#wanna get a neck ruffle... a friend inspired me

[payaso-pop]

Wig vs No Wig!!

I feel like i could wear whatever without the wig, but with it i'd definitely need to dress up a lot more!!

Had a lot of fun with this one tho, been a whole since i did a face and like doing the 'simpler' makeup more...

[qveerthe0ry]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @for-a-longlongtime 🎊🎈🎂

You are the best Tumblr friend anyone could ask for. I’m so grateful for you and your incredibly supportive (enabling) tendencies, your insanely beautiful fic writing brain, and the ear you always lend to me to vent to.

Also for the gif of Oscar Isaac’s Dick and Balls that you sent me earlier today that inspired me to write a little FishPope blurb 😌 This is my gift to you and I hope you enjoy 💕 Love you!!

Smush

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: bulge worship, cock worship, cock warming

Sometimes Frankie just gets a little restless. 

He wants to relax. After a long day of work, and whatever project Santi’s got him working on in their garage, and making and/or eating dinner, all he wants to do is relax. 

He grabs a shower, sometimes with Santi, sometimes alone. He’ll change into pajamas— now that it’s summer, pajamas consist of underwear and a baggy old shirt. Then he grabs an ice cold beer and settles on the couch for some mind-numbing television while Santi reads or scrolls on his phone. 

But sometimes not even the most outlandish reality show can’t settle his restless mind.

Usually Santi notices it even before he does himself. A ‘knock it off’ grumbled at him above his reading glasses cues him in on the way he’s bouncing his leg up and down. 

Tonight, he’s grinding his teeth to some unidentifiable rhythm in his head. He only notices because he pinches his cheek between his molars and winces. His jaw aches a bit, he must’ve been at it for a while. 

He glances over to Santi. He’s got a really boring looking book in his hands, nestled in the corner of the couch. 

His thick thighs are spread open, inviting. Almost as inviting as the soft bulge protruding from his tight gray boxer briefs. 

Frankie’s mouth starts to water, alleviating that little nick his teeth caused. 

He shifts slowly at first, inconspicuous, and Santi doesn’t notice. So he moves again, lying out on their couch, so his head rests on Santi’s leg. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting comfy.”

“Hmm.”

Santi lifts one hand away from his book to ruffle Frankie’s curls and god, he’s got magic hands, the way one simple touch has his mind going pleasantly empty. 

He’s staring at Santi’s bulge now, shamelessly, since the man’s obstructing his view with his book. 

He knows it’s a mouthful, even completely flaccid. God, he bets it’s so warm and smooth. He shifts a little closer and takes a slow but deep breath and fuck. 

He smells so good. Even freshly showered, there’s always a hint of Santi’s natural musk, something so malty and deep that seeps through the fancy, expensive body wash he likes. 

Frankie wonders if it makes him a freak, that he likes it so much. Not that he really cares.

He wants more of it. He wants the smell and feel and taste of him all at once, to overwhelm him and just shut his brain off. 

So he adjusts up onto an elbow, and cranes his neck a bit, and smushes his face right at the apex of Santi’s thighs. 

“The fuck, Fish?”

Frankie inhales a big breath and hums it out before responding. 

“‘M restless.” 

His voice is muffled by Santi’s bulge, twitching now as the hot air from Frankie’s breath engulfs it. 

“Shit, yeah?”

“Mmmhm.”

Frankie hears a book page turn, and then Santi’s hand is back on his head once more. His nails scrape his scalp before his fingers really tangle and twist. 

“Wanna keep it warm for me, papi?” 

Frankie’s prick pulses where it’s trapped between his stomach and the couch. He nods, which only grinds his face against Santi’s package. 

It feels good, the softness of his underwear gently scraping the soft skin of his nose and cheeks. There’s and impossible heat radiating off of him, and Frankie seeks more of it, nuzzling around, rearranging his dick and balls as his face rubs against them. 

Santi hums and tilts his hips, nearly crushing Frankie’s nose as he seeks more friction, but even that sting is good, great. 

“Take it out.”

The nonchalant, commanding tone makes Frankie shiver. He whimpers a little, gives Santi’s package one more good smush before the fingers in his hair tug in warning. 

Frankie gets his fingers around the waistband, and Santi lifts his hips to help. Frankie licks his lips at the sight of his balls resting over the elastic, all warm and loose. 

He nudges Santi’s half-hard cock out of the way to nose at the base and lick the pronounced seam of his sac, to take a deep breath and inhale his intoxicating scent that’s even stronger now. He groans and grinds his own cock into the cushion under him for the smallest amount of relief. 

“Put it in your mouth, Fish.”

And he can’t protest, not with the way he has to swallow all the drool that’s pooled just from rubbing his face all over him. 

He tastes familiar. It settles him more than he’ll ever admit to anyone. The stretch of his jaw, the weight of Santi’s cock on his tongue, the tickle in the back of his throat. The novelty has never worn off, it just eggs him on. 

He starts to bob his head. Santi’s grip on his hair tightens. 

“Stop. Just keep it there.”

And even though he’s still a bossy prick, Santi’s murmur is softer and sweeter and less domineering than normal. 

Even so, Frankie obeys. 

He settles his head back down on his thick, fuzzy thigh and rests there. 

He suckles, still. More reflex than anything else. His tongue lies heavy on Santi’s frenulum as he swallows now and then.

The noisy static in his brain fizzles out as Santi’s dick fully inflates. His jaw stretches slowly in a welcome ache, and the scent of him is so heady and overwhelming as he shuts his eyes, and Santi’s hand in his hair pets and smooths and everything is quiet. 

Santi can’t wait until the next time Frankie’s restless.

[hswriting]

The Moment I Knew - a Taylor Swift song inspired piece.

[Image Alt ID: a collage of images with a black background. There are six images. Image one is a table arranged with jars of red jelly, white cookies with red icing, and cake pops. The second image is a black shadow of hands making a heart in front of a red lit wall. The third image is a white background and a red, ruffled dress. The fourth image is a red body of water. The fifth image is a group of red and white balloons surrounding a chandelier. The final image is a table set with black placemats and jars of roses. Balloon strings are hanging from the ceiling. End Alt ID]

- - -

Masterlist Series Part 2

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1.9k words

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And the hours pass by. Now I just wanna be alone but your close friends always seem to know when there’s something really wrong so they follow me down the hall, and there in the bathroom I try not to fall apart, and the sinking feel starts as I say hopelessly, “ he said he’d be here”.

“Millie, do you know what you’re going to wear tonight?” Rachel asks me and I shake my head. She planned me a wonderful birthday party with all of my friends and my boyfriend. Some of his friends are invited too.

“I have some dresses in mind, but nothing certain. I want to look my best since you said I have to dress formal.” I tell her.

“Well, I talked to Kellen and he said he would be here to set up, and he also told me he would be wearing red if that helps.”

“It does actually. I only have one dress that’s red.” I say and pull it from the closet.

“I love that dress. It’s so beautiful Millie.” She says as I walk into the bathroom to change. I come out, full makeup, the diamond earrings Kellen got me on my ears, and our locket on my neck. When I step out, Rachel is gone, probably to go put the finishing touches on the decorations. While I wait for her to come and get me to go out into the party, I text Kellen.

Me: hey. How is everything going with decorating? Rachel on your nerves yet?

And I wait. And wait. And wait. And no reply. Maybe she really has put him to work. I put my phone away and take a deep breath. I hope 23 is good to me. I’ve been through so much the past few years and things are starting to look up now. Kellen is amazing. And I finally have a job that I love. I am a transcription writer online. And I hope things continue to get better.

I hear a small tap on my door and Rachel peeks her head in. “You ready?” She asks and I nod. She steps out and leads me to the huge kitchen where the party is set up. Music is playing softly and as soon as everyone comes into view they begin to sing happy birthday. I smile and look at the lovely faces around the room. Every one smiling. They all look amazing. So formal but so casual at the same time. There are Christmas lights still hanging around the room, but the walls are covered with red, black, and white decorations. Balloons fill the ceiling and banners cover the wall. Tables are full of cake pops, jars of jelly, crackers, and cookies. Closest to me is a small cake with 23 written across it in red icing. But as I continue to look for the one person I want to see the most, their face isn’t there.

Kellen isn’t here. But I don’t let my smile fall yet. Maybe it’s a surprise.

As the song comes to a close, I close my eyes and blow out the candles on top of my cake and everyone cheers. Music begins to play loudly and I am served cake and other snacks. Everyone is having fun. But I have yet to see Kellen. I make my way across the room, greeting and hugging people as I go to find Rachel.

“What do you think? Good party huh?” She says as she stops dancing to face me.

“It’s great. I appreciate you doing this for me. But where is Kellen? I thought he helped me out set up?”

“He said he was going to but never came. I thought maybe he would have come by now?” She said. She must have been able to see the heartbreak on my face, because she said “we will find out. Go have fun. I’ll have our friends text him and see.”

“Thanks Rachel.” I tell her and walk back to the table. Me and my friends that are near take some selfies and pictures in front of the birthday banner. I take some pictures even with Kellen’s friends who I don’t know super well but I know their names. When we do a group photo, I ask them where he would be?

“He never got ahold of anyone since 4. At 4 he said he planned to be here. But he isn’t picking up. Sorry Millie.” Jason said. I sat back down and just watched the clock. I don’t remember much about opening gifts. Just me watching the door. The party goes on around me but I can’t help by have an ache in my chest from him not showing up. I know I should be grateful for everyone here but I feel awful. I get up and run to the bathroom as I hear laughter in another room. Hot tears stream down my cheeks. And I hear a few sets of footsteps behind me. I rush into the bathroom and before I can shut the door our friends are there.

“Mille we are so sorry.” Jason says. “Kellen should have been here.”

“He should be here. Why isn’t he here? Was anyone else able to get ahold of him?” I asked and an uncomfortable silence fell upon them. “What aren’t you telling me?” I direct at the group of them.

“I took the call. Let me tell her.” The one whose name I’m pretty sure is Harry, says. They nodded and let him continue. “I picked up the phone and he asked me how it was going. I obviously bitched him out for not being here. He was pissed but asked me to cover for him. I’ll spare you the details but basically he was with another girl. I told him I don’t speak for everyone, but I don’t want to be friends with someone like that. He got mad and hung up the phone.” He said sadly and I couldn’t even see my eyes were so full with tears.

“Harry may not speak for the rest of us but I’m sure I can. We don’t want him either. What he did was shitty and he ruined your birthday. We’re on your side Millie.” Jason said and everyone agreed with him. They surrounded me and hugged me. It was the most supportive anyone has treated me ever. And these six boys just made my night. They could have kept it a secret. They could have defended him. But they didn’t. They stood by me when they didn’t have to.

“You guys are the best.” I say as we separate. I am still tearing up but I might be okay.

“No. You just deserve the best.” Harry says. Everyone begins to file out of the bathroom but Harry asks me to stay. “I don’t want to come off creepy. But in case you want someone to talk to, who knows what you’re going through, can I give you my number?” He asks.

I ponder this for a second. He seems so genuine. So sweet. He really didn’t want to tell me the bad news but was willing to give up his best friend for it.

“If you don’t want to I completely understand. I’m not trying to be like that and take advantage. I just know I could have used someone who had been through the same thing when it happened to me.”

“That would be good” I tell him. He lets me dry my tears with his handkerchief and then walks me out. I take him to my room. “I’m so sorry it’s a mess.” I say. He says he doesn’t mind. I grab a piece of paper and he writes his number down and I do the same for him. We go and rejoin the last few minutes of the party. Everyone starts to exchange good byes. Rachel, Harry, Jason, and the rest of his now ex-friends are the last to leave, helping clean up and giving me words of support. Harry gives me a look before shutting the door behind them. All that’s left is me. I take off this hot dress and get into my comfy fuzzy pajamas. As I’m wiping my red lipstick off onto a cotton pad, my phone begins to ring. It’s Kellen.

“Hello?” I say, a slight break in my voice at just the thought of hearing his excuse.

“Millie, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for your birthday. I got caught up at work.” He says and my heart breaks even more. He lied.

“I’m sorry too.” I tell him.

“Let me come over tomorrow to make it up to you?” He asks.

“No. I don’t want you to come over. I can’t do this.” I tell him, feeling more tears run down my face. My hands unconsciously grab the locket I never take off. I forget it’s there sometimes.

“Do what Mil?” He asks, nervous now.

“This. Us. What you did tonight was an awful thing to do.”

“I told you that I got caught up at work. How can you blame me for this? You’re crazy if you think it was my fault!”

“No I’m not crazy. Don’t turn this around on me Kellen. They told me what you did. You were with another girl. Don’t lie to me.” I tell him. I’m starting to get angry.

“They told you? Why the hell would they do that to me. They’re my friends!”

“Not anymore. Guess they don’t want to be around someone who is unfaithful. A cheater. Throwing away a good thing. How could you do that to me?”

“You never want to put out. So I went somewhere else. I was tired of nothing.” He said truthfully and it felt like a knife in my chest.

“I never put out? Kellen you never have acted like this before. We always talked stuff out. Why didn’t you talk to me? You’ve never been so mean.”

“You didn’t want to hear it.”

“Whatever Kellen. We are done. Now you can go fuck whoever you want. Not that us being in a relationship stopped you anyways.”

“Yeah. I’ll make sure I tell your friend Sam I said hi when I go back to her house.”

“Fuck you.” I said and hung up the phone. I’ve never cried so hard. My chest has never hurt this bad.

Everything hurts so much. How can you do that to someone. Let alone a friend. I don’t understand what flipped in him. We have never had an issue like this. We always talk out the ones we do. But I guess I never really got the truth. He was just tolerating me the entire time just so he wasn’t alone.

Ding

My phone chimed and I pick it back up.

Unknown number: this is Harry. How are you doing?

I save the number and reply after wiping my eyes.

Me: I’m decent considering everything.

Harry: you don’t have to act fine if you’re not. It’s okay to be upset about it.

Me: I don’t want to bother you too much. Or you’ll get tired of me too.

Harry: I’ve been through this. Don’t worry about me. I’m here to support you.

Me: I appreciate you. We just broke up on the phone. He gave me the details. He’s so awful.

Harry: I’m sorry, love. Is there anything I can do?

Me: erase the past 11 months would be great. I’ve got so much stuff that reminds me of him I don’t know what to do with now.

Harry: what all do you have?

Me: Clothes. Pictures. This fucking locket he gave me for our six month anniversary. I hate it so much

Harry: if you want to, I have a fireplace. We could burn it?

Me: Fuck. Yes.

Harry: I’ll send you my address. Want to come at 6?

Me: yes. Can I bring some wine and snacks?

Harry: of course. See you then love.

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Masterlist Series Part 2

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[writemekpop]

Hard Enough | Kim Junmyeon (Suho)

5K Follower Series Ep. 25

Summary: Suho can’t hide his desire for you when he watches you get changed in front of him...

Genre: Friends to lovers, suggestive 

Word Count: 1.4k 

Prompt: “Judging by your… reaction, I’m guessing I look good?” & “Can I stay here tonight?”

As Suho opened his front door, you pushed him against the wall. 

“Wanna fuck?” you whispered. 

Suho’s heart was throbbing. Was this a dream? This had to be a dream. You were his best friend - his bad-ass, genius, way-too-hot-for-him best friend. 

Well, you saw Suho as your best friend. Suho, meanwhile, spent every night imagining your body on top of his. Imagining this moment. 

Suho was in love with you. And you had no idea. 

“Y-yes,” he cried out. 

You froze. A look of confusion crossed your face. Then, you threw your head back and laughed. You ruffled his fringe. “Just kidding! The look on your face is priceless. God, you are easy to mess with.”

Suho nodded, cursing himself in his mind. 

“Yep.” His voice was dry. “You got me.” 

You barrelled up the stairs and into his bedroom, trailing popcorn crumbs and destruction. You had a massive pile of dresses in your hands.  

As soon as you reached Suho’s bedroom, you ran into his ensuite bathroom. 

“Okay, I’ll start trying them on!” you called. “Thanks so much for helping me.” 

Oh yeah. You were going on a first date with some jerk called Chanyeol today. And Suho, like the idiot he was, had agreed to help you pick an outfit. Did he enjoy getting his heart trampled on? He had no idea why he did this.  

Suddenly, you leaned out in just a bra, your brown skin glowing deliciously in the light. You kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a lifesaver.”  

The world wobbled a little as Suho drowned in happiness. Oh yeah. That was why he did this.  

His cheeks burning painfully, Suho took a seat. With each dress – a black silk with a slit thigh, a puffy white one made of tulle – Suho tried to give a considered opinion. 

You see, you and Suho were both journalists at the same women’s magazine. When he first met you four years ago, his career as a writer was struggling. He had no inspiration. There were only so many “21 cute throw blankets for your apartment” that he could write. 

And then he met you. The girl who teased him mercilessly for being a man working at a women’s magazine, (you called him the “Lady Whisperer”) wrote so much better than him, and made him smile for hours every time you sent him a stupid sloth gif. 

That was when he started the series, “How to Get Over A Crush (Hint: You Can’t)” and quickly became one of the magazine’s most popular writers. Suho told you the series was all made-up. Not once did you suspect that it was about you. That hurt Suho a little. Was it that hard to imagine you dating him?     

“Okay, picky… what about this one?”  

You came out, grinning breathlessly, in a dress covered in red lace flowers. Well, it could barely be called a dress – it cheekily revealed so much of your bronze skin. The neckline rippled down your chest, and Suho’s eyes felt glued to it. 

��For a moment, Suho was so overcome he couldn’t speak. His whole body pulsed and shivered with excitement. 

“Well, silly? Can you speak or what?” 

You jumped onto the bed next to him, and squished your fingers to his lips, pretending to open and close them. “Speak, speak, speak,” you chanted. 

As soon as you touched him, Suho felt a jolt of excitement. Then a very familiar and very, very disturbing sensation in his pants. He had an intense erection. 

Inhaling sharply, he leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs, as if thinking very hard. 

You frowned at him. “What’s wrong? You’re acting funny.”

He cleared his throat. “N-nothing, just… more comfortable this way.” 

You stood up, spinning slowly in front of the mirror. “Well? What about the dress?” you murmured.

Oh god. Seeing your whole body – including your very sculpted ass - was not helpful. 

In the mirror, you noticed some little buttons at the back of the neck. “Oh, would you mind doing these up for me?”  

Suho shook his head. “I’m think… you can manage.”  

You spun to face him. “Oh my god, you’re being so weird right now. Just help me.”  

Suho’s face was blushing up a storm. “Yeah, about that… I don’t feel like getting up right now.” 

You pouted for a second. Then, suddenly, you pushed a fist in front of your lips. A tiny chuckle burst from your throat.

“Judging by your… reaction, I’m guessing I look good?” you said. 

Suho screwed his eyes shut, wishing he could die right now. “Is it that obvious?” 

A sweet, soft smile came to your lips. Suho was surprised. It was like you were letting your guard down for just a moment. “I’m flattered. I didn’t know I was that attractive.” 

Suho smiled. “You are. Dangerously attractive. A guy should have to sign a form before dating you.” 

“Like a gun license?” you asked. 

“Exactly. A Y/n license.”

You stood up. “Well, I think fate is telling me to wear this one.” 

You started to pick up the dresses from the bed. 

Suho felt crushing disappointment. In a few minutes, you’d be out the door, flirting with that Chanyeol idiot. And he would lose you. Maybe for good this time.   

Suho did something very uncharacteristic for him. He took a chance.  

“Don’t go,” he called out, his voice thick. 

You turned to him. “What?” 

“Don’t go on the date,” he said, meeting your eye. He could barely believe what he was doing. Suho? Confident? This was crazy. “Can you stay here tonight?” 

 “Why?” 

“Because… I don’t want you to date that Chanyeol guy. I want you to date me.” Suho took a deep breath. “I really like you. I’ve liked you ever since you walked into that office and called my tie ugly. And I’ve been too afraid to say anything till now, but, if that goddamn Chanyeol guy turns out to be the love of your life I’ll never be able to forgive myself.” 

You sat down on the bed again. Your eyebrows pulled together, like you were doing a difficult calculation. 

Suho groaned. “What? Stop looking like that! Just say something!” 

You bit your lip. “No, it’s just… your crush. The one you write about in the “How to get over your crush” series… it’s not…”

Suho nodded. “It’s you. It always has been.”  

You shook your head in disbelief. “The girl you write secret poems about? The girl who makes your throat dry every time she comes near? The one you call the boy-whisperer…” You realised the connection. “Oh my god…” 

You fell into stunned silence. Then, quietly, you said, “I read that in bed every Sunday morning, and every time, I wish I could find a guy who loved me that much.”  

You shuffled closer to Suho. “You goddamn idiot!” you cried. 

Suho’s heart fell. This was it. The rejection he had always known was coming. 

“Why the hell did you not tell me till now?” You were grinning, red spots of blush blazing high in your cheeks. 

Suho’s stuttered. “W-what? You mean… you’re not mad?” 

You laughed. “Mad? Suho, I had a crush on you from the start! That’s why I teased you. I just- I felt so many things and I’m not used to… feeling things.” You looked down. “I kept looking for signals that you liked me back, but after a while, I gave up. I thought you just wanted to be friends.” 

Suho shook his head. “Well you could not be more wro-“ 

You interrupted him - by pressing your lips fiercely to his. The kiss- the kiss was like being born again. Your lips were just as soft as he’d imagined. He was so absorbed in the feeling of your mouth on his that he totally forgot about his embarrassing hard-on. 

When you pulled away, you grinned at his lap. “Sorry. That probably isn’t helping… that situation.” 

Suho shrugged and pretended to look thoughtful. “Well, you know, I’m starting to think it won’t go away on its own…” 

You smirked, running your hand over his chest. “Fuck Chanyeol. I’m staying here. Coz I know just how to help you with that.” 

​—

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[kaes-wonderland]

❝ 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑮𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝑯𝒖𝒈𝒔 𝑨𝒔 𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 ¡ ! ❞

↳Haikyuu ;; ☆pt.1☆???☆

↳ft. Tadashi Yamaguchi,,Satori Tendō,,Kōtarō Bōkuto,,Chikara Ennoshita,,Iwaizumi Hajime,,Kuroo Tetsuro,,Daichi Sawamura

❥Genre: Fluff

❥Word Count: 1.4k+

❥Synopsis: You walking up to some of your haikyuu besties, arms wide open in need of a hug as friends. [Reader can have any pronouns! No specific ones are specified. ^^]

❥Published: March 16, 2022

❥Kae’s Notes: Inspired by that TikTok trend where you randomly hug your friends to get their reactions. If you wanna see more parts with other characters, please ask!! I’ll be more than happy to do them. Also, I was trying to put their name colors associating with their team and there wasn’t grey/yellow for me to use for Bokuto…so I chose pink, the manliest color. Sorry not sorry for Kuroo’s! See my navi <3

¡ YAMAGUCHI ! ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥You know those people who just flinch when hugged? Even if they were lucky to not get touched by an unkind hand or what usually causes that, they just flinch. Maybe it was Tadashi's subconscious aiding him into not getting hurt again? Whatever it was, he was rather spooked by the hug, even when seeing it was you rested your head on his chest. "H-Heya...what's going on?" His hand slowly slid up to your head, twisting a lock of your hair around his index finger. You hummed softly, shrugging your shoulders. "Just wanna hug.." That caused Yamaguchi's freckled cheeks to burst into a pinky tone as his free hand rubbed at them like it was just something he could wipe off. If only it was that easy. Yet he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "You were pretty cute when you said that," He smiled down at you, but his eyes darted off to the side a few moments after you two made eye contact. Pulling you close, his hand moved up to rub the back of his neck before wrapping that arm around your shoulders. "I wouldn't mind sharing more with you...they're, uh, comforting and w-warm.."

¡ TENDŌ ! ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥A head-tilt with his brow cocked upwards was Satori's first reaction as soon as he caught you approaching him. As soon as you wrapped your arms around him—in a side hug position—a big goofy grin, wide enough to battle against the Cheshire Cat's, when he looked down at you. "Ooh, looks like someone lost their lil' gremlin. I'll tell ya, some people would lose their heads if they weren't attached to their bodies. Who do you belong to friend?" You giggled softly as he pursed his lips in thought, placing the side of one of his hands on his hairline as if he was searching for someone as his other arm draped around your shoulders. He hummed softly, slowly tapping his foot. "Well, since it looks like nobody's going to come to collect their gremlin, you're stuck with me—whether you like it or not." Ruffling your hair, a cheeky grin rested on Tendō's lips before he pulled you into his chest.

¡ BOKUTO ! ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥To express how excited Bokuto was to see you walking up to him with your arms slowly rising to meet him was an understatement. He started to get all fidgety as you waited at the entrance of the gym with small grabby hands—it could be taken as you waving to him, but he inwardly begged to have the chance to hug you. He would have run right up to you then and there if the coach wasn't in the middle of a speech, most likely how they are going to crush the next team that sets foot on their court. When coach Takeyuki dismissed the boys after seeing Bokuto wouldn't stop bouncing in place, the bi-color-haired male dashed toward you like a little kid to their parent who had just picked them up from Kindergarten. "Hey hey hey!!" He cheered, giving you a big bear hug lifting you off the ground, and swinging you side to side. "Have I ever told you that you're my favorite person to hug?? 'Cause it's true!" You ruffled Kōtarō's hair before gently pushing at his chest for him to put you down...which made him pout and snuggle into the crook of your neck. "'m not done yet.." he grumbled, squeezing you a bit tighter. You struggled for a few moments before awkwardly laughing, calling out, "Akaashi!! Help!"

¡ ENNOSHITA ! ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥He furrowed his brows and gave you a questionable stare as you walked up to him with pleading eyes. With his arms hung low, you soon looped your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder. Chikara's arms hovered in the air as he tried to read on what exactly your intentions were. Were they to fluster him? Because his cheeks had a nice rosy glow to them. "Are you feeling alright?" He asked softly. Maybe you were feeling down and just needed a hug? You nod gently before hugging him a bit tighter, him letting out a chuckle before resting his hand on the small of your back, soothingly grazing his thumb. If we were being honest, Ennoshita probably needed the hug way more than he would like to admit at that moment. Free hugs from you? Any day of the week baby. "Alright, I'm here if you need to talk. And...no one could ever resist your hugs.." He responded with a half flustered smile, pulled you close so you didn't see how much of an absolute dork he looked like.

¡ IWAIZUMI ! ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥He barely paid notice to you at first. Yes, Hajime had a keen eye when it came to some things—like feeling people stare at him uncomfortably long, a rumor being spread around that he had eyes on the back of his head and no blind spots in his eyes—but it seemed the paper he had been staring at was getting all of the attention. And you weren't having it. You snuck behind him, wrapping your arms around him, hearing a growl escape his lips. "Will you stop that Oikawa-" He grabbed your wrist, yanking you around to meet his emerald eyes. Stared at you for a moment, he slowly let go of your wrist after realizing you weren't Oikawa. "Ugh, sorry Y/N, I-" You folded your arms over your chest. "I just wanted a hug, jeez." Iwaizumi's eyes immediately grew wide, again realizing he just messed up. "No, no...sh*t, c'mere," He carelessly threw his paper to the side before opening his arms for you to come into, his eyes closed and his pinkish face turned away from you. You unfold your arms and carefully wrapped your arms around him, him absentmindedly giving you a little squeeze as his muscular arms seem to perfectly wrap around your figure. "Sorry...and believe me when I say this—I don't waste my breath on meaningless things—...come hug me anytime. They'll always be open for you."

¡ KUROO ! ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Well hello." Is shockingly pleased an emotion? It was quite shocking for Kuroo to see you walk up to him with your arms extended to him. He had convinced it was for someone else, but he was dumbfounded to see it was him you were walking up to. And he was way too pleased caused a smirked tugged onto his lips. Playing hard to get was a playful thought that crossed his mind, but it wasn't every day he had a stunning person wanting a simple affection. His arms quickly snaked around your waist a bit of a flirty embrace was shared between the two of you, but the look that Tetsurō had on his face was priceless. A look of pure wonder as if he had just discovered the fountain of youth. Anyone who got the chance to catch this expression would be weirded that their lovable, somewhat laidback volleyball captain could muster a look like that—more likely, how can someone make him that happy. Composing himself, he pulled away and gave you his signature smile with a hand holding your waist and the other holding your hand close to his face. "You must be a compound of barium and beryllium because you're a total BaBe~"

¡ DAICHI ! ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥This boy. THIS MAN takes hugs and gives hugs like a champ. He is unaffected by the "awkwardness" some people feel or just is absentminded to the whole ordeal. So oblivious that Daichi didn't even see you coming while he was at his locker. As you went in for the side hug, his strong arm just wrapped around you like someone's always running into his arms. "Hey. Did you have a good day today?" You were honestly a little spooked that he didn't give somewhat of a reaction. Like we're all his fans hugging him that often? Your lips curled into a frown. "It's now ruined now I know you're used to random people hugging you." Daichi chuckled and shook his head. "I kind of have to be aware like that in case I have to grab one of the first or second years from murdering each other. And besides," He wrapped one arm around your waist while his free hand rested on the back of your head, lips lingering just shy of your ear. "You are not just a random person, you are someone very special to me."

︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎━︎

©s-softipie 2022 — all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, or repost my works and claim them as yours. But reblogs and likes are alway welcomed. Thank you, stay positive シ

[jadequeen88]

Incel Tomura

I couldn’t think of a good title for this, so... I just went with something real blunt. Anyway, this was inspired by a friend and how she actually met her IRL boyfriend.

PAIRING: Incel!Shigaraki x egirl!reader

TW: face sitting, degradation, mommy kink, reader basically bullying Tomura (he deserves it)

3.2k~

AS ALWAYS MY FICS ARE STRICTLY 18+

“TCH!”

Tomura scoffed at the screen of his laptop. The Discord server he helped admin had gone to shit since he let that idiot Dabi loosen the requirements to join. It was one thing when Toga joined. He knew she was a decent gamer. But you? With those stereotypical cat-ear headsets, perfectly done make-up and short skirts? Please… He saw right through you. Just another fake ~uwu~ e-girl trying to pretend they knew what they were talking about.

It didn’t end with you being annoyingly informed in the gaming chat, either. You were always in the anime and manga chats, too… Suggesting different ones that there’s no way you actually enjoyed.

But the WORST part of you being in the server? Spamming the picture chat with selfies and outfit pics. No, it wasn’t against the guidelines and yes, you got lots of compliments (of course, you were clearly hot), but it made Tomura livid. Where there used to be pics of half-built PCs and screenshots of character upgrades, now there were endless pictures meant to tease and bait the guys in the server.

Today’s picture is what sent him completely over the edge. Your hair was put up in two messy space buns, signature pink cat-eared headset perched on your head. Your black, mesh top was straining against your tight, hot pink bra, barely hiding your cleavage and your slender neck was adorned with a chunky, black collar with a large, silver ring hanging from the front. The icing on the cake, though… the thing that broke him, was the face you were making. Eyes crossed, little pink tongue lolling past your perfect hot-pink lips, it was an obvious ahegao face. The caption read:

“New collar! Thank you for da gift @XxXknifey_wifeyXxX”

Followed by a bunch of annoying ass emojis.

Tomura shifted in his gaming chair, his growing bulge making his sweats tight. He gritted his teeth and opened his DMs…

******

You snickered as you opened your text chat with Dabi. Poor Tomura… He had no clue his friend was an old high school buddy of yours and sent screenshots every single time he bitched about your presence on the server. At first, it was just a couple of snide comments, but you quickly decided to turn it into a game. You’d add more emojis than you normally would, flirt shamelessly with Toga in the chat, and be very vocal with your opinions. Then it progressed with more and more selfies, pics showing off your new skirts, and pics of your pink, girly gaming setup. Today you pushed it with the ahegao face, you’ll admit. It was pretty out of character for you, but you couldn’t wait to hear about Tomura’s reaction from Dabi.

It was everything you hoped it would be:

Decay_666_

So can we give those bitches their own chat or what? Seriously, I’m sick of seeing their shit everywhere. Did you see her ahegao face selfie? This server was supposed to be for ACTUAL gamers, not fake e-girl sluts spamming the chat with their bullshit…

Cremation_Daddy

Lol, damn dude, calm down… we can make a separate chat. You’re the only one on the server complaining. Y/N really fucking you up that bad?

Decay_666_

Oh, fuck off… she’s just being an attention whore and it’s getting on my nerves.

Cremation_Daddy

Yeah, whatever you say. Prolly jerkin it to that selfie right now

You didn’t know why, but you kinda had a crush on the skinny loser. Knowing how worked up he’d get over the smallest things you did thrilled you. You wanted to know just how badly you affected him and today was the day you’d find out.

*****

Tomura heard a ping from his monitor alerting him to a new DM. expecting it to be Dabi giving him more shit, he scowled and clicked over to his Discord tab. When he saw that it was you DMing him, it was like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head. He could barely type he was so nervous.

Y/N

Hey :)

Decay_666_

Hi

Y/N

How did you like my new collar?

Tomura panicked. Had Dabi said something? There’s no way he’d do that. How did he even respond to that? He decided to feign ignorance.

Decay_666_

What collar?

Y/N

*image*

He audibly gasped. You sent him the selfie you’d posted in the chat earlier. Somehow, it was even hotter than the first time he’d seen it. Probably because you had sent it to him. You wanted to make sure he saw it. The thought alone made him painfully hard. He typed out a shaky response:

Decay_666_

Yeah… you look really pretty :)

He grimaced. He couldn’t think of anything clever when he was put on the spot like that. Plus, how long had it been since he’d spoken to a girl one on one? Much less a hot one? Never. That’s when.

Y/N

Aww, you’re so sweet :) wanna see it in person?

Now Tomura was wondering if he’d died and gone to heaven. Did she want to meet up? Wearing that fucking collar? There’s no way… He stared at the screen for a good ten minutes before another ping brought him back to reality.

Y/N

I’m free now if you are. Plus, there’s a new episode of *insert favorite anime* out and I didn’t wanna watch it alone.

Decay_666_

Yeah. Sure.

His response was almost uninterested but inside he was panicking. When was the last time he showered? How much time did he have to get ready? Did he even have any clean clothes? He leaped from his chair and ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Another ping rang out and he raced to check his DMs to see that you’d sent your address. To his surprise, you only lived a short walk from him. Another jolt of excitement shot through his spine as he quickly responded.

Decay_666_

Be over in 30 :)

He turned on the shower then started picking through his pile of clothes finding the ones that smelled the least offensive. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous and excited at the same time.

*****

 Tomura shifted from one foot to the other, nervously scratching at the side of his neck. He caught himself before the skin there broke and he ended up having to deal with a bloody neck on top of already being a nervous wreck. He’d only been standing outside your apartment for a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity. He kept checking his phone to distract himself. Just as he was starting to question if this had been a good idea, the door flung open.

His eyes widened and his mouth turned into a thin line. You answered the door in a fucking towel. He began opening and closing his mouth like a fish that had been plucked from the water. You giggled innocently like it was perfectly normal to answer the door nearly naked.

“You’re here a little earlier than I expected! I just got out of the shower. Come on in,” you moved to the side to give him room to walk through the door into your small apartment. You were sure to not move completely out of the way so he’d have to almost brush against your chest. You could feel him stiffen and hold his breath as he passed by.

This was going to be so much fun…

*****

Tomura’s dick had been painfully hard the moment he’d seen you in that towel. Luckily, when you’d gone into your bedroom to get dressed, he was able to position it in his waistband so he wouldn’t be pitching a tent in front of you. The thought of you noticing him popping a boner just by looking at you in a towel was mortifying. 

However, what you decided to change into didn’t help his situation. Your baby pink terry cloth shorts would have shown the curve of your ass had it not been for the little row of ruffles around the bottom. Your tank top, the same baby pink color as your shorts, was pulled tight across your chest (holy shit, were you not wearing a bra?!). A fleeting glance at your chest proved to Tomura that you definitely were not wearing a bra.

“You can come on back,” you beckoned from the doorway of your bedroom, “I thought we’d be more comfortable in here…”

He gulped and rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans before nodding and rising to walk towards you. Your room was foreign to him. Decorated with all shades of pink and purple, soft, plush bedding, and a soft pink glow emanated from the LED strip lights that lined the walls. Tomura stood awkwardly, looking around for a chair to sit in when you flopped onto your bed and began pulling up the streaming app on your tv. 

You looked up at him sweetly and patted the spot on the plush comforter next to you. “Come sit, Tomu! You don’t have to stand way over there. I don’t stink, ya know,” the wink you gave him made his knees buckle.

“Umm,” he chuckled nervously, “No, of course not. You, uhh… you smell…”

No, you were way too close. This was bad. There’s no way he would be able to string together a coherent thought, much less hold an actual conversation with you. You pout and lean in even closer to him.

“Tomuuuuu!” fuck, he hated that he loved that stupid nickname, “You think I smell?!”

“What?! N-no, not at all. I was trying to say that-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you tilted your head to the side offering up your neck for him to smell and he swears his eyes crossed as he tried to absorb what was happening.

“I even wore my new perfume! Go on, smell. Tell me what you think,” you smirk looking out of the corner of your eye.

Fuck.

You were teasing him, he knew you were, but his dick was so hard that he was completely at your mercy. He leaned in to take a tentative sniff and his eyes wandered lower. His breath hitched when he noticed the outline of your hardened nipples peeking through the thin material of your tank top. Before he knew what was happening, you turned your face forward and put your mouth next to his ear.

“Are you looking down my shirt, you pervert?” you purred. Tomura made some sort of incoherent noise and pulled away.

You laughed and pushed his shoulder playfully, “Geeze, I’m just kidding! You’re wound so tight.” you pause making a thoughtful face.

“Oh, I know how to help! Come on, over here,” you pulled him between your spread thighs and proceeded to rub his shoulders, working out all of the knots in his lean back.

After a few seconds, Tomura began to relax into your touch, slumping slightly and letting out a tiny sigh. He was deathly still the entire time you massaged him. He was terrified if he moved too much that his raging boner would free itself from his waistband. When your hands left his shoulders, he started to move away just to be pulled back into your lap. His head landed in your cleavage as your hands trailed down his chest. 

“Hmm, so tense, Tomu,” you whispered into the crown of his hair, “Is my massage not working?”

He wanted to yell that of course he was tensed up. That his dick is the hardest it’s ever been in his life and if he doesn’t hold as still as possible, he’s scared he might start humping the air like a pathetic dog. Before he can answer, your hand trails down to the waistband of his jeans, and he freezes. The tips of your fingers brush across his leaking tip and Tomura lets out a low, needy moan before he can stop himself.

“Just what I thought,” you purred as you began to trail your fingers up and down the hard bulge in his jeans, “Pathetic. Look at you, so fucking hard for me. And all I did was rub your shoulders.” He wanted to defend himself, but all he could do was whine as his eyes rolled in the back of his head while you continued touching him through his jeans.

“And to think, I never thought you’d want anything to do with some fake bimbo like me. Because I only game and watch anime for attention, right?” you squeeze his cock through his jeans, causing him to yelp. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself, incel? Wanna tell me why your dick is this hard for me if I’m so annoying to you?”

The realization that Dabi had told you everything flitted through the back of his mind, but he didn’t have room in his brain right then to be mad at him. He had to do whatever he needed to do to keep you touching him.

“I, ahh... I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered pathetically. The front of his jeans was wet from your teasing and the denim was rubbing him raw through his thin boxers, “D-didn’t, fuck, didn’t mean it like… ahh, l-like th-that.”

You loved how easily you could wreck him. You pet his hair back from his sweaty brow as you cooed at him lovingly.

“You know,” you removed your hand from the front of his jeans and he whined from the lack of friction, “You really hurt my feelings, baby. I thought you were so cool and the whole time, behind my back, you said just mean things about me.”

He sat up and turned to face you. His pathetic, needy gaze shot straight to your core. The power you held made you drunk and you desperately wanted more.

“No, no no no…” he grabbed your hands and you realized how clammy they were, “I’m-I’m so sorry. Please! Please…”

“Hmm,” you studied him for a moment, “Well… There might be a way you could make me feel a little better.” you tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, “You were so mean to me.”

“Anything! Please! I-I’ll do anything for you!” desperation started creeping in, thinking you’d leave him hanging with no relief. Little did he know, you had no intention of letting him go any time soon. Your plush lips curled into a devious smile. A soft hand reached up cupping his jaw.

“What a good boy, Tomu,” a tremor passed through his body. You reached over to your nightstand and pulled out the collar you’d taken the selfie in. 

“You know,” the collar danced between your painted nails, “This also came with a leash. I was thinking,” your lust-filled eyes meet his, “If you wanted to be a good boy for me… You’d let me see how pretty it looks around your neck.”

Tomura hesitated, his eyes rapidly moving between your eyes and the collar you held. After a moment of consideration, he nodded. You giggled and clapped your hands together excitedly leaping off the bed. You returned with a short, chain-link leash.

“Now,” you leaned in and fastened the collar around his neck. Your bodies were centimeters apart and Tomura thought he might pass out, “When you’re wearing your collar, you don’t call me Y/N,” you nudge his ear with your nose and whisper, “You call me ‘Mommy.’ Do you understand?” you feel him nod against your face.

“That’s not how good boys answer their Mommy. When you answer me, you say, ‘Yes Mommy’ or ‘No Mommy.’ Is that clear?”

“Y-yes… Mommy.”

“Mmm, what a good boy,” you placed a soft kiss on his neck and he let out the most delicious whimper. You hooked a finger through the ring on the front of the collar, “You’re gonna go sit in Mommy’s gaming chair and let her use you as a toy. Okay?” 

Tomura’s head was spinning and he almost couldn’t answer until you jerked him by his collar, “Y-yes, Mommy. Please, please make me your toy.”

You stood and dragged him over to your chair and made him sit, “What a polite boy you are! Saying ‘please’ without being asked. If you keep that up, you just might get a reward,” his belt buckle rattled as you worked his jeans down his narrow hips. 

A ragged breath escaped his chapped lips as you removed your tiny shorts revealing a black, lace thong. You straddled his lap, your dripping slit hovering a centimeter over the angry, leaking head of his cock. His hands shook as you placed them on your hips and slowly moved your thong to the side. Descending an inch at a time, only teasing his tip, was causing him to come undone underneath you.

“You’re already so close and I’ve only put the tip in. You better be a good boy and not come until I tell you to or you’re going to be punished,” you pushed another couple of inches inside and he nearly wept.

“I-I’m trying, M-mommy! I wanna be a good boy!”

“Mmm, I know, baby. You’re doing so,” another inch, “So…” and another, “Well.” you were fully seated on his cock now. Tomura knew he wouldn’t last. Your velvet walls were sucking him down harder than anything ever had before. It made his fleshlight feel like it was made of sandpaper. You had ruined him for anything else. 

With a few rolls of your hips and some high, airy moans, he was about to bust. “Mommy! Mommy, please! I-I’m g-gonna…”

“Tomu,” your voice was authoritative now, “If you come in Mommy’s pussy, I’m going to make you clean it out with your tongue then I’m going to sit on your face until I come as many times as I want.” your hand wrapped around his throat and you started bouncing on his cock. Your filthy words and aggressive motions catapulted him into an orgasm.

“You bad, BAD boy,” a smack to his cheek broke off his moans, “You disobeyed me! Did you do that on purpose?” your hand around his neck flexes, “Are you just a dirty incel that wants Mommy to get mean with you? Answer, Tomu!”

“Yes, Mommy!”

“Tell Mommy what you are…”

“I-I’m a-a… dirty incel.”

“And what do you want?”

“W-want… want Mommy to b-be mean to me…”

You lift him by the collar and attach the leash. He’s thrown onto the bed and you waste no time hovering your dripping slit over his face.

“Now,” you jerk the leash, “Clean up your mess.”

Tomura knew he should be disgusted right now, but his dick was getting harder by the second. With each lick inside your sloppy hole, he shamelessly moaned against your skin. The vibrations were going straight to your clit, causing you to ride his face harder. This went on until you’d almost reached your peak.

“Oh, baby,” you’re making Mommy feel so, so good, “I-I’m gonna…”

Tomura grabbed your ass and moved you back and forth on his face as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Your orgasm hit hard and fast. You lifted your body giving him a moment to breathe before sitting back down, earning a startled mumble from him.

“Don’t think that’s all,” you laughed and humped his face, making his eyes roll into the back of his head, “Be a good boy and mommy might even let you come…”

Tomura only nodded as he began to eat you again like he was starved. Maybe all the stuff you posted in the Discord server wasn’t so annoying anymore...

[skeezsbbygirl]

tmt (too much tank tops) + bang chan

hello sunshines! (◕‿◕✿)

i’m sorry it took so long for me to update :( i had some personal agendas i needed to attend to, but all is good now <3 this is for anon who requested a bang chan scenario inspired from all the sleeveless looks he’s been serving all of us lately haha. hope you enjoy!

STRAY KIDS EVERYWHERE ALL AROUND THE WORLD.

Don't do it, you thought, as you fought back the urge to bite Chris' exposed arm. The said male's attention was currently fixated on his laptop, clicking some buttons as he bopped his head with the beat that was playing in his headphones. You could faintly hear the tune due to Chris' habit of turning up the volume too loud, claiming that he needed to do that to perfect his craft.

His arm flexed, unbeknownst to him, as he rubbed his neck in attempt to ease some of the tension that was building in his muscles. Such motion made his veins even more prominent, faint shades of green and blue laced through his upper arm down to his hands.

"Chris, stop," you said as you grabbed his arm, slowly guiding it back to rest on the table. Your boyfriend looked at you in confusion, swiftly hitting pause on his laptop to focus on you.

"Stop what, baby?" he questioned as his brown orbs innocently stared into yours, a hint of concern was also displayed on his features, worrying if he had done something wrong for you to call him out.

"I'm sorry, I'll get this done right away," Chris added quickly, taking your hand into his and pressing a kiss on your knuckles. You offered him a sweet smile as you shook your head.

"No, babe. I wasn't talking about that," you explained, shifting in your seat to take a better look at him. Chris slid his headphones off, setting the gadget right beside his laptop. "Then what is it, bub?" he pressed, "You know you can tell me anything, yeah?"

"It's just," you paused as a sudden wave of embarrassment hit you. "Just what?" Chris prompted for you to go on. You shook your head, deciding to bite back the reply that was at the tip of your tongue. "Nothing. Forget I said anything, go back to work," you shrugged, flashing him a convincing smile as you reached out for your phone.

Chris eyed you suspiciously, sensing that there was something odd about your behavior. "I'm not going back to work unless you tell me what's going on," he stated. "Look at me, baby," he instructed as his finger firmly tilted your chin up. "Spill, (y/n)," he said, taking your phone from your hand as he carefully placed it on the table.

"It's embarrassing," you whined, pulling away from his grip, opting to nuzzle your face into his neck. "It's just me, babe," he chuckled, "Come on, baby."

"Exactly, it's you," you muttered, sending shivers down Chris' spine as your lips grazed the sensitive skin of his neck as you spoke. "What about me, love?" he asked as he grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him, making you settle on his lap. Your arms automatically wrapped themselves around his shoulders with your face still buried in his neck as he maneuvered you into a comfortable position.

"Youandyourstupidmuscletanktops," you breathed out in one go. "What?" Chris laughed, "What was that, babygirl?"

He heard you the first time, managing to catch your words despite how muffled you sounded. But still, he wanted to tease you.

"I hate you," you mumbled. "I hate you and your arms, and how they make me feel."

"No, you don't," Chris interjected. "Because if this is how you react when you hate them, then how much more flustered will you get when you actually love them," he teased.

You groaned in annoyance. "See? This is why I didn't want to tell you," you said as you emerged from your hiding. "So, you were ogling at my arms, huh?" Chris joked, cocking one eyebrow at you.

"Whatever, I'm joining Hyunjin in the dance room," you pouted, pushing yourself off of him, but Chris only tightened his hold on you. "No, baby," Chris whined, "Alright, I'm sorry, no more teasing."

Chris leaned in and gave you a kiss, one that lasted longer than usual. "You're the cutest," he cooed to which you responded with an eye roll. "I'm flattered that you like my arms," Chris said, "I've been working out with Bin a lot these days," he added.

"Yeah, I've noticed," you replied as you lightly traced the veins that adorned his upper arm with your fingers. Chris visibly relaxed under your touch, his eyes followed your movement, fascinated by your actions. "I'm glad you noticed," Chris giggled, suddenly growing shy from the attention he was getting from you. Not that he wasn't used to it, but it was the first time that you verbally expressed your fixation on his arms. He might have noticed your stares now and then, but he really didn't make a big deal out of it.

"Well, how can I not when you've been wearing a lot of sleeveless tops nowadays," you pointed out. Chris lifted his shoulders in a half shrug and you shook your head at your boyfriend's cocky demeanor, snuggling back into his embrace.

"I find them comfortable," Chris claimed. "And I find them distracting," you countered back. "Yeah, clearly," he teased, earning him a light smack on his right arm. "I just want to be in your arms forever," you said and Chris smiled at your response, planting a kiss on your forehead in the process.

"I'm here, baby. I got you forever."

The both of you stayed cuddled up for a while, with one of Chris' hand gently stroking your hair while the other was wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him.

"I missed you," you spoke after a while. "Like a lot," you added as you peppered Chris' neck with small kisses. "I missed you more, babygirl," he replied. "Alright, let me finish up and we'll go home," Chris released his hold on you, gently guiding you back to your seat.

An hour later, you guys were home, with you on the bed and Chris currently taking a shower. You were sprawled out on your stomach as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, answering messages from your friends that popped up in your notification center every now and then.

Your attention was only shifted when Chris emerged out of the bathroom, clad in nothing but black sweatpants and a small towel hanging on his right shoulder, leaving his upper body bare. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to you as you watched him dry his hair with the towel.

"Here, babe, I'll do it for you," you offered as you crawled to where he was. You tapped his shoulder, motioning for him to sit on the carpeted floor of your shared bedroom as you placed your legs on his sides. Chris' body nestled between your parted legs, crossing his own and making himself comfortable. "Thanks," he said, handing you the towel.

"You did well today," you complimented which earned you a shy chuckle from Chris. "You say that everyday," he noted, dodging your praises. "Because you do well everyday, Chris," you insisted, harshly ruffling his hair to make your point. The black-haired male whined at your sudden action, tilting his head up to pout at you. "You're such a baby," you teased, leaning down to kiss his lips. "But I'm your baby," Chris replied, catching your lips in another kiss.

"Yes, you are, so you better wear more sleeves from now on," you squeezed his arms, and then leaned down to plant a kiss on his exposed shoulder. "Aww, is my queen jealous?" Chris joked, poking your cheek. You huffed in response. "Don't worry, beautiful," he paused as he turned his body around to properly face you. "They may be out there for everyone to see, but they're only yours to touch and feel, and occasionally ogle at," he continued, a giggle escaping his lips as he delivered the latter line.

"I do not ogle," you argued, playfully hitting his arm with your fist. Chris laughed and stood up, hovering over your seated figure. He placed his hands on your sides, caging you within his arms. With Chris being so close, you could smell the all too familiar scent of his body wash -- it was safe to say that it took quite a lot of control not to pounce on him right there and then. "Yeah, sorry. I meant drool," he mocked.

You scoffed at his remark. "Forget it, I'm gonna ogle at Changbin's arms instead," you challenged and Chris immediately dropped his act. "Don't you dare," he gasped and attacked you with kisses. You yelped in surprise, throwing your head back as you giggled, which only allowed Chris to have better access to your neck.

"Alright, alright," you managed to say in between giggles, "I'm kidding, Chris!"

Chris stopped, placing one final kiss on your lips as he detached himself from you. "Good, 'cause you're mine," he stated. "I'm yours, always. I promise," you reassured as your hands came up to gently caress his cheeks. Chris melted under your touch, basking within the affection you were giving him.

You closed the gap between the two of you, connecting your lips with his once more. Chris caught you off guard for a second when he deepened the kiss. It was slow and soft at first, but things quickly turned heated when Chris nibbled on your bottom lip, and at your grant of access, he delved inside your mouth.

You raked your hands through his brown curly locks, lightly tugging at the strands as you pulled him closer, which elicited a soft moan from Chris, his own hands finding their way under your top.

"Alright, sugar lips," you chuckled as you pulled away from Chris, halting his advances, "Go put a shirt on, you need to rest."

"Don't want to," Chris insisted as he towered over your figure once again. "And why not?" you asked, raising one eyebrow at him. "Because I wanna love on you right now," he answered, "So lie back, babygirl."

[george-fabian-weasley]

Harry Potter — The One That Got Away

Summary: You died in the Battle of Hogwarts after pushing off Fred away from the wall, and Harry was beyond devastated. You were his First Love, and will always be.

Words: 7,440 words

Warnings: Angst, My best angst yet, Altered Storyline, Pure form of pain, I just wanna hug Harry in this one, neutral!reader, Death, Mentions of panic attack, Tissues Are Recommended

Disclaimer: This is my longest fic yet! 7.4K words of pure pain, wow. I’ve worked on this one for like idk 5 days? I recommend listening to The One That Got Away by Katy Perry, the lyrics inspired me so much for this one. Also, can you believe this is my first time writing a Harry fic? Crazy, I know! Enjoy the painful ride, fellas <3

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“Harry?”

Your voice echoed the room, making everyone’s heads turn to you. You heard the news of Harry, Ron, and Hermione returning to Hogwarts after months of disappearances, and the news was right. The group of people opened, and there he was, the boy you loved for almost three years now.

“Oh my god,” You muttered under your breath as you ran to him, Harry scooped you up easily as he dug his head on the crook of your neck instantly. You hugged him so tight, the tears in your eyes were starting to well, you never thought you would see him alive and well in front of you, but there he is right now, hugging you as if you were his last reason to live.

“I thought I would never see you again, wh-where have you been?!” You frantically ran your mouth, arms still wrapped tight on his body. “It doesn’t matter, oh Godric, I missed you so much.” Harry sighed out; his tense body relaxed immediately as you held him. You pulled away, hands cupping his face, “Are you alright, a-are you hurt?”

Harry smiled fondly at you, his hands cupping your face as well, “I’m fine, darling.”

“This is adorable and all, but we sort of having a situation now, if you mind?” Neville voiced out awkwardly. Harry quickly kissed your forehead and sent a glance to the crowd around you, “Right.”

Harry was quiet.

He couldn’t think of anything else than the moment he had arrived at Hogwarts a few hours ago. That was the first time he had seen you after months of hiding in the woods to find the Horcruxes.

He heard the news. And he refused to believe it. Being in denial, he ran to the Great Hall, his heart begging nonstop for the rumor to be false. Harry ran, and ran, and ran. He didn’t care that his legs were exhausted, he didn’t care about his heartbeat constantly increasing, all he cared about as of that moment was you.

Right at the end of the Great Hall, a group of dusty gingers huddled together, seemingly crying. The little voice in his heart now screaming for its life; not ready to know what were the Weasleys crying for.

His feet felt heavy, it felt like he has rocks tied with his shoes, but Harry forced himself to walk closer to them. Closer and closer, he found familiar faces contorted as they cry. From a distance he could make up George who was holding back Fred; the older twin was fighting to be let go, sobbing as he does so, begging to be near that someone laying on the floor.

Harry had never seen Fred cry before, the tall ginger always had a smile on his lips or a laugh of mischief, but never a frown, never tears rolling down his face. And that’s when Harry arrived, and Molly; Ron’s mum, hugged him tight, sobbing onto his shoulders, whimpering ‘I’m so sorry’s. He couldn’t hug her back, no, not when his eyes were frozen on the vision of you.

Laying on the ground, lifeless.

Instantly, his knees were weak. He kneeled beside you, the screaming of his heart had never sounded so deafening. Harry was beyond shocked; he couldn’t comprehend the vision in front of him.

All of this was too sudden for him to understand.

When Hermione let out a strangled cry of pain, Harry felt his heart was stabbed. “I shouldn’t have been near that wall! Y/N pushed me away and-and the wall started to fall, I’m-I’m sorry, Harry this is all my fault-“

Harry could hear Fred’s pained sobs saying the words, but he couldn’t digest it. His eyes were still trained to you. For a moment, he thought you looked angelic. As if you were just sleeping and, at any moment now, you would blink your eyes open and smile at him, saying, “Good morning, love.”

But you didn’t. And that’s when the dagger in his heart turns.

“Y/N.” The way your name rolls down his tongue felt weird. It felt strange because you would never respond to him calling you again. Harry’s trembling hands went down to cup your face, brushing away the specks of dust from your face.

“You’re- You’re cold, darling.” His voice was calm, but Harry knew that was the only thing that was at the moment. His whole body was trembling, his breaths were heavy, his eyes struggling to blink; as if… if he blinked, then you would vanish from his eyesight forever.

At that moment, Harry cared no longer about his environment, he didn’t hear Ron’s sobbing mess as he was hugging George, he didn’t hear Hermione’s screams of denial of her best friend’s death, he didn’t hear Fred’s cries of overbearing guilt.

Harry only heard his quivering breathing. He hadn’t noticed the tears welling up his eyes until a drop of his own tear fell onto your soft skin.

That’s when Harry Potter breaks.

“Wh-Why are you so cold?” Harry’s whimper silenced everyone. Hermione froze from her frantic breakdown, Ron looked to Harry with the sudden realization that he’s the one most hurting at the moment, and Fred minimized his cries to look at the pair.

“Why are you so cold, darling?” He cried again. Harry was breaking down, he was exhausted, the very people who loved him dead one by one, and you were his last straw. “Why are you leaving me, Y/N?” He whimpered against your stomach, clutching your clothes tightly as he tried his best to find your warmth. The shirt you were wearing started to get wet with his tears, it took Harry everything inside of him not to crumble right there and then.

His stomach hollowed as he realized, even in death, you were beautiful.

Harry didn’t know how much time he spent there, but as he opened his eyes, he realized he was standing in front of Dumbledore’s office. Numbly, he went inside. His thoughts were still preoccupied with you, but he has other matters in hand. No matter how much he wanted to stay there and lay beside you, the war was far from over. And the one-hour duration Voldemort gave them was running short.

When he walked out of the room, he was shaken. Not as shaken as he was of your death, but he was still shaken. Snape… was protecting him this whole time? Harry was snapped from his thoughts when he recognized two figures sitting on the end of the stairs. He took a deep breath as he walked closer to Ron and Hermione, who huddled together, hand in hand. Hermione looked to her back as she heard footsteps, quickly standing up as she realized it was Harry.

“Where you’ve been?” Her quiet voice echoed through the silent castle. “We thought you went to the forest,” Ron breathed out, worried. Harry walked past them, trying to look calm and stoic as he replied, “I’m going there now.”

“Are you mad?” Ron said in disbelief, his eyes followed the back of Harry. “No!” He said, desperation visible in his voice, “You can’t give yourself up to him.”

Ron’s words made Harry stop on his tracks. He looked down to the flights of staircases before him; exhaustion evident on his face. Upon looking at Harry’s back stiff, Hermione asked, “What is it, Harry? What is it that you know?”

Harry slowly turned around, looking at Hermione, his eyes silently begging her to give him a rest. “… There’s a reason I can hear them. The Horcruxes.”

He watched Hermione’s face dawned upon realization, “I think I’ve known for a while, and I think you have too.”

Hermione frowned, tears started to well up in her eyes, she didn’t want to lose another best friend, yet she knew, she had no choice. “I’ll go with you,” “No, kill the snake.” Harry was quick to object.

“Kill the snake and then it’s just him.” He said, watching Hermione silently cried.

She quickly came forward and embraced Harry into a hug, crying on his shoulders as she did. Harry hugged her back just as tight, he needed it. No one hugged him when he was crying at the Great Hall, everyone was fairly shaken at your loss. Harry connected eyes with Ron, who was silently protesting him on going to the forest alone, even if he knew nothing is stopping Harry now.

Harry pulled away, took one last look at Hermione before turning away, and walked down the stairs to the forest. During his way to the Forbidden Forest, nothing but you clouded his mind.

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“Heads up!” Harry heard someone shouted behind him and felt a body jumping on him, he oof-ed as he quickly grabbed the person’s legs, feeling their arms wrapping around his neck. He tilted his head and laughed as he saw you, giggling tremendously.

“Hello to you too, Y/N,” Ron said as he playfully rolled his eyes. Harry and Ron were walking in the hallways to their next class when you had spotted them from afar. Being the ball of energy you are, you hopped on Harry’s back to surprise him. He was definitely surprised, pleasantly even. “Good morning, Ronny!” You chirped as you ruffled the ginger’s hair, receiving a whine of disagreement from the Weasley. They kept on walking, Harry casually giving you a piggyback ride as he walked.

“Hello, handsome,” You whispered to his ear and kissed his cheek, making Harry chuckle with a blush on his cheeks, “Morning, love.”

“Where’s Hermione?” You asked, comfortably resting as Harry carried you, feeling the warmth of his body. Ron glanced at you snuggling on Harry’s shoulders and scoffed, “She’s at the library, studying as always.” You playfully rolled your eyes, “Oh, don’t say you’re jealous of us, Ron! Even so, I wouldn’t mind you being jealous, we are simply very sweet together, isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Yeah, Ron, maybe you can give Hermione a piggyback sometimes if you want it so terribly,” Harry remarked as you two laughed, and Ron flushed a deep red with a quiet, “Sod off, you two.”

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“Harry?” You said as you knocked on the door, worried. As you heard no response, you opened the door, seeing Harry laying on his bed, distressed. You quietly sighed as you walked closer until he noticed you and instantly groaned.

“If you’re here just to be mad at me, then Ron’s already doing it for you, Y/N.” He weakly said, feeling absolutely terrible. Just half an hour ago, he was forced to enter the Triwizard’s Tournament because of that stupid Goblet of Fire choking out his name at the last minute. “No, I’m not mad at you, Harry- why would I be? I’m just… worried about you.” You said quietly, sitting on the corner of his bed just beside his laying state.

Harry tilted his head to you, pursing his lips, “How did you get in here?” You shrugged, “The twins gave a hand if I’m being honest.” He huffed a small smile, “Of course they did.”

“But I’m not here to talk about the twins, Harry. I’m here to talk about you. Are you okay?” You spoke, slowly laying on his bed horizontally with your legs still touching the ground. Harry watched you lay down on his bed across him, he was also laying on his bed horizontally with his legs touching the ground, but in the opposite direction of you. He felt the position was very intimate and close, but Harry didn’t mind.

“… I don’t know, honestly. I didn’t put my name inside that bloody Goblet, and even if I did, I shouldn’t have been accepted, for Merlin’s sake, I’m underage! But Ron here thinks I’m out there hunting for fame again, which I absolutely do not want in the first place! Believe it or not-“

“I believe you, Harry.” Your soft voice took his ramblings to a halt. As he stared into your eyes, he could see the sincerity in your words, and he suddenly realized how pretty your eyes were.

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You were breath-taking. The whole world that was moving around Harry came to a halt as he watched you walked down the stairs in your beautiful outfit. The mustard yellow resembling the color of a sunflower made your skin glowing and if he’s being honest, he had never seen anyone more stunning in his life.

You were smiling at him, and he had never felt gladder asking you out as his date to the Yule Ball. “Hello, Potter.” You said, amused by his bewitched expression. Harry blinked and gave you a baffled smile, “Y-You look great, Y/N.” You shrugged, eyeing his black and white outfit playfully, “Not too bad yourself, Harry.”

He offered you his arm, suddenly remembering what McGonagall taught him a few days prior, “Shall we?” You chuckled at the sudden chivalry, and linked your arm with his, “Lead the way, kind sir.”

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“No, Y/N, I won’t let you!”

Harry had pulled you away from the room full of people to talk to you alone. You sighed as you cupped his face, “Harry, darling, my love, we don’t have much time. The Order needs me to help you.” He shook his head, adamant with his decision, “You don’t know how many Death Eaters are out there, Y/N. What- What if you get hurt? What if you die, just like Sirius? I-I can’t-“

“Harry!” You said loudly, snapping him out of his overthinking rambles. He was looking down, trying hard to control his tears, frowning. “Harry, look at me.” You said softly, he kept his head down.

“Look at me, darling.” You said again, tilting his head so he can see you. His eyes were glassy, he was terrified, and your heart sunk for your lover. He had never wanted all of this attention, yet he had it, and the burden on his shoulders was terribly heavy.

“I am going nowhere. I promise you; I will come home to you safe and sound. I love you, Harry, and I will never, ever leave you.” You pressed word by word slowly, letting him hear every syllable coming out of your mouth.  You engulfed him in a hug, and Harry quietly cried on your shoulders, holding the back of your head tightly. Your body had always managed to keep him warm, and Harry calmed down soon after.

He pressed a kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a minute, muttering only loud enough for you to hear, “You better come back to me safely, darling. I love you so much.”

“And I will, Harry.”

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“Hello, handsome.” Harry turned around to see you with a casual, but still pretty outfit. The lilac color looks amazing on you and he smiled fondly, pecking your lips, “Hello, beautiful.”

You smiled brightly at him, “Come on.” He raised his eyebrows at you suddenly pulling him to the dance floor, from a distance, Harry could see Bill and Fleur enjoying their wedding reception, both have a large smile on their faces.

He chuckled at your bright demeanor, “You know I can’t dance, Y/N.” You scrunched your nose and adorably shook your head, “Nonsense, everyone can dance.” He let himself be dragged to the dance floor, glancing at his surrounding, his smile widening at the sight of his two best friends dancing with each other, obvious lovestruck expression hits both of their faces.

“Remember the steps, darling?” Your sweet voice made him turn his attention back to you, his heartwarming and his stiff body eases at the sight of you having a good time. You guided his hand to place itself at your waist, and his other hand intertwined to yours lightly.

“I may have forgotten some steps,” Harry warned, and you laughed loudly making Harry’s heart soar to the sky at the sound of your laugh. As you calmed down, you locked eyes with him, your wide smile reduced to a soft one, “Nothing I couldn’t handle before.”

As you two danced to the slow, elegant beat, Harry had never felt more at peace. With his life constantly on the run, this very moment was worth more than gold to him. “Y/N,” he whispered, his eyes never ran away from you.

“Yes, Harry?” You replied, a smile still plastered on your face. “I know we’re in a middle of a mess right now, and while it doesn’t look like it’s getting any better, I was- uhm- wondering, after all of this, and given the opportunity that we both will still be alive-“ “Which we will,” You interjected, and he huffed a smile, “Which we will,” He repeated, looking bashful.

“Would you like to marry me?”

He watched you scoff in disbelief, your expression etched shock all over. “Oh my goodness, are you literally proposing right now?” You whispered at him, and Harry rolled his eyes playfully, “Obviously, if not I wouldn’t have said that.”

Harry chuckled at your scoffing again, this time it felt playful. Before you could say anything, Harry continued,  “I know we’re both still young and we literally haven’t finished school yet, but I just… I can’t really see myself marrying anyone else but you. You… You light up my life like no other and your hugs are the best and you make me smile whenever you look at me and-“

Harry halted on his ramblings when he realized your eyes were slowly turning glassy. His smile softens and his hand reached to cup your face, “And with you by my side, I have nothing else to wish for. I love you, Y/N, even more than you love me.”

You sniffed, leaning on to his calloused hand and pressed a kiss on it, “You’re not being fair, you know?”

“How so, darling?”

“You’re proposing without a ring, you doofus.” You both chuckled, and Harry leaned in kissing you. You kissed back passionately. The kiss was slow and sensual, both of you wanted to savor this moment. And the moment you pulled away; you gave him a beautiful smile.

“And even without a ring, I would say yes.”

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Harry had arrived. Already deep inside the forest, his expression was solemn. Harry was numb, he couldn’t feel anything, nothing at all.

Nothing, but the hollowing in his stomach whenever he was reminded of you. He halted on his steps, breathing through his mouth as he looked to his back, the view of almost destroyed Hogwarts was hazy. He looked back to the front, knowing that just a few steps forward, will be Voldemort and his clan, waiting for his arrival.

Harry was reminded of the Snitch inside his pocket, and so he fished it out and watched as the golden carving on the Snitch magically appeared.

‘I Open at the Close’

Harry held out a breath, now understanding the riddle completely. In his mind were flashes of his memories with you, with Ron and Hermione, with the Weasleys, with his family.

And so, with a somehow light heart, Harry said, “I’m ready to die.”

‘If it means that’s what it takes to see you again, then I’m ready, my love.’ Sang his heart quietly. Harry slowly placed the snitch on his lips, closing his eyes as he felt the cold surface touched his skin. As he inched away, the Snitch opens slowly one layer, then two layers, revealing a small diamond-shaped stone.

The small stone was hanging around the air, levitating itself. Harry recognized it; he hadn’t realized he had his breath paused.

“The Resurrection Stone.” He whispered under his breath as he slowly put his open palm under the floating object. He grasped it, and instantly closing his eyes, his mind was fast to imagine several people without him realizing it.

And when he opened his eyes, there they were.

James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus.

Lily was right in front of him. As soon as she reached her arm out, Harry walked closer to her, with his own arm reaching out, desperate to touch his mother he hadn’t seen for many years.

When his own hand went through hers, Harry felt his heart crack for the nth time of the day.

“You’ve been so brave, sweetheart,” Lily’s melodic voice traveled to his ears, and Harry had never realized how much he missed her until he heard her voice. “Why are you here?” He asked, feeling breathless.

“All of you.” Harry turned to his father, James for a moment before turning back to Lily, whose gentle smile never left her lips, “We never left.”

Harry found himself nodding, gulping at the sudden new emotions he had never thought he would feel again once he had seen you at the Hall. His eyes darted to Sirius; his godfather he had tragically lost, and with a shaky voice Harry asked, “Does it… Does it hurt?”

“Dying?”

Sirius’s face was calm. With a casual voice, Harry’s godfather replied with a whisper, “Quicker than falling asleep.”

“You’re nearly there, son,” James voiced out, making Harry turn to him. “I’m sorry. I never wanted any of you to die for me.” Harry spoke heavily, his heart heavy; drenched with overbearing guilt.

“And Remus, your son-“ Harry’s words were cut off by the former professor, “Others will tell him what his mother and father died for. One day, he’ll understand.” Remus’ comforting voice was somber in Harry’s ears. Having nothing to say, Harry turned his attention back to his dear mother, whose smile never left.

And he turned to his father, “You’ll stay with me?”

James looked endearingly to his grown-up son, his smile gently etched on his lips, “Until the end.”

“And he won’t be able to see you?” Harry asked again, the desperate tone in his voice were visible.

“No,” Sirius said, “We’re here, you see,” His hand ghostly reached to Harry’s left chest; his heart. And Harry remembered his words a few years ago, “The ones that love us never really leave us.”

Harry gulped, there was a question itching at the back of his throat. As if knowing what he meant, Lily voiced out, “You’ll see them soon, Harry.”

His head whipped to her, his heartbeat quickening at the mention of you, “What’s that supposed to mean? Where is Y/N? Why aren’t they here?”

“Soon, Harry, soon,” Sirius said, and Harry calmed down. He was aching to see you, even if it was his imagination of you and he couldn’t touch you. He heaved a deep breath, “Stay close to me.”

“Always.”

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“Harry Potter,” Harry heard the voice of Voldemort saying his name. He had come forward to Voldemort and his clan of Death Eaters, not forgetting to glance at a disheveled Hagrid, who was heartbroken to see the boy he once saved from the Dursleys six years ago had shown up.

“The Boy Who Lived… Come to die.”

Harry was silent, he knew he had no choice as of this moment. The giant snake, Nagini had slithered closer to its master. And Harry watched as Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, aiming at him, and the boy closed his eyes. His lips curled into a little smile, for the last image he saw as he closed his eyes… was you. Smiling.

And with the shout of an Unforgivable Curse recited, coming along with it were glowing colors of green, everything was white.

And Sirius was right.

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Harry woke up breathing heavily. His first vision was a white ceiling. He quickly stood up and looked at his surroundings.

Everything was white. Everything looks clean and… bright.

Harry turned to his back, suddenly noticing a bench a few steps away from him. It was white and there was something beneath it and-

There was something beneath it.

Without much thinking, Harry walked closer to the creature, his mind running a million questions that had yet to be answered. Harry couldn’t quite see what the creature was, so he crouched down to see and when he did, he flinched away rather quickly.

There, under the bench, was a small human-like creature, hugging itself as if it was shivering from the cold. It’s almost like seeing a small skeleton with just skin, no meat at all, and Harry was baffled as he recognized who the creature resembled like.

Voldemort.

“You can’t help, Harry…“

Harry instantly looked up at the sudden voice. His mouth gaped open at the sight of Professor Dumbledore walking closer to him. “… You wonderful boy, you brave, brave man.” Dumbledore said, a small prideful smile on his lips.

For a moment, Harry was astonished. He had seen this very man before him, get thrown off the Astronomy Tower by none other than Snape himself, and now he’s here, standing before him.

“Let us walk,” Dumbledore said, turning his back to Harry and started walking. Instinctively, Harry followed him with so many questions itching on his throat. He walked as he tilted his head to the bench with the questionable creature underneath.  “Professor, what is that?” He asked, his eyes trained on the creature. Dumbledore turned back too, only to reply, “Something beyond either of our help. A part of Voldemort sent here to die.”

“And exactly where are we?” Harry asked again, and they continued walking. “I was gonna ask you that,” Dumbledore nonchalantly said as he continued, “Where would you say where we are?”

Harry looked around, “Well, it looks like King’s Cross station. Only cleaner,” He paused, ‘So much cleaner it has no color,’ he thought. “… And without all the trains.”

“King’s Cross, is that right?” Dumbledore chimed, “This is, as they say, your party.”

“I expect you now realize that you and Voldemort,” Harry looked up to the tall man, “Have been connected to something other than fate. Since that night at Godric’s Hollow all those years ago.” Dumbledore said solemnly.

“… So it’s true then, sir.”

“A part of him lives within me, doesn’t it?” Harry questioned, and Dumbledore chuckled, “Did.”

“It’s been just destroyed many moments ago by none other than Voldemort himself. You,” Dumbledore paused, looking at the 17-year-old beside him, “Were the Horcrux he never meant to make, Harry.”

As they walked, they came across another bench and Dumbledore decided to sit on it, and Harry followed suit.

“I have to go back, haven’t I?” Harry asked, and Dumbledore quickly replied, “Oh, that’s up to you.”

“I’ve a choice?” “Oh yeah!” The old man chirped, looking around, “We’re in King’s Cross, you say?”

“I think if so decide, you’ll be able to board a train.”

“And where will it take me?” Harry asked again. Dumbledore only chuckles, he turned to look at the young boy before him, “On.”

Dumbledore stood up and began to walk away. Harry was baffled, “Professor!” The man turned around, “Yes?” “Where are you going?” He said, and Dumbledore chuckled yet again, “My time with you is over, boy. That lovely fellow wants to talk to you now. Very impatient, they were.”

Dumbledore nodded to something behind him, and Harry had never turned around so quickly. He was breathless, he had never thought he would feel his heartbeat increasing again, but it did.

Because it was you.

You were wearing a simple white outfit, if anything it was the simplest outfit he had seen you in. But you managed to look ethereal to him, never less resembling an angel from the Heaven itself. If so, more beautiful than an angel.

“Missed me, Potter?” You said with a bright smile. Harry couldn’t say anything, he was dumbfounded and he couldn’t even utter a word.

So he engulfed you in a hug tightly.

“Oof! Now that’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?” You teased, chuckling at your boyfriend hugging the life out of you. Well, if you had any more to spend anyway. Regardless of the tease, you hugged him back just as tight. Just when you hugged him back, Harry’s knees turned weak and you slowly guided him down to sit on the floor, still hugging the boy you love with all your heart.

Just then, Harry who had been quiet for a moment broke a sob.

You etched a sad smile on your lips, caressing the back of his head the way he liked it, “… I shook you too much, didn’t I?”

Harry couldn’t say anything, he dug his face into the crook of your neck, crying loudly without any embarrassment now, “I’m- I’m sorry, Y/N… This-This is all my fault you shouldn’t- you shouldn’t have to-“

“Hey, hey… “ You cooed, softly pulling away from him so you could wipe away his tears. “Shh… Stop blaming yourself, darling. It’s a war, and a war isn’t your fault, Harry.” You softly said, reaching in to kiss both of his eyes.

“I’m so tired, Y/N… I’m so tired…” Harry whimpered, more tears rolling down like a broken dam. He had lost you a few hours ago, but he felt like he had lost you for years.

“Let-Let me stay with you, Y/N, please…” Harry softly begged, his face was cupped with your hands. You felt your heartbreak at the vulnerability he shown you. While it wasn’t the first time Harry had been vulnerable in front of you, this time it was completely different.

“While that isn’t such a bad offer, the war isn’t over, Harry. If there’s anyone who could kill Voldemort, then it’s you, darling.” Despite your tries on convincing him, Harry shook his head, “I don’t want to be the Chosen One anymore! I’m so tired… of everything… I lost my parents, I lost Sirius and now I lost you! I have no one else to live for, Y/N…”

He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, and you two sat there quietly, your fingers playing softly with his neat brown locks.

You shook your head, “You know that’s not true, Harry. Ron and Hermione are still out there, waiting for you. Fred and George too, once they’ve stopped crying over me, that is,” You chuckled, and Harry felt his lips curled up a bit, his eyes slowly closing at the sound of your voice gently lullabying him to sleep.

“And Molly and Arthur… And Ginny, and you know, the rest of Hogwarts.” Harry softly kissed your neck, snuggling a bit further into your neck, your head gently leaning on his, “But I’ve got nothing to kill him with… Voldemort has the Elder Wand… and the snake is still alive.” He softly said, his urge to cry had lessened as he found warmth and comfort being with you, as always.

It pained him a bit that, this could be the last time he could feel you.

“You saw Professor Dumbledore just now, right?” You felt him nod and you smiled, “Well, he told me this before we went to meet you, just in case you’re feeling helpless. Which you are,” You both chuckled.

“Help will always be given at Hogwarts, to those who deserve it. And he said…” You trailed off, noticing Harry’s breaths got gentler and his head felt heavy on your crook of neck. You smiled sadly, kissing his forehead softly, lingering there for a while to cherish the moment.

“And he said what..?” Harry asked slowly, his eyes slowly felt heavy, your heartbeat was gentle, and he felt so calm. He smiled softly at the feeling of your lips on his forehead, “And he said… Do not pity the dead. Pity the living… And above all, all those who live without love.” You finished, your voice was slowly volumed down to a whisper.

“Y/N…” Harry mumbled with his eyes closed, feeling his consciousness slowly slipping away, “Is this all real? Or is it just happening inside my head?”

You chuckled at his question, “Why, of course, it’s happening inside your head, Harry…”  You trailed off, feeling that your short time with Harry is about to end by the looks of him slowly slipping into sleep, “Why should that mean, that it’s not real?”

Harry was asleep now, and right before he went unconscious, his ears heard the last words you said to him, “In another life, I would be your love, Harry. We’d keep all our promises, and it’ll only be us against the world…”

“I love you, always and forever, my darling.”

---------------------------------------------------

The rest came out as a blur. Harry had killed Voldemort, with the help from Neville who slashed the giant snake with the sword of Gryffindor, and the war was finally… over.

While Harry was glad that the war was over, he couldn’t feel happy. He still lost you. He had lost a lot of people, and sometimes Harry wondered if their deaths were even worth it.

Two weeks after the Second Wizarding War had ended, was your funeral. Everyone was there, the professors, your friends, your family, even some house elves to pay their respects. Harry was- unfortunately- in charge of doing a speech at your funeral, and he despised it, even when he felt the need to do so, nevertheless.

There he was, standing on a podium, looking to the crowd who had come for you. “Hello everyone, thank you so much for coming today.” He started, the nervousness inside of him was astounding.

“As you all know, Y/N and I have a very special relationship. Almost everyone in Hogwarts knows how close we were, platonically and romantically. Y/N was my best friend, my lover, and I could bravely say, the one who I could see spending the rest of my life with.”

Sad smiles spread across the room, and Harry couldn’t help but etch a sad smile to himself.

“Y/N died saving lives and defeating the bad, and the fact that they did it with no hesitation speaks volumes of their personality. Y/N was brave, kind-hearted, humorous, and humble. They were fierce, and they knew when to stand up for what’s right and say what was wrong. Y/N was simply… amazing.”

Hermione was already crying on Ron’s shoulder and Fred was looking down guiltily. Harry sighed quietly, he had told Fred it was none of his fault that Y/N died, but he still blamed himself for it.

“And being the amazing person they are, they wouldn’t want us to blame ourselves. They wouldn’t want us to feel bad for them, they would want us to smile whenever we remember our moments with them.” Harry said, trying to calm himself down as he felt a lump on his throat starting to grow.

“I remember a quote from my late godfather, Sirius Black, a few years ago. He said,” Harry paused, clearing his throat to ease the dull aching in his heart.

“The ones that love us never really leave us. And you can always find them…” Harry brought his hand to his heart, smiling with glassy eyes, “In here.”

---------------------------------------------------

It was hard.

It was hard to live without you.

He would wake up screaming during the middle of the night, the memories of him finding you in the Great Hall had rewinded inside his dreams every single night. While staying together with the Weasleys at the Burrow helped him a lot with his recovery, the nightmares had become so constant that Ron had to cast a ‘Muffliato’ charm to their shared bedroom every night to not disturb anyone else.

And being the great friend he is, Ron would always wake up and comfort Harry, lending him his shoulder when Harry needed to cry. He would accompany Harry to the kitchen, to get a mug of warm tea and talk about the dream, or in some days, just sit together quietly at the patio, watching the sun rises as it does every day.

Every morning as Molly walked down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, she wouldn’t forget to see Harry and Ron already being there, talking to each other quietly. And she wouldn’t forget to kiss their heads along with a motherly ‘Good Morning’ each time before she started. They would accompany her while she cooks, sometimes Harry would lend her a hand to make himself busy.

A few weeks into their routine, Fred slowly joins them in.

The first time Molly walked down and expected two heads already in the kitchen but came to see three, Molly had engulfed Fred in a tight hug as she cried on his chest. She kissed his cheeks repeatedly afterward, receiving a playful groan from Fred and chuckles from her two other sons.

A day at the Burrow was never dull. There was always something to do. Cleaning the house, de-gnoming the garden, feeding the pigs and cows, cleaning the barn, watering the flowers, fixing the leaking ceilings, and Harry’s favorite, playing Quidditch at the front yard.

Sometimes he would join the twins and Ginny, sometimes he would sit back and watch the game, and sometimes he would just stay in his room, watching the game from the window.

When those days came, he would spend the entire time reliving his memories with you. Harry could remember the first few weeks when he stayed at the Burrow; he went into a panic attack when he realized he had forgotten some of his memories with you. He felt like he couldn’t breathe then, he felt his chest constricting his lungs. Molly had to brew him a heavy calming potion to stop him from wailing your name with tears strolling down his face.

Ever since that incident, Harry had kept every single memory he had with you into tubes, his memories forming into glowing blue strings with the help of his wand. He had the tubes labeled, every single one of them.

‘Y/N riding a broom at First Year’

‘First Hogsmeade Date’

‘Yule Ball’

‘Christmas at the Burrow’

‘First Kiss’

‘Our Last Hug’

Harry had thought the action was too much, but he couldn’t help it. Even if his lips were smiling and his eyes were crinkling in laughter, he found himself missing you at every second. The Weasleys had become his family for years at this point, and the Burrow had become his home.

But somehow, only you and he knew your true homes are each other.

During Christmas, Andromeda Tonks would come by with little Teddy, Harry’s godson. While Andromeda would spend time with Arthur and Molly, Harry would spend as much time as he could with Teddy. He finds himself and Teddy to be very similar, losing their parents at a young age.

And Harry had sworn to himself not to let Teddy relive the life he once had before Hogwarts. In some way, he had seen Teddy as your honorary replacement. While nothing could ever replace you in his life; he had sworn the first and last person he’d propose to be you, Teddy filled his heart like no other.

Before he knew it, Harry had reached his 20s. He had grown significantly better from mourning you every second to smiling gently whenever your name was mentioned. He moved away from the Burrow, purchasing a cottage at Godric’s Hollow with the money he was inherited, with Ron as his housemate.

“Uncle Harry! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Harry groaned as a tiny body jumped on his bed, disrupting his sleep. He sleepily looked at the alarm clock, groaning once again at the little child he had agreed to stay with him over the summer, “Teddy, it’s 8 am, let Uncle Harry sleep…”

He heard the five-year-old whine in disagreement, “But Uncle Harry! You promised me we could go to Uncle Fred and Uncle George’s shop today!” Harry oof-ed as Teddy jumped on his body, sprawling on him, the little’s tousled hair glowed bright ginger.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, hugging the child on his chest playfully, “What I promised was we’ll go to the shop after we visited St. Mungos to visit Uncle Fred’s new-born baby, Teddy.”

The boy pouted, “The same thing… Ooh! Can we have pancakes?” Teddy was fast to change the subject, and Harry laughed in amusement. He sat up, still hugging the little boy, and kissed him on the cheek, “Alright, alright. Let me shower first. Wait- Where’s Uncle Ron?”

“Aunt Hermione had come over early to steal him away. She said she wants to have a breakfast date with him.” Teddy said innocently and Harry rolled his eyes, “Of course she did.”

“Oh, Uncle Harry?” Teddy chirped, following Harry here and there across the cottage like a baby duck. “Yes, Teddy?” Harry replied, drinking from a bottle of water stored in the fridge.

“I tinkled the bed again.”

---------------------------------------------------

“Oh Harry, it’s so nice to see you after so long!” Molly gushed and gave him a warm hug as Harry and Teddy arrived in St. Mungos by the Floo Powder. Harry smiled warmly at the woman, “I’ve missed you too, Molly.”

Everyone was there, even Ron and Hermione. “Really, Mione? The least you could do is tell me.” Harry chuckled as he came over to hug the girl who laughed slightly. “Well I did, I told Teddy to tell you.” She said, hugging the little boy hello afterward.

George then appeared from the ward, “Come on lads, the baby’s awake now.”

The group walked into the private ward Fred had arranged for his wife. He had met her when she first moved into Diagon Alley, with her flower shop just across the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes about a year ago. Fred found comfort in her immediately, you could say it was love at first sight for both of them.

In an instant, there were coos and awes spreading across the ward. In Fred’s arm, was a baby bundled up in purple cloth with a beanie on its head, eyes were blinking slowly, and a tiny hand was holding Fred’s index finger. Right beside him, was his wife sitting up on the bed, looking rightfully exhausted.

“Oh, Fred, the baby’s lovely!” Fleur gushed as she hugged Fred’s wife hello. The woman was beautiful, black long hair with a striking pair of hazel eyes. If Harry had remembered correctly, her name was Lara.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Ron asked, and Fred gently smiled, his eyes never left his precious child, “It’s a girl.”

Fred softly removed the beanie from his daughter’s head, and the crowd’s smile widened at the sight of the famous ginger hair. “At least we know she’s really a Weasley now,” George joked, and they chuckled.

“Uncle Harry, up, up,” Teddy said as he lifted his arms to Harry, and Harry lifted him to let him see. Teddy saw the baby, and her striking orange hair, he giggled and without him knowing, his hair turned to ginger as well.

They laughed again, and Harry playfully gasped, “Teddy’s a Weasley? Oh my,” He said, tickling the child’s belly, and Teddy giggled.

“Wanna know what her name is?” Fred asked, and attention went to him again. “Hurry up then, don’t leave us hanging,” Ginny remarked playfully, expecting Fred to roll his eyes but instead, his smile widened.

“Everybody, please welcome, my daughter; Charlotte Y/N Weasley.”

Harry snapped his eyes from the baby to Fred, and the tall ginger sent him a knowing smile with tear-filled eyes. “Fred had wanted to name her Y/N for a while now, he said they saved his life.” Lara softly said, speaking for her husband.

The crowd was quiet until Molly came forward and hugged her son, “I love it,” She whispered, fearing if her voice got any louder, the trembling in it would sound so loud.

“This way, they’ll be with us, always.” Fred huffed laughter, trying so hard not to cry. Harry had mirrored his expression; tears were starting to fill his eyes. “I feel like Charlotte’s not going to be her name around the house now,” Hermione said, chuckling as she wiped the happy tears away.

Ron snickered, “Bet Charlotte’s her middle name now,” And the crowd erupted in laughter. Harry couldn’t laugh, his eyes were trained to the new-born whose name is now after you.

“What do you think, Harry?” Fred asked, smiling knowingly at the longing expression Harry had.

Harry was feeling a lot of things. It has been more than 3 years since you passed, and he hadn’t forgotten you ever since. He had told Teddy fun facts about you ever since the summer started, and he had seen you in his dreams smiling lately. For some reason, he didn’t feel sad at all, he was elated at the sight of young Charlotte Y/N in front of him.

Already knowing that she’s going to grow up as an amazing person, he gave Fred a bright smile as he said,

“She’s wonderful.”

[headheartbellarke]

DISTRACTED | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon: “5 times reader (girlfriend) is almost distracted by a shirtless Charlie and one time she actually is.” PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x fem!reader WORDS: 1.6k WARNING(s): some charlie thirst, what’s new ;) SUMMARY: 4 times Y/N is almost distracted by her shirtless boyfriend and 1 time she actually is.

0.

You pride yourself over the fact that you never get distracted, no matter what. But sometimes, just sometimes, you can’t help it.

Especially when your boyfriend looks like that.

1.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Your eyes feel as if they are burning, and the ever-persistent headache of yours seems to be particularly intense today.

Yet, pushing all that tiredness away, you keep typing, typing, typing. The deadline for your essay that carries twenty per cent of your grade of your final year of college is tomorrow, and you’ve still got three hundred words to write.

Three hundred words does not seem like a lot on any other day, but after three cups of coffee and seven hours of staring at your laptop screen, it feels like death. The fact that you seem to be in a rut right now doesn’t help, either.

You scrounge around your brain, trying to pull ideas from each fold, but it’s useless. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s because of your boyfriend, Charlie, who has currently resorted to painting your toenails after not getting any sort of attention from you for the past few hours.

Ever since lockdown started, you and your boyfriend have been living together in your shared apartment in Toronto. You two have been planning to move in together for a while, but his work and your college always seemed to be obstacles. But this lockdown gave you both the perfect opportunity – plus, it was time, too. You two have been dating for more than four years – although, you’ve had a crush on him for as long as you can remember, but the intensity of it was realized only in the moment when he kissed you after an amazing prom together – you guys went together because you were best friends and loved being around each other more than anything. But the fact that there could be something more, something hidden in years of friendship seemed unlikely to the both of you before that day.

“Done.” He says, proudly. Your eyes leave your screen to look at the beautiful emerald colour on your toenails. You smile at him, and say, “That’s gorgeous, Char. Where’d you find it?”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “It was in the bottom of your bag.”

You nod. “Right. I bought it the day before my last offline exam ended. I forgot.”

He smiles. “Now, will you pay me some attention?”

You purse your lips and pretend to be thinking. “Hmm… tempting, but no. I still have to get this done.”

He groans, dramatically. “You have been ignoring me for past hundred hours!”

You chuckle, ruffling his hair. “You’re so dramatic. It’s only been half a day. Now, go away. I need to finish this.”

He groans, again, and you wonder if he’s finally given up.

Instead, he rolls off the bed, and stands taller, leaning against the doorframe. “Y/N?”

You hum in question, as he makes a show out of taking off his T-shirt.

You bite your lip and remember how long it has been since you’ve run your hands on his chest. But you know that he’s doing this on purpose, to get a fraction of your attention. He knows and is proud of the fact that he has a hold over you, and the fact that even after four years, he still gives you butterflies over the slightest of smiles.

So, instead of giving in, you crawl under your covers with your laptop and decide to work there, as you suddenly gain inspiration, and thank yourself for not being distracted by your boyfriend’s absolutely beautiful body.

“Oh, come on!”

2.

The second time hit happens, it’s a Tuesday morning, and you’re giving an exam. Your laptop is in front of you, the face of your teacher and classmates filling your screen, as the sound of your pen scratching against your answer sheet fills the room.  

You bite the end of your pen, pondering over a question when you suddenly hear your boyfriend’s voice. You look up, and notice him, shirtless, and talking on the phone to someone.

“Yeah, I mean, we could do that…” He says, and your eyes trail across his back, as he stares out the window on the wall opposite to you.

“No, Mom, we’re not gonna drive to Canada. I’m not that crazy!” He exclaims, and you arch your neck to get a better view of him, and the sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

“Sure, I can ask Y/N…” He says, and you quickly avert your eyes back to your paper, just in time to hear your teacher call out your name.

“Y/N? What are you looking at?” She asks, and you adjust your headphones, clearing your throat.

“I thought someone was at the door. Sorry, Ms. Harrington.” You’re painfully aware of the warmth spreading through your cheeks, and as she nods, you start writing again.

You hear Charlie whisper a ‘sorry’, and you smile at him – he thinks that the reason your teacher just called you out is because he was going to ask you something.

You don’t correct him – his ego doesn’t need to know the fact that you were almost distracted.

3.

Just one more question, you think. One more question, and you’re done with this semester.

But your mind is wandering, and the fact that you still have thirty minutes left doesn’t help. When this exam started, you thought that you wouldn’t be able to finish it in time and wrote as fast as you could, but now there’s plenty of time and just one, tiny answer left.

You rest your elbows on your desk and check on your classmates. Everyone is frantically scribbling, and you smile evilly at the fact that you’re not one of them right now.

“Honey? You have a minute?”

You hear Charlie from behind you. You nod, and say, “I’m listening.” You don’t turn back, since you have to keep an eye on your teacher. (She is knitting right now, for some reason.)

“You wanna go somewhere for the holidays?” He says, his raspy morning voice causing goosebumps to appear on your skin.

“I’m not sure… I mean we just came back from Maui last month – do you think it’s wise to go somewhere again?”

“Well, we’ll maintain social distancing, and use masks.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Come on, it’s our fifth anniversary!”

You finally look at him, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s shirtless, as usual. You mentally curse him as you think that you need to add ‘no being shirtless for no reason’ to your household rules. (Currently, you have three: one, no disturbing the other while working; two, following the chore chart; three, no spilling coffee or red wine on the white living room rug.) (The last one has occurred more times than one might expect.)

You focus on keeping your eyes trained on his, but you still struggle to form words. “I – not a wise idea…”

He grins, understanding the situation, as you avert your eyes back to your paper.

“Please, baby?”

You know he’s pouting.

“Fine.” You say, just to get him off your back.

“You’re the best!” He presses a kiss to your cheek and is instantly gone. As your mind still tries to hold on to the frayed strings of the warmth and the smell of his presence, you pray that your classmates didn’t notice the interaction.

4.

You smile at Charlie’s mother, who is talking animatedly on your phone.

“Then, I told Meg to get some sugar, but she bought salt instead, and to top that, she dumped the entire bowl into my batter! Now, it tastes like absolute shit!” She glares at Megan, Charlie’s sister, who smiles sheepishly from behind her.

You laugh. “Like brother, like sister.”

“You know it.” She says, her French accent thick.

“So, I was thinking… Maybe, after the holidays, we could fly back to Dieppe? It’s not like we’re gonna go to college any time soon, so –”

“Yes, please! I miss you guys so much. You know, last night –”

She starts to say something else, but your boyfriend is doing push ups in front of you, and it’s really, really, really hard to focus, especially when his body is glistening under the afternoon sun.

He seems to feel your gaze, and sharply turns towards you, while you quickly look back to his mother.

“–but the point is, I miss you two.” She finishes, while Megan nods. “Me too, sis. It’s so boring here without you two.”

You smile and can feel warmth in your stomach. “Of course. I miss you guys, too. Charlie’s so boring.”

“Hey!”

+1.

You exhale and close the lid of your laptop. “I’m done!” You yell, and Charlie instantly appears at the door, and runs towards the bed you’re currently seated on, and jumps atop.

“Finally! I missed you!” He says, wrapping an arm around your torso, pulling you closer.

“I missed you too, baby. But now I’m done with all my assignments, so I’m all yours for the next two weeks!” You sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He grins, and your eyes avert to his chest, but this time, you let yourself be distracted, because after weeks of sleep deprivation and pure torture, you deserve this.

You smile, connecting your lips, and run your hands on his chest. He smiles against the kiss, and you whisper, “I love you so much.”

“And I love you so much.”

as always feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[hops-hunny]

Hello?

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Black!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Request: N/A

Summary: Neville and (Y/n) get high together often.

Warnings: drugs( weed lmao), swearing, making out

A/N: This was based on the specific lyric below from Hello? by Clairo ft Reji Snow. Pothead confident Neville is my favorite headcanon dfregfefe. I also felt like writing for Neville bc after reading a lot of @lxngbottom​‘s fics I was DEEPLY inspired.

“Are you into me, like I'm into you?

Do you wanna do the things I wanna do with you?

You're so close, and yet so far

I wonder how you look when you're in the dark”

The Weasley siblings all found themselves in absolute bliss when their parents told them they were going on a getaway. Apparently Arthur had learned about muggle spas and thought it’d be a lovely idea to take his wife to one for a much needed vacation after many years she had been caring for her children (and sometimes their guess) without barely any breaks. The gaggle of gingers all found it to be quite a wonderful idea too, but for other reasons. Although they had varying reasons of why they were excited for their parents to leave the house, Ron’s being wanting to invite over the other ⅔ members of the Golden Trio, Ginny wanting to wear that skirt that her mum always told her was ‘just a tad too short, dear’, and lastly Fred & George wanting to try out new and exciting inventions there was that one thing that tied them all together: wanting to get blazed out of their fucking minds. 

However, as quickly as that mischievous glint formed in all their eyes, their mother said something they all dreaded.

“Oh and by the way, we’re leaving Percy in charge!”

A collective groan was shared as the boy in question held a proud and cocky smirk that once again, he was the most trusted out of his siblings. However as per usual, Fred and George were not giving up that easily.

“What are we going to do?! You know Percy will rat on us!” Ron whispered yelled at the other three through gritted teeth. They all sat around the quaint little living room, distressed at what to do. Ron had already sent a text (is that what they were called? He wasn’t used to the muggle technology (Y/n) had got them all to use) to both Hermione and Harry telling them to pack their bags. He’d never live it down!

“Oh relax dear brother of mine! Me and Freddie here suspected something like this would happen so we came prepared. Right Fred?” George said with a smirk as he looked to his twin to the right of him. George nodded before pulling out an envelope.

“Exhibit A also known as ‘Blackmail dear Percival Into Leaving the House for the Summer.” he grin grew wider as he opened the envelope pulling out the photos. In the photos, Percy was shirtless during a party in the gryffindor common room. He had a half drunk bottle of fire whiskey in one hand and a blunt in his other which was held to his lips. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if dear ol’ mum and pop anonymously got pictures of their golden boy doing such awful acts?” he cooed, feigning a voice of disappointment.

“While you two idiots may not be helpful for jack shit else, leave it up to you to have a plan to get into trouble.” Ginny said rolling her eyes, a small smile forming on her face. “Well I guess that’s settled then. I’ll hit up (Y/n), Ron you hit up Nev and tell him to bring the loud. Lots of it too!”

-------------------------------------

That’s how they all ended up where they are currently. ‘Exhibit A’ was more than enough to get Percy packing his bags and leaving for a friends house after their parents had left. And of course, Hermione, Harry, (Y/n), and Neville had all shown up at the Burrow bright and as happy as ever. 

Although many people dealt around Hogwarts, Neville’s weed was always the best. He grew custom strains which were infused with other magical plants that had all sorts of properties. You wanted it to taste and smell like cheesecake? Done. Something odorless that packed a mean punch? Also done. He took good care of his product and went through the precautions to make sure it was not only safe but also that he didn’t get caught. He wasn’t always an avid weed smoker though. Originally, a friend had suggested it to him to help with his anxiety which had increased over the years but eventually it became less of an anxiety reducer and more of a favorite pastime. And hell, it left him with a pretty fucking nice amount of galleons in his pocket. It was also how he had met her.

He looked up at her form as she sat across the shed, looking as radiant as ever. She was laughing at something but he didn't know what over the sound of the music. One of his favorite things about her was how beautiful the whiteness of her smile was in comparison to her rich brown skin. It drove him absolutely nuts. It had only been a few weeks since he last saw her but as usual there was something new about her appearance.

He let his eyes wander over the work of art that was (Y/n). Her hair was different, her usual shoulder length black box braids had been swapped our for a beautiful set of honey blonde faux locs that stopped at her waist. In addition to her septum, she now had a nose ring on the left side of her nose and- was that a smiley piercing? Her skin was glowing vibrantly under the different hues of gold of LED lights that corresponded with the music. His eyes shifted down to her chest. 'Hm, she finally got the other one pierced' he noted due to the fact that her crochet bikini top left only the best bits of her breast to the imagination. And then he got to his favorite part. Her legs. Her supple, plush, smooth as glass legs. This wasn’t the first time he had stared at them longer than needed. He couldn’t help it, they were so fucking thick. And, were those his shorts? She must've stolen them from him last smoke sesh. He didn't mind though, she pulled off those denim shorts well and they hugged her in all the right fucking places.

“Bloody hell Nev, what’s taking you so long to roll the joint? Are you already that gone?” Ron groaned as he threw his head back. Neville looked down at the half rolled blunt in his hands, continuing to lick and roll it skillfully.

“Shut up Ron, just hit the fucking bong and leave Neville alone. Ol’ dramatic ass.” there was that honeysuckle voice he loved. God he could listen to her talk for fucking hours. I mean he had before. Her voice was sweet in the center and rough around the edges, a thick american accent still prominent in her voice. He smiled at that, looking up at her to find her already looking at him. As he continued to roll, he licked a fat strip on the wrap before shooting her a wink. 

“Thank you, petal.” he murmured quietly knowing she hadn’t heard as he looked back down at his hands finishing up. He grabbed the same lighter that he carried with him everywhere before lighting the end. As he was about to take a hit, a certain pair of gloss coated lips leaned over his shoulders taking a hit as she wrapped her arms around his upper half. 

Ron groaned again in irritation. “I hate it when you get the first hit! You always leave that damn sticky shit all over the blunt.” as he glared at the girl. She giggled before crawling off the wraparound couch taking her place next to brunette ruffling his long shaggy hair. He had been growing it out recently for no particular reason (definitely not the girl to his right).

“Ron you always buggin on something, nigga shut the fuck up! That’s why when you hit the blunt you leave it wet. Ol’ soppy mouth nigga I swear to god. Share with Mione.” she retorted as she leaned into Neville’s side looking up at him. He smiled down at her before wrapping his arm around her bringing her impossibly close. They both loved each other's touch when they were high. Whenever he’d touch her in one spot, (Y/n) always felt it in another- especially between her legs. She leaned up, kissing his freckled cheek with a smile. “Hey sir, how’s my favorite doing today?” she questioned as he bent down, placing a kiss right below her ear. 

“You know I’m always content when you’re next to me, flower. You don’t even have to question it.” he whispered in her ear before pulling back. She felt her face heat up as she rolled her eyes shoving him lightly. She crawled in his lap, straddling him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He instinctively moved one to her waist, stroking the smooth exposed sepia skin that was there for his enjoyment.

“You always talking some mess, Nev. Why don’t you do something bout it?” she said, motioning for him to hold the blunt up to her lips. He ignored her, looking into her eyes as he took a fat rip. He removed his hand from her waist, gripping her cheeks with it, rings digging into her skin. He leaned impossibly close as he shot gunned the smoke into her mouth. His lips hovered impossibly close to hers. ‘Finally’ she found herself thinking as she closed her eyes. However, the feeling of his soft pink lips never hit hers and she opened her eyes to find him smirking at her.

“And ruin this little game we have? Never.” He said, finally passing the blunt to her. If he had to be honest with himself, he was scared shitless. He was afraid if he actually did make that final move, jumped that final obstacle that she would be gone from his life. Sure, they made out all the time. It was normal for the two of them to get quite handsy with each other during smoke sessions but he found not even that being enough. He didn’t just wanna have his hands on her when he was high or wasted out of his fucking mind, he wanted her all the time. He wanted to sneak into each other's dorms and cuddle till wee hours of the morning. To carry her things to class for her. He wanted to live, breathe, and sleep (Y/n). But, is that what she wanted? He never knew. 

She sighed softly to herself, contemplating. It was very apparent to her that Neville wanted her just as badly as he wanted her. So, why had he never jumped the gun? Did he not want more? Was he really content with this little cat and mouse game they had? He couldn’t be, she knew who he was at heart which was a romantic just as she was. She was pulled from her thoughts as she heard the familiar beat of Hello? by Clairo ft Reji Snow. She smirked at him, leaning her forehead against his as she began to grind softly on his lap.

“Are you into me? Like I’m into you. Do you wanna do the things I wanna do with you?” she sung to him softly, her (e/c) eyes meeting his hazel ones. He moved his hands up and down her body as she continued to grind her hips down on his. He let his hands travel to her ass, gripping it firmly. She leaned back slightly as she hit the blunt before returning the favor he had earlier. “You’re so close, and yet so far. I wonder how you look when you’re in the dark.” (Y/n)  continued singing as kissed up his neck, nibbling at the junction of his jaw and neck. He took one of the hands from her ass, moving some of the locs that had fallen into her face. He quickly tossed the blunt out of her hand into the ashtray in the table in front of them before leaning in and kissing her with such strong intensity.

The honey blonde haired girl moaned softly, already putty in the boy’s hands. Neville always knew exactly what to do with his hands. Where to kiss, where to tug, where to bite. Anything but actually dealing with the problem between her legs. She tangled her hands into the back of his hair, matching his lip movement. As he continued holding her ass with one hand, he used his other to stroke her cheek gently. A stark contrast to the kiss they were in which was wet, rough, and fast. He trailed his tongue over her lip which she gladly accepted. Their tongues danced together lazily as sweat began to build up on both of them. She pulled away partly, a trail of spit connecting them.

“Take this dumb ass jacket off. It’s the middle of July.” She grumbled as she began to unzip it, leaving him in some muggle band shirt she had gotten him one year from the states. She leaned back in, continuing to move her hips to the beat of the song. Neville began to move his hips up to match her movements. “Oh? So you got moves now huh? Who taught you those?”

“Don’t play dumb petal, you know you did.” He responded before gripping at her neck with his ringed hand. She gasped softly, looking into his blood shot blown out eyes. The music, the lighting, his touch? It was all much too much to handle. Her senses were overloaded by pleasure, the jane in her system. He tightened his hand some, leaning in closer. “You’re driving me absolutely mad, darling. Do you know that? I’d do anything you asked me to.” the movement of her hips had stilled but he kept going. She could feel the imprint of his member through his pants. Suddenly it was the only thing (Y/n) could focus on.

“Them Ravenclaw girls weren’t lying then, huh? You packin like that Nev?” she said suddenly. She knew he had asked her something a second ago, but the weed was really starting to hit. Her brain was foggy and hazed, the only thing she could think about now was him. She took one of her manicured hands, trailing it down his shirt till she reached his crotch. She gripped it in her hands, eyes widening slightly. He chuckled softly, catching her attention.

“Don’t act so surprised. You know I used to get around quite a bit.” He said, moving so his tent was resting against her inner thigh.

“Used to?” she questioned, laying her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. She took in his scent sighing softly. Neville always smelled like a mix of lavenders, cologne, and that loud. She knew it from anywhere, especially when she smelled it in the amortentia they brewed during potions that one time.

“Yeah I don’t really pipe girls like I used to.” He moved his hands up, embracing her close as he kissed the top of her head. “Ever since a certain pesky little American girl started making their way into my life, she’s all I could think about.” she rolled her eyes some, punching him on the arm as he began to laugh.

“Don’t fuck around like that, that shit aint even funny.” she grumbled, pouting as she crossed her arms. “I thought you had an actual answer!”

“On god that was my actual answer, (Y/n)! You asked why and I told you why. Absolutely anyone could tell I’m mad for you.” Neville said as he uncrossed her arms, holding her small delicate hands in his large ones. He intertwined their hands, her sharp acrylic nails digging into his hands slightly. “Did you know when Keaton Willis asked you to Hogsmeade, I was so mad that I wouldn’t sell to him for 3 months?!”

“But I didn’t even go with him! Me and you went together to go get ice cream, remember?”

“So?! He still fucking asked you. I’m getting heated just thinkin’ about it.” He mumbled as he looked away from her. He pulled her closer, resting his head on the top of hers. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you dating such a loser. He’s not even a good guy and he’s always fucking short with his galleons when he buys. I have to practically hound the guy for my money. Yknow what? Fuck it.” he looked up at the brown skinned girl before holding her face in both his hands. He took in her features. Her plump lips, edges laid to perfection, face ‘beat to the gods’ as she would say. “Go out with me. Be my girl, petal. I can’t bear you not being mine for another second.” he said. She pretended to ponder for a bit before she looked back at him.

“Depends, will I get free weed? I expect free weed from dating the weed man, you know.” she said with a giggle. He rolled his eyes shaking his head.

“You already get free weed! Don’t pretend you don’t.” he said loudly, catching the others’ attention.

“What? Nev that’s not fair! You always make me pay and we’re mates! What happened to bros befo-”

“Ron you finish that and you ain’t leavin this shed with an eye, I can promise you that boy.” she whipped her head around quickly, glaring at the boy. Ron quickly shut his mouth knowing first hand that her promises were never empty. He gulped slightly before nodding, turning back to Hermione who handed him the bong muttering something about how he looked like he needed it.

“But to answer your question, Nev baby, I’d love to be your girl. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than doing so.” (Y/n) leaned forward, leaving a lip gloss print on his cheek. 

“Well I’m glad you said yes because it would’ve been very awkward explaining to everyone tomorrow where that hickey on your neck came from.”

“Nev!”

[blueprint-han]

desert rose — yang jeongin.

↪ “ Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid. ”

— “ You’d have never thought that one incident would’ve enlightened you of how much in love you were with your childhood best friend, but it turns out to be more of a problem when you’re threatened with a life-ending disease with no cure whatsoever. Or so you thought. ”

pairing: jeongin x reader

genre: hanahaki au; fluff, angst with a happy ending.

⇥ warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of blood (not very graphic but enough that it’s tagged), lots of angst, also in this world the hanahaki surgery isn’t discovered yet, because it’s a fairly recent discovery, also y/n’s dad is nowhere mentioned in this fic idk take it as you like but i imagined him to pass away when y/n was 12 for some reason :((, please do not read if you triggered by topics of death or blood or disease! These themes will be prevalent though not in super explicit detail, they are still there. If I missed a warning, let me know. <3

word count: 11.09 K

type: long one-shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Yang Jeongin, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

part of: the @bystay​ skznta event, written for @stayndays​ !!

song: inspired from Desert Rose by Lolo Zouaï <3 No relation to the fic but it did inspire the ~vibes~.

↯ note: I’m gonna be honest this tired me out so much that I’m glad I finished it, it took me longer than I expected and it got longer than I expected, but nonetheless, here you go shayna! Hi!! It’s me! Your secret santa! Sorry I couldn’t send you that many asks because my uni is a bitch™, and I wish I could’ve made this better, but I guess this will have to do for now. I hope you like it, and I loved being your santa! 🥺 I hope we can interact more in the future, and this isn’t edited so pls go easy on me （＞人＜；）eiury2y4er okay happy reading! <3 love you shayna! <3 I wish I could give this more editing time :( but... i hope u still like it!  ⇥ dawn.☀️

Jeongin’s eyes are really pretty.

The first time you'd made this miniscule observation was during your summer vacation road trip when the sun shined a tad bit overly bright, and Jeongin’s umbrella had a hole in it. The exact details of how it ended up torn don’t matter, but the way Jeongin’s eyes seemed to shimmer in the harsh noon sun almost made it seem worth it.

You remember it clearly — He’d smiled brightly when his eyes met yours, eyes crinkling into tiny little half-moons before his expression turned neutral. At that moment, you were lost into the abyss that was his midnight black orbs. They seemed to hold glimmering stars in them, ones that outshone the specks of white in the night sky.

Looking back, you didn’t think of it much, opting to shake your head off it’s daze before running to where Jeongin stood, throwing a bottle of water into his backpack and laughing at some corny jokes the rest of the group cracked.

Jeongin was a friend — a good friend. In fact, you could call him your best friend, though it had never been verbalized. You couldn’t remember exactly when or how you’d gotten closer to him — it just happened, like everything important in this world did. Like how Jeongin says “It was fate, Y/N, fate” in that old-man-philosopher voice to get you to laugh (Of course it would never work, but you’d still laugh, because anything to see him give you that bright, toothy grin and that little scrunch of his nose in acknowledgement).

The memory of how it all started  is as clear as the sky, as pure as the pigment of a rose.

“Don’t stray too far away, alright? Meet me back here in two hours.” The instructor screams, and all the students chime in with a collective “Yes, ma’am!”. 

 “Good, now go collect your flowers.”

A flower-picking expedition isn’t a common event in a school field trip, at least in your school. You’re more used to the normal visits to the ice cream factory, or the butterfly park (which, to be fair, had some pretty flowers, if only you could pick them) or another affiliated school. Nevertheless, you don’t complain, because the prospect of your school giving you a chance to collect all the pretty flowers you could spot here had you on top of the clouds.

You’re allowed to go alone or in groups of two, and of course, Jeongin has you by the arm the moment your teacher had screamed “Disperse!” at the top of her lungs (P.E teachers had a thing for screaming, apparently). Ignoring the teasing glances the other boys made towards the both of you, you set sail on your path, scanning all the bushes for any wild and unique flowers you could find.

“Oh look, there’s one!” You pointed out after a good four-minute-walk, almost stumbling in your one-inch-too-tight-shoes and ignoring Jeongin’s giggle at your antics. You beckoned him over to where you were standing and he obliged, tucking his sweater paws into his pockets before walking over to where you were staring at the pretty flower.

So, flowers. They’d always fascinated you. You’d developed said fascination ever since you were six. Something about the sheer way the petals were arranged, the various ranges of coloring — vivid, gradient, muted — the beauty of something so delicate and intricate always drew you in. You found yourself examining a flower for hours, and surprisingly, you never grew tired of it. They’d helped you through a lot when you felt particularly down, too. Perfect distraction — snuggling against Jeongin’s arm and playing with the flower he’d always pick out for every visit, surrounded by calming; almost numbing silence along with the sound of his steady breathing, maybe sometimes his heartbeat too when he’d get overly affectionate. Flowers in a way, in every way, were your escape. You loved them. 

“Hmmm.” Jeongin hummed over the sounds of the leaves susurrating and rustling on the ground, the wind enveloping you like a cold, yet oddly comfortable blanket. He fixed his round glasses over his nose, quickly flipping through his encyclopedia. No one really questioned him as to why he carried it wherever he went — but just like you, he had a vivid fascination for flowers too. It was something the both of you fit like a glove on, and you were beyond grateful to meet someone who could click with you so well.

“This is wolfsbane, we can’t pick it.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s poisonous, the whole plant is.”

“Oh…” You pouted, staring at the flower once more. You took in the sight of lush, violet petals, the way they wrapped around the centre and had almost no smell.

“Hey.” He touched your hand worriedly. “You didn’t touch them, right?”

“No, I didn’t. I know better than to touch plants without knowing what they are.”

“Good.” There you could see it again. That lovely, bright smile, one more of relief this time. When you looked into his eyes, you seemed lost — you could capture every flutter of his lashes against his cheeks, count every lustrous star that was laid in his eyes. “That’s good, the poison can be absorbed easily through your skin.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself smile at him, hands dropping down to fiddle with the hem of your frock. 

“Come on, I wanna get some shots for my book. Plus some flowers.” Pulling at your hand, he led you amidst the varying degrees of green and the damp smell of grass for a good distance, before halting in front of a bush. You knew what he’s referencing to by ‘shots’. The camera that hangs around his back, ready to immortalize the memory into his SD card, or rather make a polaroid (or a painting, if he’s being artistic) and tape it to his notebook along with the pressed flower.

“Look!”

Trip a step back, and you yelp at the sudden intrusion to your pace, pouting at Jeongin before looking in the direction he had his eyes fixated on. “Roses.” You giggle, kneeling in front of the bush and hissing when you feel the damp coldness of the grassy floor seep into your knees. “They’re pretty.” 

You can barely hear the sound of students walking past you — the moment seems almost captivating — nothing heard, nothing felt except the whirring of the wind, and the fresh smell of various plants mixed together, it carries.

This part of the garden seems particularly shady and cool, and some of the roses haven’t bloomed yet. A few rosebuds, a few half-bloomed roses, and two fully bloomed, deep red roses, sitting nicely against the green foliage.

Jeongin kneels before you, and you turn to smile at him, chortling at the way his glasses are about to fall over his nose again. You ruffle his black hair gently before fixing the glasses up his nose. 

“You might wanna get a chain attached to that thing. You know those strings that go around your neck and to your glasses to hold them in place?”

Jeongin chuckles. “It’s alright. I don’t like my glasses anyways.”

“Whyyy…?” You whine, poking his arm playfully before directing your focus back on the rose. “You look so adorable with them.”

Your friend feels a smile tug at his lips, leaning in to pinch your cheeks lightly. “You’re adorable.” He says, before focusing on the rose, (thankfully) oblivious to the way your cheeks feel warm after his action.

“Here, let me pick them out and then we can press them into our journals.” Yes. The both of you have matching journals, owing to your near obsession with flowers. You oft share them with each other and get fascinated by how the other views the flower, how they delicately craft words into how the little gift of nature meant to them. It’s a heartwarming tradition — one of the main reasons you follow it till date. 

Jeongin pulls out a pair of scissors from his satchel, and albeit with a lot of force (and the adorable nose scrunch™, manages to cut off a decent amount of stem with the fully bloomed flower, carefully bringing it to his nose to smell it before doing the same to the other one. And all the while, you silently watch.

“Here, this one is more fresh.” It’s so surprising how he can just say that by looking at the flower. Then again, you know him better than anyone, so it’s not surprising at all. He looks at you with dreamy, fluttering eyes and that precious smile on his face, his hair falling perfectly on his forehead. You want to reach out and fix the stray hairs back into position, but you hold back, swallowing the lump in your throat when you look into his pretty, pretty eyes. Trying your damnedest to not get mesmerized, lost in them once again.

It doesn’t seem like a very, very special moment. And to you at that time, it wasn’t special. You simply ignored the heat that crept up your face at his silent gesture, nodding sporadically and ignoring the way you tensed up more when your fingers touched, barely.

Your heart suddenly thumped against your chest with renewed vigour, and you could tell Jeongin was close to noticing it too. 

“T-thank you, that's very sweet.” Fixing the frills of your frock, you smooth them over before looking further and deeper into the garden.

“Lend me a hand, please.”

You once again, ignore the way your heart flutters at his statement, silently extending your hand and covering up your sudden emotion with a smile. His hand feels soft, warm in your hold, fingertips slightly rough from when he used to play the violin. You like it, though.

“Here.” He places the rose carefully in your palm, making sure no thorns prick the delicate skin of your palm, and you can’t help but smile at the tiny reassurance. A nod of approval and you tuck the flower away neatly into your satchel, almost like a valuable present he’d given you, oblivious to the way Jeongin’s eyes twinkled at your action, his smile beaming.

My god, who would’ve known this flower could’ve brought you so, so much trouble?

It had started simple, almost unnoticeable. Just little glances towards Jeongin when he’d come over to watch a movie, getting lost in the way his hair looked exceptionally soft to touch, silently drifting off into space as you admired him from the backseat during class — sure, you were supposed to be focusing on the lesson and taking notes, but something about the way the rim of Jeongin’s sunglasses caught the sunlight and created a lens flare effect was breathtaking to watch.

That, combined with his beauty, his personality. It was too much, too much to handle.

You found yourself waiting to get a glimpse of him, even a tiny glance of his smile would be enough to make your day — to make your heart flutter. 

He was pretty.

You suppose it’s because being Jeongin’s best friend meant you already knew about the kind and empathetic man he was — but for the love of god, you could not stop your heart from fluttering when you heard his name, let alone looked at him and his mind-numbingly pretty smile, his dazzling eyes that always seemed to keep you off the ground.

Oh my, was this love?

You didn’t believe it. You didn’t agree, couldn’t accept that this was love. Maybe it was just your way of showing appreciation for him, for everything he’d done for you? Yes. That was probably it. 

Love wasn’t something you’d experienced — how could you jump to the conclusion? 

But you couldn’t pin the feeling you were feeling to another word — though you were desperate. The way your heart beat faster around him, the way you started noticing all the tiny details that made you fall for him even more, and for what? Just because he happened to give you a fresher, more lusciously colored rose after choosing them on his own? 

Jeongin had noticed it too — it was hard not to when you’d start fiddling with your thumbs, twirling your hair, and the way heat would rush to your face when he did as little as smile at you — you’d fallen for him — and while he was ever-the-oblivious to realise the implications of your actions, he did know that something was wrong.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jeongin asks rather dully, seeming kind of worried about your current state. You’re resting your head against his lap, but Jeongin can feel the warmth of your cheek through the thin material of his shorts — and not the regular kind. The kind of heat one would radiate when they’d either been overly flustered. Or possibly a fever.

He rests a single palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter shut, and there it is again. The butterflies in your stomach, the fuzzies in your head, and the tingling that shot up to your fingertips. “Are you sick? Is that why you’re oddly quiet today? You haven’t said or eaten anything.”

“Ah, no, I’m alright.” You try to hide the dizziness in your voice, snuggling in his hold before fluttering your eyes close. Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t question it. 

“Alright, we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.” Even though you aren’t facing him right now, you can feel him smile in melancholy. 

“Hey Y/N?” 

“Yes?”

“You know I’m here for you, right?”

Oh, you knew.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t — maybe that would’ve prevented it from ending this way.

It’s such a common scenario — in movies, in books, in media. Two best friends falling in love with each other, confessing their love in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over gentle touches and lingering kisses. You’ve always had an attachment to those kinds of movies or books — because for you, that kind of love was special in it’s own way.

Those little ways the lead characters had of showing each other their undying love, those subtle acts were so special, so special in their own way. Those books had shown you how heartwarming, how vulnerable yet rigid, strong that relationship could be. It was such a pretty world to explore, to fantasize. You kind of felt that you and Jeongin were the protagonists of those books, those movies.

Except, you had no happy ending.

The books failed to show how painful it was to swallow, to digest the fact that you could be nothing more than friends. Sure, there had been some moments where the main leads would be sad, but it was nothing compared to this, this suffocation in your chest that slowly built up, day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

It was hard.

The first prick in your chest hadn’t been entirely painful. It was barely noticeable even. Simply a tiny jolt of pain when you bent forward to grab your books from your locker. It had only been a slight jab, like when you’d accidentally poke yourself in the rib with the edge of your hardcover diary while picking it up. Nothing too hard.

Then came the slight feeling of breathlessness. You found yourself unable to run a full round in P.E (when you could easily do so beforehand), having to stop in between to catch your breath. You figured it could’ve been your dust allergy because the P.E room wasn’t cleaned that often, so it made sense. Somewhat. Still sceptical, but nonetheless, you covered up your random outbursts of coughs with any and every excuse you could find when your parents questioned you about it.

It was hard, but you figured it was just a matter of winter passing by, and soon you’d be alright.

Would you, though? You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that there was in fact something wrong happening to you, pushing behind that feeling of paranoia every time with a smile on your face and a hold of your breath, wishing for the pain to ebb away.

Who would’ve thought that a sudden infatuation would have led to your demise?

Jeongin can hear the noises.

Those loud, dragged out wisps of air that you borderline struggle to take in and expel out, Jeongin can hear them.

He can feel your struggle. It’s not easy for him to look at you like this, curled up into a ball and ignoring the rampant burn in your chest. The movie isn’t even the main focus right now. Jeongin has something to say, and he’s had enough of watching you struggle. He’s rather here to persuade you to go to the fucking doctor, and get some sort of diagnosis instead of beating around the bush.

Strange. Jeongin feels oddly affectionate today, when usually you’re the one to initiate such gestures. All he wants to do is pull you into his arms and rock you back and forth until you fall asleep, because you seriously seem like you need it.

“Y/N,” he calls, watching you lift your head up from where it’s rested against your knees. You don’t reply, because right now, your throat seems like a barren desert and all you can seem to let out is a croak.

Jeongin sighs and rolls his eyes as if in deep thought, turning on the couch to face you before touching the tops of your cheeks with his hands — they seem overly feverous. 

“What’s going on?” He asks sternly.

“What d-do you mean?” You manage to get out, feeling your chest hurt more and more with each syllable that leaves past your lips in a croaked voice. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing your chest with the sharp edge of the knife, the burn in your throat and lungs getting too much to handle. You can’t even tear your focus from the fiery sensation to revel in the feeling of Jeongin’s soft palms cupping your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting weird ever since the expedition.” Worry is laced throughout his tone, mixed in with a dash of sorrow to give rise to the most heartbreaking sound you’ve ever heard. Though you know otherwise, it almost seems as though Jeongin is disappointed in you.

“You’ve been getting more and more sick—” he raises a hand to stop you from contradicting his statement. You only look at him with mellow eyes, knowing that what he says is right. You’ve been ignoring your health for too long. 

You can’t help it, either. While you have an inkling of what might’ve happened, you’re too stubborn to accept it, let along your unrequited love for your best friend, who seems ever-the-oblivious.

“—and you can’t tell me it’s the winter allergy, love. I know you more than that to believe it.”

Shaking your head in dismay, you turn around to get up. You can’t be having this conversation right now, not with the faintest taste of blood lingering at the edge of your throat — you can’t be showing yourself like this in front of him — broken down, vulnerable, confused of your own feelings, having no idea of what you should be doing.

Your mother had pointed it out too, at this point. They suggested going to the doctor, and you outright refused. You didn’t want your suspicion to come to life. It couldn’t- it couldn’t be this way-

“Y/N!”

Jeongin grabs your hands to stop you in your position and turns you around.

And that’s a wrong move.

Your whole chest tightens, and the thorns that stab against your chest has never been more painful. You cry out loudly, only causing them to dig deeper into your skin and almost bleed. Jeongin’s eyes widen in shock at your sudden, unexpected reaction and only tightens his grasp on your hands.

Which again, is a very wrong move, because the following bouts of coughs that take over you shake you up from the core. Jeongin feels blanked out looking at how much you’re suffering right now, so much that he doesn’t feel the wet, yet light flutter on the back of his hand.

When Jeongin snaps back in from his momentary daze, he’s borderline horrified.

He’s convinced, completely certain that there’s nothing more terrifying, heartbreaking, scarring — he could go on and on — than what he just saw. He can almost feel his heart break into a million tiny shards, but he knows that it’s nowhere equivalent to the pain you’re going through.

Well, looks like your suspicion did come to life.

Because what Jeongin sees is, gah, he feels horrified. There’s blood dripping down your lip, staining the skin below garnet red. Your eyes are tinted pinkish-red too, most likely from the exertion that came along with the horrendous amount of coughs that took over you.

Red, red everywhere. Jeongin had previously thought of red as one of the most beautiful, and most interesting colors ever — a symbolism of love, nothing but the pure love he felt towards you.

But now, all he could think of was how much he was tormented by the mere sight of the color.

When his eyes, still blown wide in shock, trail down to his lap, the mere sight of what’s littered on it leaves him in tears.

Red petals, everywhere. All over the back of his hands, all over your lap, all over his lap.

Jeongin could probably spend ages, ages sobbing and whimpering about the sheer pain the sight in front of him brought. It tormented him beyond imagination. This should be a dream — Jeongin wants to wake up any second now, anywhere, in your lap, in his own bed, just anything to save his heart from seeing you this way.

Yet when you cough again, the pain in his heart tells otherwise.

“Y/N!” He chokes out a cry, and from there, he acts quick. He could cry about this later — he needs to find you some help, and now. 

You feel numb. As numb as you possibly can when you see the tears in Jeongin’s eyes, though your sight is clouded by your own tears. You’re numb to the blood dripping down your chin and pooling in your lap, you’re numb to the feeling of those bloody petals littered all over the couch. 

“We need to get you to the hospital, quick.” He gets up, wiping his eyes that are surprisingly, surprisingly overflowing with tears. You barely feel the handkerchief quickly wiping against your mouth, causing you to snap from your trance and look at him. The numbness doesn’t fade yet.

You doubt it ever will.

You’re not sure that the events after the incident go super quickly or as slow as a snail, and you’re not in any state to care about it either. Jeongin had called your mother when he drove you to the hospital — albeit over the sound of your repetitive and raucous coughs — and now your mom’s standing next to him outside, nervously prancing back and forth as he waits for the doctors to come out.

The hospital corridor is moderately lit — perfect setting for Jeongin’s mood right now. There’s no sound except for the occasional encounter when a nurse or doctor happens to walk past them. The hanahaki treatment section of the hospital isn’t the most crowded place — surprisingly enough, the doctors had immediately known what had happened to you.

Your mother can’t bring herself to thank Jeongin for dragging you to the hospital — she’s too paranoid. Your daughter coughing up blood and — Jeongin hadn’t mentioned it to her — flower petals over a movie night isn't the best news you’d want to receive when her friend calls you; so Jeongin understands why your mother is overly quiet.

He doesn’t try to reassure her either. It’s hard to do so when she’s gonna find out her daughter houses a wedding bouquet in her chest — and Jeongin isn’t that oblivious to not know what’s going on, especially standing in the hanahaki department of the clinic. His mother, not so much. All she can do is silently sob and mutter prayers repeatedly, hoping her daughter would be alright. Jeongin feels his heart break more when he sees your mom like this, and he knows he’s not gonna last at this rate, when he’s allowed to enter your room.

At this point, he can’t get past his own brain screaming a million different things at the same time, none of them coherent enough to make sense. He’s a mess right now — red eyes puffy and swollen, hair completely disheveled and half of his sweatshirt hanging out of where it was  neatly tucked in.

Two hands at his heart, and that’s when he notices the red rose petal stuck to the back of his hand, probably from when you’d coughed all over it. It’s fairly large in size — Jeongin examines it, in a slightly successful attempt at trying to distract from the feeling of anxiety that builds up inside bit by bit. It’s a deep, dark red color, exactly like the rose he’d given you that day, at the trip.

The boy sighs to himself before pulling the petal off his hand, eyes widening when the blood underneath it tints the skin it runs across. 

That’s when a lump forms in his throat, but he isn’t given time to cry, because soon enough, the sound of a door opening clicks through his ears, and Jeongin’s head snaps up.

He can see you from where he’s standing, and his whole world freezes in front of his eyes.

The flowers inside your chest had grown moderately large — that’s what the doctor said, at least. You’d been hiding your disease for two months, and it wasn’t until the end that Jeongin caught on — you’d been too stubborn to accept your fate. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end, after all. 

You couldn’t accept it then, but you did now. Did it seriously make a difference?

Jeongin had seen your scan, and what he saw would’ve truly been pretty, if not for the fact that these flowers could be the cause for your imminent death. The roses had almost fully bloomed — and the thorns were pricklier than ever. Jeongin could almost feel them stab against his skin, and he didn’t even have the disease. It was confusing — things were too confusing right now.

You couldn’t speak much, the painkillers you were on were making you drowsy and causing you to quickly fall asleep. Even if you weren’t asleep, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Numbness ran through your veins. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything after what had happened.

Jeongin and your mother hadn’t spoken to you after the doctor had shown them your scan, and they preferred to not break the news to you either, figuring that you were pretty shaken up from the incident already.

The doctor said he could give you two weeks before the flowers filled your lungs completely and blocked your throat.

And Jeongin is devastated.

When the effect of your painkillers wear off and you open your eyes, you feel a soft sensation brushing against your thumb, slowly turning to look at your best friend — tears streaked all over his face, eyes ridden with dark circles and red and puffy, his voice sounded nasal as he silently cried, eyesight focused on the floor.

“J-Jeongin…?” You mumble past your oxygen mask, surprisingly not noticing it’s presence until right now,

He perks up at the painful call, lifting his head to gaze into your eyes. He looks worse than you look right now, if you’re to be honest. You doubt he’s even brushed his teeth or had breakfast. The hospital room is pretty dim just like the exterior, but the sunlight coming from the open window is enough to light up the whole room, enough to at least see your friend’s features clearly.

“You’re awake.” he says as a matter-of-fact and you nod, gently taking off the contraption placed against your nose. Jeongin flinches like he wants to stop you. But then freezes when you try to slowly get up.

Turns out that’s a wrong move, because you can soon feel the thorns of the garden you have in your lungs prick against your skin, making you gasp and shriek in agony. Jeongin jerks up and places a hand on your back, and the other across your stomach — and gently maneuvers you into an awkward but comfortable position, before lifting the top of the bed into a reclining position before laying you down onto it.

“Careful, love.”

Your chest tightens at the actions once again, yet you try not to cough like you did the last time. Surprisingly biting on your tongue works to rid the feeling of suffocation, or at least distracts from it.

“Where’s m-mom?”

“She went to pick up some of your essentials, plus a few clothes.”

“D-did she eat? Did you eat?”

Jeongin smiles at your concern. It’s something he’s found endearing about you — how you always seem to put others first, even though you’re in a worse situation. Though the habit isn’t healthy, Jeongin can’t seem to get over how thoughtful one would have to be to act that way all the time. You’re so innocent, so kind — you’re one of a kind, at least for him.

“What?” You chuckle, noticing Jeongin’s lingering stare on you.

Your friend only beams, taking your hand in his once again. “I forced her to eat something because of her medication, so you don’t have to worry. I ate along with her too, though the canteen’s food doesn’t taste that well.” 

A soft giggle leaves your lips and quickly morphs into a set of coughs, more petals fluttering all over your lap and hands. When Jeongin stands up to call a doctor, you lift a hand to stop him, gesturing for him to sit down.

It isn’t as intense as the first time, but there’s still a tiny bit of blood dripping from the corner of your mouth, which Jeongin quickly goes to wipe off with his thumb. You flinch at the warm touch, sighing to yourself before dropping your gaze to your lap.

“So…” You start. “What did the doctor say?”

“What?”

Jeongin seems visibly tense at your question, kind of like he was dreading it. Which he was. He knows enough about this to know that patients usually don’t like knowing, and in fact can be traumatised by knowing that their apparent death would be in two weeks.

Jeongin in fact has no idea how he’s so calm. He should be sobbing, trashing, looking for a way to hold you back. He shouldn’t be so calm.

He figures he’s just accepted fate. He’s relishing what could be his last moments with you.

You don’t reply, and Jeongin knows he’ll have to make something up.

“They said it’s just a regular allerg-”

“Jeongin.”

The boy freezes.

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is laid with so much pain, Jeongin wants to reach out and crush every problem you have into his fist. He wants all your sorrow and worry to dissolve, and right now, he just feels helpless. He feels powerless.

“How many days do I have left?” You ask, sniffling before wiping your tears away. “Just tell me already, Jeongin-”

Jeongin’s grip tightens against your hand as he whispers — “Two weeks.” 

The words are only let out as a soft mumble, as though Jeongin himself is questioning the statement the doctors put forth. Really, in two weeks? Would you really be gone? Would he seriously never see more of your smiles, your loving gaze, those times when you’d get overly shy of his compliments, those times when you’d silently smile at him from afar?

Was this the end?

“Two weeks.” You repeat. Your voice honestly sounds like a croaking frog, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Hey Y/N…?” Jeongin hesitantly calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” He puts his other hand on yours. “Two questions, actually.”

“Mhm?”

“This disease you have… hana-”

“Hanahaki.”

“Yeah, that.” A hand runs against the back of his neck and he continues. “Be honest, did you know that- that you had this disease before I found out?”

“Jeongin…” You’re about to shake your head, but then you remember the deadline. The deadline by which, you’re no longer going to be here, no longer going to be able to cuddle Jeongin during movie dates, no longer be able to even look at him from afar, or close for that matter. In other words, you didn’t want to end your days with him based on a lie.

Therefore you sigh, breathing out a ‘yes’ as your shoulders droop down.

You can hear Jeongin’s shaky sigh too.

“W-why?” He clenches your hand tightly, sadness mixing in with what you can only call disappointment. “How could you be so selfish?”

It's too late to take back those words now.

“Wh-what?” You raise your eyebrows, feeling scared at his sudden question. “Jeongin, I wanted to be sure-”

Oh who are you kidding? Jeongin and you both know that you’d hidden it because you didn’t want to accept it. It’s too late to change that now.

And Jeongin seems to know that too.

“Don’t- Y/N.” His breath morphs into sharp inhales, as though he’s downright angry at your actions — you know he has every reason to be — still, it doesn’t ease the pain in your heart. Or maybe that’s just the flowers.

“Do you think this is a joke?” His sobs grow louder in fervour, and you feel yourself break at the sight. The room is so, so quiet that you can hear his faint mumbles. You can hear the cries his heart screams in agony, letting you go is painful for him. The thought, rather the sound, only makes the plant in your heart grow further.

“Y/N- did you not think of your mother? Of me? Did you not think of what would have happened if you left us? You think it’s gonna be easy on the both of us? On everyone?” His gaze stern and his voice stable, you don’t get affected by his words, but you do understand what he means — and maybe wish that you could’ve reversed your actions.

“How could you, Y/N?” He gets up from where he’s seated beside your hospital bed. “How could you think that this would be the most appropriate action?”

Jeongin knows he’s angry. Jeongin knows you’re going through a lot. But he’s too.

He’s not angry at you, not at himself, but fate. He’s mad that this is your fate, that you have to go away so soon. He’s mad that he can’t do anything to help you, in any manner.

You don’t say a word, which only causes Jeongin to sigh — disappointedly, again — and walk to where his coat is hung against the edge of his bed, picking it off and pulling it over him in a hurry. Every cell in you wants to scream at him, apologize for what you did, but your voice feels small, almost like you can’t force it out of your throat.

He goes towards the door that leads to the corridor, stopping for a second before turning to look at you.

“Are you gonna tell me, at least, who this person is?”

“W-what?” Things are too confusing right now.

“Hanahaki comes with unrequited love, Y/N. Are you gonna tell me who didn’t return your love?”

“You didn’t” You want to say. But then again, you stay quiet, not being able to handle the intensity of the moment.

Jeongin wants for two seconds, then sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever, I guess.”

And then he leaves.

In the next week, your health goes down drastically. More of petals expelled out of your lungs, more blood dripping from between your lips, more of your mother’s horrified expression as she runs away from the room while the doctors tend to your coughs. More sobs from your mother when she thinks you’re asleep, more melancholic smiles when you’re awake.

But you feel so empty.

Every piece of you feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t even sit up without someone’s help, of such intensity is the pain. The pain of knowing that your love would never be returned. 

The pain of knowing that you hurt the person you loved truly.

You were put on your oxygen mask 24/7, and instructed to not take it off whatsoever. Your medication stopped taking it’s usual effect, and if anyone saw you the way you were outside the current circumstances, they’d have assumed that you haven't slept for 8 days and were going to crumble into the earth any second.

“Honey?”

You gasp at the sudden intrusion to your thoughts, turning around to see your mother, sitting next to you and holding your hand with her own. You hum as a response, clearly unable to respond more than a mere mumble.

“Did you and Jeongin fight?”

A pang of guilt floods through your nerves at the mention of your friend’s name. He’d come to visit you only once in the past week. Perhaps even he couldn’t handle the fact that your death certificate was ready to be signed soon, and was trying to not be tormented by the fact. Or perhaps he was just angry.

“W-why?” You croak.

“I convinced him to come stay here while I go pick up a fresh change of clothes, but it took me quite a bit of arguing.”

You feel sad for her. She’s clearly paranoid — you can hear it in her voice, the shake lingers throughout. Yet she holds it in, trying not to let you worry about it.

You don’t answer her question. The last thing you need is for her to get mad at you too, though you doubt it. Your mom has never been the kind to yell at you for anything — provided, you’ve never given her a reason either.

“Do you think he’s mad because I didn’t tell him about the person who didn’t return m-my l-lo-ve…?” your throat goes dry towards the end and your mother quickly hands you a glass of water. You chug it down and sigh in relief, breath still short.

“Is that person him?” Your mother questions with her gentle, soothing voice one that can make you relax on the first listen. There’s no use lying to her, you figure. She knows you too well to do that, plus, like you said, you couldn’t bring yourself to end your days with her on a lie.

“Yeah…”

“Oh sweetheart,” She brushes some of your hair off your face, sitting down again before drumming her fingers against the back of your hand gently. “I don’t think he could be mad at you.”

“But he is. Didn’t y-you see? He didn’t bother to meet me as much after our argument. He’c c-clearly mad.”

“Hmmm,” Your mother ponders. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I have known him for a while, dear. He’s been with you for more than five years. Maybe he’s having trouble taking this in? Just like…” Your mother stops after that, but you know the completion.

Just like her.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

You simply don’t get it. You should be scared. You should be sad and devastated that your end was going to come soon.  You should be thrashing around and crying and wailing in despair — you just don’t have  the energy to even bother about your end. It’s depressing, but you know there’s no way you could avoid the inevitable, or get your lover to return your love.

Love wasn’t supposed to be something forced, it had to happen naturally. And if Jeongin didn’t develop it naturally, you just had to learn to live with it. Or not.

“Don’t be, darling. Everyone deserves to love, just like how they deserve it back. I wish it could’ve ended differently.”

“It’s alright mom. He loves me too… just not on the way I love him.”

You sniffle as a single tear runs down your chin, though you and your mom aren’t given enough time to speak more when you hear a familiar voice at the door. 

“Hey Mrs. L/N.” Jeongin says, shrugging off his half snow-covered coat before hanging it onto the bedside. Did he seriously walk in the snow? All the way here?

“Hello, Jeongin dear.” Your mother stands up, picking her coat before moving to fish the car keys from her purse. “Thank you for watching over Y/N while I’m gone, darling.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. L/N.”

“Oh, so formal.” Your mom chuckles, though in her despaired state. “Y/N, you get some sleep, it’s about midnight dear.” She leans over to kiss your forehead while Jeongin excuses himself to the washroom, and you nod. 

“Good night mom.”

“Good night, and don’t worry about him. He’ll talk to you eventually.”

Oh, how reassuring. “Mhm.” You smile, closing your eyes to drift into slumber before Jeongin returns, because the last thing you need right now is to feel sad and cry over how you’d hurt him.

By the time the sound of the door clicking resounds through the space, you’re already asleep.

 It’s way past midnight. Jeongin shouldn’t be up. 

Somehow, he still finds himself seated next to your bed, staring fondly at your calm features as you finally get the rest you’ve needed for the past few days. 

Oh, he wouldn’t be able to compare your sheer beauty to even that of the moon; even when you’re in such a fragile and vulnerable state. Your eyelashes are still and unmoving where they sit against your skin, your breath is calm and slightly wavering as you struggle to breathe slightly. 

His hand slips into your own gently, and his heart melts when you shift, tightening your grasp on his warm skin before falling into a slumber again.

Why was he mad in the first place? Jeongin feels dumb for acting so quickly on his emotions, especially when you’re in a bad place at the moment. He wants to wake you up and apologize, but he can’t, because you’re sound asleep — and that’s a good thing, since seep comes so scarcely to you these days.

Then, a single tear falls from his eyes. His thoughts traverse to the dream he had the previous night — you, cold, dead in his arms. Him, sobbing, trying to wake you up but you’re really gone. He can’t even hear your mother’s cries from behind him, because he’s devastated to know that you’ve left him. The dream had woken him up in a cold sweat — it was then he realised that he’d committed a mistake, and agreed to come visit you, because you had about 5 days left.

His thoughts then traverse to the conversation you had with your mother, while he was standing outside in the cold hospital corridor, curiously listening.

“Is that person him?” “Yeah…”

When he heard those words, countess, infinite thoughts crashed at his head; all at once. Nothing made any sense. The reality of the situation was dawning on him too quickly, and Jeongin was having a hard time processing it. 

You loved him? He was the person who didn’t return your love?

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He mumbles in confusion — so much confusion, so much hurt — he wanted time to just stop for awhile and give him a fair chance to analyze the situation.

But, once all the initial thoughts were out of the way, only one question remained:

Was he the reason you were going to die?

Jeongin felt like a murderer — like he’d just stabbed you in cold blood. He knows it is’t like that — just like you’d said, love should come natural. So why did Jeongin feel so bad? WHy did he feel like he was the one at fault?

A fond smile crosses his lips when he remembers the book where you keep all your flowers safely. Who would have thought your fondness for flowers would morph into the reason for your demise?

Quiet, hushed in the midnight wind, Jeongin gently brings out the rose he’d picked from his satchel. It’s almost relieving to see a rose in it’s true glory, without scattered petals or blood covering the flower. A part of him grows sad that you won’t be able to gush over flowers together anymore, he won’t be able to see your smile anymore. It hurts him. It stabs his heart over and over again, and Jeongin is pained — almost like he’s being put to death slowly — he wants the pain to end, but only suffers and suffers.

The stem has already been cut and the thorns have been thrown out. Jeongin leans over to tuck the flower behind your ear, fingers brushing against the almost cold skin at the back of your ear before letting another tear slip from his eye, running down his cheek and falling on your palm.

A strange, oh-so-strange feeling creeps up on him. It’s like… a fluttering in his heart? Jeongin can’t quite place it — heck, he doesn’t try to make sense of it. There are more important things to look at, right now. He suddenly has the urge to pull you into his arms and gently murmur sweet words into your ear — seems odd for a situation like this, but oh well, feelings are feelings.

He pats your hand gently and smiles, before moving to sleep on the smaller bed in front of your own. Not allowed to go far, though, because your grip on his hands tighten almost immediately, and Jeongin tightens to look into your eyes, sparkly and slightly droopy from the intrusion of sleep.

“Y/N, go to-”

“Stay.” You mumble, feeling your voice choke as the petals threaten to spill out for what seems like the millionth time. Yet, you manage to spill out another, “Please?”

Jeongin feels like he’s about to cry. Your expression is so, so hopeful, he can’t bring himself to deny. He wouldn’t in the first place, because who was he to deny what could be his friend’s last wish?

A sob bubbles up his throat, but he swallows it down, smiling with melancholy before following your weak pull on his hand, genty climbing on your bed before slotting himself between you and the steel grill that prevented patients from falling down. He gently tucks his hand under you and pulls you close to himself, tensing up for a second when you wrap an arm around his own, gently rubbing on it before drifting off to sleep. You want to cherish this moment — this could be the last time before you could never see him again. Fuck your medication for making you so drowsy. Or not, because you were certain you would start crying, and that would certainly not end well.

The whole room falls silent for two seconds, and you fall asleep almost immediately. 

And then, Jeongin releases all his tears, and everything comes crashing down on him. He breaks apart.

The world was too cruel to you. He was cruel to you. He can’t believe that in less than a week, you’d be gone. Gone from earth. Flowers had lost all their beauty for him, the moment he saw you coughing them up on that couch during movie night.

He wanted to do anything. He wanted any small sign to show that you would stay with him. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t accept your fate. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you to himself, keep you close, he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t give you up, he couldn’t —

“I love you.” You mumble unconsciously in your sleep, and Jeongin loses it then and there. His throat feels dry as tears flow and flow and don’t cease no matter what. His body shakes like a sobbing child, but thankfully you’re knocked out from the effect of your medication. He hasn’t cried this hard in a while, guess there’s a first time for everything. The three words pierce his heart, and they suddenly hold more meaning than anything — Jeongin wants to hear those words on a loop; he feels strangely ecstatic when you say them.

And so, with a shaky voice and a sorrowful tone, Jeongin replies after pressing a kiss to your forehead — “I-I love you, t-too.”

His eyes flutter shut and he basks in your arms just one last time, holding you close to himself as he finally, finally finds himself at peace, next to you.

When your mother finds you both snuggled up and asleep together, a smile crosses her lips. A hopeful smile.

“Are you ready for your scan, Y/N?”

You feel oddly light today — one would say it’s because your body was close to shutting down completely, but your throat felt a bit, a tiny bit clearer and less barren than a fucking desert. Nevertheless, the scan does make you nervous. This would make clear how long the flowers would take to reach your throat — the doctor’s estimation was about three days, which seemed way too short for Jeongin.

Oh, how embarrassing it was when the nurses, all giggly and mushy-eyed, found you snuggled with Jeongin like a teddy bear at the early hours of the morning, waking you and Jeongin up and only cracking up more at your bewildered expressions when you find yourself tangled with each other.

Before the scan, Jeongin had held your hand softly, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. You’d shyly smiled, nodding before letting the nurse drag you to the scanning room.

The details of the scan itself aren’t important, it went pretty well — as decent as a scan could possibly go. You’re able to cooperate with your nurses pretty feasibly, you feel the sudden urge to get out of your wheelchair and try walking. Sure, you can still feel the choked feeling in your throat and the burn in your lungs, but somehow, it’s just a tiny bit lesser than usual. Maybe it’s because your painkillers are working more effectively. Maybe.

Jeongin’s waiting for you outside when you’re led out of the room, and he smiles when he sees you.

You don’t even remember what you’d said the previous night. All you remember was passing out while Jeongin was in the washroom, and then waking up to him cuddled up, warm and snug next to you. His features were clear and calm as the ocean on a sunny day, a small smile on his lips, as though he was dreaming about something happy. You hope he did, because that boy deserves the happiness.

“You seem energetic today.” Jeongin says, taking note of your perky demeanour, that only causes you to giggle slightly. 

Sure, you don’t remember the happenings of last night, but he does — and he’d promised himself to cherish every last second. Because in the end, it’s all he can do — for leading you to this state, for getting mad at you and wasting precious time in which he could’ve stayed with you. He’d promised to not let you live your last moment sad and desolated.

“I feel light, for some reason.” You mumble with a broken voice as Jeongin takes the wheelchair from the nurse, listening to what she has to say before bowing and nodding, leading you back to your room.

“What did she say?” You ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“She said your scan results would come in an hour.” 

“Oh… alright.”

For some reason, you’re too joyous today, after the little surprise you got as soon as your eyes opened. You can’t seem to bother about the end— you want to live in this moment, right now.

When you come back to the room, Jeongin lifts you up bridal style, causing you to gasp before placing you down onto the bed. The nurse waiting there quickly fixes your IV and helps you sit into a comfortable position (though it’s hard when thorns keep pricking at your ribs) before bowing to the both of you, and leaving.

Your mother has once again left to go fix up the house, leaving you in the trust of your best friend. You aren’t complaining though, especially when Jeongin sits down beside your bed, taking your hand in his before playing with your nimble fingers — just like always.

He looks gorgeous today. After a lot of nagging from your mother, he’d used the hospital bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair neatly, and you’re happy about that because he looks fresher and happier than ever. You want him to be smiling and happy, even when you leave, because… did you need a reason? You just wanted him to be happy and content with his life.

The thought invokes an angsty feeling of melancholy, but you brush it away, trying to focus on Jeongin and the silence that drops on the both of you like a warm blanket. You smile softly at him, gently letting go of his hand before tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear, almost melting when Jeongin’s eyes flutter close.

“Hey Jeongin?” You call, grabbing his hand once again and interlacing the fingers together.

“Yeah?”

“When I… leave,” You notice the twitch in his expression, but nonetheless, continue. “Will you bring me flowers every week?” 

You remember the red rose you’d found tucked behind your ear when you woke up — it had dried up a bit, but nonetheless, it was one of the prettiest objects you’d ever seen — even though there was a whole bouquet of them spewing out your mouth every two seconds.

“I will.” Jeongin sniffles. The thought of having to visit your grave every week to bring you flowers is immensely saddening, but Jeongin agrees anyways. He agrees, for you.

It’s the least he can do.

It’s funny how you say “leave”, like you’re going to your hometown for a month-long vacation and not actually like you’re going to be buried any time soon. Jeongin thinks it’s because you don’t want him to get too sad over his loss — a stupid thing to wish — Jeongin knows this loss is going to affect him in more ways than one.

“Jeongin, d-don’t cry…” You cup his cheek, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek and wiping away the tears that fall, one by one. Jeongin shakes his head, placing his palm on your hand and smiling at you.

“Can you do me another favor?”

“As many as you’d like Y/N.” He says. He’ll do anything you want — it’s your last wish after all.

“Bury me with my flower journal, please?” It may seem like a weird claim to bury oneself with a dusty old book, but Jeongin understands the significance — you want to hold onto those memories you made with him while writing it together, while picking flowers together and all those happy moments you exchanged.

Jeongin tries not to let his voice break again. “I will.”

You beam at his acceptance. Jeongin feels the slight thump of his heart against his chest, and a warm feeling envelopes him from inside. He’s suddenly overcome with an urge to press delicate kisses on your eyelids, though he tries to shoo it away, because it isn’t the main point of focus right now.

But soon your mother walks in, and it’s all small talk and deep conversations with her at the same time. You have breakfast, persuade (more like force) Jeongin to scarf down his meal and giggle about some random jokes thrown here and there, until the doctor comes in. Both Jeongin and your mother stand up, bowing and wishing good morning while you do too. Wish, not stand up. You’re basically tied to the bed at this point.

“Mrs L/N, I’d have had a word with you in private, but I think Miss Y/N needs to hear this too.” 

“What is it, doctor?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and Jeongin’s grip on your hand tightens, thumb rubbing over your skin to soothe your obvious tension. The doctor slides the transparent, firm sheet off it’s envelope before letting the sunlight hit the back of it, in order to enable a clearer viewing.

“This is… the most unusual case I’ve ever seen, but —” He points to a junction on the scan. “The flowers have actually reduced in amount, and they've separated from the windpipe by a whole two inches. See?” He points at the edges of the lungs and at the windpipe, but you understand what he means. The flowers are there, no doubt, but it’s almost like — a whole stem of them just disappeared into thin air.

Of course this could’ve been because you coughed them up, but the coughed up flowers go instantly, or so you’ve heard. There’s confusion written on all of your faces right now.

“Is that why I was feeling lighter and easier to breathe today? Because the flowers withered off and gave more space for air?” You ask in your low voice, and your doctor nods.

“Seems like it. Do you have your previous scan?” Your mother hands it to him quickly after a great deal of fishing out of her purse.

He places the earlier scan behind the newer one, and suddenly, you can see what he means. It’s almost like they shrunk — you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but nonetheless, you’re happy you can breathe a bit more.

“What does this mean, though?” Jeongin asks, bewildered at the strange news. The room is so quiet and the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, and you can see both your mother and Jeongin waiting for the doctor’s words.

“It means that we’ll take another scan tomorrow, a deeper one. And check if the flowers are actually collecting somewhere else, or just disappearing. And if they are disappearing…” He trails off, and you giggle when Jeongin and your mother lean forward in anticipation, though curious yourself.

“She’ll be home by Christmas. Or even earlier, if the recovery speed is fast.”

“Y-You mean… I can be cured?” Your voice shakes with hope, and the doctor smiles sweetly at you, before nodding.

“Yes dear, you’ll be the first patient who’s walked out of this place cured from hanahaki.”

At that moment, it almost feels like every flower inside your chest wilts out — you feel so light, so ecstatic. You’re over the clouds at the news, and don’t even hear your mother’s cries of thankfulness before the doctor heads out.

“Y/N!” Jeongin exclaims, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his heart and the burn in his cheeks when he cups your own. “You’re gonna come home!”

You shake with soft sobs, and smile at Jeongin.

“I’m gonna come home.” Provided the scan tomorrow showed a positive result, but you don’t bother to mention that part.

And the next day, when your scan results come back, a huge smile adorns your face, and your mother is in tears. Happy tears.

The sunshine is overly bright today, leaving you squinting for sight, especially when you’re seated in a garden out in the open, book in one hand and the other one resting against the cool, moist grass. The air holds a musky forest scent, and you revel in the feeling of the shivers the cold air that cuts through skin brings.

The park is relatively empty for the morning — you’re glad it is, because it brings on a sense of calmness that you seem to like. The surroundings are just perfect — you don’t want anyone to disrupt your mood right now.

So yeah. The story ends that way. You recover, bit by bit, though it takes a whole bunch of time. There were times when you still had to cough out those petals, but you couldn’t be happier — it felt as though you were spitting out those vicious thorns that had tormented and threatened your life. The doctors had no idea how you’d managed to recover — but this was an interesting case to put into their portfolio, so they weren’t complaining.

And oh, you had Jeongin to help you through all of it, of course. 

It had taken you two weeks to be discharged from the hospital and be able to finally walk again, but when you did it — you felt like a whole new person, in a whole new world. Sure, you had to hold onto your mother or Jeongin wherever you went for the first week or so — it was almost like your legs had turned jelly.

When you returned home, Jeongin insisted that he take you to the garden every day, and when you complained that you couldn’t walk, he’d lifted you into his arms (bridal style, again) and carried you all the way there, and then given you a piggyback ride you all the way back home.

Eventually, you ended up telling him the truth — that the unrequited love that caused everything was because of how you’d fallen for him. You figured he deserved it, especially when he’d stuck with you the whole time without any hesitation and helped you whenever he could — he was truly one of the nicest, kindest people you’d ever met.

Of course, you were surprised when Jeongin only smiled and told you that he knew what you were talking about, and then proceeded to narrate how he’d overheard you in the hospital. Giggles left his lips when you gave him that meme-worthy look, making him shake his head before slinging and arm over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, that night ended just like the books — lovey-dovey confessions exchanged in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over shy smiles and lingering kisses. The both of you finally gave in to each other.

Huh, so maybe you were wrong about them — books — after all.

So when, your love was returned in the end, every flower in your chest had finally disappeared, and you couldn’t have been happier.

“You know when I brought you here I wanted you to help me pick flowers and not read a book?”

You laugh at the voice that comes from behind, closing the book shut before placing it on the side while Jeongin takes a seat beside you, hissing at the slight coldness of the grass. Ah, what a romantic scenario — green and colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, a book that you’ve been trying to finish but have never been able to because your boyfriend keeps interrupting you with his random outbursts of affection, and said person sitting right next to you.

“Well, you keep interrupting me all the time!” You chuckle, sliding a hand behind his shoulder before pulling him down to lie on your lap, and Jeongin complies. A sigh of content leaves his lips when he feels your fingers comb through his hair to rid them of any tangles — Jeongin feels stupid to not realise how much he loves you. It feels nice to call you his, feels nice to be able to say I love you, in all of it’s true meaning.

“What, I can’t cuddle my girlfriend now? Come on,” He takes your other hand in his, turning onto his back to look up at you before pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You feel the heat creep up your cheeks when he calls you his girlfriend, still not being able to take it in without growing immensely shy.

“You crybaby, fine. I’ll read the book later only because I love you and you give exceptionally nice cuddles.”

“Hmm, good.” He mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut in calmness when he feels your fingers brush away any stray locks of hair that may get into his eyes. The reaction to your touch is so immediate these days, Jeongin thinks it’s a part of his routine now. Spend at least an hour admiring you in all of your happy, healthy glory.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, admiring his features in silence. His hair has grown longer now — Jeongin refuses to cut it no matter your endless verbalizations of how his original haircut looked better — and a small part of you has grown fond of this look too. His warm skin, and his sparkly eyes when he looks up at you, the bright, loving smile that he displays before getting out of your lap, kissing you on your lips to break you out of your focus.

The action only makes you more shy, and Jeongin laughs, cooing at your behavior before standing up, dusting his clothes off the dirt and extending his hand for you.

“Lend me a hand, will you?”

The line seems vaguely familiar and you’re overcome with a sense of deja vu, but nonetheless, you give him your hand, standing up before picking up your satchel and handing him his own.

“Now are you gonna pick a rose for me or do I have to do it myself again?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow and smirks, and you frown, slapping his arm before walking off to check all the flowers in their bushes.

“Hey, wait for me! Y/N!”

When he reaches you, he slides a hand into your own, interlacing the fingers before looking at you lovingly.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time, giggling at each other soon after — perhaps at how well you knew each other to time the confession so well.

So, this is how it ends. While you do think that things could’ve been handled differently, you’re glad that everything went the way it went, because in the end, you’d found him, he’d found you, you’d discovered your feelings together. You loved each other.

Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid.

but what if she had never recovered?

taglist: @inkidz​ @stayverse​ @districtninewriters​ @kpopscape​ @skzwritersclub​ + @sunoo-luvs​ @sleepylixie​ @rae-blogging​ @happiestgirlontheeastcoast @guerillrah​ @p2q3r4​ @baby-innie​ (Please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!) *oh holy lord pls let this show up in the tags*

[newdeobis]

cmds 37/50: Where your fwb Changmin helps you relax

Changmin x fem reader

this one is 🐧 anon’s fault (just found it in my drafts wth)

3,7k words... am i inspired?

warnings: a bit of fluff, fwb au, oral (f & m), masturbation (m & f), he's kinda into you, you can tell

ㅤ

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Your best friend sighed, putting his phone to the side as he stared at you, rolling his body on your bed to get closer to you, stretching his open arms in your direction as you didn't even spare him a glance.

Changmin huffed, standing up and walking closer to you.

_ Can you take a break already?

You shook your head, hand running through your hair in frustration.

_ You know I'm busy now, Changmin.

_ But I wanna kiss you, you know it's been a while. I miss the feeling of your lips on mine. — arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in the crock of your neck, the said words coming out muffled. The boy lifted his head, grip tightening as his chin rested up your shoulder. — And you're stressed. You need a break.

You leaned on his touch, eyeing him from the corner of your eyes.

_ You don't even care about my well-being, you just want to touch me. We kissed yesterday.

Changmin shook his head, facing you as he hugged you tighter, making you wish you were sitting with your back against his chest instead of the chair.

_ Well that's half a lie. I do care about your well-being and I do want to touch you. Obviously, like always. — he admitted, kissing your cheek — So, are you taking a break or do I need to act cute to convince you?

_ You could never be cute. — you scoffed, rolling your eyes as the boy kissed your cheek again, daring to bite it gently when you mocked him. — Not even in a million years.

His grip on you loosened when he, too, rolled his eyes. Standing up once again, this time ruffling your hair.

_ I don't care. I'm too sexy to be cute anyways. — your friend grumbled, voice getting lower as he stared at you. — Are you sure you don't want to take a break?

_ What are you so eager for? — you asked jokingly after he spun your chair around, but the smile he offered you didn't reach his eyes.

_ I'm not eager, — Changmin sighed, fingers moving lower, massaging your shoulder as you eyed him suspiciously. Sounding way too innocent. — You just seem really tired. I know it's important but you've been working non-stop. I'm just trying to do the same thing you do whenever I overwork: scold you until you stop.

_ And what are we going to do if I accept your offer, mr. Ji? — You touched his thighs, caressing the covered skin when his fingers ran through your hair again. The gesture felt intimate. — You'll have to convince me.

_ Rest. — Changmin deadpanned, licking his lips as he looked down at your hands for a second. Thoughts starting to wander.

_ I don't have time for this, I rather keep on working. — you huffed, trying to turn around again. But he gripped your shoulders, keeping you in place.

_ You're seriously getting on my nerves. — he tsked, a smile playing on your lips at his annoyed face.

You caressed his thighs again while talking softly to him.

_ Don't get annoyed, I don't want to fight you today.

Changmin nodded, lips pursed when he tilted his head. Your hands squeezing his thighs before letting him move away from your touch.

_ What do you want to do? — he asked, getting on his knees as your eyes followed him, fingers touching his face almost instantly once his chin rested up on your knees, big doe eyes looking up at you almost like a child even though the sarcasm dripped down his lips. — I swear to God if you say you want to work one more time I'm gonna lose my shit.

You grinned, thumb caressing his cheek while you thought for a few seconds.

_ You could give me a kiss... — you suggested, staring at his lips, trying not to smile when his eyes widened. — ... or two?

Your friend raised his brows, eyeing you suspiciously while you kept on staring at his lips.

_ After I tried to fight you?

You leaned closer, a lazy smile creeping up on your face, hand caressing your way to the back of his neck, making him stand on his knees while lowering your face until your nose touched his, voice low.

_ I'm just as feisty, who cares?

The boy tried to suppress a smile when you pecked his pouty lips.

_ I do, actually. — he retorted, touching your knees and pushing your legs apart to stay in between them as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, voice getting lower as well. — But you're too busy being passive-aggressive to realize it. — this time Changmin pecked your lips again, fingers touching your thigh and waist to bring you closer, caressing the skin of your hips when he pulled away. Smiling when your fingers ghosted over the back of his neck. — Like this?

The words whispered to your lips barely had time to come out, your lips chasing his again as soon as he pulled away. Hands cupping his cheeks as your mouth moved against his slowly, keeping the kiss warm, soft yet innocent until your best friend's hand cupped your cheek. Fingers messily brushing the hair out of the way as he kept on kissing you.

You sighed when you felt the tip of his tongue moving, teasing your upper lip like he was asking for permission. You nodded, gripping his hair hard when the dark haired boy deepened the kiss. Taking your breath away with his kisses. The touch of his fingertips on your hips didn't feel as innocent as it was when you first kissed him. Slowly creeping up under your shirt and awakening your senses, making you feel warmer and awake as the pads of his fingers danced on your skin lightly. You couldn't even explain how you grew needier when you could barely feel his touch.

You whimpered when he pulled away. Opening his eyes to stare at your lips before pecking it over and over. Wasting no time to grip your hips when you moaned his name and tugged at his hair.

_ Gimme more, come on.

Changmin rolled his eyes, but let you pull him close nonetheless.

_ You're so greedy. — he smiled against your lips, kissing you more passionately than before. Lips molding on yours perfectly as your hand moved down to his neck, fingers resting against his collarbones, inevitably applying pressure when you tried to pull him even closer to you. His kiss tasted sweet on your tongue that you barely noticed his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts until he gripped your panties along with that. Pulling it up as you moaned deliciously on his lips, panties rubbing against your core roughly. It had you breathing heavily and jerking your hips up. Finally let him break the kiss, a pout forming on your lips. — Still want to work?

You shook your head, fingers touching his jaw.

_ I think I'm gonna take a break for now.

Changmin smiled at your words, your body missing his warmth as soon as he moved away, patting the bed as he sat on the floor.

_ That's my girl. — he chuckled, smile getting bigger. — Now come here, your man is going to help you relax. — you stared at him in silence, knowing exactly what he was suggesting as the words ringed in your head. The boy cocked his brows, speaking sarcastically. — Take your time, princess, we have all day.

_ Don't be sassy, I can make you shut up.

He eyed you up and down as you walked to him, hands touching your legs once again as you sat on the bed, gripping your calves and pulling you to the edge, smirking when you yelped.

_ Oh, that's what I'm aiming for.

_ And you're not my man. — you talked back, but the words came out in a rush, like you were breathless. He couldn't blame you. Not with the way he sat on his knees in front of you, hands kneading the exposed skin with such a devotion that it had your head spinning even before you felt his lips touching your body.

Changmin stared up at you, pressing kisses from your calves to your knees slowly, keeping the eye contact as his fingers tugged at your shorts, helping you take it off along with your panties in one swift motion. Smiling up at you before kissing your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart before him like you've done a thousand times before.

He hummed appreciatively, using two fingers to spread your lower lips apart, using his other hand to pull you even closer. Your legs spreading even more when he flicked your clit with the tip of his finger, eyes fixed on the way your pussy clenched around nothing even with such a small stimulation.

_ Always so sensitive. — your best friend cooed and kissed your hip bone, caressing your thigh as he kept your pussy spread for him. — I can't believe you got wet just from my kiss. Your body reacts to every single touch every damn time, I love that. — Changmin said appreciatively, kissing your clit as his breath fanned over your pussy. The vibrations stimulating your throbbing clit and making your squirm. — It's like your body is begging me to touch you.

You had no time to talk back, a moan erupting from your lips when his tongue licked a stripe up from your slit to your clit. Tongue deliciously circling around your clit before closing his mouth around it, sucking on the bud as he closed his eyes. Pad of his fingers teasing your slit, groaning against your pussy as he felt how warm and wet you were.

_ Take your shirt off and play with your pretty nipples as I take care of you. — being mumbled against your clit when he eased two fingers inside your pussy, spreading it experimentally while watching you take your shirt off. Humming and biting his bottom lip when your tits bounced a bit, running his tongue through your folds as his eyes fixed on the way you pinched your nipples. Rolling them between your fingers as you grinded on his tongue, whining when Changmin moaned, fingers filling you up and stretching your walls so nicely that you couldn't help but clench around his digits.

Head thrown back and hips circling as you could only pretend that it was his cock being roughly pumped in and out of your pussy. Tongue still lapping at your clit. Eyes dark and lustful when he looked up at you again, heart beating faster when you tugged at his hair. Mouth closing, wrapping around your clit to suck on it lightly as his fingers curled up. The sounds coming from your lips had his hips grinding, moving in circles as the blood rushed straight to his cock, pants getting tighter with every moan you let out.

Changmin grunted when you tried to pull him closer, pulling his mouth away from your clit with a loud pop, slowing the pace of his fingers as he looked up at you. Your head tilted to the side while you bit your bottom lip, lifting your hips off bed to match his thrusts. So fucking pretty. His. All his. 

His eyes darkening, a possessiveness annoyingly taking over him as the boy could only think about fucking you. About marking you up as his.

_ Please, don’t stop now  — you whimpered when he pulled out of sudden, circling your hips as if it’ll make his fingers slip back inside you again, clenching with need. — I want to cum.

He nodded, standing on his knees to kiss your abused lips, wet fingers touching your waist, bringing your body even closer, tongue moving with yours sensually, slowly pushing your back onto the mattress and getting on top of you. 

_ I'll make you cum, baby, shhhh. — the dark haired boy murmured when he pulled away, peppering kisses all over your face. A hand kneading your ass, pulling your cheeks apart and hissing, covered cock brushing against your centre, grinding on you experimentally as you huffed, annoyed that he was still fully dressed on top of you and tugging at his hair again. Changmin’s eyes were focused on where your hips met, groaning and digging his nails into your ass when he stared at you, looking desperate and breathless. — Sit on my face?

You could only nod, cupping his cheeks and kissing him messily while changing positions. Straddling his lap as his hands caressed your body, feeling you up. Looking up at you with so much lust and admiration when you pulled away from the kiss that you couldn’t help but clench around nothing. Leaving a wet patch in the front of his jeans as you circled your hips teasingly, hands rubbing up and down his chest, exposing his abs and Changmin smirked, the dimple on his cheek making him look even more attractive than he already was.

You moved up when he beckoned you over, contently humming, a sigh leaving his pretty lips when you lowered your hips until it hovered his face, giving a few pats to your ass when you brushed the hair out of his forehead.

_ There you go, beautiful. — Changmin kissed your inner thigh, tongue lapping at the skin.  — Don't hold back.

You almost forgot how much you wanted to cum until you felt him holding your hips down and running his tongue up and down your folds, tonguing at your slit with a long hum. Messily giving kitten licks to your clit, flicking the bud before alternating from giving kitten licks to sucking it into his mouth. 

_ Ride my face — Changmin mumbled, pressing desperate kisses to your clit. Eyes closed and sticking his tongue out as you stared at him through half lidded eyes, whimpering when you grinded on his face, nails roughly digging into your cheeks as he held them apart. Nose bumping into your clit every time you rocked back and forth.

Letting him do as he pleased as your orgasm was building up all over again, crying out his name over and over again when he tongue-fucked you, feeling dizzy and like you could cum just there and then.

Mumbling dirty words to your friend while moving faster, tugging his hair so harshly that it had him crying out. Hips thrusting up as his grip on you only tightened. A string of curses and pleas leaving your lips when he decided to wrap his mouth around your clit and suck on it hard again, nodding firmly when a “I’m gonna cum” came out of your lips. Helping you ride your orgasm, lapping at your slit once more.

_ So sweet, baby. — being muffled in between your legs, tongue circling around your clit as your body jerked, lips quivering as you cried out louder, trying to push him away when it became too much.

Shaking, whimpering when you watched the way he licked his lips. Your fluids all over his chin. Cheeks flushed as he kept the eye contact. Helping you get off of him delicately. His body getting on top of yours as he caressed your face.

_ Better?

His voice was so gentle compared to his eyes that you just wanted to kiss him all over again.

Changmin laid beside you, propping himself up on an elbow seconds later as he kept staring at you. Fingers circling your belly, moving up as he lowered his face and lazily kissed your neck. Your hand moving up his thigh when you closed your eyes, rubbing your hand up and down the flesh when a low grunt erupted from his throat.

You opened your eyes and stared down at his lap, lips parting with a shaky moan when the boy bit down your neck, lapping at the spot right when you touched his hard on. Shit he was so hard that it looked painful.

_ Changmin-ah. — you called his name, his teeth grazing your neck as he breathed heavily. If his eyes were open it’d roll back with how good it felt to have you wrapping your hand around him like that.

He was almost afraid of blowing his load as soon as you stroke him, grabbing your wrist to tell him he was good, that it was all about you. But you didn’t listen. And he was so fucking thankfull for it when you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Gasping when you realized he wasn’t wearing underwear, pulling it down his thighs eagerly as his cock sprung free. A hiss coming from his lips as soon as you wrapped your hands around his length.

_ Fuck. — you mumbled, a hand fondling his balls as you looked at him through your lashes. — You could’ve asked me to help you.

Changmin only shook his head. Looking down at you with his lips caught between his teeth as you pumped his length. Running his fingers through your hair, grunting to himself while trying to control his breathing when you twisted your wrist, thumb circling around his tip.

_ Wanna suck my cock? — Changmin asked, voice barely above a whisper when he grinded up against your palm, loving how your eyes sparkled at his words. 

_ Can I?

_ Please. — Changmin whined, voice getting higher as his brows furrowed. Lips parting with a loud moan when you lowered your face, tongue replacing his thumb and circling around his tip.

The breathy moans erupting from his chest and the way he wasted no time in tugging at your hair giving away how much he wanted it. And, fuck, he looked so good with his head thrown back, neck and collarbones exposed as his hips rolled. Begging for more when you placed open mouthed kisses all over his head. Running your tongue over the vein on the underside of his shaft slowly before wrapping your mouth tightly around his tip. Humming, pumping his cock fast as his grunts filled your ear. Your own hips circling along with your tongue, body getting ready only from the thought of his thick cock stretching your pussy and filling you up nicely.

You pulled him out of your mouth with a pop, taking a deep breath as you kept on pumping him, his taste of his pre-cum still on your tongue. Face contorted as he moaned your name.

_ You could've fucked me, I’d let you stuff me with your pretty cock and cum inside me until I couldn’t take it anymore  — you tsked, lips rubbing against his cock as he licked his lips, looking down at you with an annoyance that was enough to let you know that he’d remember these words next time he fucked you. You smirked, sing-songing before going down on him again  — Such a waste. 

His eyes rolled back when you played with his balls again, taking his length like it was the only cock you’d ever suck in your entire life until it hit the back of your throat. His head tilted to watch the way your lips firmly wrapped around him. Mumbling that you are such a whore with a hiss. Pushing your head down until you gagged, rolling his hips with a sadist smile on his lips, pulling you out by your hair roughly before repeating his actions. Jaw clenching when he felt like he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

_ Baby, I’m cumming  — he tried to warn you, but your cheeks hollowed around him when his hips stuttered. Tongue playing with his slit, humming, drooling all over him.

Sucking on his tip harder, pumping the rest of his length faster as the first spurts came without a warning. Feeling his taste on your tongue and moaning around him. Letting the boy hold your head down again  while fucking his cock back and forth inside your mouth. Muscles tensing, cock twitching as he came hard in your mouth.

_ Fuck, you’re the best —  Changmin cried out when you swallowed around him, pulling out slowly before lapping at his tip, licking every single droplet of cum clean before taking his balls into your mouth, feeling his fingers massaging your scalp as your best friend mumbled praises softly, sighing when you pulled away. Sticking your tongue out to show him you swallowed it when you crawled on top of him, his arms wrapping around your waist. — Mmmhm, what a good clum slut. — he praised you again, kissing the corners of your mouth as his hand touched your ass. — That’s my good girl.

You grinned, hitting his chest before laying by side. Slightly unpleased that he was still wearing clothes and you couldn’t see as much of him as you wanted to, especially when he fixed his pants.

_ I'll go back to my homework. — you mumbled jokingly when he closed his eyes, still looking so good after cumming that it almost made you feel bad for looking like a mess. But he liked you messy. Loving how fucked out you looked anytime he touched you like that, so you weren’t complaining.

_ Fuck, no. — Changmin scoffed, eyes still closed while wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you until you were flush against his chest, spooning you as he buried his face in the crock of your neck. The smell of your shampoo making him hum again, nose lightly running up and down your neck. — Stay in bed. — he begged you, his warmth engulfing you in a hug. — I'll clean you up and keep you busy all night if you want me to, baby. — he kissed your neck right at the sensitive spot he liked to mark up so badly. — Don't go, let's just stay like this.

[explosionshark]

43. "Are you drunk?"

For pricefield or amberpricefield?

“Are you drunk?” Max keeps her gaze locked down the viewfinder of the camera, not allowing herself to glance back or give away she’d overheard. There’s been so much squabbling this afternoon, and it’s a challenge every time to do her job without obviously eavesdropping.

“What are you a cop?” Oh. Oh no. “Cause if you are, you have to tell me.”

“Chloe,” Max sighs, dropping the camera down to her chest and twisting around to see Chloe leaning heavily on a banquet table in front of an irate looking woman in a puffy dress.

“Actually, she doesn’t,” Rachel pipes in from Chloe’s elbow. “That’s a common misconception.”

“What?” Chloe says, frowning. “No, dude, on TV--”

“An undercover cop doesn’t have to tell you they’re a cop,” Rachel insists.

“Rachel, you know I’m a pharmacist,” the woman interrupts, looking confused.

“I mean, I do, but Chloe just met you and--”

“There you two are,” Max isn’t sure that interrupting is the best move, but the gradual reddening of the older woman’s face is reasonable enough evidence that it’s at least not a bad one. “Can you, uh, give me a hand? With some equipment? Outside?”

Apparently, she sounds urgent enough to really sell it, since Rachel and Chloe follow her without any additional convincing. Max waits until they’re just outside the venue to turn back and address them.

“Well?”

“Babe, that’s not even our car,” Chloe says gently, gesturing to the limo pulled up to the curb. “It’s too big, see?”

Okay, so. Chloe’s definitely drunk.

“Rachel, can you--” Max glances over in time to see Rachel sway at the lip of the curb, almost stumbling before she grabs Chloe’s shoulder for balance. She catches Max looking and grins, eyes bright and faintly bloodshot. “Are you drunk too?”

“No way, Max,” Rachel says. “We decided it’d be a bad idea if we both got drunk, so I only had like one glass of champagne.”

“Oh thank--”

“I am a little stoned though,” Rachel confides in a low whisper, leaning in close to Max’s ear, warm arms wrapped around Max’s shoulders. “Like, a tiny bit.”

“You guys--”

“It’s not our fault,” Chloe protests. “You dragged us out here and then ditched us with no one to talk to.”

“You could talk to each other,” Max points out.

“We did!”

“Yeah, we talked about how boring it was and how we needed to get drunk--”

“-- not drunk, just high--”

“Drunk and/or high to deal,” Chloe amends gamely and is rewarded with a grateful kiss to her cheek from Rachel.

“Rachel, we’re surrounded by your entire family,” Max points out. “It’s your cousin’s wedding.”

“Exactly,” Rachel snorts. “No one to talk to. Max, this sucks.”

“Ugh, I know,” Chloe whines. “God, like, the music? Why so much Polka?”

“I literally do not know,” Rachel laughs. “We’re not even Polish?”

The worst part of the whole situation is how cute Max thinks they are, despite everything else. Rachel in her pretty dress, shooting silly smiles at Chloe and Max. Chloe, looking dapper in her suspenders, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at some point in the night. Here in the parking lot with the distant crash of the ocean reaching her ears, the soft sparkly lights of the venue filtering out through the windows behind them, Max can’t help but imagine letting them drag her back to the car to drive them home.

She’s tired, has been working since six this morning, setting up and documenting the behind the scenes process for the entire wedding party. As much as she loves photography, will take any jobs that come her way to build her portfolio, weddings are her least favorite. They’re exhausting and intensive, and she has to be invisible while also being keenly aware of how much she stands out, a stranger with a snapping camera weaving between family and friends and co-workers.

But the night is wrapping up. There should only be an hour left, maybe two, and then Max can go home with a neat little paycheck and a few more references for her website, and maybe another gig lined up if Rachel’s grandmother had been serious about her ambitions for those pet portraits she’d asked about earlier.

“If you’ve had enough, I can get a car to take you back to the hotel,” Max breaks in, fishing her phone out of her pocket and opening the rideshare app. 

“Nooo,” Chloe whines, slipping forward to press a messy, sweet kiss to Max’s mouth. “We can’t leave you.”

“God, what kind of shitty girlfriends would we have to be to ditch you at my shitty cousin’s wedding?”

“Even if you did ditch us first,” Chloe points out.

“I’m working,” Max says.

“Still,” Chloe pouts.

“Oh my god,” Max mutters, trying not to smile and failing miserably. Chloe’s pout breaks into a brilliant grin and she laughs, wrapping Max up in a hug so tight it lifts her off the ground. “Camera, camera -- careful.”

“My bad, my bad,” Chloe says, gently placing Max back on the ground and giving the camera a truly unnecessary apologetic pat. “All good.”

“Chloe,” Rachel sighs, shooing Chloe out of the way and stepping into her place to fix Max’s rumpled clothes. She gently smooths the ruffled hair out of Max’s face, straightens her collar and the camera strap around her neck, and cups her face carefully to drop a light kiss to the side of Max’s temple. “Sorry, Max. Can’t mess up your lipstick.”

“It’s fine,” Max says, and it is. Even now, after all this time, any kind of kiss from Rachel still inspires that warm, floaty feeling in Max’s belly.

Rachel takes Max’s hand and squeezes it gently. “Okay, look. You can head back inside. We’re gonna behave.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about us,” Chloe nods. “We’re gonna tear it up at behaving. You won’t believe it.”

“So behaved.”

“Go do your thing, Maximilian,” Chloe says. “We’ll cool it til you’re done.”

“You sure?” Max checks again, receiving tandem nods in response. “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but the caterers are going to restock those little cheese puff things in like fifteen more minutes.”

“Well, you’ll know where to find us,” Rachel says, tugging Chloe after her back into the venue. “Love you, Max.”

“Love you too,” Max says, pausing in the doorway to watch them disappear into the crowd. She grips the camera tighter, slipping around to get a better vantage on the dance floor, feeling warmer and lighter than before.

enjoy my work? wanna leave a tip?

ko-fi / cashapp

[hangovercurse]

Mind Over Matter

A phone call at 4 in the morning turns into a very deep conversation with your good friend, Pete.

Pete Davidson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, existential philosophy

A/N: Inspired by Mind Over Matter by PVRIS

Word Count: 1771

There was nothing you hated more than being woken up at 4am on your day off. But someone had decided that they needed to call you, so you were awake. Your hand reached around for your phone, your head not lifting from the pillow. Once you found it you brought the screen to your eyes, squinting.

You couldn’t help but feel a little less angry when you saw Pete’s contact picture. Of course it would be him calling you at 4 am.

“Hey, Pete, what’s up?” Your voice came out scratchy and hoarse, a side effect of just waking up.

You could hear his heavy breathing on the other side, and your mind immediately went into worry mode. “Y/N I’m kind of really freaked out right now.”  

You sat up on the bed, turning your lamp on, “What’s going on?” Your feet touched the cold floor of your bedroom as you stood up, stumbling tiredly to your dresser and throwing on a pair of sweatpants.

“I’m really trippin’ out right now.” You could hear how far gone he was now that you were more awake.

You sighed, stopping your rushed actions. “Pete, I thought you weren’t taking that much anymore? Remember you said you wanted to get better?”

He let out a breath, “I know, I had a bad day. But the drugs aren’t helping. Everything feels so much worse and I’m really scared. You told me to call you whenever I needed someone and I really need you.”

You tried to keep your breathing steady, so he couldn’t hear how sad you were. Pete had been working so hard to get to a good place, and he was so close. To hear him so upset crushed you. “Okay, I’m on my way over. Are you gonna be okay for a few minutes while I’m on my way over there?”

You grabbed your keys from your counter and threw on your slip-on vans. “Can you stay on the phone with me?” His voice was timid, and you frowned.

“Of course, Pete. I’m leaving my house right now.” Luckily, his house was only a few blocks down from yours, so you were there in no time. You stayed on the phone with Pete the whole time, not saying much but reassuring him you were coming.

When you got to his home, you walked around the house to Pete’s door. “Hey, Petey, I’m gonna come in, okay?” You asked through the door, hand on the handle. Your best friend gave you a small noise of confirmation, so you let yourself in. You found him sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the foot of his bed.

You walked towards him slowly, settling on the ground in front of him. You took in his appearance, the dark bags under his eyes, the tear tracks on his cheeks, the ruffled hair from him running a hand through it too much. He reached out and grabbed your hand, holding it in his. You didn’t want to force him to talk, so you sat in silence until he was ready.

“How do I know that you’re real?” He asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, squeezing his hand, “Because I’m sitting in front of you.”

He shook his head, dropping your hand and letting out a sigh. “Yeah, but how do I know that this isn’t just something I’ve made up in my head?”

You smiled, “Pete, can you tell me what you took?” You assumed he was worried you were a hallucination from shrooms.

“No, that’s not what I mean.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I mean I took shrooms but I’m not talking about that. I mean how do I know that anything is real?”

“What do you mean, Pete?” You’d only seen this side of Pete a handful of times.

He looked up at you, his eyes finding yours. “I mean like, what if everything is just in my head? Like I don’t know that you’re real, I don’t know if anything is true. What if this is just some dream I’m having and I’m gonna wake up one day and it’s gonna be gone?”

You scooted closer to the man, your arm reaching out to him. “Reach out your hand and hold mine.” He did as he was told, and you intertwined your fingers. “Can you feel that?” You asked him.

He nodded, “But what if I’m just imagining it?”

You bit your lip, trying to find a way to calm him down. “Pete, this isn’t in your head, I promise. Your brain is just in a weird place right now. I am very real.” Your voice was soft, trying not to worry him.

“But I don’t know that Y/N. All I know is that I really want this to be real.” His voice gave away how scared he really was.

You reached your free hand to touch his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his skin gently. “I need you to trust me, Petey. I am just as real as you are.”

He leaned into your touch, a soft smile on his face. “I just don’t know how you can be real. Like I had to have made you up, no one like you would be friends with a guy like me.”

You frowned, moving so you were beside Pete on your knees, and wrapped your arms around him. You didn’t really know how to respond to that, he’d never said anything like it before. “And I mean, you’re so perfect. Like I feel like such a perfect person shouldn’t exist. That’s why I’m scared that you’re just some kind of dream.”

He leaned his body into yours, his head resting on your shoulder. “I’m not a dream, Pete. I’m really here, and I’m not gonna go anywhere.” You whispered, your nose brushing the side of his head. “If I wasn’t real, could I be holding you right now?”

He pulled away from you and you could tell he was starting to come down just a little bit, hopefully enough to pull him out of his thoughts. “I don’t know.” He mumbled, looking down.

You reached up to his jaw, moving his face so that he was looking at you. Your other hand ran through his hair, causing his eyes to close. “Could I do this?”

He smiled, looking like a cat whose head was being pet. “I guess not.”

You leaned closer to him, taking in all the features you knew so well. All the features you loved. And you knew you definitely shouldn’t kiss him, but if for some reason it went really badly, he probably wouldn’t remember and at least you would know. But you didn’t want to take advantage of his state. But it was just a kiss.

“If I wasn’t real, could I do this?” You whispered, your lips millimeters away from him. You paused, looking into his eyes, trying to read his emotions. You didn’t get much of a chance though, as Pete crashed his lips onto yours, one hand going around your waist and the other to the back of your neck.

You kissed him back, your lips moving together in sync. As cliché as it sounds, it felt right. As if you and Pete had been made for this moment.

When you pulled away for air, he rested his forehead on yours. “Okay, you’re definitely not real.” He muttered, out of breath.

You smiled, rolling your eyes slightly. “Eventually you’re just gonna have to accept that I am, in fact, a real person.”

“No real person like you would kiss me.”

“Well, I just did.” You smiled, “And I’ll do it again.”

You brought your head to meet his, lips colliding once again. Pete pulled you closer to him, so you were fully on your knees. He brought his hand to the back of your thigh, pulling your leg over him so you were sitting on his lap in front of him.

“Will you stop invalidating my existence now?” You asked with a giggle. Pete smiled, nodding in response. “Do you wanna talk about why you had a bad day?”

Your hand moved to gently run up and down his arm, trying to keep him calm. “I dunno, sometimes it just kind of happens, I guess. And then I got this email from Lorne about the show next week, and Colson won’t text me back, and I just got really messed up about all of it.” You nodded, letting him continue. “I’m sorry that I took all this shit. And that I called you so late. Sorry you have to deal with all my shit.”

You frowned, tilting your head, and resting one head on his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry, Pete. You had a bad day, it happens. You took shrooms, it’s okay. Everyone relapses, its part of getting better. But Peter Michael Davidson, don’t ever apologize for needing me. I told you to call me, I want you to call me when things get bad. I’d rather you wake me up every day for the rest of my life than for you to suffer alone. I don’t wanna think about what could happen if you don’t call me.”

He nodded, and you smiled sadly at him. “You’re my best friend, Pete. I’m here for you, no matter what. People love you and care about you.” You paused, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He whispered, leaning so his forehead was resting against yours. “Can I kiss you again?”

You chuckled, pecking his lips before moving backwards. “As much as I would love that, you’re still pretty high. We need to get you some water and some sleep and then maybe, if you still want to kiss me tomorrow, we can see.”

He pouted as you stood up, walking to grab the water bottle from his desk. When you stood in front of him, he reached up with both arms, making grabby hands at you. You held out the water bottle for him to take, but he just swatted at it. You realized what he wanted and rolled your eyes, grabbing onto his hands and pulling him up, struggling against gravity.

“Can you stay here for tonight?” He asked, looking down at you with big brown eyes.

You sighed, knowing he probably wasn’t sober enough to be making that decision. “I’ll stay, but I’m gonna sleep on the couch.” You smiled, pushing him towards his bed. He whined, but you ignored him and walked away. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” You said, shaking your head.

[honeymoonjin]

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

--

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

--

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

--

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment,  unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

--

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

--

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

--

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

[ciggylungz]

Pray to me

word count. 4,077

Warnings-like probably the most risky smut i’ve ever written, church sex, wild stuff (sorry)

Pray to me:

(A random little smutty one shot relating to my bad boy harry series, it’s not going to affect the story line so just imagine this is another au for my au that’s an au. I just gave myself a stroke writing that.)

__

Detention.

A ‘punishment’ Harry Styles was used to getting by now, he was in his third year of Catholic high school and to say he has gotten his fair share of detention slips is a gross understatement. You’d think being surrounded by crosses would help subdue his cursing yet Harry didn’t seem to inherit the same fear his classmates did by the ‘word of god’ that was crammed down his throat every day. So, it wasn’t exactly tolerated when the boy strung a slew of curses together to describe the head Priest, or when he got caught smoking spliffs in the boys bathroom when he was supposed to be in math and well, those choices led him to where he is now. Slouched in a pew whilst the head nun was giving him a proper tongue lashing and explaining to him that he was to clean the chapel from top to bottom, smooth any creased pages in the 300 bibles that were stacked in the rows of pews, get any gum off the under side of them as well and wipe down the stain glass windows. The school had called his mum to tell her he would be home very late that day knowing the job would take a solid 4 or 5 hours to complete and that’s if he rushed it. To say he was pissed was putting it lightly, yet the biggest shock was yet to come when he heard the heavy wooden doors open and slam again as another person shuffled inside.

“Miss Yln, you’re here. Mister Styles here can tell you the duties you both must complete, here are the keys lock the doors when you both are finished. We’ll expect to meet with you before mass tomorrow to get a proper apology once the work if finished. Right-o, chop chop kids.”

The grouchy wrinkle faced nun thrust the keys into an anxious Y/n’s hands while she shuffled her way towards the exit, giving a careless slam of the 20 pound doors causing both Harry and Y/n to flinch. Harry was genuinely surprised to see Y/n there with him, he’s used to seeing her at mass or in line at confessional but detention? That was a new one for her. He took his time standing from his seat, cracking his back and neck whilst he settled onto his feet, casting a curious glance at the girl who stuck out like a sore thumb in the somber hostile environment. He knew Y/n well, he considers her a friend which is rare since he’s not the friendliest of people around town. Yet he liked Y/n, she was cute as button and what teenage boy doesn’t find an innocent girl wearing a catholic school uniform appealing?

“well well well miss sunshine, what did you do to get yourself this torment?” Harry gave her the quick once over, using his typical teasing nickname for the girl just to get her cheeks to blush a bit and help lighten the mood. Y/n blew out a breath out through her plump glossed lips, subconsciously stomping her foot a bit in annoyance which Harry thought was funny, and also cute. “I accidentally said a bad word in class! James tricked me into saying it and Sister Amy heard and gave me detention.” Her pout grew further when the boy chuckled at her attitude. “How did he trick yeh into saying somethin’?” Y/n grunted a bit, very peeved and mentally hexing James for what his actions caused her, “He said hold your tongue while you say apple…” Harry at this point was letting out a belly laugh, just imagining Y/n’s face when she realized she’d said asshole and finding humor in how ditzy she could be sometimes. “You fell for that? Did you not have a childhood? I thought everyone knew that trick, hon” Y/n simply smacked his arm and tossed the keys onto the nearest surface. “Shush Harry” her little finger pointed at him, trying to be serious but he found it comical. His hands moved out to poke her sides, knowing exactly how ticklish she was feeling content as Y/n squirmed and squealed. Adorable giggles falling from her lips and making the chapel seem a bit less creepy, her tiny hands trying to push his biceps back to free herself from his tickling fingers. “Ah! Harry!-“ she was trying to speak between her laughs, the boy one year her senior smiled, dimples sinking into the flesh of his cheeks, “Dunno what you expected, love. You thought you could tell me to shush?! no one tells me to do princess.” “Okay! Okay I’m sorry! I take it back!” after what seemed like an eternity to Y/n, but was only a few ticks over a minute Harry finally let go, smiling down at her while he ruffled her hair chuckling to himself while she tried to straighten her uniform back out. “That was not a fair fight Harry, you had an unfair weight AND height advantage!” y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, you started it bossy pants. You’re lucky I didn’t throw yeh over m’ shoulder and tossed yeh around. You got off easy this time missy.”

Harry wasn’t typically so playful and relaxed, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cold around Y/n. How could he? She’s sunshine personified, the real version of the rhyme ‘sugar, spice and everything nice’.  The girl was the only thing that kept him from dropping out. Y/n makes day to day bullshit tolerable for him…and well she also has given her inspiration more than once when he couldn’t sleep at night and resorted to a quick wank while mumbling of dirty phrases topped off with her name to send him off to dreamland.

 _______________________________

After some more shenanigans, the pair got to work on their scheduled tasks.  Y/n had started in the bibles in the first 6 pews on the right side of the chapel while Harry dug through a supply closet to get a ladder out to wipe the windows. He was contemplating if he should pretend to fall and collect an insurance claim instead of actually cleaning the 12-foot art pieces but he decided against it by the time he found what he was looking for. After setting the ladder up and grabbing the giant duster Harry decided to take his first break, he knew he was just procrastinating but who cares? He decided during his break he’d get Y/n to take one with him. “Hey love, wanna take a fiver?” Y/n looked up from the 12th bible she had fixed giving him a frantic nod, her mind numb from the task she was busy doing.

“what do yeh wanna do?” she left the choice up to the older boy, watching as he bit his lip lightly in thought, shrugging and scooting in next to her. “truth or dare?” he wiggled his eyebrows tempting her and being the compliant and very bored girl, she was, Y/n agreed.

“Okay you first Harry, truth or dare?” the boy pondered for a moment before shrugging, “Truth” he didn’t miss the way she was fidgeting with her skirt all excited for the game. “Ok, have you ever uhmmmm got drunk?” her innocence laced her tone, genuine curiosity. Her voice slightly lowered as if what she was asking was naughty which of course got Harry to chuckle, “Yes, pretty much every weekend. You’ve never drank? Not even once, love?” his left eyebrow raised and she timidly shrugged “Nope, I only had wine at communion but then it’s only a sip. Never been drunk before…Okay your turn!” he hummed slightly, “Truth or dare y/n?” “uhhh dare!” at this point she was squirming in her seat from her giddiness, and Harry took full opportunity over the chance he had. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Y/n wasn’t exactly expecting that one. She thought maybe he’d dare her to say another bad word or smoke one of his cigarettes, but he wanted her to kiss him…and she was confused on why she wanted to. She didn’t want to say no, she had the urge to follow through with it. The girl noticed the butterflies in her stomach she was used to getting when around her older friend, and a blush crawled up her neck to her cheeks. Harry sat with an amused smirk, darting his tongue out to lick over his lips whilst tipping his head to the side slightly, “cat got your tongue, love? What are yeh waiting for?” a pointer finger was placed under her chin to get her to look at him, and y/n decided it was better to bite the bullet and pushed her thoughts out of the way while quickly leaning in to give him a peck.

Harry was surprised she actually did it, feeling her lips on his for a split second before she pulled away with a shy giggle yet he was having none of that. “uh uh, a real kiss” his natural dominance reared it’s head when he grabbed the girl and plopped her on his lap, holding her jaw and planting his lips on her’s yet again coaxing her to move with him. When she didn’t respond how he wanted he tugged her hair a bit, biting her bottom lip and dragging it down so her mouth was pried open, “Being a tease y/n, keep your mouth open wanna taste ya’”

y/n’s head was swimming, she’d never done anything like this but her body went weak under Harry’s rough hold and demanding voice and so she complied opening her mouth so his tongue could infiltrate. She wasn’t really skilled in the kissing department; she’d only kissed one person before and it was nothing like this. Harry didn’t mind her clumsy, clueless movements he found it even hotter that she didn’t know what she was doing and he was the one cracking away at her purity. His heart was pumping, his fingers tangled in her hair as he tugged her by it to get her to move where he wanted her, it was hot. So fucking hot.

When he finally pulled away from the kiss he observed her. Plump lips now a flushed red, swollen and slick with her lingering lip gloss and their mixed spit. She was breathing heavily, eyes staring into his darkening ones. She looked amazing. “God…pet you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuckin’ do that” his tongue darted out to lick over his own lips frowning when he got a heavy taste of sticky lip-gloss , “gotta get this off yeh, it’s too sticky” his sleeve was pulled down to cover his palm whilst he rubbed the remaining product off her delicious lips before shuffling it back up to bunch at his elbows. “There, look a little dazed petal. Yeh alright?” Y/n nodded quickly at the question, smiling a little bit before kissing his nose and each of his cheeks then going back to his lips mimicking how he’d kissed her prior. The boy could hardly contain himself, taking over the kiss and pulling her hands off his face holding both her wrists in one of his hands yanking them above her head so she was completely bound. “No no no, little love. I make the rules hon, you don’t. I didn’t say to kiss me again did i? I didn’t say you could touch me, hmm? Being a bit naughty aren’t yeh baby?”

To say she was overwhelmed and a tad confused was accurate, she had really no experience in any sort of sexual situations all she knew is she was going to listen to Harry. His gaze was enough to melt her into submission. “Words Y/n, did I tell you to do those things?” his grip on her wrist tightened a bit, “No….no you didn’t tell me to…” his eyes were staring into hers a subtle hum exiting his throat. “Good girl, now tell me your sorry.” “I’m sorry, Harry” an adorable pout decorated her lips, Harry was loving this.

He let go of her hands, both of them falling into her lap where she folded them, making sure to follow the new rule of not touching without permission, waiting for what was going to happen next. Only a moment later did Y/n feel Harry’s right thumb pressing into her bottom lip, eyes jumping to meet his, “open” she complied, letting him slip his thumb past her lips to rest on her tongue, “Close, now suck.”

Her confused gaze met his stern one while she started suckling on his digit. She didn’t really understand why he wanted her to suck his thumb, regardless she did it.

It was taking everything in Harry to not bend the girl over and shove himself inside her, god he fucking wanted to but he had something else in mind. Something more sinful than two teenagers having premarital sex in a chapel, no he wanted to give the biggest ‘fuck you’ he could to the school, and the ‘god’ he was forced to submit to. He knew if all the preaching’s were true, this idea was his first-class ticket straight to the devil’s doorstep.

“Listen princess, you’re going to do what I say, okay?” Y/n gave a quick nod of her head, Harry scooting her off his lap and removing his thumb from her mouth as he guided her up the steps to of the pulpit where the priest usually gave his sermons, a holy pedestal of sorts but today it would get a new use.

“on your knees.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Harry stood in the center of the pulpit, the religious art work surrounding them did little to stop his ‘sinful’ desires. Desires of the flesh were the only thing on his mind.

Y/n was on her knees before him, looking up at her friend who had a smug sultry look on his beautiful face. His hands fumbled with his belt whilst he looked down at her.

“you’re going to pray to me now, angel.”

Y/n couldn’t believe she was really in this situation, kneeling under the podium in the pulpit where she hears sermons 5 days a week for 3 hours with Harry pulling his cock out. when he finally managed to get himself free a loud groan echoed in the sanctuary, one that made Y/n feel a tingle between her legs and salivate slightly. A strange new sensation she couldn’t describe, but she knew she liked it.

“open your mouth, sweetheart.”

Y/n had never seen Harry’s eye’s look so dark, his tone so demanding and his breathing so heavy. His cock loomed over her face, bobbing slightly with every beat of his heart whilst something clear and sticky was leaking from the tiny slit in the top of it webbing onto the underside of his tip. She was nervous, but she did as she was told opening her sweet little mouth so the older boy could guide the crown of his cock into the warm cavern of her virgin mouth. The sensation was the closest thing to heavenly Harry had ever felt in this room, her mouth was warm and wet. Tongue slightly textured and slick with the nice, thick spit that comes from the back corners of your mouth. It’s better than any lube you can buy truly. He instructed her to suck his flesh, hollowing her cheeks and massaging his prick with the flesh of her mouth for the very first time in her life.

“Holy fucking shit, doll…you sure this is yeh first time? Good little cock sucker aren’t yeh? On your pretty knees, praying to me now huh?” Harry could see his cock pushing into the side of her cheek as she nodded, her mouth stuffed full of his leaking member, and because Harry was Harry and liked to really make a statement he decided if he was going to hell for this, he might as well make it worth it.

His fingers plucked one of the small wooden crosses off of the staircase on the pulpit, it was a decoration dedicated to Christ yet he had other plans for it.

The boy took a step back from Y/n, moaning slightly at the sight of her following after his cock when it started slipping from her lips. She wanted it, she liked it and god he fucking did too but he couldn’t wait any longer to execute the idea that just tumbled into his mind. Harry snapped his fingers in front of the drooly lipped girl, getting her attention on his eyes instead of the cock she wanted so desperately back in her mouth. “Up, don’t be greedy yeh can finish me off when I’m done with yeh..” Harry lifted the girl by her underarms up onto the flat part of the pedestal, where a bible was sat opened to a scripture that was suddenly smothered by the doe eyed girls round plump ass. Harry wishes he could dig his teeth into it but that’s for another time.

Y/n didn’t resist at all when he tipped her back a bit, hiking her skirt up and spreading her legs. The only reaction she gave at first was a quick gasp when he ripped her school tights right at the crotch her white cotton panties now in his view. “cute” was mumbled under his breath as he toyed with the tiny pink bow stitched into the waistband of her panties, but soon they were gone as well pushed fully to the side to expose her cunt, a small smattering of light curls at the apex of her thighs. They looked soft, light and quite cute. He could tell they’d never been shaven off before by how soft they were, wasn’t a very course or thick section of hair. That was likely to come later in her life, but for now her cunt was the only thing he was willing to worship in the holy home of Christ.

“Fuckin’ beautiful…got a real nice little pussy, angel.” Y/n was past the point of being shy now, she was spread eagle perched on top of a open bible with her cunt on full display in front of her half naked friend. Modesty flew out the door a while ago. And so, she responded in a little whine and shimmy of her hips, feeling the cold air lapping at her hot center and cooling the slick that had collected between her folds that she didn’t even notice till now.

The boy thought he might have been in the midst of one of his wet dreams, the stereotypical catholic school girl splayed out in a chapel with his hungry eyes staring at her virgin cunt. He was trying his hardest to take a mental picture so he can relive this the next time he has a wank, but in this moment his plan was coming to fruition.

Harry held up the small wooden cross, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger. The piece of religious art was about as wide around as a taper candle and maybe a good 4 inches from the base to where it met the divider of the cross. Much smaller than his cock, but a good size to fuck his classmate with.

“Open.” His voice doomed after the stretch of silence, Y/n letting her lips fall open again gurgling a bit as the wooden cross was thrust into her mouth. Harry was purposefully being rough, pushing her gag reflex intentionally, “Gag on it, get it nice and wet. Do as I say y/n, m’ getting’ yeh throat to slick it up. Could shove it in yeh dry be glad I’m lubing it up pet.” With a few more jabs at her uvula the boy was content with the amount of thick spit that dripped down the object.

Y/n couldn’t help but squirm and mewl, feeling Harry split her labia. An audible clicking sound fell on their ears from the wetness adhering the folds of skin together, the sound gave a boost to his already prominent smirk. Once her engorged clit came into view Harry made a point to give it a few strong strokes with his thumb before pressing the end of the cross into the girl’s virgin opening. The sight was nothing short of filthy, completely sinful. He wouldn’t be surprised if the floor caved in and they fell straight to hell as he finally managed to press through her thin hymen gaining entry to the untouched inners of the girl.

The stinging caused Y/n to hiss slightly, her legs quivering as he finally made it inside her. A small streak of her purity stood out against the white wood. Harry couldn’t help but snicker to himself, he thought of Virgin Mary in this moment. Ironic right? The first thought into his mind when seeing Y/n’s virginal blood striping a cross was how this was a strange twist on the story of the savior’s mother.

His movements sped up considerably after the flimsy membrane of resistance was punctured. The cross now being plunged in and out of the girl’s sacred spot in quick succession while she gripped the railing behind her in an effort not to tumble off the stand.

“Would yeh look at that, might be the first girl in this school to get fucked with a cross, baby. Always knew you were special huh?” Harry migrated his hand down to thumb at her clit, the foreign sensation of something inside of her and a massaging of her pleasure organ had the girl pigeon toed and panting. Harry swears he’s never seen anything hotter than what he was doing in this moment. His arm was getting tired but he didn’t dare fucking stop. No, he decided he was going to violate the artwork until Y/n had her first orgasm clamping onto the now not so holy figurine.

Y/n could barely form a thought, pleasure wracking through her body and a strange sensation building inside of her. Harry mumbling filth to her was the icing on the cake, her body tipping over the edge. Her body went stiff before breaking out into shakes, vocal cords strained from the moans and yelps escaping her throat. Her first ever orgasm was the most intense feeling she had ever felt, and Harry almost came just watching her suddenly remembering his abandoned cock.

Y/n was scrambling to regain control over her body, pushing Harry’s wrists away with a slick popping noise following as the cross was removed from her body. Harry leaned down to kiss the panting girl, dribbling spit into her open mouth while she gasped for air. “good girl, you’re such a good girl.” His ring clad fingers pet her cheek lightly, the other hand sitting her up and tugging her forward giving her a shove to get her back onto her knees.

“Now, time to finish your prayer, love” His hand pushed his cock back into the cavern of her mouth, she suckled hard on him. Tongue lapping at the underside of his cock, suction hard on the crown of him. The way she gave harsh spongy movements of her tongue and cheeks had his knees weak having to hold himself up on the podium. “Shit, Christ pet I’m gonna cum”.

Harry felt his climax rapidly approaching, taking both of his hands and putting them on the back of her head forcing the entirety of his cock down the girls sore throat. The muscles already tired from all the noise she made with it, but she only dug her fingers into his thighs as he spilled down her tight throat.

Harsh breathing along with Harry’s pleasured chuckle were the only noises filling the room as the pair removed themselves from each other. Harry getting his control back, putting his cock away before pulling Y/n to her feet giving her a few smacking kisses as he helped straighten her out tossing her ruined tights into the trashcan.

“Think we took more than a fiver babe, guess we gotta finish now huh?”

His smirk was wide while he put the cross right back in it’s place, cum still dripping off of it.