the intricate tattoos that adorned your arms, wanting to trace them and longing to discover their meanings. The initial apprehension about getting her first tattoo diminished as she admired yours, thinking that if yours looked this immaculate, she wouldn’t have to worry.

Another thing that calmed her uneasiness was not only the very attractive welcoming artist but also the atmosphere of the room.

Unlike many other tattoo shops with a rather gloomy and dark-esque appearance, this one felt like reconnecting with an old friend.

The soft scratching of Cindy Lauper’s ‘Time After Time’ coming from the boxes next to a vinyl collection in the left corner filled her ears. Sunbeams bestowed the room with a glow as orange as marigolds blooming in the late spring and the candles lit on the windowsill filled the air with a vanilla scent.

White walls were decked with hundreds of sketches varying in size and drawing style, most in black and white with a few colourful specks in between.

The wooden front desk harmonised perfectly with the brown leather seat to the left of the room, as well as the stems of the numerous plants that were scattered all around.

Comfort.

That was the only word that came to Georgia’s mind when she finished looking around, feeling the knot in her gut loosen and her stiff shoulders relax.

“What can I do for you?”

Pools of honey meeting the ocean, the blonde girl smiled, “I want to get a tattoo!”

“Well, then you’re at the right place,” you chuckled teasingly, the corners of your mouth turning up.

Seeing Georgia rolling her eyes, you continued, “Do you have an idea of what you want, or would you like some inspiration?”

“I think I know what I want,” thoughts running through her mind at a hundred miles per hour making her unsure once more.

Watching the woman twiddle the rings on her fingers, you send her an encouraging smile, “Okey dokey, if you’d take a seat in that chair over there, I’ll get my stuff and we can get started.”

Georgia shuffled to the left with her hands slightly shaking, not knowing if the cause of that were the gleaming smiles sent her way or rather the fact that she was about to permanently mark her skin.

“So, what would you like me to do?” you questioned as you rolled towards her with your chair, putting on your gloves and setting up everything you needed on the tray next to the woman.

Taking out her phone, tapping a few times and turning the screen in your direction, she replied, “Could you do this one?”

On her phone screen, you could see a small, delicate ghost, your mind instantly jumping to all the customers that had gotten two of them tattooed as a tribute to their favourite song.

“Of course, where do you want it?”

“Here,” she pointed to a spot on her left forearm.

Nodding your head, you quickly but neatly drew the ghost onto a white paper, before asking her if the drawing was according to her idea. When you got a positive response, you put the carbon paper under your sketch and went over the lines again, the ink sticking to the back of your drawing.

You swiftly put antiseptic on her arm and hovered the paper over her skin, “Right here?” She wordlessly moved her head up and down once more and you gently pressed it down before removing it after a few seconds, leaving behind the temporary ink in the form of a ghost.

“Okay, are you ready?”

Georgia could hear her heartbeat in her ears, a lump forming in her throat, that she almost audibly gulped down, a breathless exhale escaped her mouth, “I think so, yeah.”

After turning on the needle and noticing her jump a little at the buzzing that sizzled through the air, you tried to comfort her the best you could, with the most reassuring look you could muster.

When you neared her arm though and she started squirming in her seat, you pulled back and reached for her hand resting on the chair, which was holding the brown leather in a tight grip, her knuckles turning white, “Is everything all right?”

Both of you ignoring the tingles that shot through your bodies when your hands touched, a shaky sigh left Georgia’s lips, “I’m just nervous, this is my first time getting a tattoo and I just don’t know how any of this works or if this hurts and I don’t want to do something I’ll regret,” she let out in one big breath.

“There’s no need to worry, you can go home and see what it’s like with the tattoo and when it comes off and you decide that you don’t want it, that’s totally fine,” you told her with warm eyes, “and if you do like it, that’s fine too, you can come back and we can do it whenever you want, whenever you’re ready.”

Feeling like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders after your words, Georgia’s mind slowed down a bit, allowing her to gather her thoughts, “But I don’t want to be a wuss now and regret it as soon as I get home.”

Not being able to stop the words tumbling out of her mouth, the blonde shared her inner conflict, “Like on the one side I really want this but on the other, I’m afraid it’s not the right thing, you know?”

Letting the statement run through the air for a moment, your eyes ran over her face, “Can I say something?”

“Sure, go on,” Georgia confirmed, her hands starting to twist her rings again.

“I think that it’s better to look back on your life and say ‘I can’t believe I did that’ than to look back and say ‘I wish I did that,” you explained before taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express your thoughts, “Life shouldn’t be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely, but one that should be lived to the fullest, even if it means being worn out in the end. One where you embrace every moment, take risks, I don’t know, dance in the rain with your favourite people, even if you get weird looks from everyone else.”

After not getting a response from the blonde after a few beats, you realised that maybe your words didn’t make as much sense as they did in your head and continued, “What I’m trying to say is that twenty years from now, you’ll be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the things you did do. I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, but I know that life isn’t meant to be lived perfectly, it’s merely meant to be lived. Boldly, uncertainly, imperfectly, kindly, however you want to, just don’t let fear take that choice away from you.”

Somehow, the words that had left your lips with the sunlight sparkling in your eyes and a passion coating your voice drew the blonde further into the spell you had mysteriously put on her, leaving her speechless, until you let out an awkward chuckle, hand scratching the back of your neck, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to give this big ass monologue.”

Feeling a laugh bubbling up inside of her and forgetting her rapid heartbeat for a moment, she shook her head, “No, no, don’t apologise, I mean, you did kind of sound like my Nan, but it was still great.”

When she heard the melodious sound of your laughter, she knew she was a goner, butterflies dancing around her stomach and warmth crawling its way through her whole body.

You took the missing statement about her tattoo as her still being uncertain, “We can start with something smaller if you’re not sure about the ghost.”

Still being faced with an apprehensive look, you took off your left glove, quickly spraying a bit of antiseptic onto the inside of your wrist, before turning the needle on and guiding it over your skin, “Look, it doesn’t even hurt.”

Brown eyes widened, rosy lips parted, a flabbergasted look crossed her face, “Jesus Christ, what did you do?!”

Wiping over the ink once more, you turned your wrist towards her, a cheeky smile resting on your lips that resembled the one of the smiley face you now had resting on your left arm, “Tada!”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just did that,” the shock was still palpable in her voice, “Won’t you regret that though?”

You put away the needle and turned to face the girl on the brown chair, shaking your head, “I almost never regret anything, because I believe that every little detail of your life is what made you into who you are.”

“Deep down you’re actually a wise old man, aren’t you?” questioned Georgia with a raised eyebrow, your laughter filling the room once more.

“Maybe so,“ you shrugged your shoulders, “but back to you and don’t try to change the subject!”

“I can give you one of these little dudes if you want?” pointing to the ink that you’d just put on your arm.

“It’s not very big, so you can see what it feels like and we’d be matching, so you’ll always remember the wise old man that gave you your first tattoo.”

This time, the chuckles that rang through the room came from the blonde, “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, like I said, you can always go home.”

With affirmation in her voice, Georgia declared, “I’m sure!”

“Great, let’s do this,” you put your glove back on, disinfected her left wrist and grabbed the needle from the tray, before turning it on.

When you felt her right hand gripping your left one with a tight grip, you squeezed it, hoping to at least bring her some comfort as you began the procedure.

After tracing the last line, you wiped away the residue and turned everything off before raising your head to meet the pools of honey watching your every move, “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

If the way the corners of Georgia’s lips turned upwards was anything to go by, you had your answer, feeling elated about her reaction, even without getting an answer from the girl.

Not noticing that you were waiting for a response, she gazed at the tiny smiley face resting on the inside of her left wrist, that would forever remind her of this day. Suddenly, she felt at ease, something that hadn’t even crossed her mind when she initially thought about getting her first tattoo. She couldn’t explain it, but something about the way you listened to her and tried to support her through this process, overall your gentle nature, made her feel like she was walking on fluffy pink clouds.

“Thank you so much,” Georgia breathed out with a heavy voice.

“No problem! If I ever see you again, I hope it's with more of those, I think it’d suit you very well.”

Lowering her head, praying to god that you couldn’t see the heat that rushed to her cheeks, she mumbled a shy ‘thanks’ before asking you how much she had to pay.

Your answer only intensified the red hue of her face, “Don’t worry about it, I like contributing to the gay panic everyone will have when they see you with tattoos.”

Stammering a final ‘thank you’ and sending you what should’ve been a thankful look but turned out to be more of a blushing grimace, she made her way to the door.

When she tried to push the door though, the flustered mess that was Georgia realised too late that she should’ve pulled on it instead, her head connecting with the glass with a dull thud.

The sound of stifled giggles filled her ears as you held your hand in front of your mouth, trying to stop them from escaping. You couldn’t help but think that this was one of the most adorable things you’ve ever witnessed. The blonde turned to you, face beet red, slender fingers raising in an awkward wave as she hastily opened the door, almost tripping on her way out before half sprinting out of your eyesight.

Two days later, your mood instantly brightened when you saw who had stepped into your store.

“Back for some more wisdom from the old man?” you jested, a playful smirk resting on your face.

Georgia playfully put a hand on her chest and let out a big sigh, “I just don’t know what to do with my life without your wise words.”

Dropping her faux sad demeanour, she walked towards the front desk, where you were drawing something she couldn’t make out, “Well lucky for you, I just discovered my new favourite quote!”

You cleared your throat as if preparing for a big speech and started as serious as you could, “‘They whispered to her ’you can’t withstand the storm’,” pausing dramatically for a few seconds, “‘She whispered back ’I am the storm’.”

“Wow, I don’t… I don’t know what to say, I’m just- I mean that’s so inspiring,” stuttered Georgia, wiping away a fake tear with her hand.

Dropping her sad demeanour, she sent you a grin, “I’m ready for the ghost now!”

“Seriously? That’s amazing!” you exclaimed, clapping your hands together and rocking on the balls of your feet.

Walking her over to the leather chair, the conversation between you flowed easily, like a message in a bottle slowly but surely reaching its designated shore, making it feel like no time had passed when you finished the tattoo.

This time, Georgia left the store with a ghost adorning her left arm and an even wider smile on her face, as she was able to avoid embarrassment during her departure.

“I mean, not that I’m complaining, but you know that you can get multiple tattoos done in one day, right?” you questioned her, raising your eyebrow teasingly.

Seeing her head dropping and the way she started rocking on her feet while twiddling the rings on her fingers, you felt your stomach drop, thinking that you had said something wrong.

Before you could open your mouth to apologise, you were interrupted by Georgia muttering something under her breath. You strained your ears to make out the words but failed miserably.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?”

The girl let out a nervous sigh and muttered again, “I know, but I still need to figure out how to get a grip and ask you out.”

Butterflies danced around in your stomach, making you grin like a fool, “Well then make as many appointments as you need,” you sent a wink her way.

That day she left with a game of noughts and crosses on her shoulder and a newfound determination to ask you out. Her walk home was filled with a million thoughts running through her head, asking the street lights if it would work out in the end.

The next day she showed up at your store with a bouquet of beautifully blooming flowers in her hand, sweating buckets, hoping you couldn’t tell just how nervous she was.

Your cheeks hurt from not being able to stop grinning like a cheshire cat, as you excitedly accepted her offer.

If anyone were to walk through the door, they would be met with two hearts rapidly beating and two smiles lighting up the entire room.

#woso #woso x reader #georgia stanway #georgia stanway x reader #woso fanfics #engwnt #fcb frauen

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zaiisaii · 1 year

Text

ACTOR

⋆ — sleepy .ᐟ ﹙park jihoon﹚ .

warning:: gender neu. reader , actor!reader & sfw .

note:: hope none of you mind me writing for my favorite boy 🫶 hes got the prettiest eyes!! :/

"hello." you greet him with a soft smile. he walks to you stiffly and shivering. jihoon sits down beside you – it's far too close for friends yet a little distant for lovers.

the korean actor sighs and rests his head against your shoulder, a few strands of hair fall over his eyes. they flutter shut at the warmth you emit.

"ahh, sleepy." mumbles the tired man, he wraps his arms around yours and cuddles even deeper. you can see the puffs of cold air he breathes out. you shake your head, amused by how clingy your co-star can be when he's tired.

"i've got another scene coming up." your warning goes over his head. he nods, not paying much attention to your words.

he sighs again, this time it's filled with relief. you pat his head gently, the gloves over your hands feel so nice and warm, you wouldn't dare remove them just to pat him.

jihoon leans into your touch and grips your arm tightly. he isn't allowing you to get up. you struggle to rise earning multiple whines and grumbles from him; 'you're warm', 'do your scene later', 'stay with me'.

one of your makeup artists' stands above you, applying chapstick to your lips. she sends you a knowing look causing you to jokingly roll your eyes.

told you he gets clingy around you.

shush.

she snickers and quickly fixes your collar

"jihoonnn," you drawl out near his ear. he hums in acknowledgment. "i need to go now..."

he shakes his head.

"i'll cuddle with you later,"

he thinks about it, grip loosening around you. "okay, but! i get to have a sleepover with you."

you nod in agreement. it's been a while since the two of you hung out together. he sadly lets you go, eyeing the grin on your pretty face.

it almost makes him want to turn the other way, it makes him too shy to even make eye contact.

why do you look at him like that?

"like what?" you tilt your head, confused at what he meant. his eyes widen the slightest bit, and the red on his ears was no longer there because it was cold.

did he say that aloud!?

he quickly shakes his head and pushes you off the bench you were sitting off. "like nothing!"

the grin on your face grows, your eyes disappearing within your smile. you lean forward to gently kiss his forehead. it was soft, so soft you probably wouldn't count it as a real kiss.

almost as if you were scared to touch him.

"if you say so."

jihoon shoves you further away, lips quirked up shyly. he rolls his eyes when your makeup artist wiggles her eyebrows.

"go away."

#park jihoon #wanna one jihoon #actor x reader #park jihoon x reader #park jihoon fluff #jihoon fluff #kdrama #x reader #gender neutral reader #kdrama x reader #idk what to tag help #park jihoon x you #park jihoon x y/n #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero class 1

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guilty-pleasures21 · 3 months

Text

The thief & the detective

Just an idea that's been sitting on my mind for a while: cat burglar mc x detective Miguel?!

I split up part 1 just because it got really long 🫠 and I also only have a few bits and pieces for part 2, so please comment/message me if you have anything you'd like to see in part 2!

P.S. I TOTALLY forgot to post the pic above the first time I posted this, but I just imagine him looking at her like this when she asks him to go shower and it drives me crazy!!!!! 😭 Unfortunately, I CANNOT remember where I found this pic, so if anyone knows, PLEASE let me know so I can credit the artist appropriately!!! I'm so sorry!!!

Part 1a

Part 1b

Part 2

Warnings: explicit descriptions of sex including penetration (p in v).

_______________________________________________

“Shit, Miguel,” she breathed, curling herself around him as she tried to catch her breath. She pressed her lips to his shoulder and brushed them along his broad muscles, kissing and nibbling on him lazily. Then she moaned into the crook of his neck, her soft breasts pressing against his hard chest as she began moving her hips against his slowly. He felt so big beneath her, his c*ck thick and warm, already starting to harden as she ground herself into him. He groaned as his head fell back against the headboard, then he dug his fingers into her ass, pulling her harder against him. She laughed at his desperation, her head falling back to expose the delicate column of her neck. “So impatient, detective.”

He licked a line up her throat, then buried his face in the crook of her neck, his fingers continuing to knead her soft flesh.

“M’not impatient,” he mumbled, sliding his arms all the way around her and moving his hips in time to hers. “Just tryna be fair. I already gave you what you wanted. Isn’t it my turn now?” He lifted his head to tug on her earlobe with his teeth before grazing them along the underside of her ear, nibbling on her warm skin. X trailed her fingers down his chest, brushing them teasingly against the tip of his d*ck when she reached it.

“What do you want from me, detective?” she asked him playfully, cupping his cheek in her hand when he pulled back to look at her. Her eyes fell to his lips and she pressed hers to them gently, her touch featherlight. “What should I take from you this time?” She grinned and curled her fingers around his c*ck before finally closing the distance between their mouth and kissing him. He wound his tongue around hers as she pumped his c*ck in her hand, overwhelmed by the taste and feel of her all around him.

“Why don’t you …” he panted in between hungry kisses, his hands running all over her soft little body, “try giving me … something for once?” He squeezed her breast gently and she squealed into his mouth at the feeling, her head falling back with pleasure. He grinned at the sound and moved his lips to her throat, his legs starting to twitch as she continued to slide her fingers all over his c*ck.

Holy shit! He was so hot when he smiled, his fiery eyes creasing at the corners, his lush lips curling at the ends, his cute little fangs peeking out at her. She pressed her lips back to his, their teeth clashing as the both of them smiled between kisses. “That’s not how this game works, detective.”

She moaned as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair and she wriggled her body against his. He squeezed her against him, then bit on her lip before loosening his hold on her, letting her move her mouth to his shoulder. She pressed her lips to his skin, trailing them down his chest and abs until she was lying in between his legs, her beautiful eyes peeking up at him from beneath her curly lashes as she angled his c*ck to her mouth. She maintained eye contact as she pressed soft kisses to his tip, gradually pulling him deeper into her mouth with each quick peck. He gripped onto the bed sheets as she sucked on him slowly, her tongue tracing the veins in his c*ck delightfully.

“F*ck,” he breathed, his hips lifting off the bed to start thrusting himself into her mouth. He sucked in a breath when he hit the back of her throat, her pretty little moans sending vibrations all along his c*ck and down to his core. Ay, coño, she felt good. She bobbed her head up and down, dragging him out of her mouth. Then she climbed back onto his lap and slipped him inside of her, rolling her hips carefully to ease him in.

“Holy shit, Miguel!” she sighed, delighting in the way he was filling her up so nicely. “You’re so … frickin’ big.” She scrunched her fingers in his hair and flopped over onto his shoulder, the bed shaking as he took over and thrust himself into her.

“Mmm, Miguel …” she sighed, whining into his neck in a way that had him tightening his hold on her. Mierda, she was cute, small and soft in his arms, his tiny little gatita.

“Miguel,” she repeated, straightening to look at the way the sweat-slicked strands of his hair fell in his eyes as he bounced her up and down in his lap. She cupped his cheek in her hand, brushing her thumb along the sharp line of his jaw. “You'll come visit me … won't you? Every day? You know I can't live without you, mi Miguelito.”

She tried to give him a pout, to make herself seem all helpless and vulnerable. But then he hit that one spot that had her eyes rolling back in her head with pleasure. He bent over and kissed his way up her neck, his lips landing on hers when she lowered her head back down again. He kissed her hungrily, holding onto the back of her head to keep her in position so he could tangle his tongue with hers. “Mmm, gatita … This isn't some … last ditch attempt … to get out of jail … is it?”

“No,” she replied, pulling back from him to look at the glazed look in his eyes. She brushed her fingers across his cheek, marvelling at how unfairly handsome he was, with his strong brow and his sharp jawline and his rugged looks. “Not if you’ll come … visit me … everyday … detective.” She wasn’t lying - she really would go crazy if she had to be locked up in a cell without getting to see his gorgeous face at least once a day, hear his mocking voice at least once an hour, brush her fingers along his skin at least once a night. And that was before she knew how delicious he felt beneath her. How would she ever survive without him now?

He glided his hands up her back, relishing the feeling of her smooth skin beneath his rough palms, the sweat dripping off her from how much he'd teased and pleasured her already. If he was being really honest, he didn't think he'd be able to survive without her either: her witty retorts, her bright smile, the way she always challenged him to be the very best version of himself. Joder, he might have been falling in love with her. His stomach curdled at the thought of her being locked up in a cell, at the thought of never seeing her again, hearing her voice, feeling her skin against his. He'd find a way; he'd find a way to get her out of there. Maybe with a plea deal, a bargain of some sort. She leaned forward and pulled his lip between hers, nipping at it quickly before letting him go. He groaned at the feeling and she giggled with delight, her warm p*ssy throbbing around his d*ck so desperately.

“I have … a better idea … detective.” She grabbed onto his hair and pulled his head back, delighting in the dazed look on his face as he glanced up at her. She grinned and licked his lips quickly before relaxing her hold on him, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder as he bounced her up and down on his length.

“Why don’t you … lock me up … instead?” she suggested, her hands sliding over his shoulders and chest as she tried to maintain her balance on top of him. She curled herself around him, leaning forward and rolling her hips so that her clit was brushing up against his abdomen, adding onto her pleasure. “At your place? I could … I could be your … good little gatita? And you could … c-come back e-every night … after work? And ‘d-discipline’ m-me.”

She bit his ear and he growled and tightened his grip on her at the idea. Carajo, he should have f*cked her ages ago; maybe then he could have saved her, helped her lead a better life. “Don't tempt me, gatita.”

Shit. His voice was so low now that she could feel the vibrations buzzing through his chest every time he spoke. It drove her crazy, her nipples tingling with delight at how so very aroused he was by her.

“Please, Miguel?” she whimpered helplessly, her eyes widening with innocence as she gazed up at him. “¿Para mí? ¿Para tu … pequeña gatita buena?” (For me? For your good little kitten?)

“¡Ay, coño, gatita!” His head rolled back with pleasure as he felt his core tightening at her words, at the pretty little look she gave him. She let out a loud moan as he prodded at that one spot inside of her, then fell over him, her lips landing back on his. He lowered himself onto the bed as he twisted his tongue around hers, lying back so she was on top of him. She pushed herself up, her hair tickling his shoulders as she leaned over him, and he brushed it away from her face, his fingers drifting down her neck and breasts.

“Would you really stay with me, mi gatita traviesa?” he asked. (... my naughty kitten?) “Would you do what I told you to? Turn over a new leaf?” Maybe she wasn’t entirely past saving, if she was willing to give it all up for him. She bit her lip, losing her focus as her body prepared itself to come.

“For you, Miguel?” She nodded dazedly. “Anything.” Maybe he wasn’t completely past ruining, if he was willing to give it all up for her. She let out a squeak as she came on top of him, her body flopping over his and writhing around in his arms as her p*ssy squeezed his d*ck. He sucked in a breath at the sensation, then he was coming too, his c*ck releasing his c*m into her, his hands gripping onto her ass as he let the warm liquid seep out of him and into her. He sighed when he was done, his hands sliding up her back to stroke her gently as she panted on top of him. Then he turned her over onto her side, slinging a muscular arm over her. They lay like that for a while, the room filled with the sounds of their shallow gasps as they both tried to catch their breaths. Finally, she wriggled out from beneath his grasp, getting up off the bed and gathering her hair over shoulders.

“I’m going to take that shower now.” She glanced over at the entrance to the bathroom, then returned her gaze to him, her stomach flipping at the way his eyelids lowered as he trailed his gaze over her body. “You gonna come make sure I don’t run away, detective?”

He sighed and pushed himself off the bed, the muscles in his arms and back flexing so deliciously. He walked over to her and tapped her on the ass lightly, pushing her in the direction of the bathroom.

“Vamos, gatita.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, pushed up against the wall as he pounded his d*ck into her. “Yes! Holy shit, Miguel! You feel … so good.” He held onto her waist, his hard chest pressing into her back as he thrust himself into her from behind. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it; the way her p*ssy took him in so very nicely, constantly throbbing around his c*ck, begging him for more. He raised one hand to brace himself against the wall and slid the other up to cup her breast, squeezing her soft flesh in his hands and pulling her back against him. He growled and nipped at her ear before pressing his lips to the side of her neck, moaning against her with pleasure. F*ck, she felt good.

“Miguel,” she breathed, her ass bouncing against his thighs as she shook beneath him. “Wait. I wanna … see your face … when I come for you.” He was so big and so warm, his body all nice and firm as he wrapped himself around her. She didn’t think she’d ever get sick of it; the way his c*ck stretched her out and filled her up, his tip hitting that one spot that had her body slumping over in relief. He lifted her up easily and spun her around, sliding her back onto his c*ck before starting up his thrusts again. He was so handsome, his dark locks dripping with sweat and water, the damp strands falling into his beautiful copper eyes as he gazed down at her. And then whenever he bit his lip? His cute little fangs pressing into his full and soft bottom lip? Shit, it drove her mad!

She really was beautiful, her curly eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, her rosy lips parting in that blissed out look as her head fell back with pleasure. P*ta madre, she was cute. He sucked in a breath as she came around him, her tight little p*ssy pulling on him and milking him into her as he reached his climax too. He held her up against the wall, his head falling onto her shoulder as he relieved himself inside of her, the warm water falling onto his back adding on to his pleasure-filled release. Then he nipped at her ear before brushing his lips along her neck. “Mmm, X.”

Shit! She could have come again just from the way he moaned her name, his voice thick with satisfaction as he nibbled and licked at her neck. But then he was sliding her off of him and setting her back down, his hands keeping her upright as her knees wobbled beneath her. She turned around to kiss him, to taste him one more time as he ran his hands along her skin, cleaning her up. And then he was shutting the tap off and wrapping her up in one of the plush white hotel towels hanging on the rack by the sink. She sighed as she dried herself up before returning back to the bedroom, her steps shaky from the way her legs refused to close. She glanced over at the two beds, her stomach roiling with nerves as she felt him come up behind her. Then she rearranged her features into a cheeky expression and injected as much mischief as she could into her voice when she next spoke.

“You … want to make sure I don’t run away in the night, detective?” Her eyes were a little too wide as she patted the bed beside them, her smile stretched a little too thin. She didn’t want to part with him just yet - was terrified of the thought of having to wake up tomorrow and be torn away from him. And if he were being honest, he was maybe a little terrified of that too. He sighed as she pushed her towards the bed, feigning irritation at the thought of being stuck with her again. But she just bounced over to the bed happily, crawling under the covers and snuggling up against him when he slid in next to her. He wrapped his arms around her soft body as she laid her head on his chest, the both of them enjoying the moment of solitude in each other’s arms. She reached up to run her fingers through his hair after a while, breathing in the warm, masculine scent of him she’d come to know so well.

“I didn’t do it because I wanted to. Not at first, anyway,” she admitted softly, her slender fingers scratching his scalp gently. “But then it felt so good. And then I met you. And I couldn’t stop then.” She tilted her head back to look up at him, her dark eyes tracing over his sharp features, memorising the shape of his face. He ran his fingernails along her back and she purred at the feeling, settling herself back around him like a little cat.

“You know there are easier ways to ask a guy out. Right, gatita?” he teased her, lips curling into a wicked smirk.

“Would you go out with me, Miguel?” she asked him quietly. He considered her question, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“I would have if you’d asked me earlier.” Before we’d met each other; before I did everything in my power to catch you and you did everything in yours to escape. But then he’d never have known her, would he? She trailed her fingers along his skin, tracing the sculpted outlines of his muscles.

“What about now?” She stretched up to press her lips to his collarbone, her body twisting to lie on top of his as she mumbled into his skin. “Will you go out with me tomorrow?”

She pressed a kiss to the base of his throat before snuggling herself back into his arms, her voice getting softer as she started drifting off into sleep. “Or next week, maybe? Then I’ll have enough time to make my great escape.”

He continued to stroke her gently, even after she’d fallen asleep, his mind running wild with a list of ways he might possibly get her out of this. He believed her about not wanting to do it: she came from a poor background, the only thing she’d ever really owned was her own name. And what a price she’d put on it. And besides, she never stole from those who couldn’t afford it - it was always spoilt businessmen whose money was already just rotting away in the bank anyway. Plus, they never could track anything she’d stolen, or the money she’d received from it - probably because she always distributed it amongst the poor. A modern day Robin Hood. His thoughts blurred together as he felt himself start to drift off as well, his brain still working to come up with a way to save her.

He woke up the next morning confused, unused to his familiar surroundings. Then he remembered: the governor’s personal suite, his gatita, finally trapped in his grasp. And then, her body, soft and warm against his, her lips sweet and lush, her taste intoxicating. His stomach bubbled with excitement at the thought of the plan he’d come up with last night; he couldn’t wait to share it with her, couldn’t wait to- He pat the bed, trying to find her soft curves and her messy curls. But she wasn’t there. Was she in the bathroom? He flung the covers aside and leapt out of bed, his panic growing worse when he saw the door open, the toilet empty. And then he saw the note on the bedside table, neatly placed atop her carefully arranged underwear.

‘Lo siento, mi Miguelito, but you can’t keep a cat locked up, no matter how much they love you. See you for our date next week! Te amo, tu gatita traviesa, X.’ (I love you, your naughty kitten, X.) She’d sealed it with a kiss too, her rosy lipstick imprinted on the corner of the note. He crumpled her underwear in his hand, the rage starting to build up inside of him at her words. How the hell had she managed to escape?! When had she managed to escape? Was she close enough that he could still catch her? ¡Ay, p*ta madre! How could he have been so stupid to think that he could trust her?! He re-read the note, knowing that if she could get away from him even now, even with the entire building on lockdown because of her, then there was definitely no way he’d be able to catch her on their date. He clenched his jaw at the way his stomach flipped at the word, even after she’d left him looking like a fool.

“Miguel?” Peter’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you in there? What’s happening?” Miguel dashed around the room at the sound of his voice, quickly picking up his clothes and throwing them back on.

“Uh, coming! Just … give me a second!” His underwear, where was his underwear?! F*ck! She must have taken it with her. He threw on whatever he had, pulling up his zip before getting the door. Peter walked into the room, bright-eyed and well-rested, completely oblivious to how stupid he’d been last night. How the f*ck could he have had sex with her?! When everyone else was … ¡Ay, carajo!

“Took you long enough!” Peter joked, searching around the room for the other person he expected to see there. He turned back to Miguel after being unable to locate her, an apprehensive smile on his face. “Where’s the prisoner?” Miguel folded his arms across his chest and avoided Peter’s gaze, embarrassed. Peter shifted comfortably at the sight, his heart picking up speed in his chest. He forced out an awkward chuckle.

“Please don’t tell me you let her get away.”

“I didn’t let her get away,” Miguel scoffed, offended by the idea. Peter’s eyes widened in horror.

“She got away?!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Again?!”

Miguel dropped his gaze again, fidgeting with his hands guiltily. Peter huffed in frustration and marched out of the room, ranting and grumbling as he worried over how the governor would react to his news. Miguel sighed as he followed after him, trying to come up with a plan for their date next week - there was no way in hell he was ever letting her go again.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel fanfic #miguel smut #miguel x oc #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel atsv #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 fanfiction #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099

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art · 2 years

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @min-play

I’m Min! I’m an animator and storyboard rti t who also posts comics and fan art online. So far, I have worked on the Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and LEGO Monkie Kid. I run on AAA batteries.

Check out our interview with Min below!

How did you get your start in animation and storyboarding?

Fanart! My hyperfixations kept me drawing and posting online since I was around 16. Later I dropped my Computer Science degree to study animation. After graduating, I worked as an In-between Animator, Key Animator, and Storyboard Artist. My fanart of a couple funny skeletons played a big role in getting hired.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating content that you know now?

It’s ok to make mistakes. All the flaws in a drawing make it look much more interesting. Also, it’s a lot more fun than spending ages perfecting one line.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

I always get 3 different flavors of art block (that I remember):

Art block from perfectionism

Sometimes there’s this self-enforced pressure that what you make has to be of a certain standard. Gotta loosen up and forgive yourself for not meeting an imaginary quality. Do it for the fun of it. Instead of thinking’ needs to be better,’ think ‘eh good enough lol.’ It’s cool to strive for improvement! Just don’t do it to the point it becomes self-deprecating.

Art block from burnout

Art hibernation! It’s ok to take breaks. Not every waking moment needs to be productive. Treat yourself to something yummy, hang out with people you’re comfortable with, or pick up a new anime series. Take the time to get some well-deserved rest.

Art block while drawing as a full-time job

WELL DANG.

Switch your ‘drive.’ If you’re running off on passion or interest as a motivator for work, that’s great! I do too! But also, it’s finicky. Set up routines for when that high runs out. I have a ‘Do task’ mode where I play a song or a movie I already watched on loop in the background (sometimes for weeks on end). I don’t know why but it helps me concentrate. Last week, it was the movie Cars.

These are personal methods and may not work for everyone, but I hope it helps!

What are 3 things you can’t live without as a creator?

Music + Noise-canceling headphones + Big blanket = Comfort force field

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

Does blacksmithing count as a medium? I’d like to try it out at least once, though.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

To connect with other creators more. Especially writers. They are so powerful.

Warm tones or cool tones?

Cool tones! Especially this one particular blend of blue and green.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

So maaaanyy. At the top of my head, though: @northpen. I am obsessed with their vivid-imagery writing style, and immaculate characterizations. Their character banters always have me in a gigglefit. They have this fic I binged in one sitting and left me crying and empty in a good way.

Thank you for such amazing answers, Min! You can check out more of Min’s creations over at @min-play!

#creator spotlight #animators on tumblr #storyboard artist #artists on tumblr #min-play

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

—LIBEROSIS | SIX

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: Right. Now things are going well and Wednesday should be basking in the vindication of it all. But now there's other things that keep her up at night and it's maddening. Wednesday used to never care and now she wished she cared a little less.

Warnings: Pining & Angst. Dramatic!Wednesday. Enid, is focused on her boat. Thing, is the GOAT. Xavier, just expects no peace.

Series Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there’s no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: Wednesday: things are nice right now. I should create more problems :|

Part Five

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Liberosis: Noun. The desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There's a certain bliss when things go well. It's like a well-thought-out plan that came to fruition, bearing the fruits of desired results.

It always brings Wednesday acute satisfaction.

She should be basking in all the glory and victory that her actions have brought her—to know that her suffering wasn't for nothing.

Yet, as Wednesday sits out near the lake under the shade of a willow tree while reading a book, she feels—discontentment.

Winter has long passed, and Wednesday misses the weather.

The day was warm and sunny, with a slight soothing breeze—terrible. On top of that, everyone seemed to have gathered around the willow tree, trying to relax under the shade. She had Enid and Yoko on her left, yapping like chihuahuas. Xavier, Ajax, and Eugene sat a few feet in front of her, playing some kind of game.

On her right, you sat a foot away, chatting with Bianca and her fellow sirens next to you. The conversation she'd be listening to hadn't been anything of interest, but Wednesday supposes that Bianca wouldn't spill her plans for the Poe Cup race with everyone else around.

Every so often, Enid would lean over her, trying to say something to you, and it would make Wednesday stiffen uncomfortably.

"Wednesday," Enid frustratedly sighs as she tries to lean over Wednesday to say something to you. "It'd be so much easier if you switched seats with me. You're just reading anyway! You can do that at the edge."

Enid starts to move to get up, but Wednesday turns her head and glares at her roommate. "If you so much as try to force me out of my optimal seating, I will dump all your nail polish over the balcony."

Enid gasped, hand to her heart dramatically as if it was the worst thing she could ever hear.

"Really, Addams?" Bianca asked with a sardonic expression. "You've lost your touch on the threats."

Wednesday raises her brow at her rival. "Enid is unique and stupidly no longer fears my homicidal threats. I have to get creative with her to instill fear."

"What's so optimal about that seating anyway?" Enid grumbles, but Wednesday see's the blonde looking at you with a smirk.

"The shade," Wednesday answers briskly. "This is the only spot without a speck of sunlight getting through."

You suddenly laugh, grabbing everyone's attention. You look over to Enid and smile. "Why don't you and Yoko come and sit in front of me?"

"But I want to lean my back against something," Enid whines with a frown.

"If the boys move in front of you to play their game, I'm sure Ajax would be happy to let you lean against his back," you smirk while Ajax looks at his girlfriend happily and nods.

"But we're going to be in the sun," Xavier complains.

"Count yourself lucky," Wednesday looks at the artist, her face deadpan. "As much as I adore the aesthetic of ghosts, the complexion doesn't suit you."

"Fuck you," Xavier gives her the middle finger. "I don't want to hear this from someone who looks half-dead all the time."

"I've spent my free time in cold lockers," Wednesday looks back at her book. "What's your excuse?"

Xavier grumbles in reply, but the three boys get up to readjust so Enid can sit peacefully in front of you and resume her conversation.

Wednesday relaxes more comfortably now that her left side is free. Wednesday was side-sitting, her knees both on one side, facing away from you as she held open her book in front of her face with one hand. Her other hand rests against the grass between the two of you.

Soon enough, the chatter resumes and becomes static noise to Wednesday, and when it does, she stiffens. You've placed your left hand down against the grass, and the very tip of your middle finger brushed against Wednesday's.

You're talking animatedly with Bianca and Enid, and no one else seems to notice Wednesday's inelegance. It seems no one is paying attention to her at all anymore.

After a few moments, Wednesday swallows. She looks carefully at those around her, ensuring they're all lost in their own conversations. There's something that she particularly wants, and she should simply do it.

After all, she's gone through enough emotional suffering because of you, and the last few months have shown her that she's evolved enough to hunt down the desires she didn't think she'd ever have.

Yet, fully moving her hand to grasp yours seemed more difficult than solving murder mysteries.

Wednesday shifts, hinting at you what she wants.

Nothing changes as you're too lost in your conversation with Enid.

Wednesday purses her lip in annoyance. Perhaps it was a mistake to have Enid move in front of you.

Wednesday shifts again, the tip of her middle finger brushing against yours more intentionally. The hint was very obstinately clear now. Or, it should've been.

You don't budge.

A thought drifts through Wednesday's mind. She has lamented over you, suffered because of you, chased after you. The least you could do is take her fucking hint.

Just grab it, Wednesday tells herself. Grab it and crush it—

You shift, sitting straighter, and move your hand to fan yourself from the warm weather.

Wednesday doesn't know why you'd ever think she's enticed by the sun.

She detests the sun and its warmth.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday sits at the pond's edge, staring out into its vast, clear reflection. Little fireflies hover near the surface, dancing their way back and forth. Her face is strained, her eyebrows furrowed in their natural way, and her lips pressed in a line.

"Oh, you're here."

Wednesday turns around and sees you entering from behind a tree. She nods in acknowledgment. "Of course," she plainly replies and then demands, "why are you late?"

You smile at her, and it both irritates Wednesday and delights her.

"Henry wanted to show me his mindscape," you reveal. "He's been excited about it all week, so I thought I'd go see it now rather than during my free period. The verdict is that he might need some work because precisely nothing changed or happened."

You sit next to her, grinning at her blank face before you fall onto your back, staring at the moon.

"Why not during your free period?" Wednesday asks as she kicks the side of your shoe, signaling to turn onto your back. You turn over with a puff of breath, focusing on your wings to come out and unfurl.

Wednesday watches in interest as she always does. She anticipates when they'll fully heal, and she'll get them to see them fully stretch. She feels titillation at the thought of them spanning wide enough to block out the sun.

It occurred to Wednesday then that one; she was looking forward to something that seemed so…frivolous and, frankly, embarrassing. Second, Wednesday believed that your presence in her life would be a more permanent fixture.

The image of her mother pops up in her head, and she feels unwell.

"Well," you drag her out of her thoughts. "You have fencing at that time, right? I thought I'd come watch your match against Xavier."

Wednesday is initially silent, feeling something stir in her stomach at your words. She applies the salve leisurely and thinks about how it doesn't matter how fast or slow she administers it because you won't be running off anywhere after.

"It won't be anything special," Wednesday monotones. "Xavier will pathetically lose after seven and a half minutes."

You laugh. "Well, I'll enjoy the seven and half minutes of it then." You hum, your wings trill as Wednesday ruffles some of them to apply the salve. "Tickles," you mumble, and Wednesday feels the comfort of it.

Soon enough, Wednesday finishes, and you turn around and sit back up.

"Anyway," you interject and smirk. "Since you'll only be fencing for about seven and a half minutes, why don't you play hooky with me?"

"And do what exactly?" Wednesday asks flatly with her brow raised.

"Hm," you hum, tilting your head. "I wanted to see the Jericho town but Larissa won't let me leave the school grounds for the next couple of weeks."

"Oh?" Wednesday raises her brow in intrigue but then follows up with, "You call Principal Weems by her first name?"

You nod. "I mean, yeah, in private only since she said it was okay. I guess it's weird to call your guardian Principal Weems after hours."

"On the contrary," Wednesday tilts her chin to the side. "I believe we should refer to our birthmakers by their name to establish distance."

You roll your eyes at Wednesday, trying to hide your smile.

"Why is she trying to keep you locked in this penitentiary?" Wednesday asks.

"Jericho grows these flowers—draeconiums. They're usually harmless and have a short bloom lifecycle," you tell her. "But I believe this year they bloomed under an eclipse."

Wednesday recalled the eclipse last week. Enid had been so excited about it and made plans with everyone to watch it.

It was boring.

"Anyway," you continue on. "If that happens, draeconiums produce a certain sap in its stem that's very, very poisonous to faeries. It's the only thing that can cut a faerie's wings off."

"Poisonous sap?" Wednesday's brows furrow.

You nod with a hum. "The sap hardens and it's harder than any metal to exist."

Wednesday processes the words. "Interesting."

You laugh. "Don't tell me you thought just anything could cut off my wings."

Wednesday's silent.

"If wings that could grant wishes could be cut off that easily, I think my kind would've gone extinct long ago," you chuckle.

Wednesday's not really thinking about that (although she was under that impression). She's thinking about how hard this sap would be to come by and probably how faeries would make it their business to find any draeconium saps to keep the outside world from having it.

And she thinks of your mother and burns.

"So, I don't think I'll be stepping out of the academy anytime soon until the draeconiums wilt and the sap isn't potent anymore."

Wednesday looks at you and nods. It would be prudent to keep you away from things that could end your existence.

"I wonder what we could do," you muse and then shrug. "I guess we can just hang out."

It was something in the way you say it that formed a knot in Wednesday's stomach. "You sound bored," she keeps her tone flat. "Do you grow tired of my presence already?"

"If I was then I suppose I'm a masochist for inviting you to play hooky with me," you look amused. "We don't have to do anything special to enjoy our time. Why would you think that?"

"I told you I wasn't dating material."

You raise your brow at her. "We're not dating."

You continue speaking about different things, and Wednesday just sits there silently, letting you ramble on.

But later that night, she lies awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling with her arms folded over her chest, restless.

Of course, there was no basking in the glory and her victory of chasing you. She had caught you, and now she didn't know what to do with you.

Grow closer and become more like her mother, or distance herself and—

Wednesday couldn't even finish that thought.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your eyes narrowed on Wednesday's form.

You should be angry, considering how Wednesday seemed to be distant lately. She still spent all her time with you, but it was like her mind was someplace else.

Even now, Wednesday was staring out the balcony with a larger frown than usual.

But you're not angry, especially since you've had your fair share of avoidance with her. You suppose you're lucky Wednesday still lingered around even if her mind was elsewhere.

"Wednesday," you call softly. She looked at you, her face blank and unrevealing.

"What's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong," Wednesday answers, and it's terse, and it's biting you to warn you to stop asking questions.

You shuffle closer and watch as Wednesday tenses, leaning away from you. You'd thought it would hurt your feelings, but you see something past the discomfort in her eyes, and it makes you push forward.

"Wednesday," you repeat. "You can tell me what's wrong." The way you say it is soft and unassuming, and it offers security instead of pressure.

Wednesday reluctantly shares what's on her mind at your probing. It takes her a few minutes, but eventually, she opens her mouth.

"Despite achieving the results I wanted when it came to you, I worry about the fact that I become more and more like my mother every day. It's disgusting."

It was so unexpected that you bit your tongue to refrain from laughing. You're pretty sure that though Wednesday more than tolerates you, she would still kill you.

You try to come up with something to say, but you can't help but tease her.

"You worry a lot for someone who has yet to go on a date with me."

Wednesday glares, and you chuckle. You feel relaxed knowing what the issue is.

"What exactly do you worry about when it comes to being like your mother?"

"That I'll fall in love, be a housewife, or have a family."

"Well," you smile dryly. "I think we're okay on the biological family front unless some kind of a miracle happens with the reproductive system. Otherwise, I think you quite enjoy having a little bandwagon of misfits to call your chosen family."

Wednesday's jaw only locks tighter, but you continue on.

"Regarding being a housewife, do you really think the person you'll be with—me, in this hypothetical scenario—would expect you to be a housewife?" You raised your brow. "While I personally think there's nothing wrong with being one, I know that isn't you, and nor would I want you to be one if that's not what you want."

You slowly reach out to grab her hand, smiling when Wednesday allows it. "I hope the person you choose to be with will work with you in building a home that you both take care of together. Although—once again—I, in this hypothetical scenario, can't cook and may burn everything to the ground, which I know you find arson thrilling, but I promise you it's not romantic in that situation."

Wednesday's lip twitches, and you smile wider knowingly.

"As for falling in love," you sigh. "I'm not really sure what you want me to say, Wednesday."

The raven girl tenses up at your words, immediately frowning. You stroke her palm with your thumb, attempting to soothe her.

"I struggle with it sometimes too," you admit. "I believe most psychologists would say every problem we have in our life can be led back to our childhood or our parents."

"But I think, at the bare minimum, we should get to choose how we love and what relationships we develop," you look into Wednesday's dark eyes. "Your parents seem like lovely people—" Wednesday scoffs—"but I don't quite think we'll ever behave like them."

You pull Wednesday to sit next to you on the ground, slumping and leaning your head against her shoulder. You link your arm through hers, and Wednesday finds it easy behind closed doors.

"You think too much, Wednesday. There's no rush, and we've made it this far, so we should take our time. I'm not going anywhere."

Wednesday relaxes, and you can feel it against your body. She feels a lull of peace settle over her as her mind settles.

Still—

"And if after time passes, what shall you do if I decide to leave?"

You look at her seriously. "I will have no choice but to accept it, but not before pushing you down a flight of stairs of at least 20 steps and framing it on Bianca."

"Bianca?" Wednesday raises her brow at you.

"She'd be the most believable suspect," you tell her, smiling as you joke.

But it's probably the most romantic thing Wednesday has ever heard, and she looks at you with a soft gaze you've never witnessed before.

"Promise?"

PART 7

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesdayedit #wednesday addams x you #mm: my fics

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familyvideostevie · 10 months

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summer's early sway

thank you for voting in this poll! here is remus taking you to a craft fair and calling you his girlfriend for the first time xo | fluff, early relationship, 1k

It might be the most perfect day ever. It's warm but not too warm, the sunlight's sting soothed by a nice breeze. You've made it to the craft fair fairly early to avoid the crowds, though not as early as you'd planned. Despite Remus's best attempts at order in most parts of his life, it's more like controlled chaos. He tends to run a little behind though that's still earlier than anyone you know.

You've been on enough dates that you've lost count but not enough that it's stopped feeling new. You're meeting his friends for dinner tonight -- the first official time you'll all be hanging out together, though you've met the boys a few times here and there -- but today is all about the two of you. You're going to stroll around the craft fair and then go for a walk by the water in the summer sunshine and probably sneak some kisses.

The market is lovely and you tell Remus so. You've got your hand in the crook of his elbow like you're on an old-timey date.

"You think so?" he says, eyes crinkling. "I've not been but I thought you'd like it because of the music." There was a folk band playing by the entrance and he's right, you do love it. What is there to say to his kindness?

No words come, so you kiss his cheek instead. Remus looks like summer was made for him though you know he's most alive in the fall. The sun tans his skin and makes his scars more prominent which makes him more handsome, in your opinion. His hair highlights just a little bit and he loosens up in the sunshine. It's magic.

"Did I tell you how lovely you look today?" he says, small smile turning to a grin. His eye contact is so intense that you can only hold it for a few moments before you look down at your feet.

"You might have," you tell him. He's said it many times just this morning. "You do, too."

"Darling, you'll make me blush."

The market has plenty of beautiful things. Your own place is full of knick-knacks whereas Remus tends to be a bit more minimalist. It makes you smile to remember how you've given him a few things since you started dating and he's put them all in prominent places.

You find a tent of frog sculptures and name all of them. A beautiful and kind of eerie raven pendant in the same row catches your eye and you buy it for Lily's birthday.

"Don't let me forget to get soap for James' mum," Remus says, palm on your lower back as he watches the artist pack up your gift.

"Christmas shopping this early?" you tease.

His face is so close that you can't see all of it but you know what his smirk looks like. "Obviously," he says, voice low in your ear. "I've got to impress her. She's got to like me best."

Another row of stalls reveals one full of stuff made out of spoons. Wind chimes, clocks, kitchen utensils, belts. You're looking at a spoon lamp as Remus wanders further into the tent to chat with the man running it. Their voices carry but you don't pay much attention until you realize you're being called into the conversation.

"Maybe your girlfriend would want one?" the man asks Remus. You look up and find both of them looking at you, the man with a somewhat bemused expression and Remus with what you can only describe as adoration.

You walk over and see that he's been admiring a large collection of rings made from spoon handles. "What do you think, my girlfriend?" he asks cheekily. It's the first time he's actually called you this out loud to someone else -- you've discussed it, of course, and you figure that it's how he refers to you when you're not around but you've not heard it yet. And even though it's a bit of a joke it makes you feel like you've just sped down the steep part of a rollercoaster.

"Only if you get one, too, boyfriend." you say, though you're not totally sure where it comes from. Remus's eyes widen in mirth and he blushes a little.

Rings are much more Sirius's thing, so you gather, so you think Remus will laugh you off but he seems to actually consider it.

"Pick one for me, then." You laugh in delight and survey the display boxes of rings as he looks for one for you, too. You settle on a curved handle with an intricate twisty pattern that should fit his thumb and he picks a lovely one that will fit your thumb, decorated with a delicate flower and vine.

"Perfect," he says, sliding the ring onto your thumb as you slide your selection onto his. It's startlingly intimate, exchanging rings, even if they're made of spoon handles and going on your thumbs. Your heart beats loudly in your chest and you can't stop smiling.

The shopkeeper is grinning as he reads off the price and Remus pays. You are admiring your new ring in the light when he grabs your other hand and pulls you back into the row of tents.

"Quite stylish, Rem," you say. You lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek in thanks but he feels you coming and turns his head to catch your lips in a quick kiss.

"You're quite welcome," he says, smile turning cheeky. "Sirius is going to have a fit that he's not the only one wearing rings anymore."

"Oh, let him," you say. "From what you've told me, he could do with a bit of humbling."

Remus's eyes sparkle. "On that, darling, we agree." He kisses you again, just as quick but no less tender before he pulls away and points at something over your shoulder. "Oh, look! Soap!"

He drags you towards the tent to the sound of your laughter. Sure, you haven't been together very long, but you're pretty sure you could do this for the rest of your life.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders

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whereireid · 10 months

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˚ · . 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏.

୭ 🧷 ✧ 𝟑,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: spencer reid x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: established relationship. nsfw content: implied smut, bondage, sub!spencer, handcuffs,

There is nothing quite as beautiful as seeing your husband sink to his knees, a pair of handcuffs forcing his hands behind his back, with his ankles pressed together. Legs strung together with a delicate piece of rope, weaved beautifully, keeping him painfully locked together.

Warm honey hues, mixed with licks of deep caramel and forest green stare up at you, pleading, desperate. Spencer watches you eagerly, his tongue darting over his bottom lip, inhaling and exhaling softly, anticipation gnawing at his insides.

Spencer Reid a sight for sore eyes; your favourite artistic piece. You stare down at him, unrelenting, your pointer finger softly darting out to pull his chin upwards, forcing him to truly look at you.

“Honey,” he breathes, edging closer to you, nuzzling his head into your palm. He looks so pitiful, so emasculated, tied up and muddled and in such an obscure position; all for you, all for his wife. “Please let me touch you.”

Amusement flutters through you. He’s begging, and as though to make a point, he pulls on the handcuffs, the chains clinking as he does so. Pretty pink lips pushing into an irresistible pout, Spencer meets your eyes, his brows knitting together in pleading.

“You want to touch me, Spencer?”

His eyes soften as you lean down to gently inspect his face, your fingers gently trailing over his cheekbone.

“Yes,” he breathes, “please let me touch you.”

Quiet shrouds the bedroom. Your palm splays on Spencer’s cheek, a soft coo slipping past your lips. “My genius husband,” you murmur, “of course you can touch me.”

The clink of the handcuffs is instant. Spencer’s features soften, his frame visibly relaxing. He parts his lips to speak, but before he can request anything, you interrupt.

“Since you’re such a genius, Spencer,” you withdraw your hand from his face, stepping back. Spencer’s eyes flick over your frame, resting on the way the lilac lingerie hugs your breast and hips, “you can untie yourself, and then, as a reward," you utter, sinking onto the edge of your bed, "you may touch me."

There is nothing quite like watching the way your husband deflates. The pink slit of his cock pumps out another dribble of precum, his length so tender and hard. He whines, his body arching in an attempt to loosen the knot you’ve tied, but it’s impossible — he knows that.

He’ll just have to wait until you’re in a nice enough mood to help him out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fluf #spencer reid smut #womnsfw #୭ 🧷 ✧ 𝟑𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

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clumsy-jiminie · 1 month

Text

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

❝ ᴀ ᴅɪɴɴᴇʀ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 6.9k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, smut - unprotected sex, creampie, on the phone while being intimate, ⚠️ verbal abuse, manipulating tactics ⚠️, angst without resolve, heavy alcohol consumption, public intoxication, BIKER!JK ( a warning in itself bc 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 )

↣ notes :: she's a little late because I may have forgotten to schedule her 😅 but this chapter is a doozy and the seeds are GROWING

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you're perfectly wrong for me, and that's why it's is so hard to leave."

- perfectly wrong, shawn mendez -

"Babe!?" Kiara called out as she put a sparkly earring through her lobe. She had heard the door open and shut, but there was no answer. The dark-haired woman stepped out of her bedroom and into the living room, seeing as Taehyung pulled off his coat with a heavy sigh. She pouted her burgundy-painted lips. "What's wrong?"

"Work was just more tiring than usual today," he quietly said as he removed his coat. He loosened the black tie around his neck, not even glancing at Kiara as he walked past her to the kitchen.

Kiara's shoulders dropped as she followed after him. A weird feeling overtook her as she watched him lazily push through the items in the fridge. "Too tired for date night?" She asked quietly, hiding some of her body behind the archway.

Taehyung's head perked up, shutting the fridge before turning to face the shy girl. He gestured for her to move from the shadows so he could see her fully. Kiara always had a pretty face and knew exactly how to do her makeup to accentuate her features without doing too much. But Taehyung's favorite part of her was her body. As she stepped into his view—adorned in a glittering baby pink dress that clung to her curves and silver accessories that popped against golden skin in the dim lighting—he could feel the blood rushing to her lower regions. She was thick in all the right areas—a busty top with wide hips and thighs that not even air could escape between to support her ass. He was in love. She looked like something out of a wet dream.

Taehyung curled his finger, beckoning her to come closer. She obeyed silently, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. Once Kiara was close enough, he took her hand and spun her around to see the whole picture. Her straightened midnight locks flowed with her. He loved it when her hair was straight. "Fuck, darling," he smirked as he bit down on his lower lip. Her cheeks flushed with color as she playfully hit his chest with her free hand. He placed a hand on her waist, holding her close. "You look absolutely stunning."

The girl blushed as if Taehyung didn't compliment her all the time. She knew he would love this dress. He wasn't like most boyfriends who would tell their girlfriends to cover up if they wore something too tight or too short. It seemed as if Taehyung couldn't keep his hands off her whenever it was time to dress up. Kiara adored the attention, even if it consisted of inappropriately timed ass grabs.

"Thank you, babe," she smiled as her hands ran up his chest until they reached his shoulders, where they wrapped around his neck.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers and filling any gap that they had. Taehyung wasted no time exploring her body with his large hands. He squeezed her ass, using the grip to press Kiara further into him. She let out a soft moan, feeling his erection pressing into her stomach. The kiss grew deeper and needier as they continued. The warmth from between her legs began to spread throughout her body. Kiara was close to telling him to take her on one of the counters.

"Taehyung," she mumbled while trying to break the kiss, but he kept leaning in to reattach his lips to hers. She couldn't help but smile against his lips. The need for affection made her feel warm inside. She tried to pull away again, leaning further back before he could attack. "We're gonna be late for our reservation if we keep going," she giggled. Someone had to be the sensible one; more times than not, it was Kiara.

Taehyung groaned softly, leaning in to press kisses against her neck. She inhaled softly, gripping his shirt tightly enough that the fabric wrinkled between her fingers. "We can be a little late, can't we?"

Kiara bit down on her lower lip to hold back her moans while allowing her to focus on her thoughts. Her brain was growing hazy with arousal. Logic was on the brink of fleeting—too many feelings combined with too many thoughts all at once. "I mean," she drawled out. Before she could finish her sentence, Taehyung bent down a little to pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. She squealed softly from the sudden surprise. "Taehyung!"

A mischievous grin formed on his lips as he locked eyes with the girl. "What?" He asked innocently.

Kiara's eyes narrowed at him momentarily before a smile cracked on her lips. "What do you think you're doing?"

Taehyung began to walk, following the familiar path to their bedroom. "I don't know what you're talking about, darling."

"I think you're a liar."

Taehyung smirked, throwing Kiara onto the bed after they entered the room. She landed on the plush mattress with a giggle. Her short dress slid up her thick thighs, giving him the slightest peek of the lacy black panties she wore. She gazed at the man, watching him take off his belt and toss it. "Me? A liar?" He parted her thighs with his knee before fitting himself between her legs. Her hovered over her, eyes filled with desire. "Never," he said lowly before kissing her again.

Kiara hummed with delight, accepting defeat as her body overtook her mind. Damn, that man for knowing how to kiss so well, his lips convincing her with every movement to skip another date night and just stay in bed all day. He pulled away, leaving a trail of affection down to the sweetheart neckline of her dress, where her breast spilled out of the tight fabric. She arched into his mouth, physically begging for more as he reached down to inch her dress up more.

Her once-shut eyes shot open, "Wait!" His fingers froze at the sound of her voice as he peered up at her from the valley between her breasts. "I don't wanna mess up my hair," she said quietly with a slight pout.

"Then I guess you better get on top."

In one swift motion, Taehyung flipped their positions. Kiara landed on his abdomen briefly before sliding back. She undid his pants and pulled his clothing down enough for his cock to spring out. The girl inhaled deeply, never getting tired of looking at the sight. Though she was in a rush, she couldn't resist to slide her tongue against the underside of his length. He sucked in harshly through his teeth. Satisfied, she repositioned herself, hovering over the man's abdomen once again. She leaned back and wrapped her fingers around his erection, causing him to inhale sharply as she stroked him slowly.

He placed his hands on her thighs, letting out a low groan as he stared up at her. "Don't tease me."

She smirked as she released him. She pushed up the material of her dress to rest over her hips, exposing the lingerie that was supposed to be for tonight. Taehyung reached out and pulled the material to the side, exposing her heat to the air. She glided his tip against her wet slits before guiding the man into her, lowering herself down as they both let out a slow sigh.

Taehyung hissed with pleasure as he became encased in her walls. After he gave her a moment to adjust, he began to roll his hips back and forth. Kiara placed her hand on him, pushing his button-down shirt up just enough to rest her palm against his tanned abdomen. He penetrated every delicious inch of himself into her as she leaned forward, meeting his thrusts with a pleasant smacking sound.

Taehyung watched Kiara's face as she lost herself in the pleasure. His eyes quickly darted to her chest, watching as her breast bounced in the constricted material. It took everything in him not to lean forward and free them of their limitations, but he'll make a mental note for later. Instead, he reached around to her ass, gripping at the flesh as he guided her up and down his member. She loved how he felt inside of her, making her increase speed.

The brunette suddenly got an idea, reaching around for his phone.

"What's the name of that restaurant?" He groaned, his thrusts lessening in power as he tried to focus.

"W-What?" Kiara stammered. She opened her eyes as she looked down at the man below her. Her hips started to slow as she tried to de-fog the sex-crazed haze over her mind.

Taehyung suddenly raised his hand and promptly slapped the girl's ass, causing her to moan as she resumed some of the pace from before. He used one hand to guide her while the other tapped away on his screen. "Give me the name of the restaurant."

She bit down on her lower lip while her eyes shut again. Focusing was incredibly hard when someone was currently massaging your walls. "N-Nomiya."

He guided her down his length, taking him fully inside her velvety walls, causing his tip to press into her cervix. She let out a soft squeak while a shiver of delight splashed over her. She opened her eyes as his hips finally seized. Taehyung was such a sight to see. Sweat beaded along his forehead, causing his dark waves to stick to his skin. His once prim and proper button-down shirt somehow opened in the heat of the moment, exposing his tan skin flushed with red in the low light of their room. His lips were structured and plump with desire. He looked like a model while tapping against his phone screen several times. She bit down on her lower lip, swirling her hips in a circle and grinding against him absentmindedly.

Was it possible to come from only someone's face?

He suddenly handed the device, ripping her from her thoughts. "Push back the reservation."

"Right now?!"

"Right now. It's ringing."

Panic overtook her system for a second, causing her walls to tighten around him involuntarily. He moaned right before she heard a faint hello from the phone. She quickly grabbed the device from Taehyung and put it to her ear.

"Um, hi. My name is Kiara, and I have a reservation for—" A soft moan slipped past her lips as Taehyung decided to resume his thrusts. A mischievous smirk played on his lips, mouthing a petty 'sorry' as he grabbed her hips with both hands. Kiara narrowed her eyes at him, desperately trying to swallow her sounds of pleasure.

"Ma'am? Hello?"

She cleared her throat, acting as if nothing was happening. As if Taehyung wasn't ramming into her. "Yes, sorry about that. I have a reservation for 6, and I was wondering if I could push it back to—" Taehyung's large hand made contact with her ass again, causing the woman to inhale through her teeth. She used his abdomen as support, hanging her head a little as she tried to collect herself. "Push it back to 7," she breathed. She felt an incredible and familiar pressure growing between her legs.

Taehyung watched as the woman on top of him tried to keep it together, driving him wild from the sight alone. Her flushed face, her slipping dress, how her nails dug into his skin as some sort of anchor. He wondered if the person on the opposite end could listen to the sounds of their love. He wondered if they could hear the sticky, slapping sounds of their bodies hitting against each other. As he bit down on his lip, his hand trailed to the front of her abdomen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, our next table won't be available until 8:30. Is that alright with you?"

"8:30? Yes, that perf—" A gasp stole the last syllable of her sentence as Taehyung's thumb circled her swollen clitoris. Her eyes rolled back as she tilted her head back. She covered her mouth with her free hand, trying to muffle the breathy moans that were escaping. He increased the pace of his digit, causing the pressure between her legs to grow as well. He briefly felt her walls constrict around him, knowing what would come soon.

"Alright, thank you!" Kiara quickly hung up the phone right as her body soared over the edge. She came hard, throbbing around Taehyung's member. His hips slowed for a moment, letting her ride out her orgasm. His hands slid up her body, stopping at her breast, where he squeezed them.

"Reservations for 8:30, right?" Taehyung asked, and she nodded in response. He rested his hands on Kiara's waist, pulling her down to lay on his chest. He flipped them over as she steadied her breathing so Kiara was lying underneath him. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "You'll have enough time to fix your hair then."

Her eyes grew wide as he started drilling into her again. Their lips met once again, sharing needy kisses and muffling moans as he pushed her thighs back towards the bed, giving himself maximum access to her heat. When he pulled away, he leaned back so he could watch as her body bounced.

Kiara shut her eyes as if to lessen the immense pleasure she was receiving. "T-Taehyung," she whimpered. The pleasure built up in her body again as shivers of delight danced against her skin. "Fuck!" His thrusts were hard and deep, hitting her spot repeatedly. Her face twisted with pleasure. Her amber eyes looking up at him helplessly filled her. Her legs began to tremble, causing him to raise an eyebrow while a smirk played on his lips.

"You gonna cum for me again?"

The woman couldn't even form words, only being able to nod her head quickly as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. Taehyung leaned over her once again as his hips remained in the same rhythm. His face hid in her neck as she wrapped her arms around him, fingers entangling in his damp hair. The pulsing of her walls around him neared him to his orgasm. His rhythm grew sloppy. He pushed his length fully into her one last time as he succumbed to his climax.

After a minute of heavy breathing between the two, Taehyung slowly pulled himself out of her. Kiara felt the mixture of their fluids leak out of her and onto their comforter. She tried to regulate her breathing, watching him stand up and walk towards the bathroom. The dopamine coursing through her veins left her glued to the covers. He returned from the bathroom with a towel, tossing it to the girl before lying beside her.

"You fucked up my hair," she murmured.

Taehyung looked at the girl, leaning in to kiss her cheek, "I think you look great."

Surprisingly, Taehyung and Kiara made it to the restaurant on time. After a few showers and touch-ups, they were walking hand in hand into the discreet entrance of Nomiya. The two were practically glowing, giggling, and holding each other tightly as the maitre'd led them to their table. Taehyung pulled out the chair for Kiara, and she slid into her seat gracefully. He sat across from her in a booth connected to the wall.

The restaurant was modern, with wooden accents sprinkled throughout. Large industrial half windows let light in while keeping the dining area private. They chose a dark color scheme with warm lighting to make the room feel spacious. It was pretty classy for an establishment attached to a shopping mall and, from the menu, right up the couple's alley.

The two engaged in conversation and flirty banter until Taehyung became engrossed in his phone. Kiara was used to it. Even though the man was a king at small talk, long-term and deep conversations drained him. And those types of conversations were Kiara's strong point. She didn't care much about the how are you or how's the weather; she wanted to know the nitty gritty about someone. The ins and outs, what made them tick, what made them smile. Things that were worthwhile.

Kiara glanced over the menu in the comfortable silence, wondering why the waiter hadn't yet swung around to take their order. The reviews she read online showed that the wait staff here was top-tier and super friendly. Taehyung didn't seem to care about the woman's growling stomach, happily tapping away and laughing at the lit screen in his hands. So, she took it upon herself to get the waitress' attention. She walked over with a tired smile on her face.

"Hi, how may I help you?" She asked.

Kiara offered the woman a smile. "Yes, I believe we're ready to order."

The waitress's eyes widen briefly. "Oh, um," she took a little tablet from her apron, "you didn't want to wait until the rest of your party was here?"

Kiara's brows squished together, glancing at Taehyung briefly as she let out an awkward chuckle. "Um, no? The whole party is already here?"

Maybe it's been a long night for her. After all, the restaurant had been decently packed, parties of two or more surrounding them with smiles and laughs. Maybe she confused their table with another's.

Taehyung suddenly lifted his head, standing to his feet. He began to wave his hand in the air with a broad, boxy grin on his face. Kiara watched the man, blinking rapidly before turning to see what excited him.

Her heart dropped.

Blonde hair styled to expose his forehead, dressed in an all-black outfit—from his blazer to the t-shirt underneath and his slacks to his shiny oxfords—and strutting over to their table like a model on a runway was none other than Park Jimin. The walking sin. He was smiling, beaming at the man she called boyfriend. Kiara quickly turned around and stared up at Taehyung. Once their eyes connected, his smile shrunk to a shy one.

Soon, Jimin was at their table, giving Taehyung a long hug before looking at Kiara. Their eyes met briefly, her jaw clenching when he very obviously gazed at her exposed cleavage.

"I'm so happy you made it!" Taehyung grinned as he sat down, finally rejoining Kiara at the table. "Did you bring someone?"

Jimin nodded, gesturing to the woman who suddenly appeared next to him. Kiara must not have noticed the person following behind him until now. "Everyone, this is Izzy. Izzy, this is my good friend Taehyung and his girlfriend Kiara."

Kiara awkwardly waved at the woman as she sat next to her. She was drop-dead gorgeous—slim, tall with legs that went on for days, a natural blonde. The woman looked like she just hopped off a Sports Illustrated magazine cover. She wore a simple, long-sleeved, black mini dress and heels, matching her date.

Cute, the dark-haired woman thought.

Kiara and Taehyung could never, no matter how much she yearned to.

"So what are we eating?" Jimin asked after sitting down. He picked up the menu and started to look over it.

"I'll give you a few minutes," the waitress said before leaving. Taehyung leaned towards Jimin, suggesting various options.

"Taehyung," Kiara said sharply despite the forced smile on her lips. Taehyung slowly peered at her through narrowed lids, like she was interrupting something important. "Can I talk to you outside for a second?" She stood up and walked towards the exit, not checking if the man was following her. She opened the sizeable black-tinted glass door and took a few steps from the entrance.

"What's up?" Taehyung asked once he joined her. He tried to ignore how the winter breeze nipped at his skin through his dress shirt.

"What's up?" Kiara repeated, brows drawn together as she looked up at the man. Her blood boiled, heat spreading outward to the very ends of her fingertips. Who needed a coat when you could run off the heat of pure anger? "Why the fuck is he here?" She paid close attention to her volume and tone. It was a Saturday night at peak time, and people surrounded them. The last thing she wanted was a scene.

Taehyung tilted his head slightly as his lips pulled down into a frown. "I invited him?"

"On date night?!"

The man shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see the problem with having a double date."

Kiara blinked at him, staring for a few seconds before letting out a scoff. She folded her arms over her chest as she glanced away from him. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Taehyung. You know damn well this wasn't supposed to be a double date!"

Taehyung's jaw clenched as he looked down at the girl. "Watch your fucking tone." His voice had grown severe, chilling Kiara to her core. She hated it when he used her favorite thing as a weapon. "Jimin wanted to hang out tonight. I said I had plans, and he asked to come. It's as simple as that."

"But why would you agree?" Her voice had softened slowly, like a flame losing its source of oxygen. "Like, aren't we supposed to have one-on-one time?" She could feel herself shrinking like she always does. She looked up at him, amber eyes meeting dark, cold ones.

"Oh my god," he drawled out. He rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. "We have one on one time all the fucking time, Kiara. We go grocery shopping. We watch movies. We even fucking read together. You're gonna tell me I'm a bad fucking person because I wanna hang out with my friend?" As he started getting louder, Kiara's arms lowered from her chest to wrap around her midsection. She couldn't look at him; she didn't want to see that face with pinched features or eyes that resembled the dead. She opted to stare down at the ground instead. It was always the safest option. She felt the sadness creep up her throat, silencing her because tears would flow like waterfalls if she even made a croak.

"Get over yourself, Kiara, honestly." Her heart dropped again, feeling like it should be a permanent residence there. Tears stung her eyes, threatening her with further embarrassment. She knew people were definitely staring now, looking at her like she was a zoo animal—locked in a cage with eyes full of pity tracking her every move. "The world doesn't revolve around you, and I sure as hell am not gonna act like it does."

He turned around swiftly, not caring for the reactions surrounding him. Once he reached the door, he paused for a second. "Maybe Jimin was right." She looked at him out of curiosity, almost instantly regretting it once she met his eyes. She had hoped, for once, he looked remorseful, like he pitied her. But instead, he looked over his shoulder with that look. The one that made her feel smaller than a field mouse. The one that made her question if his I love you's were genuine. The one that ripped every ounce of confidence she had from her soul.

"You are selfish."

She cracked and desperately tried to keep herself from spilling onto the pavement.

As he walked back inside, leaving her to battle the cold, she felt like someone had just stabbed the 24-year-old woman in the chest. She looked around, watching as people narrowly avoided her gaze. Her bottom lip quivered. Kiara inhaled deeply before exhaling shakily. She refused to cry in public, surrounded by sympathetic eyes but no brave souls to spring into action. That was typical for New York, though. Everyone had their own story with little time to read others.

Am I really just overreacting?

She wondered when and where she went wrong. Was it how she said it? Should she have waited until after dinner? She hoped the cold would give her some clarity, but all it left her with was red-stained skin and a runny nose.

All Kiara wanted was a sweet night with her boyfriend, and she did everything in her power to ensure so. From the makeup to the restaurant, everything that she had picked was to make sure he had a good night. They had a good night. They only went out to eat occasionally, and Kiara did all the planning every time they did. She was meticulous, and it always took a lot of energy. The woman just wanted him to see that, to appreciate it. Was she wrong?

She used her thumb knuckles to pat the area under her eye dry gently. Kiara sighed softly, picking up the pieces of her Taehyung left sprawled over the ground before walking back inside. She rejoined the table, not that anyone noticed.

For the rest of the night, she sat at the table, silent as the two men across from her caught up as if they hadn't seen each other in weeks. They laughed as if they'd been together for years. They even shared each other's entrees to see if the other would like it. She was surprised Taehyung didn't just feed the man with his own utensils. It felt like she was third-wheeling a double date and paired up with a friend she didn't get along with. This wasn't to say Izzy was bad; she was an sweetheart and embodied the word entirely. She politely offered small talk, even telling a boys will be boys joke when Taehyung and Jimin got too loud, hoping to lighten the sour expression on Kiara's face.

But boys will not be boys.

Boys don't act like Park Jimin and try to infiltrate every aspect of Kiara's life as she knew it.

None of these feelings would've happened if that blonde hadn't arrived. Taehyung and her would have their regular date if he had never approached her. Because Park Jimin wouldn't have existed to him. Just a thing of the past. A memory ever so slowly fading.

Kiara had to order a bottle of wine to keep herself from wanting to slam her head against the table repeatedly. Since no one else decided to have a glass, she managed to drink at least 3/4ths of the bottle herself. It wasn't her best choice of the night, but the 24-year-old needed alcohol if she was going to be around Jimin for prolonged periods. At this rate, she'll have an alcohol use disorder in no time.

The red wine made her numb and quiet like it usually did. The world around her dulled and melted together until there were just blobs of color floating around space. Nothing around her existed, and she liked it like that. She was in her own little bubble where people became brushstrokes, and noises became low hums. At some point, the tan splotch with a dark top emerged and walked away from the table. A pinkish line with pale yellow strokes around it also left. And then there were just two.

Kiara played around with the piece of paper that once covered a straw, folding it as many times as possible.

"This is a nice restaurant, don't you think?"

She hated how his voice could cut through her little world like a steak knife through softened butter—words wrapped within a smooth velvet, purposefully seductive and laced with poison.

"I know," she spat, harsh tones slitting through the fabric of his voice. "I was the one who picked it."

"Woah there," she didn't have to look at him to see the grin on his plump lips. She knew it was there. Why wouldn't it be? His smugness was becoming predictable. "Someone's being a little hostile, hm?"

She looked at him, amber eyes set ablaze through narrowed lids. "Shut the fuck up, Jimin. You shouldn't even fucking be here."

The grin on his face dropped as his eyes went wide. He placed a hand on his chest while he gasped. "For your information, I was invited."

"You intruded," she said slowly, ensuring he heard every syllable. "You knew he had plans, and you invited yourself like a fucking loser."

"He wanted me to come!" Jimin's brows pinched together.

"Yeah, aight," Kiara scoffed. Jimin would never tire of hearing that abrasive accent trapped in that honeyed tone. It was pleasant on the ears. "At least you're having a good time with your fucking date."

"Oh, Izzy is a doll. Love the girl to pieces."

Her gaze remained unchanged. "No, dipshit, I fucking meant Taehyung."

He tilted his head to the side to match his playful smile. "Do you know any word besides fucking?"

"Do you know how to mind your fucking business?" She quipped, mirroring his actions.

"Guess that's a no," Jimin chuckled lightly. Kiara sighed deeply, chugging the rest of the crimson liquid in her glass. He raised an eyebrow slightly. "You're becoming a bit of an alcoholic, aren't you?"

Kiara almost slammed the glass on the table, hands like cinderblocks, as she forced herself to grab the bottle. "And you're to blame." She stared directly into Jimin's eyes, noticing the grey-colored contacts that hid his natural color. If eyes were the window to the soul, he had the curtains closed right now. Maybe she would've held back more if she saw the concern swirling in his dark irises. "Ever since you waltzed into my life, it seems like alcohol is the only thing that makes you tolerable." She poured the remainder of the bottle into her glass, sucking her teeth at the empty container. A full bottle of wine, and she still wasn't drunk enough to deal with Park Jimin.

Her words sunk deeply into Jimin, causing him to chew on his lower lip. This Kiara wasn't fun. When she drank herself into nothing but a shell, he couldn't help but feel bad. He never wanted to be the cause of someone's addiction. He leaned back, remaining quiet until Taehyung returned to the table. The man resumed conversation with Jimin as if he couldn't see how out of it Kiara was. It seemed to be all the blonde could notice. She finished the rest of her wine rather quickly, parting her lips enough for a sigh to pass through. Her eyes danced around the room, looking at anything and anyone that wasn't Taehyung. Water lined her golden irises, constantly threatening to spill but never doing so.

Guilt. Was that the feeling that was weighing down Jimin's chest? Did he take things too far? But she deserved it, right? She deserved the troubles and hardships for choosing the easy life. Right? Kiara sniffled as she reached for her eye, gently tugging at the sensitive skin and blinking her tears away.

Taehyung didn't notice.

Jimin did.

"Hey," Jimin interrupted whatever rant Taehyung was going on about, glancing at his dark-haired friend. He gave the man a small smile; that's all he could offer without seeming too fake. "This was fun, but Izzy is getting pretty tired. Right, Iz?"

The blonde woman stared at her phone, tapping away at the screen. "Yeah, I'm exhausted," she said without an ounce of sincerity.

Jimin had to stop himself from glaring at the woman. He loved the girl, but she was an ass at times. "We're gonna call it a night. Thank you again for inviting us."

Kiara let out a loud scoff, uncharacteristically unfazed by the glare she received from Taehyung. The wooden pattern on the table seemed more interesting than his anger.

"It was no problem, honestly." Taehyung grinned at Jimin as the blonde and his date stood up. "I'll see you around?"

Jimin nodded with a faint smile. "Yeah, definitely." He turned his gaze to Kiara, biting down on his lip briefly. "Bye, Kiara."

"Fuck off."

Izzy tried but failed horribly to hide her laughter. Jimin sighed, knowing she would say something sassy, but it was worth a shot anyway. Taehyung narrowed his eyes once again at the foul-mouthed girl. It was a dramatic flip from how he looked at her during game night. He looked like he couldn't stand the sight of her, and it was frightening. Deciding it was best not to stay any longer, the couple left. He'll send Taehyung some money later tonight to cover his half of the tab.

After the couple left, Taehyung didn't waste a second expressing his disdain towards the girl. "You're such a fucking embarrassment, you know that right?"

Kiara let out a deep sigh as she leaned back into her chair. She knew this was coming based on their fight from earlier. Taehyung had barely paid attention to her for a reason. She expected to get an earful on the way home or once they were in the comfort of their living room. Taehyung lashing out at the girl in public was a first for her, especially with people surrounding them.

"All fucking night, you've been acting like a spoiled brat who didn't get her way."

She looked away from him, catching the waitress' attention as she raised her hand. "Check, please!"

Kiara blowing him off with ease made Taehyung's blood boil further. He slammed his large hands down on the wooden surface, causing all the utensils and dishes to shake. As he intended, it caught her attention. Her eyes lazily looked up at him, still unbothered by the manchild's actions. But her eyes weren't the only ones peering at him. Neighboring couples and families glanced out of the corner of their eyes. They paused conversations to observe the drama that was unexpectedly unraveling quietly.

"You will not make a fool of me, Kiara Smith." His jaw clenched, and she could practically see the vein on his forehead throbbing. Tan skin turned to a deep red, and all she could do was raise a brow in challenge.

"Looks like you've already done so, Kim Taehyung."

Taehyung shot up from his seat, shifting the table as he did so. The last thing she saw were his eyes, filled with hatred she didn't know he could possess—not while looking at her. He left the restaurant, leaving a trail of silence behind him. Kiara sighed deeply, sitting up in her seat. She knew she should've stopped. The woman knew she shouldn't have poked the bear since he had attacked for less. But she couldn't find the energy to care. She couldn't find the energy to worry about the concerned eyes that stared at her as she gave the waitress her card. It was all for show anyway, knowing as soon as she left, they would go back to loving each other as if none of this had happened.

She left the waitress a hefty tip, around $150. The woman was technically dipping into her future home funds, but that was an argument for another day. Every damn thing was an argument.

She gathered her things and slowly stood up, trying to ensure she didn't stumble in her heels, but she did so anyway. Kiara used the table to balance herself before taking a deep breath. There was no need to embarrass herself further by falling in this establishment. She was sure people already saw her as a trainwreck. She and Taehyung fought as much as any average couple did, and in a few days, this would all be water under the bridge, and they would be back to their usual loving selves.

When she reached outside, the cold winter air did nothing to cool down her warm body as she wobbled around to her car. Or where her car should be. She stood in an empty parking spot, brows furrowed with her hands on her hips as she glanced around. Her vehicle was highly noticeable, so even if she was in the wrong spot, she should've been able to see it in the parking lot. She huffed quietly, pulling her phone out of her purse as she returned to the pavement. She called her significant other, and it went straight to voicemail, as usual. She sighed deeply, swaying her weight from one heel to the other as she placed her phone to her ear.

“Sup loser,” said Jeongguk. He answered after the first ring like he always did. He wasn't munching on food this time, but she could faintly hear the sounds of power-ups going off and catchphrases.

"Heeeeey," she drawled out, making Jeongguk chuckle.

"Someone's fucked up."

"Just a little," the girl grinned, her eyes catching a bench nearby. She wouldn't stand in five-inch heels if she didn't have to. "Do you happen to be anywhere on or near Long Island right now?" Her words slurred, causing Jeongguk to pause the game he was playing.

"Um, no, I'm not." He answered, concern slowing growing in his deep tone. "Why?"

"OK, so, hilarious story. Hear me out," Kiara plopped down on the cold metal bench. "Taehyung kinda sorta took my car and left me at the restaurant with no way home."

There was silence on the other end of her phone. Her face scrunched a little as she pulled the device away from her ear to make sure she didn't accidentally hang up. She returned the phone to her ear, hearing intense rustling and shuffling.

"Helloooooo?"

"Stay right fucking there, Ki." His deep voice managed to lower an octave, making her heart race. "Don't move a god-damned inch."

"OK!" She sounded awfully chipper, not realizing the weight of the situation as she swung her legs like a child.

"I swear to god, I don't understand how you're still with this dipshit."

Kiara pouted her lips as if the other could see. "Stoooop, we're gonna get married Kookie!"

Jeongguk released a deep sigh, hoping to calm himself down a little. "Stop saying that. No husband would leave their wife outside, with no way home," there was a short pause, "at fucking midnight!?" So much for calming himself down. "Ki, you better pray I don't catch this asshole on the street."

"Kookie," she whined, the pout still fully formed on her lips. "I love him. Please be nice. We're just fighting right now."

"No fucking excuse, drop your location right now."

Kiara huffed as she did what she was told. The GPS said the ETA was about 45 minutes, and Jeongguk made it there in half the time. The risk of getting tickets for speeding and lane splitting was all worth it when he arrived. He found Kiara sitting on a bench, shivering slightly but smiling widely at him as if she wasn't in the proper clothing to be outside.

They were in what New York would call the 'Third Winter', where the air is just as harsh as the middle of January, despite being the first week of April. He sighed deeply, pulling his leather coat off of her body. He walked over to her, "C'mere," he said as he helped her into the jacket. It wasn't much, but she wore a flimsy, practically see-through cardigan over her dress.

"Kookieeee!" She looked up at the man with a never-ending smile on her lips. "You came!"

"You called," he sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips afterward. Whether close or far, day or night, if Kiara called for him, he would be there for her in a heartbeat. "Now come on." He helped the grinning girl stand up, catching her when she stumbled into him. He should've brought a pair of pants as well. How could Taehyung let her walk out of the house in a dress this short, then leave her in the cold? "We're gonna stop by your house and pick up some clothes, OK?"

Kiara was the only other person he'd let ride on his bike, so he had gotten her a helmet, which she customized herself. He preferred to keep his minimal, allowing the shiny black paint to speak for itself. On the other hand, Kiara painted wavy lines of her favorite colors with cute stickers. It was her in a nutshell, and she could do whatever she wanted to it as long as it was going on her head. With that said, he put her helmet on while she giggled, glazed eyes meeting his sober ones. He was too annoyed to find this moment adorable. He helped onto the bike before getting on himself. She felt his arms lazily wrap around his waist as he started the vehicle.

"You're gonna stay at my place for a few."

"Yay! Sleepover!"

Jeongguk couldn't help but smile. Whenever she got drunk, she would always become the baby of the group—eyes big and filled with amazement at the world around her, wondering body, and absolute lack of coordination. She was the cutest, especially when she smiled. Taehyung was going to ruin her. He was going to destroy every ounce of life she had by the end of this relationship.

They stopped at her house, and luckily enough, Taehyung wasn't there. He must've been sucking the universe's dick because if Jeongguk had seen him, he would've made sure his face made contact with the pavement. After years of having to deal with this man and this shit excuse of a relationship, he would've beaten him to a pulp. He grabbed their hideaway key and went inside to pack her a quick bag and some clothing to throw on over her dress.

Afterward, Jeongguk drove them back to his apartment in the city. He made sure to drive extra carefully as he felt Kiara's grip loosened when they were about halfway there. He parked his bike on the side of the street before glancing back at the woman behind him, confirming his suspicions as Kiara barely had enough energy to open her eyes. She used most of her energy to stay up on the ride there.

He didn't even bother asking if she could walk. He crouched down to the ground, encouraging Kiara to hop on. She did so happily, allowing him to carry her upstairs to his apartment. He put her in his bed, tucking her in before taking the space on the couch.

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