#how do people draw lashes

[sneezingbabysloth]

I’ve been so inactive lately but the rebirth trailer dropped and threw me into another ff7r hyperfixation so have this wip (I’m really proud of)

[arom-antix]

Happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend, trophy husband of Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor Nikiforov!

[ectonurites]

SUPER DARK TIMES (2017) DIR KEVIN PHILLIPS

[shidoukanae]

TME PMV frame thingie WIP

I absolutely adore Helene and Lyla's relationship in both iterations of TME's story and i NEED more qpt gal relationships like theirs is i s2g

it's really, REALLY hard to get me sincerely invested in relationships between female characters but damn am i invested in this one.

Something about a do-good heroine who is abnormally hostile only towards her own half-sister for seemingly no reason (read: "no reason") is a dynamic i can't get enough and seeing Lyla constantly make efforts in both the manhwa/LN to reach out to her is so bittersweet and yet amazingly well done

(and i can't praise enough how amazing Helene is handled as a deeply flawed female character!!! She's genuinely the best written female character ive seen and i wish more gals were written as amazing as she is TwT)

[nolan-chance]

I don't know why (I know why) I've been thinking about a genderbend version of, you guessed it, my boy. I don't really like those (? BUT I'm sure her name would be Nora Chance. Yes, Nora Chance my girl

[girlscience]

alien be upon ye

[inkskinned]

you spent hours in libraries and in art supply stores trying to absorb the artist tips from books your parents didn't want to buy you. on each page of every "how to draw" is a version of the same four things: this is how you shade a sphere. this is how you shade a cone.

this is what a man looks like. he is hard and angular and jutting. his chest narrows a triangle down to his sharp hip and long legs. his jawbone is a square. he is powerful, imposing, his hands are big and meaty. he is a leader.

this is what a woman looks like. she is soft and her hands tuck her long hair back behind a delicate ear. she is big-eyed and round (but not too round, she is skinny, here is the faint sketch of her abs showing), she is smaller and lighter and pretty. she has thick black lashes and her tits do not come with a massive ribcage to offset the weight we put on her - she has curves, but they are impossibly slim without giving her backache trouble. there is a large red hourglass outlined on top of her figure, the way there is a triangle outlined on top of the man. her face is a heart-shape, and her lips are pouting.

here is how you draw the woman and the man together. the man should be in action shots. the woman's ass should be in action shots. she should fit against the man to compliment his negative space - she should slot into his shadow so when they hug, they become one uniform space. here is how all the other artists have done it, see how good it looks when the man (angles, fire, passion, action) and the woman (roundness, water, emotion, supplication) complement each other? he begins the sentence, she is his ending.

do you want to kiss another girl? that is round-to-round. that is fitting the wire into the wrong socket! how would the faces look together? a single silhouette you sketch and then hide, scribbling over it.

do you want to look like a girl? by sheer genetic happenstance, you absolutely don't look like that, and you never have. you don't look like a man, either, though, do you. you don't feel like you truly belong to either gender, but there is not a "neutral/fluid" drawing in the book. there is male (triangle) or female (hourglass).

but you have a square jaw and square hands and "masculine" proportions. but you have curves and roundness and full lips and "feminine" features. someone online says, definitively, that any form of gender noncompliance is "a mental illness." this comment has over one thousand likes from people who agree.

here is how you shade a square. none of the clothes at the store look good on you, you always somehow feel like you're wearing a weird kind of costume. here is how you shade a sphere. your friend's mother calls the school because she's horrified you're in the same changing room. here is the neutral body figure: it is a wooden man. technically the wooden man is genderless, but that is because masculinity is the default, and everyone calls the figure "a wooden man." you must be small and posable and skinny and featureless, then you can be masculine enough to not have gender.

here is how to draw a person. begin with some shapes. choose the right shapes to get that person's gender correct. do not kiss her. shade in short, sharp lines.

when she laughs, look away.

[lovebugism]

you’re writing for carmy now omg i’m frothing at the mouth 😭 i love the trope where reader is quiet in bed and needs to be coaxed a bit but… i feel like it would be kind of hot if reader was the one coaxing carmy? 👀 no worries if you’re not feeling this one!

ty for requesting! — you teach the bear how to use his voice in the bedroom (new relationship, inexperienced!carmy, experienced!reader-ish, smut 18+)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Carmy never notices when he’s quiet. His head is always so loud in comparison — it’s easy to forget he isn’t saying anything out loud when his mind’s constantly racing. He doesn’t mean anything by it, though. He’s just chronically observant. And painfully silent with it.

He lays on his back, pressed between unmade sheets and your warm body. The covers bunch at your bare hips as you roll in languid thrusts over his lap. A satiny summer breeze smooths over your burning skin from a cracked-open window. Every time the curtains billow, more of the moonlight peeks in. It drips in silver shades over your naked skin and your pretty face, now twisted in a look of undeniable pleasure — brows scrunched, eyes closed, mouth wide open.

Carmy’s tattooed hands rest impatiently on your hips. His fingers dig into the plush of them as he rocks you back and forth over his cock. You make pretty noises for him every time your clit brushes his coarse thatch of pubic hair, so he angles his hips just right to make sure you keep hitting that spot. 

“Carmy,” you moan in a whimsical sigh that makes his chest swell. “Just like that. ’S so good like that. Please don’t stop—”

His face, made of dark shadows and sharpened edges, is pinched in a look of acute concentration. A distant feeling of deja veux swims in his stomach. It makes him wonder if he’s seen this in a painting before. One of those Renaissance types. The kinds that are harrowingly realistic and always heart-wrenchingly beautiful in a way. 

It makes him want to draw you. Just as you are now. Head tossed back, mouth gently agape, lashes fluttering over glowing cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to do any of it justice, but he tries to memorize the soft lines of your face, anyway. 

Your hips slow to a stop. Reality hits him hard.

“Woah, woah— Hey,” Carmy mumbles in protest, brows pinched in confusion when he comes down from the clouds. Through labored breaths that make his sweaty chest rise and fall, he wonders, “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

His icy blue eyes dart over your face, searching for any sign of harm. In true Carmen Berzatto fashion, he immediately thinks he’s done something wrong — that he got too far in his own head and hurt you in some way without realizing. The anxiety is fleeting, but he feels the pinch of it anyway — right where your palm rests flat on his chest, just over his pounding heart.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, similarly panicked. Your bare chest sparkles with a thin layer of sweat and catches the moonlight with every uneven inhale.

Carmy nods rapidly, chestnut curls brushing the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’m great. Why?”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, growing sheepish under his unwavering gaze. You feel a bit silly for stopping now. “You just aren’t… You aren’t really, you know… saying anything,” you answer shyly.

“Am I supposed to be saying something?”

You giggle quietly to yourself until you realize he’s being genuine. Your smile ebbs as you stammer, “Well, no, it’s just— Some people usually moan, I guess— When they feel good.”

Carmy nods firmly in reassurance. “I feel good.”

“Okay…” you nod back, slower and more unsure. 

“I promise,” he tells you, tattooed hands squeezing your sides. He shifts nervously on the mattress, similarly victimized by your adoring stare. “I just… I just like watchin’ you, I guess…”

A shy smile quirks the edges of your mouth as you peer down at the boy beneath you. “You’re sweet, bear,” you coo in a honeyed murmur.

“You’re sweeter,” Carmy insists. You think you see the faintest hint of a grin on his lips, but it’s hard to tell in the low light. “Wanna taste?” he teases a second later.

Wordlessly, you bend down for another kiss, far too chaste for his liking. He almost says something about it until you roll your hips again. The words of protest disappear when he inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Does that feel good?” you ask him.

He nods silently, squeezing your sides in a feeble attempt to move you faster on top of him.

“Tell me.”

“Feels good,” Carmy obeys through gritted teeth.

The subtle assurance makes you moan — a pretty, breathy thing that spills accidentally from your opened mouth. All he can think about is getting you to make that sound again. 

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” he wonders aloud, very innocuously curious.

You nod, brows furrowed as you grind over his lap. The bed frame squeaks quietly when you roll your hips forward. When you roll them back again, he can hear the faint sounds of your wet pussy — the quiet schlick-ing of his cock fucking into you. The two noises play one after the other in rhythmic tandem. The sinful sounds of sex.

Carmy racks his head for something to say in the not-so-silent meanwhile. You watch him get lost in his mind and cup his cheeks between gentle palms. “Don’t think so hard about it, bear,” you say with a wavering smile. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

You duck down to kiss him again. The angle shifts. Carmy bends his knees and fucks up into you, mercilessly and without warning. Your mouth hangs open in another weak moan that fans across his chin. 

“That good?” he pants.

“Yes,” you whine. “Carmy— fuck— You’re so deep…”

Babbles spill from your mouth in thinkless slurs. They tumble from your swollen lips with an admirable effortlessness, which Carmy has never thought himself to possess. He tries, anyway, to talk to you with such sinful ease. 

“You’re huggin’ me so tight,” he mutters through a clenched jaw. The very first thought to come to mind as the velvet confines of your cunt pulsate around him, squelching quietly in time with his thrusts. “Can feel you throbbin’ around me, babe— Shit— It’s like a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

Your whine fills the quiet bedroom, adding to the symphony of bed squeaking and skin slapping. 

Carmy shifts his hips upward. The new angle allows his cock to reach a spongy depth inside you and pins your swollen clit against his happy trail, which now glimmers with a layer of your honey.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod wordlessly until the words catch up to you. The tip of your nose brushes the bridge of his. “Yes,” you whimper. 

His brutal thrusts pick up pace a second later, never wavering in their wicked pursuit. “Let me hit that spot,” Carmy mumbles to himself like a man crazed. “Let me hit that spot, let me hit that spot.”

Pleasure swells within you, overwhelmingly so. It’s a warm and sparkling feeling in the pit of your stomach — a tightening coil, a fraying rope, a dam about to burst. The intensity of your inevitable orgasm frightens you.

“Carmy…” you whimper.

“I know,” he nods sympathetically, right before he plants his feet on the mattress. He strengthens his thrusts, which have slowly started to lose their rhythm. “It’s okay. C’mon. Cum for me— I can feel you fuckin’ drippin’ on me, baby— C’mon.”

Your jaw clenches to fight back the scream clawing at your throat. It comes out in a pitiful whimper instead when you tense over his lap. Your orgasm washes over you in waves that leave you shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

Carmy goes accidentally silent once more as he watches you, swelling with pride as you reach the height of your pleasure. His light eyes flit over your features in a feeble attempt to memorize them — the furrow between your brows, the wrinkles beside your shut eyes, the spit-slicked sheen to your kissed lips.

You’re painting brought to life. A heavenly thing he can’t believe he gets to touch with unworthy hands.

“That’s it…” Carmy murmurs lowly. The words bubble in his throat and fall from his mouth mindlessly. He doesn’t even have to think about them now. It just feels right to praise you like this. “That’s it. There you go. So pretty… Always so pretty for me.”

As your body racks with aftershocks, you seek refuge in his arms. Your weight rests entirely upon him as your tense limbs slowly relax, but Carmy doesn’t mind. He just wraps his tattooed arms around you and holds your trembling body closer.

“I got you,” he promises through labored breaths, chapped lips brushing your temple with every word. “I got you. ’S okay. You did so good for me, baby. Thank you.”

You don’t have the words to tell him that you should be the one thanking him.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Lesson 1: "White Man Painted Black"?

Okay, I recognize that this is a strong foot to step off on! But! If you learn nothing else from this series, if you decide for whatever reason to forsake me: this is the ONE perspective I'd like you to take away!

You may have heard this quote before, when Black fans deride a character design as 'a white man with the brown bucket tool'. On its face, it means exactly what was said. But specifically, what it means is that we recognize that whomever designed the character drew the way they normally draw for a 'default' character in their mind- default usually meaning White/Eurocentric features- and they added a shade of brown within the line art to make that character now 'Black'.

Now if you're feeling defensive, wait just a moment! This discomfort is not inherently a bad thing!

I'm going to use both a 'real world' example first, to show you what your Black fans and peers are seeing, and perhaps you will also understand our discomfort!

(if anyone was curious, my folder for this lesson is titled 'brad' lmao and you'll see why)

(I'll have y'all know that I actually worked very hard to make Blackface Brad look mildly presentable lmao I'm sorry, I'm wheezing, I can hardly breathe looking at him 🤣)

You see how, despite knowing where this was going, and using one of the darkest shades of brown in my Skin Tones arsenal, you still know that that's Brad Pitt? That nothing about his hair texture, his lips, his nose, or really anything other than the palette change... changed? And you can still see that?

It's incredibly hurtful to be told that that's supposed to be you. You know it's not, you know why it's not, but rather than hearing how it makes you feel unseen and what they could do to be better (since they wanted to draw a Black character!), the artist lashes out at you.

And as an artist, you might have worked VERY HARD to do this! That might be a real handsome guy you drew!! But... is he really Black? Did you walk into it with the intention, that you were drawing a Black Character, or did you draw a character that just happened to be Black? It seems like a silly thing, but it matters!

Okay. I just finished laughing over Brad. Now let's get into some more perspective changes:

Now, imagine you drew a character. You want to make her Black, so you change the hair and skin colors. All right! You have your Black character... right?

Changed ONE feature about her? (You should obviously change more than one feature, but let's just go with the simplified example.)

What if, instead of just changing her palette, we changed her:

Hair?

There isn't nearly enough time in the world, let alone in this little scribble and blurb, for me to describe the IMPORTANCE of Black hair in Black character design. There are so many ways to do curls, afros, braids, twists, locs, SO MANY HAIRSTYLES!! Get used to searching in the 3C-4C hair textures!!!! I plan on doing an entire lesson or two on hair alone, but suffice it to say, Hair Texture is thee BIGGEST giveaway that you 'painted a white person Black'- from cartoon styles to realistic! It reveals itself in your writing as well- just based on how your character takes care of their hair, how your describe the texture, how other people might perceive it... it lets me know just how much research was done. Because we can have straight hair! But again, that's a conversation for a whole 'nother lesson so- come back later 👀?

Lips?

I love our lips, I really do. There's a long history of shaming Black women in particular for the way our lips look. So when I see them done in all their glory, it makes me very happy. Two-toned lips vary in shade and intensity, so make sure you're using references if you want to be 'realistic', but it doesn't have to be that hard. Even a little subtle shift like this in the design/story description lets me know that a creator was thinking about me.

Nose?

One thing I've noticed ever since I starting drawing is that... people in a lot of mangas/manhwas barely have noses! I admit, out of all the features on the face, the nose isn't the most important. I think they should be, especially when you want to emphasize that your characters look different! People have different types of noses! I especially want to gear this towards those with a goal of drawing realistic portraits and the like- there, the nose is ANOTHER dead giveaway. There are Black people with aquiline and straight noses- we aren't a monolith- but is that why you drew it? Consider why you went for that nose specifically. That's part of the intent, in all this!

Now, you might be looking at me and going "Ice... this is just character design". To which my answer is: Yes! It is! It feels so basic, and yet if you ask your Black friends/peers how often they've come across this feeling of not being properly drawn/written, from fanart to professionally produced works, it's unfortunately common despite how simple of a concept it is.

I hope that you can walk away from my first lil lesson with new eyes. Remember, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[suntoru]

─ ✰ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒.

— synopsis: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔, the popular guy in your class, chooses to sit next to you, of all people. you've fallen head over heels, what happens next?

— warnings: highschool au! angst, fluff in the beginning, will not be writing a part 2, swearing, gaslighting, betrayal, just a bet troupe, gojo being a dick or everybody generally, 3.4k words!

— a/n: not my proudest work to be honest :( also tried another formatting lmk if u liked it! comments and reblogs r very much appreciated i will love u forever

"yo. can i sit here?" gojo satoru grins, effortlessly sliding into the empty seat next to you and making himself at home.

...huh? isn't that the popular guy who's usually surrounded by his friends? he's constantly the subject of admiration among the girls in your class, eliciting swoons and whispers of infatuation wherever he goes. confusion creeps in as you wonder why he didn't choose the empty seat next to suguru. there's no conceivable reason for someone like gojo, popular and charismatic, to opt for the seat beside you. you feel a sense of self-consciousness settling in.

nevertheless, you nod softly, though you're well aware the question was more of a rhetorical one. he's fashionably late, by twenty minutes, to be precise, unabashedly ignoring the scolding glares from your teacher about punctuality. instead, he buries himself in the deep blue plastic seat, sticking his tongue out when the teacher turns his back, letting out a huffy pout from the lecture.

nervously, you glance up from your notebook, cautiously stealing a peek at your new desk buddy. he's pretty─ real pretty, snowy white lashes adorning his pretty cerulean spheres, dainty fingers idly spinning a pencil out of sheer boredom. and as if kissed by the blush of a gentle sunrise, his lips possess a natural rosy hue, smooth and plump, belong to him like a delicate work of art. you wonder just how many kisses they've stolen. caught in a moment of admiration, you find yourself staring a tad longer than socially acceptable.

his eyes flicker, locking onto yours, and the realization hits you—oh, he caught you staring. shit. immediately, you break eye contact as you cough awkwardly. you swiftly attempt to play it off, pretending as if you were engrossed in examining the intricate texture of your silver-grey desk instead. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you hope he hasn't interpreted your lingering gaze as anything more than idle curiosity.

...should you say something? try to deny you were very clearly eye fucking him? he probably thinks you're a freak now. perhaps he sat next to you out of pity, and now he regrets it. out of sheer embarrassment, the words die in your mouth before they could ever leave, keeping your gaze glued to the floor as you refuse to acknowledge that his presence ever existed.

however, it appears that gojo won't let you suffer the embarrassment in peace. when your stern teacher turns away, he subtly slides a ripped edge of his blue-lined paper towards you, bearing a simple 'hi :)'. he's attempting a conversation, a surprising but welcome distraction from the awkwardness of being caught staring. an opportunity to salvage a bit of your dignity. now, the challenge lies in crafting a response that strikes the right balance.

would 'hey' sound too dry? but 'heyyyy' makes it seem like you're a little too interested. you opt for a casual 'heyy' with your black pen, scribbling the reply with extra caution to avoid prying eyes. as soon as the teacher is out of view, you subtly slip the note back to gojo. his lips curl into a slight smile upon reading your response.

two minutes pass by before you get a response. 'do you get this lesson? i'm soo lost..' accompanied by a small doodle of a crying suguru. you can't help but stifle a giggle; the drawing is poorly done, yet undeniably cute. the teacher swiftly turns around at the sound, prompting both of you to scramble and make it look like you're diligently focused on the lesson. the suspicious gaze lingers for a moment before the teacher returns to the whiteboard.

'maybe it's cause you missed like, half of the lesson.' you write back. he rolls his eyes playfully upon reading your retort, swiftly countering with a pout. "it's not my fault this class is so boring.'

'who said philosophy was supposed to be fun?' you reply. in response, gojo eagerly accepts the note, maintaining the subtle exchange of eye contact. 'hey, be nice to mr. aristotle, he's a great guy :(' he sends back. and thirty minutes seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

the bell chimes, signaling the end of the philosophy session and the need to transition to your next course. reluctantly, you stow your textbook in your bag, feeling a twinge of sadness at the realization that this amusing interaction might have been a one-time occurrence.

it's been a while since you've genuinely laughed. so when his ocean blue eyes latch onto yours with a genuine sense of hope, you quickly fold when he asks you if you're interested in sitting with him again tomorrow.

in those thirty short minutes, you learn three things about gojo satoru. firstly, you realize you've sorely misjudged him. he's not just another nepo-baby cheating his way through school; he's actually quite smart, smarter than he lets on. he's especially good in biochemistry, and he promises to help you study next time.

secondly, you discover that he loves sweets, just as you do. you both agree that kikufuku mochi is better than strawberry dango, and he even tells you about his favorite shop. maybe you can go together sometime.

and thirdly, he doesn't tell you this outright, but you learn that gojo is insecure. what strikes you the most is the glimpse of uncertainty you catch beneath his confident exterior. it's not about his looks or intelligence, but it's actually about his relationship with suguru. he's afraid to lose him, a fear that seems to drive him more than anything else. he overcompensates for his self-doubt. but you find that his flaws make him all the more pretty.

it's peculiar, the speed at which gojo somehow effortlessly integrates into your daily life. how he's feeling is how you're feeling, which is usually reflected on his friendship with suguru. if they had a fight, he'd be sad, and if everything was alright, he was too. but either way was okay with you, you just want to be there for him. what was once a dreaded fourth period now stands as the radiant highlight of your entire day.

despite the limited instances of verbal communication —perhaps a mere once or twice— the inexplicable truth remains: you've fallen head over heels for him. the simple act of passing notes with satoru becomes more than a routine; it evolves into the sole force that awakens you in the morning, the singular thought that propels you forward and keeps you going throughout the day.

and just maybe, the hopeless romantic within you fervently clings to the belief that his sentiments go beyond mere friendship. his actions seem to carry an extra layer of care, an attentiveness that extends beyond your platonic friendship. he notices the little things that escape the notice of others. it wasn't lost on him when you shed tears the other night due to the weight of stress; he went out of his way to procure your favorite candy bar, a sweet gesture aimed at brightening your spirits.

he took notice of your new haircut, expressing in a note that it frames your face nicely. he had comforted you when a classmate aimed a subtle insult your way, he wrote that the words of someone whose foundation didn't match their face shouldn't hold much weight. he even made an effort to be punctual for class, all to engage in the shared exchange of silly notes with you. and honestly, even if he didn't like you back, you'd be fine.

because your heart swells with gratefulness at the fact that he chose to sit with you. he wanted to be your friend even when nobody else did. you trusted and loved him with your whole heart, because that's what you believed he deserved.

so imagine your surprise when you overhear his conversation with suguru that day.

"just a day more, then you win the bet." geto groans, tossing his head back in exasperation. the two of them linger in the now-empty classroom, the echoes of other students long gone.

"yep, twenty four hours, then you owe me three hundred dollars." satoru sings, playfully nudging his best friend's shoulder. he's all sunshine and smiles, swinging his feet from the desk he's currently sitting on.

"and it wasn't even that hard. i just had to get 'em to fall for me." suguru rolls his eyes. "dude, if i was you, i would've tapped out the first week. how'd you manage to do it?" he huffs, clearly annoyed at the impending financial loss.

satoru mischievously grins. "just used my charm." he fluffs his hair with a smug expression on his face. "can't believe it worked so fast, though. they must be real desperate for someone's attention. all it took was for you to fuckin' pretend like you cared." suguru grouches, being a sore loser. you don't hear the rest, the notebook you had lost long forgotten.

a lump forms in your throat, a sensation of dread creeping up on you. you desperately want to believe he's not talking about you, but you can't shake the realization that to him, you were nothing more than a pawn in a bet— a tool used for his amusement. you're overwhelmed by a sense of stupidity, a painful realization sinking in, drowning every rational thought.

he never cared. you could fall dead at this moment and he wouldn't even spare you a glance. you should've known. why would he? you feel stupid for allowing him entry into your life, stupid for naively believing in his sincerity, and stupid for daring to love a heartless jerk who played with the fragile strings of your heart.

they're right. you are pathetic. you just blindly fell for the first person who gave, or rather, pretended to give a shit. a relentless ache throbs in your chest as you stubbornly refuse to succumb to tears over a boy— a resolution crumbling like fragile glass. despite your stubborn determination, an uncontrollable torrent of hot tears streams down your face, distorting the world into a watery blur.

the desperate yearning for someone to choose you, to envelop you in unconditional and pure love, had fueled your hopes. and for a fleeting moment, you believed you'd found it, only to witness your heart being ruthlessly trampled blue. clutching onto the tattered shreds of your dignity, half-broken and bleeding, you muster the strength to leave swiftly before they catch a glimpse of you.

the bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the air, each teardrop is a testament to the shattering of dreams, the dead hope that once soared. the yearning for a love that stands unwavering proves to be a mirage, leaving you grappling with the shards of a love that was never truly yours.

that day, you learn one more thing about gojo satoru. he's just like everybody else.

cerulean eyes, like pools of shimmering azure, flicker with concern as they scan the empty seat beside him. minutes stretch into eternity on the clock, each tick of the second hand amplifying the weight of his worry. nine twenty morphs into nine fifty pretty quickly, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. at this rate, you'll only get in twenty minutes of 'talking.'

you're always punctual—eight fifty-five on the dot. but today, the clock ticks on, and there's no sign of you anywhere. his brows furrow with concern, a nervous flutter dancing in his stomach. did something happen to you? the mere possibility sends a pang of anxiety through him, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat, unable to focus on the lesson before him.

yet, when his gaze shifts to meet suguru's, he swiftly masks his apprehension with an air of nonchalance, as if feigning indifference to your absence. but inwardly, his heart races as he anxiously awaits your arrival. when you finally walk in, he's already scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, filled with questions about what could have delayed you today. yet, as he extends his hand to pass you the note, his eager smile fades into confusion and disappointment.

you walk right past seat thirteen, your usual spot, without so much as a glance in his direction. instead, you approach a random girl and ask if you could sit with her. his heart sinks, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as a torrent of thoughts flood his mind. is something wrong? are you upset with him? he replays every interaction in his mind, searching for any misstep. but he can't find one. he's been careful to maintain the perfect facade when you're around. perhaps you simply forgot, he reasons with himself, attempting to quell the rising tide of hurt and confusion.

yes, that must be it.

...just a simple oversight.

"hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!! just wait a moment!!" gojo's voice cuts through the chatter of students eager to leave as soon as the bell rings. he grabs your wrist, his touch gentle yet firm, halting your attempt to blend into the rush. his heart races in his chest, the sudden surge of adrenaline making his palms clammy.

"um... you didn't sit with me today." he mumbles, the words coming out in a rush, his voice tinged with uncertainty. his fingers toy with the ring around his finger, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation. he doesn't like the way you're looking at him. there's a flicker of irritation in your gaze, a departure from the usual warmth and affection that he's grown accustomed to. normally, when his eyes meet yours, your cheeks tint pink, your pupils dilate, and you give him the cutest starry-eyed look. but not today.

"yeah," you mutter casually, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. there's a certain coldness in your eyes that sends a shiver down his spine. you're about to leave again, but he moves to block the door, a frown creasing his forehead.

"did i do something wrong? i don't understand why you're suddenly acting so bitchy," he huffs, irritation lacing his voice. the words tumble out before he can stop them, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "no," you reply simply, your tone devoid of any emotion, as if you genuinely don't care. it stings his ego, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"you can 'use your charm' to make a new friend. since it's so easy for you, right?" you mutter, your voice trembling with suppressed anger. you promised yourself you'd hold it together, but the wound is still raw, etched deep into your mind as a flush of resentment rises within his eyes widen in shock, a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. you heard that? no, no, no... he hadn't meant for you to be there. he had been so careful, or so he thought.

"i didn't mean it, i just-" he stutters, desperately searching for an excuse, but he knows it's futile. there's no chance you'd believe him now, would you? his heart sinks. he doesn't want you to hate him. "i was easy, right?" you laugh bitterly, each word dripping with sarcasm and pain.

"i hope that three hundred dollars was worth it. not that you even needed it, though. you think toying with people is fun? you're a dick, satoru, go to fucking hell." you hiss, your words laced with venom, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "let me explain-" he protests, desperation evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. but you're too angry to even consider it.

"explain? explain what?'" you explode, your voice rising with each syllable, oblivious to the judgmental glances of passersby. you scoff, tears threatening to spill over.

"i didn't mean it," he cuts you off, his own voice strained with emotion. "you're my friend, i just—" his voice cracks. "friends don't manipulate other people's feelings." you interrupt, your voice laced with venom as you spit out each word. you're aware you look like a mess, mascara staining your cheeks. "friends don't trick and hurt you on purpose!" you yell, tongue dripping with malice. "and here's the thing. you may be the greatest, satoru, but you will never, be enough. not for suguru, not for anybody."

you almost regret saying it. targetting his biggest insecurity. but then again, he deserves it. "how could you say that?" his voice is broken, quiet, as he mumbles it out as a whisper. the eyes that you once found so stunning suddenly look just like everybody else's. they well with tears, but are quickly blinked away. "you don't get to cry, satoru," you scoff, unzipping your bag and opening the front pouch.

you toss all the letters you've written in class, all the sticky notes, every single ripped paper, every little doodle, flipping your bag over and emptying it on the floor. every single heart fluttering moment you experienced seems so dead now. "you don't get to act like you cared. it's only fair, after all." you manage to muster, fighting to keep your voice stable. tears drip down your chin as your bottom lip trembles.

every step feels like a battle, a relentless tug-of-war between what your heart wants and what your mind knows is right. leaving him behind is like tearing off a piece of your own soul, but you convince yourself it's for the better— for your own sanity, for your own self-respect. each stride forward is heavy with the weight of goodbye, each breath drawn in a struggle against the ache in your chest. and as you finally turn away, a part of you dies inside, a piece of your spirit crumbling in the wake of shattered trust and broken dreams. you can feel his eyes on your retreating figure, the silent witness to your silent agony.

this time he doesn't try to stop you. and when you leave, gojo finally allows himself to cry.

today, gojo finds himself seated next to suguru, reclaiming his former spot from before the bet. yet, everything feels different now. the idiotic jokes his friends make just aren't as funny anymore. their presence is irritating to him. he laughs, but the sound lacks the same genuine joy it once held with you. he smiles, but it's a mere shadow of the radiant expression he wore in your presence. his heart may feel a fleeting sense of happiness, but there will always be a hole where you once were.

his so-called 'buddies' don't even notice that he's at his lowest point, and he can't help but think about the way you would've noticed immediately.

how you would've sent him a cute note with his favourite candy attached, because you kept them in your bag just for him, for these kinds of days. he feels so numb. he's always been so confident, yet he can't even muster up the courage to pass by your desk.

and he can't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen differently that day, if his intentions had been pure from the start. would you two have gotten somewhere? he supposes that now, he'll never know the answer. his eyes cloud over at that thought, slouching back down into his seat.

he never had the chance to tell you how sorry he was, how he would take it all back in an instant if he could. he didn't mean to hurt you. he was stupid and careless. and yet, he tries to convince himself that he'll be okay. that he'll be able to get over you one day. one day, when he's married and has two kids, he'll look back at this and laugh. so then why does his heart feel so heavy? you're not suguru, it's true. but suguru never made him feel this way. and he's confused with his own feelings.

he doesn't know what love is.

he's only sixteen.

perhaps he'll never know. but for him, love was sneaking kikifuku mochi into class for you to share. it was sending you cat memes at three am in the morning, only for you to groggily respond with your own. it was doodling you in his notebook in his spare time. it was how what you were feeling was how he was feeling too.

you were right, it seems.

gojo satoru, the greatest, yet not enough to make you stay.

© KAEFFEINEE 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Might as well be drunk in love: 2 of 3

Pairing: OT7 x Reader (CEO AU)

Summary: In which your friend thought it would be funny to give you a love potion, and in which seven CEOs accidentally drank it.

Warnings: Love Potion, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Let the darkness begin.

GIF by sugajimin

Part 1

Tuesday Night, Day 1

Kim Namjoon opened the door, his dimples on display as he welcomed you in the mansion for the second time that night as though he was already expecting you. He looked warm and comfortable, donning out simple white shirt and grey sweatpants instead of his usual formal clothes. A damp towel hanged on his broad shoulders; his hair still wet from the shower he obviously took.

“Welcome home, little one,” he greeted lowly, pulling your reluctant form in. If he felt the way you dug your heels on the ground, he didn’t mention. He was just elated that you were here now. He couldn’t explain the excruciating pain that went through his body almost more than an hour after he dropped you off. He was only able to manage it when Hoseok messaged him, letting him know that you would be coming home with him, and only then did he feel the pain subsided.

For the second time, you stepped foot in the grandiose place of theirs. It was a strange juxtaposition, your cautious movements against Namjoon's determined pull. Funnily, you thought it was similar to the depiction of Lucifer dragging Persephone down to hell. Walking behind you was the intimidating man, Jung Hoseok. He was carrying your bags in his hand in a relaxed manner, opposite to how he was before. The amount of clothes he personally packed were staggeringly ridiculous. It was like he packed your whole belongings with the intention for you to never set foot in your own apartment again. In his other hand was your traitor of a cat that was purring as the man carried him in his arms. It was like your cat left you for a better life.

"You must have been exhausted," Namjoon's voice broke through the quiet, drawing your attention to his warm smile. His concern softened the edges of your weariness. “The day is too long for any of us. You should get your rest.”

You eyed Hoseok, unsure of how to act when he offered you a reassuring smile. “We readied your room, little one," Hoseok's voice was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his prior demeanor. Namjoon bade you good night, his large hand cupping your cheek tenderly before letting you go. With a beckoning gesture, Hoseok motioned for you to follow him, and you fell into step beside him, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders.

He opened the room to the far end of the right wing. Similar to the aesthetic of the house, the room was equally grandiose. The bed, positioned prominently in the center of the room, commanded attention with its regal presence. It was fit for a princess, you thought, with its lavish canopy and layers of plush bedding inviting you to sink into its embrace. Every detail spoke of luxury and refinement, from the gilded accents to the soft, muted colors that suffused the room with an air of tranquility.

Any other time you would have gushed over the beauty of this room, but not this time. And not with the stress that that love potion brought you! On top of that, you were in a strange place with your CEOs who were practically strangers up at this moment! It was more than understandable that you were acting wary of these two men. They were only two of the seven, and you were already displaced by them! What more if the remaining five were to face you now?

You looked over your lashes at the man who was putting your bags down in front of what looked like a huge walk-in closet, his face void of any negative emotions but the people pleaser and the anxious child in you made you voiced out what you were thinking.

“Are you mad at me?”

Your cat, on the other hand, was now roaming freely and inspecting his new home with a purr, uncaring of the stress that you were feeling. You knew that traitor had such an expensive taste that your cat would literally sell you for a piece of chicken. You couldn’t help but notice the amount of cat toys that were kept in the corner of the room, prompting you to think that this wasn’t a spur of the moment kind of thing.

Hoseok blinked owlishly as though you asked an utterly absurd question, one that would never happen. His brows furrowed before he offered you a reassuring smile. “What brought this on?”

You sighed dramatically before plopping down on a surprisingly soft and comfortable mattress. You were even unknowingly pouting, making him want to squish your adorable cheeks in between his hands and cooed down at you. “Well, because I may or may not have ruined your lives because of that drink. But in my defense, which I think is a very good and plausible one and it may actually stand in court, it was never my intention to make you ‘fall in love’ with me and that drink was only gifted to me! Don’t you think I should be given a less harsh punishment?”

“Punishment?” Hoseok repeated to himself, his head tilted to the side as he pondered the notion. Was living with them meant to be some sort of a punishment when this was a big house and you had seven men to cater to your every whim? They would literally give you the world should you asked. “No, honey. Listen, I’m not mad at you. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“I’m mad at you?” you asked with a hint of humor in your voice before flashing him a grin of your own. You were too adorable and funny, he gushed as he kneeled in front of you. Slowly as though gauging your reaction, he held your hands in between his, running his thumb in a soothing manner when you didn’t pull away. Hoseok couldn’t help but smile widely when he held you. It was such an exhilarating rush, he observed, one that he had never felt before.

In fact, it was an addicting feeling…one that he could not bear to lose.

“We’re not mad,” he began, his voice earnest as he looked up at you from his kneeled form on the carpeted floor. He never knelt for anyone, but for you, he would without any questions asked. “None of us are mad. This is merely a…unique conundrum. But we’ll figure it out. We always do. So don’t worry, okay?

We will take care of it.”

It was well after midnight when the five equally annoyed men strutted inside the mansion. Their faces were painted with discontent, their eyes carrying a certain weight of physical exhaustion and their movements that of strain from being physically away from you.

They were, in fact, practically gritting their teeth from the discomfort and pain.

Kim Seokjin was the first to stride into the room, the heavy oak double-doors slamming against their hinges so forcefully that even Namjoon grew concerned. He meant, for heaven’s sake, he had it custom-ordered from his favorite artist that specialized in wood carving! Anyway, it was a rare sight to see him display any negative emotion as he was always the brother that brought lightness to whatever tense situation he found them in. He was known for his penchant to be kidding around, cracking dad jokes left and right and his laughter was contagious. But those traits were nowhere to be found.

His voice was surprisingly deep as he directed his equally captivating eyes to their lead CEO with darkness even Jimin who was walking behind him found startling. “Don't forget, I'm the one who prepares your food, Kim Namjoon."

Namjoon blinked at that, his hold on his laptop loosening at his hyung’s words. “All is fair in love and war?” he supplemented sheepishly, his fingers lifting to flash him a peace sign to which his hyung merely rolled his eyes to before plopping down the huge sofa and closing his eyes, his long leg stretched out in front of him.

Next to display his displeasure was Park Jimin, the one that was the scariest when mad. “You should have just shipped us to Japan then I’d be able to at least buy my skincare products,” Jimin sassed as he rolled his eyes at the lead CEO. His nose was turned up high as he strutted in the room. Despite the long hours spent travelling, Namjoon could not see any evidence that any single blonde hair was out of place on Jimin’s. “I think I finally know what hatred feels like.”

Last to enter was Taehyung and Jungkook. In his own peculiar way, Taehyung was fake sobbing in Jungkook’s arms while the latter was pouting at Namjoon as he patted the back of the former. “I never thought I’d be betrayed by the person I look up the most!”

“Yah!” Seokjin suddenly opened his eyes in disbelief “You trust him the most when I spend all my money on your food from when you were 13 to now?!”

Jungkook merely nodded, his doe eyes seeing nothing wrong with what he said. Taehyung, on the other hand, suddenly stopped acting and stood up straight to face the occupants of the room. “How are we reduced to this: betraying each other?” his deep voice resounded over the room, holding a tone of certain seriousness. His dark eyes met theirs. “Aren’t we better than this? We are brothers. We are better than animals that kill each other in the wild to survive. We are civilized men who are in the top performers of the society, who are featured in every reputable magazine. We are men that are leaders of-”

“Weren’t you the first to betray us, hyung?” Jungkook suddenly asked, effectively cutting off his speech. His head was tilted to the side as he sat beside Seokjin who was actively pushing him away to no avail, grumbling about how he should sit beside the brother he trusted the most.

“That’s neither here nor there!” Taehyung’s volume increased from guilt, his eyes comically widening.

“How?! It’s literally here! And it’s still here!” Jimin shouted, further antagonizing his agemate to which Taehyung gladly took on. The screaming match went on, with Jin joining, whereas Jungkook chimed in every once in a while, clearly enjoying the ensuing chaos. Every now and then, though, he voiced out how much he missed you. Namjoon was massaging his forehead and quietly telling them to stop and to keep quiet because someone was sleeping. It was only Hoseok who was silently watching his brothers and doing a quiet headcount only to come up short.

“Guys? Aren’t we seven?” He broke his silence for the first time, effectively stopping the loud bickering of the brothers. “Where’s Yoongi?”

The loud bickering of his brothers faded as he slipped inside the mansion without them noticing. To be honest, he did not have the required energy to deal with them, much so when he could barely keep himself upright. He didn’t want to see that traitorous bastard, Kim Namjoon, for more than a second. They all had a piece to say but they were all morons, Yoongi thought. As he trudged up the last step of the stairs, he looked up and there was you.

Min Yoongi couldn’t believe his own eyes. He thought that it was his sanity breaking down from the physical pain he had been feeling since he parted from you, and decided to play cruel games with him in the form of you. But there was no way that you were actually here, right? There was no way you were standing in the hallway in your sleepwear…right?

On the other hand, you blinked and looked at Yoongi’s pale face. He looked like he was straining to hold himself upright, evidenced by his grip on the stair’s handrail. His hands were shaking and you were worried that any moment now, he would fall.

You were proven correct not even a second later.

You watched as his body swayed, his eyes closed and you were moving before you could even think of the repercussion. Without heeding to any of your friend’s warning about touching them, you stepped in just in time to steady his body. The momentum from his combined weight and the gravity made you stepped back as his head found its place on your shoulder. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his broad back to anchor him to you.

“Daepyonim Min,” you called for his attention, gauging his alertness while tapping your hand on his back with a sense of urgency. “Daepyonim Min, you need help. Let me call-”

“Little one,” you heard him breathed you in before speaking so slowly, a tone of disbelief in his voice. “You’re real, aren’t you?” His hand slowly cupped your cheek, needing to feel you, needing to know if the object of his love was truly here. “How?”

“I’m here…but it’s a long story. First, we need help. You’re not okay!”

“You’re here,” he repeated to himself, his voice that of wonder. “I-I’m okay now,” he replied with so much warmth as he struggled to lift himself up to look at you. “I just need to sleep. It’s been a long ass day,” he groaned, the ache from his head was slowly dissipating from the proximity to you, yet its intensity since they landed was at its highest. He knew it would take him the whole night to recuperate. But somehow, he knew he could do it easily with you by his side. He didn’t even care why you were here, or even how you got here. What was important was you were now here where you belong- with them.

Against your better judgement and completely unaware of the thoughts running in his head, you nodded as you followed his directions to his room. Just like his personality that you knew him of, his room was no non-sense in a way that all things were functional. It was apparent that the man favored minimalism and comfort over luxury. It was clean and uncluttered, with just the essentials neatly arranged. The bed, large and inviting, dominated the room, adorned with crisp white sheets and a fluffy comforter. A single nightstand stood beside it, holding a small lamp and a few books.

You helped him settle onto the bed, arranging the pillows behind him to support his weary body. He let out a contented sigh as he sank into the softness, his eyes closing momentarily in relief as the weariness slightly subdued.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with gratitude. His eyes held sincerity and warmth. The way he was looking at you, the way he was holding on to your wrist because he didn’t want to let you go only served as reminders of your guilt. He wouldn’t be acting this way if this was normal circumstances.

Your negligence that day brought you here. And those emotions he was showing you were not real, you reminded yourself.

"You're welcome," you replied softly with utmost sincerity, a gentle yet sad smile playing on your lips. "Do you need anything else before I go?"

He had you now, why would he let you go?

It was his rationale as he pulled you to lie beside him, the surprisingly comfortable bed and his enescapable hold were enough to tire you out, you pushing him away did nothing. Despite your inner turmoil, you found yourself yielding to his pull, sinking onto the bed beside him. The warmth of his body radiated against yours, a stark contrast to the chill of your guilt-ridden thoughts.

And when he whispered for you to stay, you did.

It was barely an hour later when Yoongi was awakened by the annoying buzzing of his phone. He looked at you, a smile tugging on his lips at how your mouth was agape as you slumbered off in his arms. You were just so adorable that he wanted to put you in his pocket. He grinned at that thought. He already felt better.

You were the cure, he was sure.

However, the headache seemed to be returning from the persistent phone calls he was getting. He sighed, picking up his phone carefully to not wake you up only to find out it was a videocall from Taehyung.

“Hyung! Where are you?” his deep voice resounded over the quietness of the room. Yoongi, on the other hand, had to lower the volume immediately.

“Shut up,” he admonished him quietly, careful to not arose you from your sleep.

“Are you…sleeping?! When we’re all worried about you?!” the camera spanned out to Seokjin who was eating calmly, lacking any evidence of worry that Taehyung was claiming while Jungkook was running in the background, looking for Yoongi in every corner and even under the furniture. Meanwhile, Jimin was on his phone trying to rank up on his games.

“Yes, you’re right. It’s clear that you’re all worried about me,” he noted in a deadpanned voice, not believing any bullshit coming from Taehyung’s mouth.

Namjoon entered the frame casually, his eyes taking in his hyung’s rested form. He had an inkling of suspicion as to why. “You look well-rested, hyung,” he stated his observation, his complexion looked healthy in comparison to Taehyung’s. Yoongi raised his brow at that. His initial theory that the span of time spent without you was making them sick only got stronger because of Namjoon’s healthier look.

“Did you find our gift?” Hoseok asked from behind the two men, casually hanging his arms on their shoulders. He was smiling. But his eyes held a certain darkness they usually didn’t have.

“I did. We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

Wednesday, Day 2

“No one told me that we have an adorable new housemate.”

The six sleepy men sitting around the dining table looked up as soon as Park Jimin entered the room, in his arms was a fluffy cat that was actively hissing at him. He cooed down at it, softly stroking the thick fur with his hand that was now sporting claw marks.

“We’re already so close!” he announced with softness in his voice despite the repetitive kicks brought by the furry creature in his arm.

“I don’t think you are liked very much…” Jungkook quietly commented, his doe eyes went even larger at the bleeding scratches on his skin. As if sensing an opportunity to escape, the cat suddenly wriggled free from Jimin's arms and darted across the room, landing squarely in Hoseok's lap.

“Hi, my son! Did you have a good night’s sleep?” he asked affectionately, reaching down to stroke the cat's fur.

“Hyung has a secret son!” Jungkook whispered to Taehyung in a scandalous manner, clutching his nonexistent pearls. Taehyung, who looked like he lived and fought through three wars from his exhausted form and his sluggish movement only nodded at Jungkook.

“Whose cat is that? Is that yours, J-hope?” Jin asked, pointing at the cat with his mug. He didn’t know that they now had a furry housemate. Additionally, he didn’t know that he was a cat person.

Namjoon just smirked at his brothers, “That’s not his.”

“My God, I am so tired,” Jimin sat next to Taehyung, his muscles aching with exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, he leaned his whole weight on his friend, seeking some semblance of comfort in their shared weariness.

"Everything hurts," Taehyung moaned, mirroring Jimin's sentiment. He glanced over at Namjoon, pleading silently for a solution. "We need her. Hyung, please. Do something," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation.

Jungkook finally put down his spoon with a loud thud, standing up to look at them one by one. “Okay, I cannot be the only one curious about whose cat that is!” he pointed at the cat who only meowed back at him before shifting his finger to his hyung who was silently eating with a smile on his face. “And you, why do you look so good this morning, hyung, while the four of us look like we are 3 hours away from passing away?” he asked Yoongi, his doe eyes demanding answers from the chaotic bunch that only turned more chaotic as the morning wore on.

Yoongi, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee, raised an eyebrow at Jungkook's question. His lips curled into a smirk, revealing a hint of amusement. "Well, Kookie, some of us are just naturally blessed with good genes," he quipped, his tone teasing.

“Excuse me?! Are you saying that I am not blessed with good genes?! Me?! The world wide handsome?! Now, you’re just outright lying!”

“Hyuuuuung, do something! I think I’m dying!” Taehyung shouted amidst the noise.

“Stop screaming you’re scaring my son!” Hoseok shot back all while covering the cat’s little ears.

“Whose cat is that even?!” Jungkook asked again in disbelief, the vein in his throat protruding from annoyance and curiosity.

“Oh my God, Taehyung! I already did something, okay?!” Namjoon finally raised his voice for him to hear.

“Ahhhhhhh, my head hurts and she’s the only cure! I have to go to her!” Jimin whined sadly, attempting to leave his chair slowly.

“In that state?!” Jin shouted at Jimin and Taehyung, already feeling the stress causing havoc on his otherwise beautiful face.

But Taehyung and Jimin were already halfway out of their chair, clutching their heads dramatically. "I can't take this anymore! I need her!" he wailed, his eyes darting around the room with desperation only to find you by some miracle.

“Little one…” he called, his voice small as though he couldn’t believe that you were truly there. It was like their pain manifested you, and heavens, it was worth it. He’d willingly go through this pain if it meant seeing you and having you here where you belonged.

With them.

“Good morning, has anyone seen my cat?”

Your voice, despite it being low, was sufficient to effectively stop the bickering among the CEOs. How they heard you amidst their own noise, you didn’t know. One thing was for certain, though. They were attuned to you like lovesick men did. Their eyes were on you with varying emotions. Jungkook was surprised, to say the least. Taehyung and Jimin, on the other hand, were relieved. Yoongi's smirk widened into a grin, his eyes sparkling with delight at the sight of you. Seokjin stared at you in disbelief, as if trying to comprehend how you managed to appear amidst the chaos. Namjoon and Hoseok exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions reflecting a sense of contentment and joy. The pair looked like they secured an extremely important deal and even won the lottery at the same day.

You didn’t see Taehyung moved but you certainly felt how his heavy body fell against yours. You certainly heard his sigh of relief even as he swayed on his feet.

And when you touched his hand to support him, that was when he fell.

Suffice to say, no one made it to the office today.

You were seated beside Taehyung on the sofa, his thighs plastered to yours as though any space was considered a sin. He had your hand tenderly imprisoned in his. On your other side was Jimin who had his head in the vee of your shoulders. You were their medicine, they were sure.

Meanwhile, you were anything but comfortable. You were never really a fan of skinship, always the one who was reserved and preferred physical distance when surrounded by people. And yes, you were aware that thousands, if not millions, would kill to be in your spot right now but that didn’t make you any more receptive to their proximity. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, not with the way they were watching you.

Especially not with the way Hoseok’s eyebrow raised whenever you even so much as attempted to move. His pointed gaze held you in place, a silent warning against any attempt to flee.

You were stiff. But you knew, and quite frankly you were starting to believe the effectivity and potency of that wretched potion. You already witnessed five of the seven men almost crumbled to the ground from the unbearable pain. There was no way that that was not connected to that potion.

 “When did the pain start, Taehyung-ah?” Seokjin asked as he flustered over the younger CEO. He was pouring hot tea for the two agemate, his innate mother instinct surfacing. Despite that, he couldn’t help but look at you with small smile on his lips. He was happy that you were here, truly happy for the first time in ages. It was like his heart calmed down, the darkness slowly vanishing from his mind now that you were in their vicinity. Now, he could just focus on taking care of you

“At around 6 pm…less than 12 hours after little one ran from me,” he finished with his signature pout, turning to you as though he was a puppy you kicked aside and was begging you to take it back. “I was so sad when you ran from me, little one.”

“You also ran from me,” Jimin added, his pouty lips protruding even more as he glared at you. “It deeply wounded me. I am still hurt over that, you know? I woke up so early just to see you.”  

“She also ran from me…” Jungkook's voice joined the chorus from his place on the floor with his back leaning on your knees, adding his own layer of disappointment.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Namjoon asked the peculiar man in concern, his worry lessening as Taehyung started to gain back his colors.

“Because! Hyung looked sicker than me!” Taehyung response was quick while pointing at Yoongi who was looking at them stoically. He looked bored, except when he turned to look at you and then all of a sudden, he was shooting sweet smile at your direction, his fingers forming heart sign. You blinked owlishly at his sudden display of affection.

“You idiot, he’s just naturally pale!” Seokjin admonished him even as he continued to feed him light snacks.

“Next time, say something when you’re not feeling well,” Hoseok broke his silence, a smile forming on his lips and you just knew it was fake. “Our little one is with us now. We no longer have to suffer, right, sunshine?”

The weight of Hoseok's words hung in the air, wrapped in the softness and faux innocence of his tone. It almost seemed like an innocent question, but you couldn't shake the feeling of caution that settled in the pit of your stomach. After all, it was Hoseok who ensnared you in his web and brought you into this situation.

Seokjin, sensing the tension between the two of you, directed your focus on him. His body was now turned to you, his form relaxed as he offered you a gentle and encouraging smile. “How did you get here, little one?”

“Daepyeonims Kim and Jung-“

“I take back what I said last night. I love you and you’re the best leader anyone could ever have!” Jimin suddenly said, jumping from his seat to cling to the aforementioned CEO. After which, the five of them listened to your retelling of how you got here.

“It’s true that we had an inkling of why we are acting…well, the way we are,” Seokjin noted after a lapse of silence, looking down at his hands as he did so. “It was the only plausible explanation, regardless of how illogical it was.”

“We weren’t- aren’t behaving normally. We thought back to everything that transpired during that day and the only deviation was our interaction with you.,” Namjoon took charge of the explanation, his voice steady and authoritative, as befitting a leader. “At first, the symptoms were bearable to say the least. I even managed to hold off for the whole day until I saw you in the elevator. And even then, I was already suffering. The pain was nothing I ever experienced before. All I could think about was you. All I craved was your presence. All I wanted that whole day was to go to you.”

Yoongi nodded, experiencing firsthand the excoriating pain last night. “Everything was a struggle. It’s like our organs were not functioning properly, like oxygen struggled to enter our lungs no matter how hard we breathed.”

“And you are the cure.”

You lifted your eyes to Park Jimin who sounded serious for the first time this morning. His smile was even missing from his face, but his eyes held genuineness. “You’re the only one we need, little one.”

But instead of feeling relieved, you felt suffocated, overwhelmed by the weight of their dependence on you. The realization that you held the key to their well-being filled you with a sense of panic, the walls closing in around you. You wanted to help them, to ease their suffering, but the burden felt too heavy to bear. With all seven of them relying on you, the pressure threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you struggled to find your voice amidst the chaos, a sense of dread settled in the pit of your stomach. The repercussions of that potion were far greater than you could have ever imagined, and now, you were left to grapple with the consequences. “Until when?”

You untangled Taehyung’s arms from you and moved away despite the whine that left Jimin. You stood up, your back almost to the wall as you regarded them with your eyes. “Until when will you need me?”

“We don’t know, yet, my love,” Namjoon answered truthfully at the same time Taehyung.

“Forever,” his deep voice resounded over the room, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

Silence descended, thick and palpable, as the gravity of the situation settled upon each of you like a suffocating blanket. The only sound was the faint hum of the ventilation system, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within your mind.

Forever. The word echoed in your ears, reverberating with both promise and dread. The thought of being tethered to them indefinitely sent shivers down your spine, a chilling reminder of the magnitude of their reliance on you.

Jimin shifted uncomfortably, his eyes pleading as he reached out a hand towards you. "Please, don't leave us," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation.

Your shoulders dropped down at his plea. You knew yourself all too well. You had to help them. You had to go at the bottom of this. You were going to be patient.

But patience was never your best suit.

You finally had it at exactly five in the afternoon. See you didn’t even last for 10 hours and you already felt suffocated. Anywhere you went, there would be at least two of them tailing you. Every time you turned to ask for space, they would be flashing you the sweetest smiles you were ever given. Every time you ran into Yoongi, he would blatantly offer you all his stocks; Jin was always seen to be carrying snacks around for you and trying to feed you; Namjoon would always try to herd you in his display room of paintings and sculptures; while Hoseok would always look at you then his phone and order you clothes that you wouldn’t even dream of buying from the price alone.

Meanwhile, the maknae line was always around you, beaming with energy and trying their very best to rizz you up. It was safe to say that they were doing their absolute best to make you lose your composure.

Which is why you abruptly stopped walking, turned around, and glared at the men behind you that almost crashed into each other, including your cat that was following you around the house.

“May I help you?” you asked, your brow raised as you waited for their answer as they looked at each other.

“Yes, little one. You definitely can help us. Let’s go over there and cuddle!” Jimin smiled angelically at you as he pointed upstairs to what you assumed was his room. See, this man looked so harmless. In fact, you thought he looked the sweetest among the seven, but his eyes could never fool you. You physically saw someone blushed so hard when he smiled at them, his eyes crinkling into crescents as he brushed his hair up like he was fond of doing.

On the other hand, Taehyung, ever the agreeable companion to Jimin, nodded vigorously, his boxy smile widening as he looked at you expectantly. Jungkook was bouncing on his feet, excited with the prospect that he got to have you in his arms despite his inability to meet your eyes at the moment.

Wednesday Evening, Day 2

“We need to talk,” you huffed as you pushed the three men inside what you assumed was the common room of this huge mansion.

Seokjin, who was already inside the room and enthusiastically playing his game, rapidly turned it off despite obviously winning to give you all his attention. His back was straightened after kicking his gaming console away. The way he was looking at you made you blushed, but you were deathly determined to not show it. You were terrified that if you gave in even an inch, then these men would gladly take a mile. You couldn’t let yourself drown in this scenario, and most of all, you shouldn’t let yourself fall for them.

These were just effects of that wretched potion. None of these were real.

“Yes, little one? What’s on your mind?” Namjoon’s voice suddenly disrupted your thoughts as he walked in the room, his posture relaxed. He intentionally brushed against your side, his hard muscles softly swaying your soft one, satisfying the call inside him to have you near him. He leaned against the table where Hoseok and Yoongi were working. They both gave you their attention as soon as you declared that conversation needed to be had.

“Speak your mind, sunshine,” Hoseok urged you gently with a smile on his face as though he didn’t terrify you the night before. Your eyes lingered on him, still unable to read his true personality. Or which among the versions he showed you were his realest?

Yoongi nodded when he saw you hesitated, giving you assurance you obviously needed to continue.

“I need space.”

Cue the tears from Jungkook, chaos from Taehyung and Jimin, rapid reasoning from Seokjin, dramatic clutching of heart from Yoongi partnered with a deathly glare to the who he assumed made you say those wretched word; maknae line, clenched of jaw from Namjoon and deafening silence from Hoseok. Despite the expected mixed reaction, one emotion rose above them all.

Panic.

As though they had one mind, the six CEOs turned to look at Namjoon, a plead for him to make sense of what was happening and to fix this for them. It was obvious that they needed you like air, if not more. Their survival hinged on you, and that was not even an overstatement.

Seokjin, ever perceptive, sensed the uncharacteristic struggle within the lead CEO. Namjoon’s jaw was, a sure sign of his struggle to maintain composure in the face of the unexpected. In a move only Seokjin could execute with dramatic flair, he jumped away from you, creating a symbolic distance that echoed your plea. He pointedly looking at the expanse of space between of the two of you as though this was what you meant when you knew he understood what you truly meant by space.

“There, little one,” Seokjin spoke softly, his voice carrying a weight that resonated through the room. His eyes were dark that held a mix of understanding and yet, a stubborn determination. “Space.”

You sighed, looking up at the peculiar-looking chandelier you just knew was Taehyung’s idea. “That’s not what I meant-”

“Then what do you mean?” Taehyung cut you off, his earlier tirade and childlike rebellion with his agemate were nowhere to be found and instead, who stood before you was an entirely different man. Had you looked closer, then perhaps you would have seen the swirling darkness in his eyes.

“You know we’d die without you. Why are you doing this?” Yoongi, who was still clutching his heart, spoke lowly. His eyes that you thought to be always emotionless were brimming with sadness. His words tugged at your heart.

But if they just let you speak, then they’d understood-

“Is that what you want?” Hoseok asked monotonously, and this time he didn’t look like the lively and full of sunshine CEO. This time, he looked like a dangerous man who was about to go off. He lifted his dark brow before standing up and circling to where you were. He was close, too close and yet, none of him was touching you. The height difference between the two of you made him seemed more intimidating as he leaned down to meet your eyes. “You want us to die, is that it? Hmm?”

“No-“

“Then what?”

“I just need space for myself-“

“But noona! I need you. We need yo-“

You turned to glare at Jungkook who actively gulped when he saw the daggers in your eyes. “Can you let me speak? Can you all let me finish?”

“Yes, noona. Sorry, noona. You’re so beautiful, noona,” he rapidly said as he formed hearts with his fingers, his smile was lovely as though he didn’t just annoy you.

“All of you,” Namjoon’s commanding voice echoed in the room, his draconic eyes set on you even as he addressed his brothers. “Sit down and let little one talk.”

Once they were all settled in with the five men sitting on the sofa, Yoongi not moving from his seat, and Namjoon standing tall- a deliberate choice, you thought, to let you know that you might have the floor but he still held the reins, you started explaining to them how you could not do this if it meant that you wouldn’t have any time for yourself. In order to leave this house once this was all over with your sanity intact, then you had to have rules and regulations like civil men did.

Yoongi's eyes narrowed slightly, as if assessing your resolve. Jin shifted in his seat, his expression unreadable. Hoseok glanced between you and Namjoon, silently absorbing the tension. Taehyung and Jungkook remained quiet, their eyes fixed on you, waiting for your conditions. Jimin scoffed lightly.

“What do you propose?” Jimin asked, his velvet smooth voice seemed to be innocent had you not known that he identified as a Slytherin.

“2 hours each. I think that since there are seven of you, that would be 14 hours of my day-“

“Dibs to the remaining 10 hours!” Yoongi suddenly said, his hand shooting up and his face held determination and a hint of mischief. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Yoongi as he leaned back comfortably in his chair, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment before a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Bold move, Yoongi," he remarked, his tone light but edged with amusement. "I, myself, am also vying for those ten hours, little one."

Yoongi shrugged nonchalantly, uncaring of what Jimin was saying. "I know what I want," he stated simply, crossing his arms as he leaned back further in his seat, looking supremely confident. “And anyway, now that I had her in my arms last night, I really don’t think I can sleep alone, anymore.”

“Excuse me?!” Taehyung stood up, facing Yoongi with disbelief in his face. “How did that happen-”

“Does being the oldest not mean anything anymore?!”

“You might as well step on me, hyung! You might as well kick me where it hurts the most- oh wait! You did!”

 You shook your head as maknae line plus Seokjin screamed at each other. Meanwhile, Hoseok was trying to keep the peace. Namjoon was the only one who kept on watching you, his mind going over an overdrive as to how to resolve this all while maintaining their leverage over you and keeping you happy.               

“Fine, we accept.”

They all turned to Namjoon, their eyes comically large at how easy their leader agreed. “We do?” Hoseok asked.

“Either that or lose her. Or die. So yes, we agree. In return, within those two hours of your undivided attention, you’ll cater to our every need.”

You blinked owlishly at what he said. And also, did he have to say that like that?!

“F-fine! But those ten hours will truly be mine, okay?”

“What will you even do within those ten hours, noona?” Jungkook asked innocently, his doe eyes brimming with curiosity.

“Shower, sleep, eat, meditate so as to not lose my mind-“

“But why can’t we do all those things together?” Jimin whined, swaying his body in emphasis of his desire to be included.

“Because! That’s private-“

“But we’re close!” Jungkook added, his eyes wide and earnest.

“Oh my God, you idiot,” you heard Seokjin murmured under his breath, disappointed and quite frankly, embarrassed by the youngest’s stubbornness.

“Two hours start when?” Hoseok finally asked something that could be answered logically.

“7 in the morning and ends at 9 in the evening.”

Thursday morning, Day 3

“Rise and shine, my one and only!”

Your room was gently engulfed by light as Kim Seokjin opened the door at exactly 7 in the morning. He was still wearing his blue pajamas and in his hands was a tray with what looked to be a delectable mug of coffee. You blinked your sleepiness away as he stepped in the room. He carefully placed the tray on your bedside table, before cupping your cheeks in between his hands and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Okay.

That woke you up.

His gesture was unexpected, and it most probably showed on your face from the way he chuckled as he booped your nose.

“Ah, you’re so beautiful even in the morning, little one!” He exclaimed before stepping back and flicking the curtains open further, letting even more sunlight stream into the room. How was this fair, you wondered. How could he look so perfect and put-together even when he was still in his sleepwear? You glanced at the mirror on the wall and was horrified to see how opposite you looked to the man who just declared that you were so beautiful in the morning.

If you didn’t believe in the effectivity of the potion before, then you definitely did now. Your hair was all over the place and you had sleep in your eyes.

And oh my God, was that a dried drool on the side of your lips?!

You immediately made yourself presentable the best you could before Seokjin sat on your bed, lifting his own mug to his lips…his very plump lips. He was unfazed by your awkward demeanor.

“I am so glad I have this schedule. Nothing beats spending the morning with you,” he murmured warmly, his eyes shining with sincerity and love(?) “I made breakfast, little one. Get ready and come down, okay?”

It was quarter to eight when you finally joined him in the patio where he set up the breakfast. He was already dressed for work like you, his hair now sleeked up. Also, how could a forehead look that good? Did that even make any sense?!

He turned to you and smiled. His eyes traced your form before standing. He gently tugged you in his arms, completely engulfing you within him. You could hear his heart and hoped that he couldn’t hear yours; it was definitely embarrassing how fast yours was beating in comparison to his. You weren’t really used to being physically close to anyone, let alone your CEOs that you never had personal interactions with before this.

“I didn’t put on at tie yet because I wanted us to match,” he easily shared in your ear before guiding you to your seat as though what he did was not meant to make your heart beat faster.

You looked at all the mouthwatering dishes he prepared and wondered just how long he had been awake for. “Where are the others?” you hadn’t seen nor heard any of them in the house and you wondered if they had already eaten.

Seokjin merely smiled at you before artfully cutting pieces of the croissant he made for you and putting them on your plate. “Little one, it’s my time. You’re mine.”

“For two hours…” you added, suddenly feeling ominous by the way he worded his schedule and his dark eyes despite the sweet and seemingly harmless smile he was sporting.

“Sure.”

After he dropped you off in your office wherein he held your hand all the way from the car until he delivered you to your office chair, he planted a kiss on the back of your hand despite your reluctance. You couldn’t help but noticed the grip he had on you, nor the way he looked around the office and glared at any men glancing your way.

And of course, everyone in the office saw.

At exactly 9:01 am, a bouquet of flower was sent to your office. The sender? None other than Jung Hoseok himself.

He was sure to be punctual, not wasting any second off his scheduled time. He thought that time was gold, and he wanted nothing more since he woke up to be with you.

Sufficed to say, Jung Hoseok craved you so bad.

Your eyes widened from the sunflowers to him as he flashed you his sunny smile as though he didn’t scare you the past days with his warnings. “For the most beautiful part of my day.”

You could hear the murmurs of your officemates, and you were already dreading the gossips that would surely come. You wondered how they would look at you once this was all over. For sure, you’d be the laughing stock of the ton.

You most probably have to resign…

“Darling?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Hoseok tilted his head as he leaned in you, his hand on your armrest. This close and you could smell him. And heavens. He smelled heavenly. He smelled clean and crisp, like the subtle touch of ocean breeze. This close and you could see how perfect his features were, how harmoniously proportionate they were. This close and you could see the darkness he always kept in bay.

“What are you thinking?”

“N-nothing-“

“Tell me,” he demanded gently, his eyes trained on your lips like no one was looking, like you and him were existing in your own world where no one could touch you and take you away from him.

Where no one could take you away from them.

“I-“

“Good morning! I have great, great news!”

Your friend breezed into the office, fashionably late as usual, her face lit up with excitement. The room buzzed with curious glances as she made her way to her desk, her eyes searching until they landed on yours. The grin she was sporting faltered off as the CEO turned to her with an expression she didn’t like before it all went away and Hoseok flashed her a smile.

“G-good morning, Daepyeonim Jung.”

“Good morning,” he answered cheerfully, fully straightening up and granting you the much-needed space to catch your breath. “What’s your good news?”

She looked at you, and only when you nodded did she whisper the news that her grandmother knew someone from the mountains that had the answer and solution. Her voice was hushed enough that your coworkers couldn’t hear her, yet clear enough to give you hope. Your grin was so wide as you stood up and hugged her.

It was only when you turned to Hoseok to share your happiness did you notice something unsettling. His expression had darkened briefly, a shadow passing over his features before he hastily composed himself with a bright smile.

What was that?

Before you could dwell on that, he declared it good news and pulled you out of the office.

You found yourself standing in the middle of his office as he plopped down on his chair, stack of paper on his table that grew in size from missing yesterday’s work. He seemed busy, yet he was looking expectedly at you. His eyes were serious as he gestured for you to come closer.

It was apparent he wasn’t happy with the distance when you decided to stop three feet away from him. His eyes remained impassive as he sighed and without any warning, pulled you to him. You landed on his surprisingly muscular lap, your hands automatically going to his shoulders in an effort to steady you.

Your eyes widened at his actions and any attempt to stand up was squashed by his ironlike grip around you.

“Didn’t you promise you’d cater to our every need when we agreed on that ridiculous two-hour schedule?”

“And having me on your lap is a need?!”

“It is. I want- no. I need you close,” and only when he confessed did you see the miniscule tremors in his hands. He was nuzzling his face on your neck, breathing in the scent he missed so much. Your soft skin against his touch somehow calmed the demons. If he was already like this despite you seeing him last night, then it meant that their symptoms were worsening like what your friend warned you of. The more time you spent with them and the more that your skins touched meant that their lovesickness would only worsen in time.

You were dreading to think what would happen to the remaining CEOs and how they would act, more so when Jimin and Namjoon were in the last two.

Namjoon's schedule sneakpeak

[tasteleeknow]

LIVING IN THE RUINS

minho x fem!reader. 2k words. minors dni. best friends to lovers. soft!minho. angst. fluff. jealousy. emotional hurt/comfort. smut with feelings, in a tent.

“Excuse me?”

You blink at the stranger in front of you. She seems to materialise before your eyes. You’d zoned out again and missed the attention your best friend had clearly been receiving from strangers in the crowded room. “I was wondering if I could get your number?” she asks, eyes fixed on Minho’s. She blinks quickly a few times, her long dark lashes fluttering much like your heart in your chest. 

She hasn’t looked at you once despite your close proximity. You’re so close to the object of her attention in fact, your thigh brushes against Minho’s jeans under the table. 

He shifts beside you, sitting up straighter in the booth. “Oh,” he says, clearly taken off guard as well. “Thank you. I mean that’s — I don’t—” 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks with a small tilt of her head. 

“No,” Minho answers quickly, incapable of lying. His discomfort radiates off him. You’d spent years learning his emotional tells. “I mean—” 

“He’s not into women,” you interrupt, finally drawing her attention to you. She blinks before her eyes drop down to your chest and back to your eyes, like she’s completely taken aback by your presence. It’s impossible, you know that logically. Still, she puts on a good performance. “Sorry,” you add. 

Her lips curve into an unconvincing smile. “No worries,” she says. “The hot ones never are.” 

The whole exchange is as short as it is ordinary. How many tipsy girls work up the courage to ask the pretty man across the bar for his number? You would bet money on it happening multiple times over somewhere across the planet at any given moment. It’s normal. Mundane. Still, you know it’ll chip a little more of your carefully built wall away. A chisel to stone, slow and steady. The only problem is that it’s been chipped at for years. You can feel the fragility of it these days, each chisel etch feels alot like when you’re down to the end of a game of jenga. 

Any move now will cause it to crash and fall. 

She hadn’t considered for a moment you might have been together — not when she’d spotted him across the room, clearly with you — and not when she’d gotten close and blatantly ignored your comfortable proximity to each other. Her question about his relationship status had been an afterthought, a possibility she hadn’t considered until faced with a response other than ‘yes’. She’d been expecting a yes.

The thought that he might be with you, might be attracted to you, was unconsidered. You wonder if she’d discussed it with her friends. ‘No,’ they might have said. ‘There’s no way he’s with her.’

Minho is quiet as the petite brunette turns on her heels and disappears back into the mass of people. His red ears give his embarrassment away. 

You nudge his shoulder, rocking him out of his trance. “Hey,” you prod. “Alright?” 

The smile he offers you is a little lopsided — very Minho. “Always,” he says. 

—

Your annual camping trip is just like the year before. Your small group of friends sets up camp in your usual spot. Everyone climbs into their usual tents. Everyone assumes you and Minho will be sharing, as always. 

You’re not sure why it hurts so much. They assume that nothing would ever happen between you. None of the other girls share a tent with a guy they aren’t dating. You’re the exception. Because Minho would never want you. 

He notices your low mood later that night. The group separates in the dark to play flashlight tag and as you find yourself wandering a secluded patch of the campsite, you know he knows. His attention is on you instead of where he’s walking. You almost scream when he falls into apparent nothingness. 

“I’m fine,” he quickly reassures you, pulling himself up from the ground. “Just dropped my glasses.” 

“God, you scared me.” 

It takes you both at least ten minutes to find them, relying purely on touch alone. It's too dark to see much at all without a light and using your phones would give your position away. 

You’re grateful for the darkness when you reach up and place his frames gently on his face. It hides the heat in your cheeks when you brush chocolate brown hair behind his ears, ensuring you’ve placed them properly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, close enough that his breath warms your lips. 

You’re also grateful just to be near him, you realise. Just to know him. You love him. 

You love him. 

It’s an earth shattering realisation to have while playing flashlight tag in the middle of nowhere. You need to escape. You can’t. You’re sharing a tent with him. 

The situation isn’t helped when later in the night one of the girls with big bright eyes and a gentle smile makes a very clear move on him. You were used to it. People loved him. 

You loved him. 

It’s a stupid thing to cause the wall to finally crumble. It’s humiliating really. But when he laughs at something she whispers in his ear: it happens. 

It falls. 

You’re pathetic without it. 

All you can do is hide from him, escape to the tent and pretend to be so tired you’ve fallen asleep before he can investigate. It’s not something you do. Not with Minho. He knows you so well hiding from him is just as stupid as it is pathetic. He’ll know. 

Still, you can pretend. He won’t know as long as you’re unconscious. You can put it off until morning. 

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep. You lie there staring at the canvas of the tent for what feels like hours, the sounds of him tossing and turning continuing for so long you almost give up. 

But then he’s still. His breathing seems to even out. He’s asleep. 

That’s when you let yourself cry. Quietly at first; silent aching sobs. 

What a time for the wall to crumble. You wonder if you have the energy to rebuild. You’ll have to find it. The alternative is letting Minho go entirely, removing him from your life and letting the ruins erode away over a long, long time. 

Not an option. 

“Hey,” Minho’s soft voice calls. Shit. You wipe clumsily at your eyes and sodden cheeks. “Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” he questions as his palm rests gently against your shoulder. 

You should face him. You can’t hide. You know it. 

“No-thing,” you whimper, breath catching between each syllable. It’s that awful breathless kind of sobbing, the type that leaves you unable to inhale fully, let alone speak. 

He rolls you over onto your back. He isn’t rough — but it’s with enough strength you’re completely unable to resist him. 

“What is it?” he says again, tone much more forceful now. He isn’t letting it go. He looks down at you with wide eyes, like he’d never been asleep at all. 

You shake your head. 

His gentle thumbs move to your cheeks to attempt to wipe away the mess you’d left behind. He rests on one arm, leaning over you so he can give each cheek the same treatment. It’s a curious instinct, to wipe away someone's tears — like it has any effect on the person’s pain at all. It’s the best we can often do, you suppose. 

“Just focus on breathing,” he says. “Just breathe.” His hand stays against your cheek, fingers resting on your neck by your ear — featherlight. 

Breathing is easy, in theory. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. His lips part to join you, guide you. His lips are still a little red from his bedtime routine, his tinted vaseline usually lasting him the entire night. 

“That’s it,” he soothes when you finally manage a few steady breaths in a row. “That’s good. You’re okay.” 

They’re simple words of comfort. The kind of thing anyone would say to a person in distress, but they settle something in your chest. You were okay. He was yours in a way that was more than nothing. He cared in a way that felt so genuine it was hard to be dissatisfied with the nature of it at all. 

“Did something happen today?” he asks, still leaning over you. It’s a vulnerable position to be in. It mirrors how you know this conversation will go. Your wall is a crumbled mess. You have no defences against him. 

“Not really.” 

His eyebrows pull together. 

“Nothing worth this,” you clarify. 

“Tell me.” 

“It’s not… It’s embarrassing.” 

His lips curve in a tiny lopsided smile, just a hint of amusement. “Friends are for sharing embarrassing things with. And I’m your friend,” he says. “Aren’t I?” 

You blink quickly a few times, desperate to keep your tears at bay. Then you nod weakly. 

“Why do you look so miserable about it?” he says, tone light and teasing. 

Your lips wobble a little as you struggle with the words attempting to burst forth. They pound and burn and demand to be set free. You lose the battle. “I love you.” 

He blinks, eyes flicking across your face. 

The gates are open now. You’re turned loose. “I love you so much,” you sob. “It hurts. It hurts everyday and it just keeps getting worse and I can’t—” 

His lips cut you off, a warm, heart-stopping, and very much welcome interruption. He’s kissing you. He’s—

“Stop,” he mumbles against your wet, salty lips. “Stop hurting. Please.” His next kiss is unbearably soft, a brush against your upper lip. “Please,” he whispers. 

You nod dumbly.

He rewards you with a collection of gentle kisses across your cheeks, replacing the remnants of your tears with the sticky wetness of his moisturised lips. You imagine the slight red marks he must leave behind. 

He settles over you properly at some point. You’re too distracted by the path of his lips to notice exactly when. But then his arms are by your head, caging you under him in a way that makes you hope for the universe to halt all progression forward. This was enough; everything. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips finally. “I’m… sorry for letting you think I don’t. I’m a coward.” 

“No,” you chastise quickly as you tangle your fingers in his hair. “Don’t say shit like that.” 

“I—” 

“It hurts me… and you told me to stop hurting.” 

His head drops to your neck… then, with a soft press of his lips to your skin, “Then I’ll never do it again.” 

Every move he makes is gentle when the slow, indulgent kisses turn into exploring hands and whispered pleas for more. Each of his whisper-soft words of affection sweeps away a crumbled section of your wall, clearing the space to build something entirely new. He’s warm, so warm as his bare torso rests on yours — as he finally presses inside you and sucks a mark into your neck to join the rest he’s left. “Doesn’t hurt?” he asks, stilling as he fills you completely. 

“No,” you gasp. “No, you’re… it’s—” His lips take the words from your mouth, a little messier than he’s been before. When his hips roll into yours you can’t help grasping at him like he might suddenly get up and leave — fingers tangling in his hair desperately.

“I got you,” he mumbles against your lips, heavy breaths mingling with your own. “I got you…” 

When he eventually spills inside you, flooding you with more of his warmth, you’re crying again. But this time it doesn’t hurt; this time it’s a release. The tears that he kisses from your face afterwards — they wash away the rest of the rubble.

[hopeastrz]

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Check the first part (𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄)

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫/𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬… 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞!.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: thank you for 𝟐,𝟓𝐤 aww even when im not active you guys still consume my content like crazy that’s so sweet!! + 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃!.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 in your chart tells you how you approach relationships and how’s your outlook on them!

For example having a 𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭 may point that you put romance on pedestal, you have a dreamy perspective of love, very spiritual and almost unrealistic, you also believe that making sacrifices for your lovers is a must, while on the other hand having 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 may suggest that you take relationships seriously and very strictly, you take no bullshit and with the slightest hint of disrespect you’re out!.

𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 natives are blessed by god truly, their beauty is out of this world im not joking, sirens, they are sirens!.

𝐋𝐞𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝟓,𝟏𝟕,𝟐𝟗, means iconic and timeless beauty, like Naomi Campbell.

She also had a 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬, which may indicate lots of gossip about you and your beauty!.

Also most of the models charts i took a quick look at had at least one of their 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟔𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, which indicates that their health is exactly as important as their beauty, maybe even more, they mostly had 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟔𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, which may indicate EDs.

I noticed that bold make up usually don’t really suit people with 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, they themselves might like wearing a no-make-up make-up look.

On the contrary if you have 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 in your venus persona chart you might focus on enchasing your eyes more than the rest of your other features, you may wear lash extensions, bold mascara or prefer a smokey eye look!.

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭 gives you that old money clean beauty, Monica Bellucci has both of these placements.

𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 on the other hand may lean towards a look that draws attention to their mouth more— bold lipstick is their bestfriend, they may prefer it more than anything else and it’s usually red, god how i love your smiles!.

𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 may mean that you like to keep your income a secret, people could never know what you do for living and the details of your earnings if you don’t elaborate about it yourself, otherwise good luck for them finding out.

On the other hand if you have 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 it may be known that you work for/with your parents, i saw it in most of the Nepo babies charts, their mother figure or their older sisters are known, and usually their families have real estates, restaurants, or a known line of something.

Nepo babies also had 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 or a strong moon, for example Lilly rose deep where her 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐂.

The sex appeal 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭 𝐀𝐂 natives carry around is not a joke, they are known to be femme fatales.

Having a 𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 in short could mean that your mood defines your self worth, a friend of mine has this placement, she told me this and i quote ‘the way i see my beauty depends on how i’m feeling at the moment, that’s why whenever i’m a bit gloomy i avoid mirrors because i’m not letting a disastrous day or a situation change my pov of myself’.

Also 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 gives you the ability to pull any look or style, for both genders, like a woman would rock a tomboy style, and a man would have an alluring slightly feminine look on him.

People with 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐂 had the best post marriage glow up i’ve ever seen truly.

Having a 𝟏𝐬𝐭/𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 indicates that you may profit from your image, your face and how you look, you may gain popularity from your looks.

Same thing for 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞!.

If you have any 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 (𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐲, 𝐣𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬) i believe that you should think about starting any online business that has a thing to do about that planet meaning.

For example i have 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐲 and i sell my knowledge basically, 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫? you may start teaching a thing you excel in, and 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬?, please tell us your beauty secrets!.

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭/𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 may indicate that you have some problems with your self image, especially when you go into a relationship you may be afraid of how the other person will perceive you constantly, you’re always worried about their point of view of you!..

However it’s in your hands to heal that toxic mindset once you learn how to truly love yourself, because your looks or your image don’t determine your value, beauty is diverse, beauty has always been from within, and you’re actually worth more than some unrealistic beauty standards and expectations.

𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞/𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐮𝐦? Go red hair!, or any warm tone it suits you!!.

Having 𝐀𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐂 may suggest that you have a long slim face, or like you’re just tall in general, I noticed that alot their faces are longggg, they also tend to match every trend somehow, also i noticed that they have almond eyes!.

Your 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 in the chart could tell us also about your style in general, how you prefer your perfumes, your clothes, and your make up look!:

Breaking it down 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 suggests that you like to keep it bold, make a statement with your outfit and your scent, sandal wood is always a great choice for you, while a 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 will tune it down a bit, they like nude and calm colors like brown, gray, black!, they also like to keep it basic, which is drastically different from scorpio venus whom focus more on looking magnetic and seductive, they love black tight clothes. 𝐀𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 keeps it edgy, even if they’re 70 you’ll see them keeping up with the trends, taurus venus loves old money aesthetics!, and 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐬 are all about clean floury scents and make up!.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐫!.

[koolaidoverwriting]

GENERAL DATING HEADCANONS

CHARACTERS: Eyeless Jack, Jeff the Killer, Gender Neutral Reader

Request. I wasn't sure if you meant Jack x Jeff. I stuck to separate SFW and NSFW headcanons. But you can send another ask to clarify! :)

CW: Explicit Sexual Content, But Also Romantic Fluffy Stuff, Blood, Self-Harm, Cannibalism, Biting, Not Graphic

NSFW UNDER CUT! MINORS DNI!

EYELESS JACK

SFW:

Jack doesn't feel as much empathy or sympathy as other people. It definitely takes a long time for him to warm up to you, let alone get comfortable enough to date you.

Jack is an outlier in the mansion. He likes being alone, doing his own thing. Plus, a lot of people don't like his bluntness and sarcasm.

His tar spills faster when he's upset, but it's pretty much gone when he's happy. That's why he hardly cries tar around you.

He has a hard time showing affection through his words, but you know he loves you. Sometimes, he just pops up and holds your hand, or wraps his arms around you.

When you're hurt, he tends to your wounds, cooks you warm meals, and stays by your side. It's a mutual silence where you're just enjoying each others' presence.

Jack is a bookworm. You spot the books he reads and you check them out. Jack is over the moon when you randomly reference his favourite book. "Did you really read that for me?"

Surprisingly, Jack talks a lot. He rants about his interests in gardening and science.

Speaking of gardening, he'll most definitely grow your favourite flowers for you. He'd give you handmade bouquets and flower crowns, as well as perfumes and scented candles.

Jack isn't against light–hearted teasing. He says flirty things just to catch you off guard since you aren't used to it. Most of these "flirty things" are phrases he heard from TV shows.

He does try to get you to try kidneys. If you refuse it because it's raw, he'll cook it for you. If you refuse it because it's gross, he'll shrug a shoulder and eat it himself.

NSFW:

Jack is gentle with you. He knows how much smaller you are in comparison, so he makes sure he doesn't bruise you.

If you allow it, he'll bite you enough to draw blood, but nothing more.

His ears are sensitive! Licking or biting them gets him all worked up.

Jack has three tongues that overlap in his mouth, meaning he's a fucking demon with oral sex. His tongues squirm inside of you, hitting all the right spots. He could eat you out for hours before substituting his tongues for his cock.

When he sees you're close, he only fucks you harder.

Jack's cock doesn't fit inside you all the way. Your senses leave you, and you're a drooling, blubbering mess as he rams into your entrance.

After you're done, he'll clean up any blood that spilled and kiss your bite marks. While cuddling, he asks you what you want to eat. He'll cook anything for you.

JEFF THE KILLER

SFW:

Jeff lives in the mansion and has been living there since he was 17. Before that, he lived with a blind old woman who thought he was her grandson.

Dating him means you're going to have to get used to his angry outbursts until he learns how to control them better. He tends to lash out and then apologise later. You're sure with enough patience, things might get better. Especially because you know he's trying his best.

He loves emo music. In fact, he collects merchandise from the concerts he sneaks into. At night, you get to cuddle with Jeff while some emo song blasts on his speaker.

He also plays the electric guitar and would love to teach you how to play. And if you already know how to play, he'll get really excited about duetting with you.

Jeff has had self-esteem issues since the incident. He tries everything to make himself "beautiful", taking extensive care of his skin, hair and clothes.

He believes the scar makes him look better, maybe because it distracts from other parts of his face he's insecure about. He refreshes his cut every month.

You have to remind him that he's beautiful just the way he is. There are nights where you argue over it, but you try everything you can to help him overcome his insecurities — or at least accept his flaws.

He has a knife collection. He paints the handles of his knives all different colours. Some days, you could sit and talk with Jeff while you paint knife handles together.

"Can I test the sharpness on you?" "What?" "...I'm joking."

Jeff isn't a good cook. He never put time into learning how to cook. You, knowing he has to learn at some point, convince him you're on a "cooking date" whenever you want to teach him how to make a meal.

NSFW:

I already have a NSFW post for Jeff, but these are softer alternatives for when he's in a relationship.

Known fact: Jeff will use his knife during sex. He enjoys grazing it across your skin, smiling at your "cute" reactions.

The tip of the knife scratches your thighs. Your legs twitch as he looks into your eyes with a needy look.

Jeff likes seeing your desperation. He loves it when you grind against him, begging for his cock. He'll keep his hands off you, forcing you to grind helplessly. "Horny little bitch... Yeah, tell me how much you want me."

He fucks you at a rough, unstable rhythm as he tries to reach his peak. When he's in the zone, it's only his orgasm that matters to him.

Jeff mutters profanities under his breath with almost every thrust. It's a mixture of praise and degradation. "Fuck... D–Damn slut... You feel so fucking good..."

For aftercare, he doesn't do much. Just small things like giving you water and cuddling with you in bed. It's simple and it's nice.

!!! i'm very sorry if you meant "jack x jeff"! feel free to let me know in another ask, though!

[evergone]

Rumours

Theodore Nott x Reader

Warnings: swearing.

Description: Theo and the reader aren't particularly close friends until a storm terrifies the reader, and Theo has to take her to her room. Scandal ensues.

Night began to ride in on the back of a storm and through the large windows looking out into the lake you could see schools of fish swimming further down to hide amongst the weeds and mud below the dungeon. Wrapped in a large cream coloured goat’s wool blanket, and layered in both a brown cotton jumper and your green-lined robe, you found warmth by the crackling fireplace as you sped through your Potions homework, well aware that you would never get it completely finished by Monday when it was due. Vanilla and chamomile candles lit themselves around the long common room and their scent wafted through the space, mixing with the smell of the burning wood and adding to the all-encompassing sense of home.

Lightning struck the lake, the first of what would be many times that night, and you waited anxiously for the oncoming thunder. It broke out from a whimper to a roar, so loud it shook the common room, and the two green glass bottles sat atop the elaborate stone mantelpiece of the fireplace swayed into each other with a quiet ‘clink!’ as if making a toast. Stress seized your mind, and while you contemplated moving away from the windows, you couldn’t find it in yourself to get up. Just about frozen from phonophobia, as well as from your complete mortification at the thought that someone unkind could discover this fear, you scribbled over your homework parchment absentmindedly.

As another bolt of lightning met with the lake, the entrance to the common room swung open and the ever-familiar voice of your dearest friend, Pansy Parkinson, and some of your other housemates disturbed the mostly silent space. Gaze transfixed on your homework, you didn’t notice them make their way across the deep green and shining silver mosaic floors until Theodore Nott overly fondly pushed you further to the edge of the lounge you were on and stole half of the blanket from you as he sat down. Thunder raged again in the gloomy, storm-charged atmosphere, twice as loud as the groups’ conversation and your body tightened to a tense.

As Theo made himself more comfortable, he threw you an awkward smile as a swift apology for invading your personal bubble.

The two of you were hardly friends, just friends-of-friends, and it was for no reason other than the convenience of the group that you were ever in each other’s company. Occasionally, there would be a free period that you’d both spend in the library and whoever had gotten there first would wave the other over and you’d sit together, but you’d only ever do your homework quietly across from each other. No chatting, no socialising, not even a ‘how are you liking the weather?’ You were fine with this, though, as both Theo and yourself were private people. Or, at least, you pretended to be fine with the unspoken arrangement.

“You okay?” he asked, interrupting your train of thought when his hand met the section of blanket covering your knee, and the earthly wonders he had for eyes met yours.

He must have felt you when you tensed.

Simplicity was an attribute of Theo’s that you truly admired and adored. He never said a word more than he needed to. You shook your head meekly like a shy child on her first day in kindergarten. Mascara seemed the only barrier stopping you from turning your lashes into a lawn covered in morning dew — you wouldn’t be seen having it run down your face, how would you possibly hide that from the judgemental eyes of the Slytherin population? Seeming to disregard your nonverbal response as a lie, Theo waved his wand and the snake-patterned blackout curtains fell over the windows, putting a distance between the common room and the outside world.

“Is it the noise?” he guessed in a hushed tone, careful not to draw the attention of any of the others.

“Mhm,” you hummed as your cheeks reddened (Merlin be damned for letting him of all people figure you out), “Could you get Pansy to walk me to my room?”

Over on the other lounge, Pansy sat preoccupied in Draco’s lap, twiddling her short black hair between her pointer and her thumb, and laughing in an obnoxious manner at a story Blaise had started to tell almost twenty minutes earlier in the courtyard. It was some long reach piece of gossip about one of those Weasley kids — Fred? George? One of the other ones whose names Theo couldn’t remember for the life of him? He hadn’t really been paying much attention. Rested in the back pocket of Pansy’s jeans was Draco’s hand, holding her firmly on top of him. Safe to say, Theo wouldn’t be pulling those two apart inconspicuously.

“I’ll take you,” he told you.

Softly, he abandoned the blanket that once sheltered you from the nibbling chill of the late-Spring air and stood up. Both Blaise and Draco noticed this and each raised a pitch black or platinum blonde brow respectively as a questioning gesture of Theo’s motives as he held his hand out to help you up. With Theo as your guide and support, you made your way up to your room, stopping halfway up the stairs when another bang of thunder made you jump and he had to grab your forearms to make sure you didn’t fall over. You apologised awkwardly, and avoided his gaze as best you could while cherishing every moment in which his hands were on you.

At your door, you made sure to thank him profusely and honoured him with an I-owe-you which he refused to acknowledge. After ensuring you would be okay, he returned to the common room and sat in the seat he had left. Blaise had made himself comfortable where you’d once been, and the entire group stopped their conversation in favour of silence.

“The fuck was that?” Draco asked loudly.

Thunder continued to rumble overhead in the grey of the storm, adding to the grandeur of the Slytherin common room that Draco’s obscenity disregarded. Unbothered and unwilling to explain your personal troubles to the king of being the opposite of understanding, Theo just shrugged in response, and focused in on the black-furred cat that had made its way into their area as he listened to the storm as if it were music.

“Oh, shit…” Pansy said, the realisation that you had been scared by the storm finally hitting her, “I gotta go.”

Leaving Draco with an affectionate peck on the cheek, Pansy retreated upstairs, likely to go take care of you, Theo presumed. In her wake, Draco and Blaise erupted into questions. A muddle of ‘are you guys dating?’s and ‘actually what the fuck’s and ‘I didn’t even know you liked her’s were thrown at Theo who had no ulterior motives behind taking you upstairs, he had just done so out of the simple kindness of his heart. Slytherins being Slytherins, however, couldn’t fathom that he would do anything purely out of kindness. Kindness didn’t come naturally in a house dedicated to ambition and self-preservation.

“You like her, Theo, admit it.”

“Shove off, Draco,” Theo spat, pulling the blanket back over himself, “You don’t know anything.”

“Defensive!” Blaise laughed and poked his friend’s shoulder, “You are the closest to her out of all of us guys.”

Truthfully, you and Theo did spend an awful lot of time together. But that was only out of consequence, the fact that you both thoroughly enjoyed reading meant you were both always in the library looking through the hundreds or possibly thousands of leather-bound books, and you seemed to frequently happen upon each other. Outside of the library, your time was limited only to group activities because you sat next to Pansy or Daphne Greengrass in almost every class you shared with Theo and never spoke to him. He didn’t think anything of your time together. Surely, there wasn’t much to think. Right? The pair of you — no, there wasn’t any “pair” to begin with, say, the individuals of you, yes, that’s right, the individuals. The individuals of you were just happy acquaintances, nothing more.

The fire was hardly big enough to keep Theo warm against the backdrop of a fiercely windy night that had turned even the secluded dungeons cold. Even under all its fur, the cat who had made itself comfortable right up next to the flames looked still to be shivering in the crisp air. It jumped up off the floor, where the stone mosaics weren’t warming up at all, and squished itself between Blaise and Theo.

“You know, she barely even talks to us,” Draco started, “We’re her friends, of course, but when Pansy or Daphne or you aren’t there she goes all quiet.”

“And she clearly trusts you, whatever that whole thing was—” Blaise made circular motions with his arms to refer to Theo taking her to her room— “She didn’t trust any of us with it.”

Theo huffed, “She wanted Pansy, but she was busy with his hand on her ass, I had an…” He searched for the right word, “Obligation to help.”

“Because Theodore Nott is renowned for helping people,” Draco scoffed, his tongue dripping with sarcasm.

By the time you were crouched over a table in the library the next morning, making a desperate last-ditch effort to complete that Potions homework before third period, the storm had subsided. Unfortunately for you, your most outspoken friend, Daphne, had brought with her a storm of her own.

“I heard a rumour,” Daphne began as she pinned her blonde side fringe back behind her ear.

“Oh, here we go!” Pansy sighed.

Numerous scrolls of parchment were littered over the desk in the library that the three of you had made your own and Pansy was sorting frantically through them looking for all the ones with her handwriting on them — she couldn’t even remember the amount she had written on. Stacks of books on the fundamentals of potions, charms and transfiguration threaded themselves between the scrolls and threatened to fall as her inattentive sorting had her reaching over and around them sloppily. With a creak, you leaned back in your chair taking a blind gander under the desk to find another three scrolls forgotten on the elephant print, medieval-style rug that covered the wooden floors and handed them to her.

“According to hearsay, you and Theo are having some kind of fling,” Daphne continued, “Care to comment, Y/n, my dear friend?” She held a fist out towards to mimic a reporter holding a microphone.

“Who told you that?” You asked, furrowed brows adorning your face like a weighted crown as you slapped her hand away.

She shrugged then took her own scrolls which were contained in a pile on a separate but close-by desk, and put them into the spacey grey-black satchel slung over her shoulder. Clock striking the hour, your two companions bid you adieu as they headed for Ghoul Studies. Unsure whether she had found all her scrolls, Pansy took one last glance at the desk before giving up altogether, stating that if she didn’t have it then it surely wasn’t important.

Left alone to drown in your inability to finish this Merlin-darned homework, your mind wandered to the somewhat unsavoury rumour concerning yourself and Theo that was supposedly making the rounds. Details of the night prior came back in sections, split up by bursts of terror ignited by the loud storm. Most of your memories were from the latter half of the night, curled up in Pansy’s arms singing to the wizarding hits of the last five or so decades. However, the earlier moments lingered on your side and your hand — the everlasting effects of Theo’s touch. By Salazar, what you wouldn’t give to feel him again.

As if your thoughts were summons, the very boy with whom you were engaged in the beginnings of a tumultuous scandal entered your space in the library. Drawing back the chair Pansy had once claimed beside you, Theo sat down, and set some parchment and ink on the desk alongside your books and half-finished assignments. He ran a hand through his tawny brown curls, breaking his near-perfect side part as his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath.

“You look exhausted,” you smiled, taking notice of his sweat slicked forehead.

You’d never started a conversation with him before.

“I spent the morning playing quidditch with Draco,” he said with a hint of anger.

You laughed gently and missed as the sound lit a spark in Theo’s eyes, convincing him to move his seat closer to yours. Surrounding the two of you was an air as warm as a campfire at school camp, or the fireplace under stockings on Christmas Day, or the oven after baking a fresh loaf of bread. Burdened by your workload, you dug straight back into your tasks, but Theo had other ideas. Parchment was less hardy than paper, and so your homework scroll was starting to fray, piquing his interest as he took a lose thread between his fingers and toyed with it. Eyes slimmed, brow raised, you sent him a look of confusion.

“Let’s not do our work today,” he announced.

“And do what instead?” You questioned, already having disregarded your quill in the inkpot, turned wild by the promise of adventure.

Easily, Theo stood up and raised his arms to stretch out his tall spine letting a set of cracks run down it from his shoulders to his hips. The black band of his underwear exposed itself as his white button-up school shirt lifted above his belly button, and you caught yourself mid-stare at his happy trail. He made a place for himself behind your chair, his upper body leant over your head like a tree you were using for shade as he inspected the shelves full of ancient books before you. If you had died right there, you would certainly have died happy.

He was looking for something to impress you (though he couldn’t exactly justify why he’d become suddenly inclined to do such a thing), something that would gain your attention, something he could recommend so you could go back to him to talk about it. For him to find that, you would have to leave the education section in favour of the leisure section. He held his hand out to assist you in standing for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, and you took it again; his high body temperature, and calm but bored aura encompassed you at the touch of your palms. When he let go, he waved the very same hand over your belongings to cast a spell that would pack everything into your brown leather shoulder bag that was leaning idly on the leg of your chair.

“Give me a sec,” he whispered, cautious of Madam Pince’s omni-audient ear.

There wasn’t a single book he could think of that he didn’t know you had already read. Always the avid reader, you were, from the moment you learnt the alphabet it seemed you couldn’t live without a book in one hand and a pencil for annotating in the other. When he finally came across something he thought you’d like, a compilation of poetry by some witch named Winters, he hurried back to lead you elsewhere.

You followed him like a stray puppy would follow the scent of food, and he took you outside to sit below two wych elms whose branches were tangled like lovers. Blooming expanses of creeping thyme coloured the soles of your shoes a pale pink-purple as you crushed them under your feet; you would be ever grateful for the house elves when they cleaned it off for you. Pollen tickled your nose and pricked your eyes, the sun’s rays created a sheen of light across the Black Lake, and the skies had cleared completely, leaving a blue vastness to watch over the castle.

Theo laid down and passed you the poetry book, “For you.”

Taking it from him and flipping through the pages, you nodded your thanks and rested your head on the ground next to him. Human silence overcame the little space you two had made for yourselves and the sounds of nature, birds chirping, bees buzzing, leaves rustling, were the only things left to be heard anywhere near. In the distance, there was a faint echo of classes being taught, but so far away that it you wouldn’t be able to hear it unless you strained yourself immensely.

“Did you finish that potions homework?” Theo asked.

Another laugh escaped your mouth, “When have I ever finished potions homework on time?” You said with a newfound confidence, “Snape takes five house points from me in every class.”

An amused close-lipped smile spread across his face, “And here I’ve taken you away from your studying.”

“I wouldn’t have done it anyway,” you sighed, content with your predicament.

Frost-speckled grass kissed your cheek as you turned to look at him, the remnants of Winter still lasted so far into Spring. Theo turned as well, taking in every scar, freckle and acne bump that was blessed by belonging to you.

“Let’s read this together,” you said, and opened to the first page of the book he had found for you.

“No!” He rushed out, stealing it back, and placing it on the other side of him.

Confusion danced a ballet over your soft features while a blush spun savagely over his strong, sharp traits. One of your arms, your right that was furthest away from him, reached across his body in blind hope to find the gift he had so abruptly rescinded. The mole above his mouth slinked forward as he bit his bottom lip, and slid the book under the curve of his back so you’d never be able to grab it. Nevertheless, you flipped onto your stomach and shot your hand underneath him, crumbling as you got stuck under his weight.

“What are you doing?” You giggled, “Why can’t I read it?”

“I want to get it right,” explained Theo, “I picked this out on a whim, give me some time to choose something better suited for you, yeah?” You frowned so he quickly added, “Please?”

Under long lashes that appeared almost naked without the layers of mascara you usually covered them with, your enthralling e/c irises stared at him, teleporting him into the mazes of your mind where he intended to get lost. Retracting your frown and wriggling your arm out from underneath him, you lazed the side of your forehead against his shoulder which, to both yours and Theo’s surprise, struck up an affectionate sensation in your chests. From your position you could feel the way his heart pushed and pulled the blood through his veins and arteries, the tender ‘dun-dun’ of his heartbeat causing his whole body to pulse to an organised rhythm.

Five years you had known Theo and while one wouldn’t be wrong to call you associates, I must reiterate that you were never really friends. Seeing him in the library during your corresponding free periods was nice, you supposed, but you suddenly realised that you hated how far you drifted outside of the library’s book-covered walls. The previous night had been the first time in what was likely forever that you had spoken exclusively to one another without the guidance of a third party. Really, you just wanted to get to know him better, see the sides of him that didn’t show during a dead-silent hour alone in the library.

“Well, since you asked so politely,” you said with a sincere smile.

Theo opened his mouth to respond but was cut off before he was given the chance by Daphne’s high-pitched, intrusive voice screaming at you from across the field of creeping thyme, “You whores are never beating these allegations!”

Her volume gave you half a heart attack and you jolted upright, deserting Theo’s shoulder, and glancing over your own to see Daphne approaching the two of you with Blaise, Pansy, Draco, Tweedledum and Tweedle-dee on her heel. Clearly, the bell had rung for break, but between your great library escape and book shenanigan, neither of you had cared to check the time. How the others had found you was beyond your capacity to think as you waited for your heart to settle and your forehead to cease sweating following Daphne’s ear-piercing entrance.

“What allegations?” He asked her, thick eyebrows glaring, not at her, but at the content of her conversation.

“Y/n didn’t tell you?” She said, “You’ve been swept up in a scandal. Everyone thinks you guys are getting it on.”

Vulgar motions were made with her hands, sending Crabbe and Goyle into a bout of immature laughter. Flushed red with embarrassment, you avoided the look Theo was more-than-likely throwing your way by connecting your own line of vision with Pansy’s. She bit her tongue, widened her eyes, and nodded harshly in Theo’s direction, urging you to look at him. But you were so terribly embarrassed that you took to your feet, and ran away from your friends, ignoring them as they called out for you to come back.

You found the first broom closet that would open at the utterance of ‘Alohomora,’ and found solace in the cramped, yet perfectly concealed hiding spot. As your hands came up to cover your eyes, the humiliation of, not only the rumour, or the fact that you were caught in such a compromising position with Theo, but of the fact that you had fooled yourself into starting to think that you and Theo were building something, overcame you. Once you decided the coast would be clear, and your friends would have all returned to their classes, you opened the broom closet door, your eyes stinging with the remains of tears.

Standing before you with a look of knowing and understanding that was so much beyond friendliness, was Theo. His hands were in his pockets, and he had slung both your bag and his own over his wide shoulders.

“How did you find me?” You said quietly, and wiped your eyes, hoping you could hide their inevitable redness.

“The others were headed to Potions, but I heard you sobbing, and thought I should wait until you were ready to come out,” he responded just as softly.

“Why would you do that? You know Snape doesn’t take late homework submissions! You’re coming third-in-class!” You exclaimed.

Worry flashed behind your eyes, and he quickly leant down, and reached out to cup your face in his large, calloused hands, “Hey, hey, it’s alright! I took you away from your study first, Y/n, it’s only fair that we both fail.”

That classic frown of yours graced your beautiful features, and Theo had to withhold the urge to sigh with infatuation. It was a blessing to behold you, even when your cheeks and eyes were so puffy and irritated, and your nose was beginning to run a little. However gross it was was eclipsed by how perfect you were.

“Why are you so upset, huh?” He asked you in a gentle tone.

A small sniffle preceded your reply, “There’s this tasteless rumour about us, and I was just starting to realise how much I like being around you, and now it’s all ruined!”

Theo laughed his mellifluous, musical laugh which frustrated you into an even deeper frown, then he said, “A stupid rumour couldn’t ruin us.”

Glancing up at him, you allowed your frown to soften. He had said ‘us.’ What in the world did that mean? What, or who, was ‘us?’ Did he mean the two of you? Your thoughts ran as rampant and crazy as they had earlier when he first proposed the idea of skipping out on your study period. Quickly, you began to hypothesise all sorts of meanings and justifications for his choice of words.

“And, for the record, I love being around you, too,” he said.

Without warning, your body became charged with that uncharacteristic confidence that had only started to appear the night before, and you leant in to place your forehead on Theo’s. He looked downright idiotic from that angle, but you saw firsthand how his line of vision flickered down to your lips, and back up to your eyes. And you thought, if people must think you’re messing around with someone, you wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.

“Would you like to — Do you want to…?” You had read hundreds of books on romance, but still you couldn’t think of the words.

“Can I…?” Neither, it seems, could he.

You placed your hand on the back of his neck, and pulled him in. His lips were were raging fires, yours were wax, melting at the touch of heat. Notes of nutmeg and cypress hit your nose — his cologne. His hands gripped your waist, just lower than could be written off as friendly, and he kissed you so passionately that any onlooker would think the rumours so obviously confirmed.

Eventually, he pulled away, and you just stared at each other in total wonder. There was no way you could possibly discredit those rumours now.

[taintedcigs]

as promised.... here's a firefighter!steve thought that hasn't left my mind (warnings: 18+ minors dni, bj, praises, filthy!)

firefighter!steve who meets you on the job, who is all flirty when he sees you... so much so that his captain reprimands him, but none of that matters when you give him your number, promising him a date.

rosy lips curling into a full-on grin, bowing at you with a wink as he runs his hands through his slicked up hair in excitement.

Maybe it's the uniform or his charm, but it doesn't matter, because you're back at his apartment the second the date is over, exploring each other's bodies, hands everywhere, kisses all over each other's skin.

It's a miracle the two of you make it to his couch, and maybe if he hadn't talked about his job a lot, how much he saved people, how much he took care of everyone around him, you wouldn't immediately be on your knees, palming him through his uniform.

But you want to take care of him, want to help him relax, ease his worries.

"W-what are you doin'?" he questions, words half-slurred, eyes half-shut, cock stirring at your movements, low whines he can't seem to hush making you grin.

"Must be so tiring, saving all those people, taking care of everyone else...." You flutter your lashes, not wasting any time to unzip him, your eyes widen at his sheer size, admiring it.

It's bigger, much thicker than you anticipated, veins apparent with how hard he is, but it doesn't stop your slow strokes as his rosy lips slightly part in awe.

"Nobody takes care of you, do they, Stevie?" You hum, not wasting any time to bring your lips onto his hardened cock, soft kisses plastered all over, he wants to protest, but it's not even believable.

"But I was going to-"

"Sshhh, we have all the time in the world, let me take care of you, pretty boy," you hush him quickly, tongue swiping along his length, earning a grunt from him, loud, much louder than he's ever been, and you can see him slipping, going into a trance, engulfed in desire.

It's kitten licks at first, and even with that Steve can feel his entire body shake, the growing intensity of his fervor makes him curse under his breath.

He can't help it, you look so fucking pretty taking care of him, lustful gaze eating him up, tongue lapping up hungrily.

All he can do is whine, beg, and call out your name as merely a grunt. it's surely pathetic, but it drives you insane, plump lips finally wrapping around his cock, sliding up and down his length, hand flying to stroke the parts of him your mouth can't cover.

"You're so, so big, Stevie," you hum, all sultry and sweet, he can't help the ungodly noises that escape his bubblegum lips.

"Baby..." he calls out, weak, and you respond by wrapping another hand around his cock, it's all soft and delicate because he knows he's going to explode soon.

He doesn't even attempt to push your head down further, he can't, his balls are tight, full of cum, waiting to paint your pretty little throat.

All he wants.

You bob your head up and down, gagging with his size while your hand tugs at his cock a bit harder this time, you can almost feel him twitch on your hot tongue, suckling while all Steve can do is let out a "fuck, baby," and a few of "shit, sweetheart," feeling his balls draw up, throbbing length covered in your spit.

Hands replace your mouth as you release him with a pop sound, and Steve looks down at you curious, you meet his gaze, running his red tip against your lips, collecting what's left of his pre-cum with a few laps of your tongue.

He watches in pure admiration, how ethereal you look like this, the gaze you have on him downright pornographic, and all he can do is whine, while his eyes roll to the back of his head, entire body buzzing with pleasure.

You lick your lips happily, letting his salty semen engulf your tastebuds, "tastes so good, Steve." You praise, hand continuing to tug at his veiny cock, his mouth forming an 'o' shape.

"F-fuck... g-gonna cum, sweets," he warns with a violent grunt, making you get to work again, suckling on his cock like your favorite candy, telling him to cum, pretty praises leaving your lips, and all Steve can do is growl, lost in his own desires, in you.

"S-shit, shit, shit! Gonna fill that pretty mouth up-" he can't even finish his sentence, and you continue, whimpering around his cock, getting him to the edge, making him explode inside your cheeks, warm and thick cum flooding all the way back to your throat.

You give him a small smile right after you swallow all of him, lewd gaze meeting his while he keeps repeating how perfect you are.

His good girl.

He grabs you by your chin to make you look up at him, it's downright sinful, much more in control than he was before, you can feel your thighs dampening. "I have to return the favor, sweetheart, don't you think?"

You nod, almost in trance, all the confirmation he needs before he swiftly picks you up, throwing you over his shoulders like it's no big deal.

"Show you how strong and good firefighters are with their hands, hmmm?" He hums wickedly, carrying you to his bedroom.