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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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In Stitches 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

We've all agreed that The Quiet Ones, Follow You Anywhere, Hidden Treasures and this fic (maybe more) have built the deluluverse.

Summary: You find your work hindered by your client's son.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had to do it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re not late, but you’re too dang close! You pride yourself on being at least fifteen minutes early wherever you go. Being self-employed, you make a point of always being on time. And you are but that long hand is a bit too close to the tick mark.

It doesn’t help that Mrs. Odinson is one of your best and favourite customers. You hate to let her down. You shake off that rattly feeling as you pull up to the gate and glance at the time again. Still a couple minutes to spare.

You buzz in with the button and wave at the camera. You’re never quite sure who’s at the other end but they always just let you through. You suspect it’s standard business and all the help know every face that comes and goes.

You roll through and steer around towards the vehicles along the east side of the curved driveway. You’ve never seen the sleek silver car you pull in next to but you know Mrs. Odinson’s pear-coloured porshe and Mr. Odinson’s slate grey beemer. They must have company. You can’t remember if she said there was a special occasion.

You slide into the space and grab your bag from in front of the passenger’s seat. You push open the door and gasp as the seat belt keeps you from climbing out. How forgetful! You unbuckle and untangle yourself, stepping out in your heeled oxfords and cigarette pants.

Your reflection looks back at you from the sleek polish of the unfamiliar silver car. You smile and shut your door, locking it with a chirp from your key fob. You tuck the key ring into your blazer pocket and bounce up towards the front door. You climb the stone stairs, broad and trimmed with curled railings. You stop at the top and clang the large knocker, a raven’s head with a ring in its beak.

A man in a dark suit answers the door. You’ve seen him before with his steely hair and sleepy eyes. He’s often the one who opens the door but he says nothing and shows you to Mrs. Odinson’s salon, as she calls it.

As the man leaves you just outside, you peek in through the open doorway. You see your client before the standing mirror in the corner, swirling as she checks her reflection. You cough and give a gentle knock on the door frame.

“Ah,” she spins to you with her pretty smile, “just in time, darling.” She struts over breezily, “the hem has come undone on this.” She smooths her elegant hands over her bodice, “so much for designer, eh.”

“Oh, my,” you give her a look up and down, “shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“Thank you, darling,” she trills and strolls back to the mirror. You follow her and pull up the stool you often use for such a fix. You have a routine between you, you know what she expects and you do it.

You sit and open your bag. You pull out your needle and stir through your spindles to find a matching thread. As you thread the eye, she continues to preen in the mirror.

“Something special going on?” You ask in your usual small talk.

“Didn’t I mention? My son’s come home at last.”

“Your son?” You look up as her curiously.

“Oh, not Thor,” she laughs, “no, no, he’s always about, isn’t he?” She tugs on a blonde wave, trying to make is stay in place, “my other son. Loki. Finally decided to move back home. Not here, certainly, but close by. Near to his mother.”

“Mm, that’s exciting,” you comment as you grab the hem and work around her movement.

“Isn’t it? We’re having a little luncheon. At the tea room, I feel a public place will deter an outbursts,” she pouts at herself, “you know how family can be.”

“Erm, sure,” you agree dulcetly as you tie off the thread, “all done.”

She swirls, her skirt nearly hitting your face. You lean back on the stool and wiggle your nose. She admires herself. She is beautiful. Her age takes nothing away from her natural grace. You could only dream of having a similar bearing; you’re a bit too short, a bit too clumsy.

“Mother,” a voice drawls from the hallway. You glance over as you wrap up the thread around the spindle, “we’re due to be off.”

You don’t know that timbre. It isn’t Thor’s rumbling baritone, rather something smoother, something refined. You tuck away the thread as a slender but tall man appears in the doorway. He tugs at the cuff of his jacket as he furrows his nose.

“Ready, just needed a touch up,” she faces him, “darling, I’ve a rack for you to take. Wouldn’t want you to make the trip just for a loose hem.”

She points to several garment bags hung from a rack against the wall. You stand as her son’s green eyes find his mother then drift over to you. His sharp features turn imperious.

“Must you trouble so,” she swats at him as a loose thread dangles from his cuff.

“Wasn’t me, mother, I only just purchased the piece,” he counters, “quality, these days.”

“Darling, come, you’ve some scissors,” she beckons you forth with a flutter of fingers.

You reach into your bag and take the silver scissors from their sheath. You approach them with a smile as the man stares at you, eyes narrowing. He’s much unlike his brother. Much calmer.

“May I?” You ask and Mrs. Odinson forces his arm towards you.

He hums but offers no protest. Your fingertips brush his shirt sleeve as you roll back his jacket cuff and snip the offended thread. You feel the seam with your thumb.

“Should do for the day,” you advise, “but it’ll come loose eventually. I could do a quick sew-off...”

“We’re already late,” he declares and rescinds his arm. “Mother.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she pats his chest gently, “go on then, get yourself off. Your father and I will catch up. Oh, are you taking Thor with you?”

“I believe he is capable of tending to himself--”

“Yes, but... he does enjoy indulgence,” Mrs. Odinson girds.

“He is an adult and it isn’t yet noon,” Loki reprimands, “I shall drive on my own, then.”

“You always do as you wish, don’t you, Loki?” She rebukes playfully.

He grumbles again and his eyes flit toward you one last time, “you might have the tailor see my brother. Perhaps she could sew his lips shut so we might have a peaceful lunch.”

Your cheeks bulb a bit larger at his joke. You can't entirely disagree.

“Eh, don’t begin,” Mrs. Odinson giggles as she snaps shut a compact and shoves it in a clutch, “you’ve only just returned.”

“Mm, yet it feels I never left at all,” he frowns, still watching you.

You chalk it up to curiousity, perhaps he feels it improper to ask, you do feel it a bit much to introduce yourself without prompting. The Odinson household always holds an air of formality you can never quite riddle out. You keep a smile on your face as his cheeks dimple and he tilts his head.

“Right then,” he straightens his posture and tugs his jacket straight, “suppose I should go and hold our reservation before they think to give it away.”

He inhales and pivots away, striding off with long, stiff steps. You watch after him before you turn back to the room. You go to slip your scissors back into their sheath and drop them into your bag before lifting it. Mrs. Odinson holds a cape and a jacket before her.

“Which do you think it better?” She asks as you cross to the rack to gather the waiting hangers.

“I think the cape would be better, it is rather warm. It shouldn’t rain I think,” you proffer, “is this the hounds tooth?” You peek through the opening of one of the garment bags.

“Yes, dear, it is so lovely and yet that dang clasp is giving me such trouble,” she sounds ready to swoon at the tragedy, “might you replace it? Perhaps a button might do instead?”

“I’ll have a look,” you fold the bags over your arm and hike up your bag, “I’ll be off then. Hope you have a good lunch.”

“Thank you. Don’t you work too hard, dearie,” she trills after you, “much too nice a day to be pent up.”

You sweep off with your armful. The dresses are heavier than one might expect. You find it surprising how fabric can add up. You go downstairs and once more find that stoic man in his dark suit. He opens the door for you and you thank him brightly.

You amble down the steps, looking around your load to keep from stepping on the treacherously low edges of the bags. You would hate to trod on one of Mrs. Odinson’s dresses. You’re so distracted with your efforts to keep from mussing up the hems that a honk has you jumping in your boots.

You yipe as you turn to face the silver car, its bumper stopping just short of you as the headlights flash. Your lips make an O and you quickly scurry out of the way. You dip your head down guiltily. You should’ve been paying attention.

The car door opens on the other side as you approach your own. You peer over with a sheepish look, “I’m sorry--”

“You should be careful. I could’ve hit you,” Loki says, more accusatory than concerned.

You smile, “I know, I’m sorry. I was distracted--”

“Certainly, you were,” he affirms, as if telling you exactly how the world works, “and what would I do should you be caught under my tires? Can you patch yourself up so easily as a stray cuff?”

“No, sir, I’m sorry. Again, I wasn’t meaning to get in the way--”

“You don’t look very sorry. Not so many people smile in the face of mortal injury.”

Your cheeks wobble but you keep your smile. You can’t help it. When you’re happy or nervous or even confused, you just tend to smile through it. A smile makes everything a little better.

“I’m not smiling at that--”

“Then what are you smiling at?” He hisses harshly.

You bat your lashes and look side to side, “you.”

“Me?” His forehead wrinkles. “Are you being smart?”

You shake your head and your lips twitch, “smart? No, sir, I’m only... I suppose I just smile at everyone.”

“So you would,” he mutters and angles back to his car, “be sure to stand back then. Wouldn’t want to run over your toes.”

He drops into the car seat and slams the door. You stand back and watch him buckle in. He takes his time, adjusting his mirror, then his long fingers tap his shifter before he cranks it into reverse. He swerves around and hug the pile of clothes.

You don’t blame him for being agitated, you’ve had a few close calls yourself. Accidents are never fun. His adrenaline was just going and at least he cared enough to be upset. It’s a good reminder to be more aware.

🪡

The fabric store isn’t very busy. The higher-end boutiques never are. You don’t often come to them yourself but you desperately need a yard to match Mrs. Odinson’s crushed velvet jackets. You need to replace a full panel and you can’t compromise; she’ll notice. She has a good eye. She never seems to miss.

Time is hardly on your time. You agreed to drop off the lot the next day. She has a gala and needs that one dress in particular. You know she’ll expect the rest.

You walk around with a swatch in hand, comparing the hue and feel. You don’t want the new material to contrast. You can’t forget the thread; you don’t have quiet that shade of magenta.

You stand amid the velvets, flipping over the large rolls, tugging the end, rubbing the fabric between your fingers. Your advance is patient even as your inner expediency nips away at you. As you come to the end of an aisle, you stop short as you look up. There’s a shadow there, waiting.

You stand still, waiting for them to come down that aisle. You’d hate to get in their way. But they don’t and in an instant, the shadow flickers away. You hear them retreat down the next row and you curl around, seeing no more than a leather heel before the figure disappears.

How odd.

The mysterious entity doesn’t distract you for long. The pinks are close, each of them seems just a shade off of what you’re looking for. You sigh and breathe out between your lip, rolling your tongue around the tip of a needle that isn’t there. A habit.

You lug out each roll and carry them down to the front counter. You lift each up as a woman greets you from the other side. You smile and clear your throat.

“You don’t happen to have any in the back,” you wonder, “I’m looking for something in between.”

You show her the square of crushed velvet and she sucks her teeth, “not quite, I think. I think we’ve something close in our catalogue but it wouldn’t be at this location. The north end may have it but I can’t confirm.

You sniff and nod, still smiling. It isn’t her fault she doesn’t have it. You remember the days you worked in a fabric shop, though it wasn’t as nice as this one. You thank her and take the rolls off the counter.

“I’ll just put these back then. I need thread anyhow,” you announce.

“Wonderful, you just let me know if you need anything, hon,” she beams at you.

You nod and turn back. You take the rolls back and set them away how you found them. When you spin, you feel something shift, as if there’s a breeze in this stagnant shop. You peer around. It’s strange, it’s as if you’re being followed but you haven’t seen a single other customer in the shop.

You tilt your head and cluck your tongue as you carry on to the racks of thread near the counter. You dive into the search for the perfect thickness and colour. It’s a much more fruitful hunt. As you pluck out the very strands you need, you hear the door. Your head pops up and you glance behind you curiously. You don’t see much of the other person as they leave the store, you never even saw them pass.

You shrug and take the spool to the counter, “thanks again,” you say to the associate, “better get out of here before temptation gets the best of me.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #in stitches #mcu #marvel #avengers

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mooishbeam · 1 year ago

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『♡』 Strawberry Lemonade

♡ featuring: toji x f!reader

♡ synopsis: you plan to make strawberry lemonade for the summer, but life has other plans. wc: 1.7k+

♡ cw/tw: just some fluff, toji kisses :3

notes: idk why i kept thinking about soft cottagecore toji my brain fhioshafiohiaf this was so self indulgent srry for any mistakes ive been sick for a few weeks lol <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

After heavy rain showers, sun rolled in and devoured everything beneath it.

Toji doesn’t like summer. He wasn’t exactly fond of the heat rays rippling across the pavement, his black slides bonding like tar if he stood in one place for too long. His bangs would mat to his forehead, and it was overall a hassle to tolerate. He’d much rather laze under air conditioning for the entire season.

Until you came along.

He’d never met someone so delighted over sweat and mosquitos before you. Maybe that’s why he slowly became accustomed to such weather. You weren’t shy about your strange habits. After all, on your third date it poured like no other, and instead of taking cover, you skipped through the rain. It was strange, yet he cracked a smirk at your wide grin.

You’re happy and that’s good enough for him.

You were elated at the promises summer bore, specifically for your plants. Fruitful flowers meandering on branches, the first sign of hibiscus blooming. Every year around that time, you carried your plants outside to bask in her warmth. It was all an invaluable gift from Mother Nature, and you did your best to honor her.

Of course, Toji had to purchase a house with the most sunlight, and a backyard to match—not with you in mind, at least that’s what he’d day as he avoided your gaze. He knew your housewarming gifts would consist of planting tools, but the sheer amount of it was staggering.

It was no surprise you planted your seeds the next day and watched them like a hawk. Toji was sure to mention how much of a “weirdo” you were for spending so much time caring for your perceived babies. A weirdo he loved, because he left marks of his affection in every nook and cranny. Sure, he feigned annoyance over it, but you knew better when he did things you didn’t ask for. Toji isn’t a verbally expressive husband, but his actions make up for the rest.

Like when he built a wooden potting bench to store the inventory accumulating in the corner by your plants. You came home as he was applying the finishing touches and embraced him for what felt like hours. He rolled his eyes, pretending to be unfazed by your gratitude, though you could still see the growing ghost of a smirk; “Don’t thank me, that thing was an eyesore.”

It benefited him, too, to gaze through the screen door in the afternoon and see the gorgeous sun-kissed glow on the apples of your cheeks. He adored your soft eyes that diligently monitored the seeds starting to sprout with a tender smile.

You filed chunky soil into terracotta pots you painted with various designs. The one that resembles a tiny cactus with a face grew a bundle of basil. The other one similar to a tiered strawberry cake grew a fitting crown of strawberries. You weren’t looking to bake an outstanding cake or be the best gardener. For the fruits of your labor, the only thing you wanted was—

A single pitcher of strawberry lemonade.

Toji trudges down the stairs half-asleep and enters the kitchen to pour the usual cup of coffee you make as you wake before him. However, there’s no jug awaiting him. He opens the screen door and finds you kneeling over the pots, sporting a bow knot straw hat and an overall romper in the sweltering heat. Your brows are furrowed, and you pick at the foliage.

He leans against it and scratches his ankle with the tip of his slides. The screen clicks the side, and you turn to him.

“Oh, hey.” There are somber notes in your voice, and something in his body wants to reach out and protect you from whatever’s pulling your face into a frown.

“Hey.” He walks over to you. Your lips are tucked behind your teeth, poking at the strawberry in your palm. He kneels on one knee and you glance at him, flashing a meek smile. He wishes he didn’t have a closer view as your eyes threaten to brim with tears. Oh…his heart, tight and struggling to beat.

Toji was used to loud, ugly love. But you—your love was as gentle as the petals of an orchid, and you’d changed him without even trying. That’s why he adorned your ring finger with precious diamonds. He became a better man and husband in your arms, and in turn he’d give you the world if you desired it. So why were you about to cry?

“What’s up?”

“Nothing…” His eyes follow yours, to the flourishing bunch of basil. And then to the lackluster strawberries.

The ones still hanging from their stems aren’t award-winning. They’re deformed, with multiple nubby ends protruding from every side. They look more like hopeful raspberries than anything else. There’s a considerable pale color washed over half of them. You mold one in your palm.

“Can’t be nothin’.” He picks the strawberry from your hands and observes it with two fingers. It lacks seeds and a deep, rich red. “I just don’t know what went wrong.”

"Who said somethin' went wrong?" You lock eyes, and he pops it in his mouth.

Yours widen, and you cup his face to try and force it out his mouth. “Don’t!”

Toji bites, and in an instant utter sourness prickles his tongue. There’s a strawberry flavor, but not enough to combat. The sting is strong, and when it coats his throat, his tongue contorts to fight the sheer bitterness.

Somehow, he remains stone-faced—a battle with his gut reaction. He can’t bear to break your spirit, not like this, not when you’ve spent months strategizing and waiting for your efforts to ripen. Toji tells the harsh truth, but when it comes to you, he’s willing to be selfish.

He continues to chew while you nervously fiddle with your fingers. You gaze at him, doe-eyed and anticipating his response. The lining of his cheeks excretes copious amounts of saliva, and he finally swallows.

“S’good.”

“R-really?” You’re shocked that they’re edible in this state. He nods and it relieves some of your worry, though you’re unsure about his honesty.

He thumbs the wetness on your lashes away. “Said I like it, so make some of that lemonade ya talked about so much.”

You place a handful of strawberries on the kitchen counter and get to work. You haven’t tried them out for yourself yet, but you don’t want to waste any considering how small they are. Toji stretches out on the chair, black tank riding up as he watches you slice the tips off the strawberries. Your delicate fingers handle them with such care, just so you don’t disappoint with an unpalatable drink. Cute.

When you’re done, the rose-colored liquid fills half the pitcher. You top it with basil and stir it around. You pass a glass to Toji, heart-shaped ice cubes floating on the surface, and sit across from him.

“Let’s try on the count of three.”

“Mhm.”

“Okay! One, two-“ Toji doesn’t stop for the counter and begins to gulp the drink. You take a sip of yours. The tooth-rotting sugar did some to quell the taste, but it was still insanely sour. Your lips purse and you shut your eyes, emitting a tiny squeal. It’s your first attempt and you know you shouldn’t be so critical of yourself, but you can’t help but feel like a failure.

When you open your eyes again, you’re dumbfounded at the empty cup in front of Toji. He licks his lips, “It’s good, baby. Why you look like that?”

“No way.” He tilts his head like he didn’t just consume a liquid jawbreaker. “Hm?”

“It’s…it’s really bad, Toji. You don’t have to lie to me.” You avert your eyes and stare at the condensation running down the glass of your unsuccessful project. He wraps around the table and leans against it while you’re sitting. He cranes your neck with a calloused hand underneath your chin.

“Look at me. I’m here”

“I really wanted it to work. I spent so much time on it.”

“I know, don’t take it so hard. I like it.”

“You just don’t wanna hurt my feelings.” You weren’t entirely wrong.

“It tastes good 'cause you made it.” When you don’t respond, a malicious smirk spreads on his mouth. “Wanna try?”

Toji bends down. He squeezes your face to puckering and plants a deep kiss on your lips. Rough and meaningful, and you melt into it. He releases his grip and follows it with warm plush kisses chasing your contact. His lips are soft but slightly chapped, fleeting hints of cane sugar and just enough basil to notice. Bitter like the descent of a bleeding sunset, the chill of autumn’s return. Silent assurance, that everything was okay, and will be okay.

He parts when you tap his sturdy bicep for fresh air. “Ya done bein’ a baby?” You giggle. Perhaps you overwhelmed yourself obsessing about it for months. He brings you back to Earth, and after the overthinking subsides, you think the outcome isn’t too horrible. A long deserved break is overdue.

“Yea” you sniffle, and he lifts you from the chair into his arms. You lock your legs around his back and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Now c’mon, I wanna lay down.” Lay down is his go-to phrase, but he actually means cuddle. He’d never say it, even when lying down quickly became Toji turning on his stomach and shuffling his massive weight onto your chest. It’s what you need right now, and the way his palm rubs up and down your back reduces your mind to mush.

“I’m being a bother” you mutter. He pecks your jaw.

“Nah. Love takin’ care of my little crybaby.”

Laying down becomes cuddling as you predicted, and you massage his scalp until he dozes off in slow breaths. Your favorite weighted blanket traps you between his muscles, and you happily accept.

You’re reminded of his vulnerability, his eagerness to trust without words. He took your problems and made them his. You both surrendered your fears and insecurities to love each other. You traded walls for strawberry kisses, and there’s nothing more you could ask for.

Daylight peaked at its highest point, and as you drift to sleep you wish summer wouldn’t end.

#toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu toji #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk

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blurredcolour · 2 years ago

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Push It

Summary: Rooster’s customized playlist and exercise routine pay off when you get to peg Jake for the second time.

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader [Hangster x Female Reader Polyamorous Relationship – Established]

Author’s Note: Written for @roosterforme ’s 80’s “Rocktober” Playlist Fic Challenge! Part of the With The Three of Us Collection but can be read separately.

Warnings: Swearing, Mature/Explicit Themes [m/m/f, pegging, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, lube] – 18+ Only.

Word Count: 2410

Smoothing the straps of the harness across your hips you gnawed on your lower lip slightly as you eyed your reflection in the mirror, strap-on firmly secured against your pelvis. A complex of emotions unfurled in your chest – arousal, pride, self-confidence…and just a smidge of doubt.

While tonight would not be your first time pegging Jake, one weak showing by no means made you an expert. The very notion had never crossed your mind until one morning several weeks ago when, on his way out the door, Jake had kissed the top of your head and wished you good luck on your interview scheduled for that afternoon.

“You get that promotion, pretty girl, and I’ll let you peg me.” He had winked and strolled out of the kitchen as nonchalantly as if he had promised you ice cream.

It had taken nearly five days to remove the stain from your dress shirt as the next sip of your morning beverage had missed your mouth entirely. But you had gotten the promotion, and after a proper discussion between the three of you, you had been intrigued and more than a little turned on by the idea. The physical actuality of it, however, had proven to be exhausting and not nearly as innate as you expected.

Thrusting the strap-on in and out of Jake’s body had called upon muscles that you found were under-utilized and you struggled to maintain a pleasurable rhythm. With perseverance and outright stubborn refusal to acknowledge the pain in your back, thighs, and abdomen, you had succeeded in driving Jake to orgasm. While you had been richly rewarded for your efforts, you had also awoken to a plethora of stiff and sore muscles the next day.

Rooster had caught you cuddling the heating pad while doing research into pegging techniques and exercises to strengthen the muscles necessary to properly thrust. He had taken it upon himself to design a workout routine for you, complete with a suggestive and rhythmic playlist featuring classics like Pump Up The Jam, Push It, and Bust a Move. Despite your diligent adherence to the regimen, Bradley’s suggestion that you give it another try tonight, and Jake’s enthusiastic agreement, had still awoken a tinge of self-doubt.

“Did you get lost, pretty girl?” Bradley’s rasp from the doorway tugged you back into the present and your eyes lifted to meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

You swallowed thickly at the image of him, wearing nothing but his boxers and a soft smirk as he leaned against the doorframe of your dressing room. Turning to face him properly, you shook your head in reply, unconsciously wetting your lips with your tongue.

He hummed thoughtfully and stepped forward to cup your jaw.

“You sure you’re good?” He asked softly, playful tone replaced with gentle earnestness.

Nodding quickly, you took a moment to tighten the already snug harness before exhaling.

“I just want this time to go better…”

“If I remember correctly the only problem last time was someone put too many expectations on herself, hmmm?” He murmured, fingers sliding along your chin to caress your earlobe.

You huffed impatiently. “Who knew thrusting was so taxing…” you muttered bitterly.

“You’ve been doing your exercises?” He asked and you nodded again as his touch ghosted down the skin of your neck to trace the embellished strap of your bra. “And you promise to tell us if you start getting sore?”

Your lips pressed together into a thin line, the very idea of tapping out before Jake could finish off-putting, but Bradley’s dark eyes pierced yours, eyebrows raised insisting you respond.

“Fine. I will tell you.” You conceded, not able to deny that gaze anything.

“Good girl.” He purred and bent his head to kiss you deeply, broad palms coming to cup the bare cheeks of your ass, massaging the straps of the harness into your flesh. The tip of the toy nudged against his hip, his lips twitching into a smirk against yours. “Gotta say, it really suits you, pretty girl.”

You grinned, nipping at his lower lip playfully before threading your fingers through his.

“Shall we?”

“He’s very ready for you.” He chuckled in reply and led you back across the hall into the primary bedroom where Jake waited naked and glistening in a sheen of sweat on your shared bed.

“Fuck I was about to send a search party…” Jake huffed, propped against the headboard, eyeing you hungrily.

“Mmm my apologies Hungman…” You pouted playfully, crawling up along his right leg, letting the silicone of the strap-on brush against his skin teasingly as you made your way to his lips. “Took a bit to get the harness on.”

He gripped your hips and pulled you closer, lips seeking yours hungrily as he rocked his length up against the stiff strap-on with an eager shudder. Resting a hand on his chest, you gently grazed your nails through the dusting of chest hair to his abdominals and lower still, raking through his neatly kept pubic hair. The rasp of Rooster’s mustache against your shoulder startled a mewl from your lips, leaving your mouth vulnerable to attack from Jake’s delving tongue.

Hoping to stoke the coals of his desire, banked by your delay in the dressing room, back into a burning flame, your fingertips traced the defined lines of his hips, of adonis belt, so close to where he wanted you but not actually touching his needy cock.

The fingers of your free hand rooted themselves into Jake’s golden strands as you felt Rooster work the cool, slippery lube along the length of your strap-on before his fingers slipped between Jake’s thighs to tease at his entrance.

His mouth fell back from yours with an aggravated moan. “I’m not going to get any more stretched Rooster, please…I need pretty girl to fuck me already…” His chest heaved, his desperation tugging at your heart.

“You need me, Jake?” You murmured, lips brushing against his ear, smiling fondly as he nodded vigorously. “Come to the end of the bed then, ok?” You pulled back, guiding his hips to the edge of the mattress so you could plant your feet as Bradley slid a pillow beneath Jake’s hips solicitously.

“Just gonna wash my hands so I can touch you pretty girl, go ahead and work him onto your cock.” Rooster nipped the edge of your jaw making the breath shudder from your lungs as you felt the walls of your cunt clench around nothing at his words.

“Please…” Jake croaked beneath you, and you looked down at him warmly.

“I’ve got you…” You cooed, pressing the tip of the strap-on against the ring of muscle between his thighs, slowly easing the silicone into his body as you gently stroked his weeping length to help him relax into the pleasure of it.

The way his eyes rolled back in his head before his eyelids fell shut to dust his flushed cheeks with his fluttering eyelashes flooded your mouth with saliva and you could feel a wave of slickness between your thighs in response. It took all your willpower to maintain a slow pace, to give him time to adjust to the intrusion. As your hips nestled against his, toy full seated inside him, the prettiest whimper fell from his parted lips, and you took a steadying breath.

“That feel good, Jake?”

“S’good pretty girl, oh please fuck me…” He panted, eyelids opening halfway to show lust-blown pupils, the green of his irises almost entirely devoured.

Pulling your hips back halfway, you rocked forward once more to push the strap-on back into his body, pleased to feel less protest in your muscles than the first time your tried this. Jake’s groan was more than enough motivation to continue, to lengthen your thrusts, and speed up the rhythm. Your hands gripped his thighs for balance as Rooster’s return from the ensuite, naked and fisting his cock at the scene before him, caught your eye.

“Fuck you two are a sight to behold.” He groaned, voice rough as a gravel road, coming to stand beside you as he drank it all in.

His unoccupied hand came to rest on your lower back as you continued to thrust the strap-on into Jake, wringing the prettiest noises from his parted lips, before his fingers trailed over your ass to slip between your thighs.

“Fuck your soaked, pretty girl.” He growled, tracing your slit, causing your hips to stutter and lose their rhythm.

“Dammit…” You whined and shot him a look of half-hearted annoyance as his fingers parted your folds to circle your entrance.

“Couldn’t help myself…” He murmured, pressing a series of apologetic kisses along your neck as you tried to pick up where you left off, but it just didn’t feel quite right – for one Jake was not nearly as loud, and the harness was not grinding against your clit as well as it had been.

You huffed in frustration, causing Bradley’s fingers to still between your legs. “You good, pretty girl?” His tone was pointed, leaving no space for untruths if you were in pain.

“I’m feeling great, just can’t find the right pace again…”

He hummed thoughtfully, withdrawing his fingers from your folds, making you whine in protest, before moving to stand behind you. Both his hands came to rest on your hips before he leaned into press his lips to your ear.

“Ah..” He sucked the air between his teeth. “push it.”

Your eyes widened and laughter bubbled up from your chest before you fully processed what was happening. You felt his lips twitch into a smirk against your skin, his mustache tickling the ridge of your ear as his hands began to guide your hips to what you slowly recognized as the beat of the song.

“Oh, baby, baby, baby, baby….better make it fast or else I’m gonna get pissed…Can’t you hear the music pumping hard? Like I wish you would….Now push it…”

While Rooster was perhaps not suited to a career as a rap artist, you could not argue that this tactic was working. Memories of practising your barbel thrusts to the song flooded your mind and it began to play in your head. The rhythm was almost a muscle memory.

“Rooster, are you fucking rapping Salt-N-Pepa?” A bewildered Jake piped up from the bed below but forgot his own question when the tip of the strap-on grazed against his prostate, punching an anguished moan from his body.

You angled your hips to ensure each thrust struck home, licking your lips as you could feel the head of Bradley’s cock smearing pre-cum along your skin each time you pulled your hips back from Jake. Reaching behind you, you wrapped your hand around the base of his length, guiding him into your cunt, drawing a satisfied sigh from both of you. His fingers curled tighter into the flesh of your hips as you continued the thrust forward and back, into Jake and onto Bradley, teeth ravaging your lower lip as you clung to Jake’s thighs in front of you.

“Look at you working those hips, pretty girl…” Bradley rasped, groan choked off against your shoulder as your muscles clenched around him in response to his praise. “Doing so good…”

“Fuck your cock feels so good…” Jake rambled from below, biceps bunched as he gripped the sheets viciously. “Gonna cum…”

His warning, however, was utterly drowned out by Bradley’s wail as your cunt clamped down on him like a vice, your legs starting to shake.

“Shit pretty girl, you’re squeezing so fucking tight…” He yelped, thrusting deeper into your warmth, driving you tighter against Jake as you hinged forward at the waist.

“Ahn!” You whimpered nonsensically in response as Bradley began to thrust in earnest, leaving you to do your best to match his pace in and out of Jake.

Thankfully the latter made good on his promise, orgasm washing over him with a ragged howl as thick ropes of cum painted both of your chests. Taking advantage of the pull of Bradley’s hips, you managed to remove the strap-on from Jake’s body to avoid overstimulating him, grateful as his hands rose to brace against your ribcage, providing you with more stability.

“Oh fuck…” You whined, stance widening to allow Bradley better access as he drove his cock into your greedy cunt mercilessly. “Please…Bradley….” You keened, back arching sharply as Jake’s hands traversed across your chest to pull down the cups of your bra, tugging at the stiff peaks of your nipples. “Shit, Jake!”

“Cum for Rooster, pretty girl…wring every last drop out of him…” Jake drawled lazily, fingers slick with his cum against your sensitive flesh.

You shuddered from head to toe, grip digging into Jake’s thighs as your climax erupted in your lower abdomen, flooding your entirely body with pleasure.

“Yes, oh yes good girl…” Bradley praised, hips pumping through your orgasm to both prolong your pleasure and chase his own release before pressing his face between your shoulder blades as you felt him cum inside you.

With shaking limbs, you climbed forward onto the bed as Bradley carefully loosened the straps of the harness, stripping it from your spent body and allowing it to drop to the ground with a muffled thud. He disappeared into the ensuite again as Jake gently removed your soiled bra, feathering tender kisses across your cheeks and down your neck. Working in tandem, Jake and Bradley used the warm washcloths procured to clean everyone up before you felt strong hands guiding your body through some torso twists and hip stretches.

Blinking your eyes into focus, you looked up at a softly grinning Bradley.

“Can’t have you seizing up on us again.” He murmured, hiking your knee up onto his shoulder to stretch out your right hamstring.

You sighed dreamily and stroked his thigh with silent affection, too tired to put your appreciation into words.

“I’m going to have to change these sheets again…” Jake’s voice pulled your attention to your left and you watch him pull the protective sheet off the regular sleep set only to find more mess beneath. You slid out of Bradley’s grasp carefully, grunting a little at the effort, but moved to help him strip the bed completely.

Working together, the three of you got it remade and once you were settled in for the night, Jake pondered aloud, “I wonder if a sex room wouldn’t just be more convenient…”

With The Three of Us Masterlist

#top gun rocktober #top gun smut #hangster x reader #rooster x reader x hangman #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #rooster x hangman #hangman x rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction

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rg-bugs · 2 years ago

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Lost in the moon

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Sun/Moon X reader

Word count: 2521

Summary:

You decide to check out the daycare where you meet Sun, after the daycare closes you leave. But you gets lost and don't exit the Plex in time and get looked in. You end up meeting Moon and try asking him for help

Notes:

I got lazy with the ending cuz this fic took me nine days to write and I've had enough with it, so enjoy

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You stroll around the pizza plex enjoying the overpriced pizza, arcade games and various attractions that the place has to offer. At one point you got lost in the pizza Plex, but you got help from one of the glam rocks and at the same time you also got the chance to take a picture with them, which in all honesty was quite nice of them. Though you're terrible with names. (But you do remember them being a chicken with green earrings). Was it Sheikah? Sheek? Oh It was Chicka! Chicka the chicken! Even if your day was filled with exciting activities, you could not help yourself but to feel disappointed and isolated. Even surrounded by people constantly throughout the day, it fell short of what you had hoped for.

As the sun's light begins to dissipate, you find yourself meandering through the expansive building, observing as people gradually depart as the bustling crowds disperse. With less than an hour left until closing you start to make your way to the daycare. It was the only place you hadn't looked at yet today. And in addition, since the daycare closes an hour earlier than everything else, you believe that there will be an absence of strangers staring daggers at you, and wondering why a random adult is there, though you thought of it more reminiscent of a curious child exploring.

You don't do too well with copious amounts of crowds surrounding you for the entire day. So you need a quiet place to sit down for a bit to get your self level headed from the day. You know the two characters that work in the daycare, Sun and Moon. You have seen their posters here and there plastered on the walls. If you were going to be honest for a little while you thought that their names were Sundrop and Moondrop, but no, it's the candy they advertise.

You enter the daycare and you start to hear funky but kinda nice music. you start to bop to it slightly, and it makes you feel slightly better. You tread quietly up to the metal fence next to a slide where it said ´slide in to fun!´. You looked down at the play area and at first glance you saw two large jungle gyms connected with a bridge and a ball pit. Man you wished this was the daycare you went to when you were a kid, because this looked amazing this could easily be any kids dream come true. But your train of thought was interrupted by the feeling that it felt like something was staring at you but you can't pinpoint where it's coming from, so you just shrug it off as anxiety. You make your way down to the lower level of the daycare to sit on one of the benches to rest before you start making your way out of the Pizza Plex.

You have your back turned away from the big daycare doors as they fling open and you freeze in shock as you hear a loud chery voice behind you. "Why hello there friend! All the kids have already been picked up. So what concern do you have here to be here at such a late hour?" You berated yourself for forgetting that there are two daycare andents, of course they'd still be active. You turn your torso around slowly to face who is behind you, having both legs firmly rooted into the floor. As you turn you see a very tall robot with eyes that are chalk white and triangles around his head designed to look like sun rays. He had a big smile, and hands stretched to his sides and stood there with a mighty posture looming over you.

"I-" you took a deep breath to try to get the words out of your mouth as he stood there patiently with both of his hands clasped together. "I just wanted to get away from the crowds for a bit. I didn't mean to disturb or anything- I can leave if you want me to." At that last part you lift up your hands in a nervous mock surrender. "Oh no you are welcome to stay, we were just curious as to why you were here. We thought that maybe you took a wrong turn and got lost or something." He started to sway on his feet rocking back and forth, seeming to hold back his excitement that would explode like a balloon any second now. He suddenly stops standing on his tippy toes; "Oh how rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself, my name is Sun! And what would yours be?" turning his head to the side out of curiosity. Your body fully turned towards him and were more relaxed. This seems to have pleased Sun. You told him your name, plain and simple. You did wonder however, he said"we "a bit earlier, but there was only one animatronic in front of you. You wanted to ask him where Moon was. Maybe he was inside cleaning or was just shy.

"Where is Moon? I would like to say hello to him too." You say it a bit too nonchalantly. He lets out a nervous chuckle and plops down from being on the tips of his toes. "Well he’s only out when the pizza plex is closed as security. Sorry to disappoint." He slouches down a bit but quickly perks up and says. "BUT! I can say hi to him from you, does that sound good?" He starts to fidget with his hands. It was nice to converse with Sun and it helps to distract you from the day. Your legs were aching from exhaustion and you just wanted a place to collapse and catch your breath "Yeah i think that would be nice. Well I'm going to go and sit down somewhere now. It was nice meeting you." You wave him goodbye as you turn away. "Goodbye! The pizza plex closes in thirty minutes!" He waves goodbye and the bells on his wrist jingle. You give him a thumbs up without turning. You feel a small gust of wind hit you as he closes the heavy doors in one swift motion.

You have your gaze on a seat with a table, you speed walk towards it and slump down. Resting your head on your arms as you let out a sigh of fatigue. You allow your mind to wander and overanalyze everything that you've done today to every minute detail, like how you fumbled on that mini golf ting and lost your grip on the golf club and it fell into the indoors river, or how you could not control the gocart properly and jerking forward trying to workout how it works, or how you needed the staff to get you out of a labyrinth designed FOR KIDS! Your spiraling thoughts were broken by the speaker announcing that they close in five minutes and something about a free drink voucher that you could get.

You lift up your head and blink away the sleepiness. You start making your way to the exit of the daycare, not paying attention to where you were walking. You wander and take a turn and… you are not at the entrance gate. You definitely took a wrong turn somewhere to end up at the theater. You couldn't do one thing correctly today it seems. The way back had stairs not a corridor. You start to backtrack back to the daycare slightly panicking. Now speed walking out of the theater and going towards the stairs. You hear a concerned voice "Hello again! I can tell that you're lost, it’s just to go up those stairs and take a left and there's the entrance gate, it's impossible to miss it. You only have like two minutes so you better run" You turned to look at the door that was slightly cracked open and Sun's head was peeking through looking worried. Wow that's a way to rub it in that you had the sense of direction of an egg (or like Zoro from One piece).

Your mouth turns into a line as you have to bite your tongue to not say something snarky like ´yeah, no shit sherlock´ or ´wow this is life changing information´ he was just trying to help you. So instead you opted for a simple thanks with a tired smile and told him ´goodnight, rest well.´ "I hope you do too, it looks like you need it. Goodbye!" he slid back in and closed the door. You really must have looked tired, and you were tired too. You just wanted to get home and sleep. You continued to speed walk up the stairs and took a left. You hear the lights turn off in an ominous voom. You stand still so your eyes try to adjust to the sudden darkness you found yourself in. You eventually got adjusted to the dim neon lights that came in different arrays of colors.

At that moment you realized that the Plex had closed. You looked at the entrance and saw the shutters were down. You were too tired to panic, you were just pissed at yourself now. “Great, Now I'm stuck in here. Unless I get staff to help me”. You opted for Sun's help because you knew at least where he was. You sigh and turn on your heel harshly. As you approach the entrance you don't hear the music playing, it's way too quiet for your liking. You see that the daycare is pitch black, but you continue. You aggressively walk down the stairs and yell out "Sun are you there? I got locked in and I would like to go home and sleep. Please can you help me?" You are met with silence. You were starting to get annoyed (not at Sun just that you didn't want to go into the play area looking for him). You go up to tug on the door and it won't budge, it's locked. You remember that he told you that Moon is security and maybe he was nearby, ( you assumed he would probably have the daycare as his starting point).

You let go of the handle and groan as you pinch your nose bridge, feeling as you felt an annoying headache creeping in. "Moon! Are you nearby? I kinda need help" you yell out.

No answer. You hear a soft jingle of bells. "Where are you?" you mutter under your breath thinking it is Sun making the noise. As you look to the side trying to see movement through the darkness in the play area. No luck, nothing is there. You hear a raspy voice next to your ear whispering "Behind you."

"MOTHER OF JESUS!" You screamed out. You jumped, turning around to see the fucker, whispering in your ear, next to you. It was a blue and white animatronic, it had a wire from its back to the ceiling, hanging upside down like Spiderman does. It has red eyes and a starry night cap with a big sharp smile on its face. Ah this must be Moon. You were eye to eye, just staring at him while he chuckled in amusement. You tried to muster up courage and put on your best smile, but you still sounded shaky in your voice. "Um… are you Moon? If so, can I get some help?" He pauses and his eyes turn pitch black, his head flips around to be right side up with his body still upside down. His smile flattens and eyes are wide open and he is too close for comfort. You swallow the lump in your throat. You took a deep breath and said "I got lost and now I'm locked in." You had your arms crossed and had your weight on one leg as the adrenalin had started to dissipate, as you look in his eyes you can see red pupils staring right back.

His body started to get down to stand on the floor, the wire detaching and going up to where you can't see it, but his face remained in the same spot. He let out a small chuckle and started to smile again as he rose to his full height. He was just as tall and intimidating as Sun was. Looking down at you he said "You are an intriguing one." You paused for a bit, you were confused at his response "Thank you, I guess?" tilting your head to the side. He turns around and starts walking away from you, but stops when he realizes that you're not following and he gestures to follow him. You start to follow him, pleased that you're getting help.

”So, where is Sun? He was in the daycare a few minutes ago.” He turns to look at you and what sounded like him taking a sharp inhale to say something, but he stops himself from doing so. He looks displeased. He thinks for a moment as both of you walk up the stairs and take a turn. “We share the same body, if the lights are on Sun is out, if the lights are turned off I am the one who is out.” He states begrudgingly. You think to yourself that that's quite cool at first, but you realize it must be torment to be in the same body. “Can I ask one more question?” you look up at him, he looks annoyed “why are you asking persimmon now? You didn't before” he said with bewilderment. “Is it like a nap for the one who is not active?”

As you have almost reached the doors he stops for a bit now being behind you and says "Didn't your parents teach you not to trust strangers?" He chuckles. "Oh har har funny joke, it’s obvious that you are Moon right. right?" You turn back to look at him and you see nothing. You hear the creaking noise of the shutters opening. But at the moment you don't care, you were wondering where (THE FUCK) Moon went, and he was avoiding the queston. You look around yourself up at the ceiling and consider walking around and looking behind things, but you were technically trespassing at this point so it's good to not stay any longer. Especially with what he just said, and you ain't taking any chances. You probably pissed him off with that question. You cup your hands around your mouth and yell out "Thank you Moon! Goodnight." And that was it, you opened the glass door and out of the Pizza Plex.

The metal shutters don’t close immediately until youre a small distance away. You look behind you to watch it close and you see an upside down head peeking thru with completely red glowing eyes. As the shutters slowly descend you see Moon waving you goodbye, a bit surprised to see him you wave back until you can't see each other anymore. You might come back and visit, those two were intriguing too. But for now you just need to get home and sleep.

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pareidoliaonthemove · 27 days ago

Text

Trust

I swear, I never actually intended to extend this, but Scott would not shut up about what happens next.

Links to Part One or AO3 below.

Part One,

AO3

Warning: Main Character Death

Chapter Two

Scott Tracy ran as fast as he had ever run, even hobbled by the unfamiliar footwear.

He carefully measured his breaths as he ran up the stairs two at a time.

One flight.

Two flights.

Corridor. He ran, glad for the flat surface, but skidded a little and hesitated, an emergency blanket shrouded lump near the congealing splatters of blood. Scott swallowed bile. Gordon.

He remembered the snarling face behind the bars. Gordon was dead. Others were in danger. He forced himself to keep running.

Door. More steps.

Keep running. Keep breathing. Keep going.

Save them.

One flight.

Two flights.

This time he fell to his knees, stumbling over the outstretched legs of the emergency blanket shrouded form, sitting in the bottom of the flight of stairs, pinned to the wall.

He blinked back tears. Virgil, oh God.

His brother’s face above the dark eye of the pistol aimed at him swam before his face. He pushed the image way. That wasn’t Virgil, keep running. Save the others.

The last flight of stairs.

Across the lobby, and Scott Tracy burst out of the main entrance of the building. Even as he put as much distance as he could from the death trap of a building, he was looking around wildly for the vehicle Scarlet had survived.

There. Blue, tank-like, shark-smile bumper. As he skidded to a slide, hands slapping against the side to help slow himself his watch chirped again. Times up.

Even without the timepiece’s warning, Scott knew what had happened. There was an unnerving crackling sound, and the smell of ozone, and his scrabbling hands stung with sparks that leapt from the vehicle.

Must be a bald spot on the tyres allowing the flow of electricity from the ground into the vehicle body, Scott thought numbly. Known issue with self-healing armoured tyres. Brains’ design is better…

Following the instructions Scarlet had given him, Scott jumped back as the door slid open, rear-facing chair sliding smoothly down to ground level. He leapt aboard and secured the harness, triggering the chair to lift him up, and the draw him into the body of the vehicle.

And there, in front of him, was the controls Scarlet had described. His heart hammering in his chest as if it was intent on breaking free, he slowly pressed the sequence of buttons Scarlet had laid out. A targeting sprung on the screen, and Scott dumbly noted that he had five missiles available to target.

Choking back a sob, Scott used the system target the four ‘critical junctions’ that Virgil had pointed out on his flight to the Danger Zone, and, for the hell of it, targeted the last missile to target the core of the building, right through the front doors.

A quick prayer for forgiveness, and Scott slammed his hand down on the final button. A large, rectangular red one, marked ‘FIRE’.

Five rapid propulsion trails terminated in five fire balls. The building groaned, and, seemingly in slow time, collapsed in on itself in a groaning roar of choking dust.

As a shocked silence fell, and the dust slowly dissipated, it gradually became apparent to the stunned onlookers.

The building was no more.

And locked in the safety of the SPV, the last piece of Scott Tracy’s soul had died with it.

#fanfic #my fanfic #captain scarlet and the mysterons #thunderbirds 1965 #scott tracy #tw: main character death

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perpetual-canon · 2 years ago

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Perpetual Canon Chapter 1. Light in The End of The Rabbit Hole

before / 8. axe rockstar / next where it started / navigation / about the story

We present to you - Ace’s misconceptions about the life of a rock star

OR: Welcome to The Spirit House Where Dreams Break Every Day.

Expectations: riding around town, hanging from a sunroof of a cool car, having a nice time in the cool night air.

Reality: driving to the grocery store in Russell’s rusty old truck. And Noodle throws a smelly old jacket over your head when someone with a camera looks at you funny at the stoplight.

Expectations: you slide in the life of the gorgeous singer like honey over toast. You sweep him off his feet, make him question his sexuality and seduce for the life of crime (but not like, major “Law&Order” crime) until he falls for you like rose petals fall under the wind.

Reality: Stuart 2D Pot have been blankly staring at the wall most of the day, for most days of the week you were in the house. You never saw him move. Or eat. Or talk. Or react to anything beside Noodle shaking half full cereal box that one time.

“Honestly, same,” - She said with a hint of warmth in her tone, ruffled Stuarts hair, and placed a full bowl in front of him. - “That’s bi culture”.

So, you sign quietly, no “questioning the sexuality” part then.

Expectations: partying!

Reality: Noodle going “No, Jamie, we’re not going to that event now, that’s a waste of time” over the phone about 3 times a day since you moved in.

Expectations: now you can finally rock this Axe Rockstar image, gonna bathe in it! And the Band, they even have it stocked in the cabinet! Just like your sweaty teen self imagined back in the day.

Reality: everyone is looking at you funny for a couple of days until you find out that The Band uses Axe Rockstar as an air freshener in the bathroom.

Expectations: everyone is saying to watch out for the producer, Hewlett, because he’s a creep and generally a really nasty person or something.

Reality: Jamie is actually a polite, calm individual, really, an absolute champ! Very supportive, and is always interested in learning more about you and your gang. He never gets tired of going over the family photos in your phone, and that’s a rare trait.

Expectations: doing celebrity interviews for Big Channels or fashion magazines, dropping one-liners like you drop your fur coat on the floor, being suave and charming with the fans.

Reality: Noodle very hesitantly agrees with Jamie to go on one (1) radio podcast. The host immediately notices your sweaty teenage Axe aesthetic, and ironically notes how “you can always smell the bassist outta the band”. On air.

And for the next 40 minutes you’re stuck in the tiny room with everyone, answering an array of hosts armed with ridiculous twitter-submitted questions.

Expectations: having a nice car and a private driver to get you to places.

Reality: you’re the driver. Again. The designated one too, since Russ “can finally take a break from babying this kindergarten and enjoy his evening beer after work”. His old as balls truck scares you more than the haunted Fiesta you jacked that one time, but you decide not to argue. Maybe, if you’re driving, Noodle will not risk using that horrid jacket to hide you again.

Expectations: making meaningful connections with everyone in the band.

Reality:

1) After you get everyone home safely after the interview (despite Noodle tucking you under the steering wheel and driving the car herself for very scary 15 minutes) you smell more like old musty leather jacket than Axe now.

(You’re not sure which one is better by this point)

2) In the kitchen you find Stuart, calmly drowning, face in the full cereal bowl. You panic and freeze the milk, and then panic again, because the whole bowl got frozen to 2D’s face and he still can’t breathe. While you run around filling cups with hot water, Stuart tries to lift his head but ends up banging the bowl over the table hard. This should’ve given him another concussion, but at least the iced bowl breaks. You and Stuart both take a relieved breath to celebrate that.

(2d still remains as unresponsive as ever, and your subtle worry grows)

3) Later at evening very tired looking Russ finds you in the living room and presents you with a big box. “From all of us,” - He says. - “A housewarming gift.”

Box is stuffed to the top with Old Spice “Arctic Force”.

“Axe,” - adds Russell, looking you straight in the eyes, - “Is banned to bathroom use only.” He lets go of the box only after getting a hesitant nod in response.

(Next day, you feel very adult using Old Spice for the first time)

#gorillaz #ace copular #noodle gorillaz #russel hobbs #stuart pot #power puff girls #ppg #pc!story #a moment of silence for Ace #not for the Axe tho #that's legit a potion of instant damage

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tattlesandtales · 1 year ago

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Introducing: Sunny May Holmes

"No one wanted to play with me as a little kid, so I've been scheming like a criminal ever since, to make them love me and make it seem effortless." —Taylor Swift lyrics, 'Mastermind'.

Quick facts:

17 years old.

She/her (poked her gender with a stick when she was fourteen and decided she didn't want to look any closer).

Lesbian.

Born in Queensland, Australia, but her and her mum moved to Western Australia just shy of her seventeenth birthday.

Dark blue eyes and short red eyelashes.

Shoulder length, wavy red hair

Freckles. So many freckles everywhere.

Fresh scar on left cheek an inch from the corner of her mouth to an inch away from her ear.

Literature nerd.

Works in an old bookshop owned by a kind of weird old woman named Winona.

Sleeps in her car a lot because her mum is unstable.

Really, really, really wants to belong somewhere.

I do NOT write smut with my under-age characters—even if the face claims are of age.

Sunny blearily sat herself up and rolled her ankles slowly, a stretch inching its way up her body, followed by a loud yawn she didn't bother trying to muffle. Considering she didn't have a phone, the sun coming through her windscreen woke her up instead of an alarm, which was by design, but she cursed the early morning rays nonetheless.

"Wakey, wakey, cheese and bakey," Sunny murmured, her arms falling to her lap after the stretch left her fingertips above her head. The eggs and bacon she was referring to was an open bag of Cheetos Cheese and Bacon balls she'd started for dinner the night before, but it was better than nothing.

After a couple more moments of psyching herself up to get moving, Sunny let her hand fall to the side of her car seat and pulled the lever, bringing the back up with rapid clicks until it slapped her in the spine. She'd only had the car for a couple weeks and she was still getting used to how it worked, but after the amount of times she'd woken up inside it since she bought it, she should have been able to raise the seat back withoit injury. She couldn't, and she rested her head against the headrest with a groan, taking a moment to silently berate herself before pulling a second lever and walking herself forward into place behind the steering wheel so she'd be able to drive safely in a little bit.

The next thing she needed to do was make herself look, or at the very least feel, presentable, but it took courage to look into the rear view mirror at her reflection so she tidied up her passenger seat first. It didn't take long to put the text book in her backpack, and close her biology notebook up and slide it in behind it, the hard part was finding all the highlighters, markers and pens that had fallen out of the pencil case she'd upended in her sleep, and putting them back where they belonged.

When the bag was stashed on the backseat, Sunny sighed in resignation and flipped the sun visor down and slid the mirror cover aside to see her reflection. Sunny didn't linger, she knew her freckles still splattered over her nose and cheeks and up towards her forehead, and that the scar on her left cheek was red from sleeping with her face turned into the headrest, and her short red eyelashes were begging for mascara she didn't care enough to carry with her. All Sunny did, all she really could do, was scrub all the sleep crust from her blue eyes, check for any unfortunate zits on her chin or nose—thankfully, there were none—and then check her teeth to make sure there was no food stuck. She had a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouth wash, anti-perspirant and deodorant in the front pocket of her backpack that she'd use in the school's gym before class started, but she made a mental note to find a home to shower in that afternoon—whether she could be bothered dealing with her mother, or if she knocked on her aunt's door was a choice she'd consider later. It had only been forty-eight hours sincs she last showered, but that was enough to make her feel self-conscious in the school hallways.

"I better pass this fucking bio test," she told her reflection before slapping the visor closed and digging around in her glove box for her car keys so she could start her day.

*pictures edited by my fiancée, screen capped from 'Yellowjackets' season 2, episode 7.

#oc>>#introducing>>#sunny holmes #face>>#liv hewson #roleplay #original character #tumblr roleplay #rp #indie roleplay #indie oc

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ladyartemesia · 4 years ago

Text

TEASER: Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega

Pairing: Nerd Alpha Kim Seokjin x Popular Omega Reader

Genre: A/B/O • Enemies to Lovers • (Sorta) College AU • Best Friend's Brother AU (Who is surprised? No one?)

Teaser Word Count: 3.6K

Teaser Warnings: A/B/O sexual dynamics • suggestive content

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: In the modern world, alphas are almost unheard of so why even bother learning about them? After all, as a spoiled (but reasonably kind-hearted) omega who is used to getting whatever she wants, you have better things to do. However, when unexpected circumstances throw you in the path of (extremely) nerdy and (probably?) shy Kim Seokjin, you're shocked to discover that he won't be wrapped around your little finger as easily as all the rest. Bringing that infuriating geek to his knees quickly becomes your personal mission in life... But it turns out that Kim Seokjin is not what he appears to be and the mean omega who eats beta boys for breakfast is about to get way more than she bargained for...

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah. ALSO thank you to each and every one of you who encouraged me to post this story. This fic is dedicated to all of you as a token of my love and appreciation. Your support keeps me writing. Never doubt that for a second.

“...due to discriminatory anti-alpha policies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, alphas were nearly eliminated from the general population…”

You heaved a weary sigh and rolled your shoulders—stretching the buttons of your high-end Oxford shirt to their limit. The beta sophomore to your right whined audibly and you smirked.

“...despite efforts to restore the genetic balance of designations, alphas currently comprise less than one percent of the population…”

Your back arched slightly as you crossed your legs, letting the absurdly short hem of your skirt ride up even higher. The poor boy you were tormenting shifted miserably in his seat.

How was he supposed to focus on a Human Biology and Designation Studies lecture when the living breathing embodiment of every sweaty undergrad’s fantasies was twisting her fingers in her hair and wrapping her pretty pink tongue around a strawberry lollipop right there in the middle of class?

“...unlike betas and omegas, alphas possess enhanced strength and the ability to compel other designations with their voice. Unmated alphas especially were often baselessly feared and distrusted...”

You knew exactly how you affected boys like him. You were a shameless tease who relished their attention and the power it brought you. Who needed drugs when driving a man mad with desire was a rush more potent than any high?

“...and that’s all for today so please read pages 450-466 in the text over break and remember to turn in your essay on scent and consent in intimacy—”

That poor sophomore looked like he had finally worked up the courage to speak to you, but you were already out the door and tearing down the hall toward your beautiful (and entirely platonic) counterpart, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you think Professor Moore is unaware that class is over at 3:25 or is he just torturing us for science?”

Taehyung shrugged, falling into step beside you with practiced ease.

“I mean I would torture you for free so it’s hard to say.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his characteristic dry humor, but the irritation at being held in that sweltering lecture hall for an extra ten minutes had frayed your temper.

“It’s the last class before spring break, I’m sure he was on some sort of twisted power trip.” You dug around in your purse for some chapstick, ignoring Tae’s amused snorting, “Alphas barely exist anymore and none of us are likely to meet one. Why bother learning what they can do?”

Taehyung tilted his head in amusement.

“You might be surprised.”

The final party before the beginning of spring break was always a laid back affair.

Many people had already caught planes to their various destinations, but your flight was scheduled for early tomorrow morning—leaving you with some time to kill.

Taehyung pressed his newest experimental concoction into your hand within minutes of entering the house (a surprisingly neat bachelor pad owned by two seniors, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi) and then darted back to the kitchen to craft more questionable alcohol potions like a deranged party warlock.

You had just found a comfortable place on the couch and were contemplating whether sampling your best friend’s mad scientist elixir would be worth the probable damage to your body when—

“H-Hello...”

It was that sophomore from your Designations Studies class. What was his name again? Jungwoo? Jinwook?

“Jungkook,” you smiled, delighted to have remembered before it became awkward. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You motioned to the empty cushion next to you and the man in question scrambled over like he’d won the lottery.

“I—I know we don’t know each other well, but I noticed you were absent during Professor Moore’s lecture on intimacy and scent consent so I—” he blushed deeply, “I wrote the essay for you—and I brought a copy on my flash drive if-if you want it.”

Your heart melted immediately.

“Oh my gosh Jungkook, that is so sweet of you!”

Your gaze darted over his muscular form and thick brown curls.

Sweet indeed.

“I don’t want to miss out on the learning though,” you pouted, placing a hand on his tattooed bicep. “Can you explain it to me?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously even as his wide eyes fell to where your fingers were sliding slowly over his chest.

Scent consent was a pretty basic and universally known concept, but you really were touched by the handsome sophomore's consideration.

Why not give him (and yourself) a little reward?

“Um so basically if two people are involved in...intimate activities—”

You leaned forward to nip his ear lightly and he whimpered.

“Like this?” you asked innocently.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” He gulped. “In an intimate situation consent or refusal can be smelled. The scent of refusal or reluctance in intimacy is strong, unmistakable, and has a high chemical potency.”

“Is that so?” you drawled, sliding over onto his lap. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his head and you bit back a grin.

He was adorable.

“Uh-huh—it—oh my gawd,” (you were nibbling on his ear again) “it can immediately block sexual arousal and performance in the other partner. Meaning, if consent is not present, then it becomes difficult or—ahh” (his voice began to waver under your continued attention) “—or even impossible to continue with intimate acts.”

Your hand slid up to his cheek, bringing him closer till your lips were almost touching.

“Then what does it mean if I’m still so turned on right now?”

“It means,” Jungkook shuddered—nearly delirious with your scent, “that I really really want you.”

Across the room, Park Jimin chuckled as he watched you seduce his enthusiastic friend.

Jeon Jungkook was such a sweet kid.

Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached.

“Wow... Some people are genuinely born blessed I suppose.”

Jimin turned to see Jung Hoseok eyeing the dimly lit corner where you and the eager young sophomore were exploring each other.

It was a rather...provocative spectacle. Not quite raunchy (you weren’t truly an exhibitionist)—just insanely sexy.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on the smooth curve of your thigh where Jeon Jungkook was currently holding on for dear life.

Lucky bastard.

“Ah you know how she is,” he sighed. “That boy isn’t going to get any farther than anyone else.”

It was relatively common knowledge that you liked to mess around but rarely—if ever— fully hooked up with anyone.

Jimin asked you about it once during a drunken game of truth or dare and you had just shrugged, mumbling something along the lines of avoiding STDs (which—to be fair—was at least part of your motivation), but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

In terms of experience, you weren’t a virgin, but... you hadn’t actually had sex in years.

You loved the chase, the foreplay, the build-up—the game of cat-and-mouse between two people who were attracted to one another.

But the final consummation was always so…

Wildly unfulfilling.

Every encounter left you frustrated. Empty.

Grumpy—even.

So you stopped bothering with it all together. (That was what sex toys were for after all.)

At the end of the day you were perfectly content being labeled a tease—it meant that people tended to know what they were (or rather weren’t) getting into when they rolled the dice with you.

Besides…it hadn’t even put a dent in your throng of admirers.

You were sunny, spoiled, indulgent, almost universally adored—

And you loved every minute of it.

“You know…” Hoseok took a long sip of his drink. “I always thought she would end up with Taehyung, but it’s been three years.”

Like you, Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat and it was only natural that two beautiful and absurdly privileged people would gravitate to one another. You met at a freshman pledge party and had been an inseparable (and formidable) dynamic duo ever since.

The undisputed king and queen of campus.

Yes—maybe the two of you were a little self-absorbed at times, but it was hardly your fault that people tended to instinctively cater to the force of your combined looks, wealth, and charisma.

And it didn’t hurt that neither of you were ever intentionally cruel or unkind.

Just... habitually thoughtless.

(Though not when it came to each other. If anything your friendship was one area where you were both a little more human.)

Jimin shook his head.

“Nah that’s never gonna happen.” He tapped his nose. “They’re scent-crossed.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Scent-crossed pairs didn’t smell sexually attractive to each other.

Like. At all.

No matter how physically or visually appealing an individual might be, it would be near impossible to form a sexual or romantic attachment to them if you were scent-crossed. Alphas, betas, and omegas were all subject to their noses first and foremost in the realm of attraction.

You and Taehyung smelled like comfort and home to one another...

But you were more turned on by a crisp cup of apple juice than you were his scent and the feeling was quite mutual.

He might as well have been your actual brother.

“That explains so much.” Hoseok snorted as he watched a drunken Taehyung do a flying leap on top of both you and Jungkook.

“Why is sunlight so offensive?” you croaked, dragging yourself and your luggage toward the boarding ramp next to an equally miserable Taehyung.

“The next time I book a flight before 9 AM, please shoot me,” he grunted.

Your parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a month-long European cruise so your best friend had graciously invited you to spend two glorious weeks of spring vacation at his family estate.

The invitation had actually come as somewhat of a surprise because—for all your closeness—Taehyung was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his family.

Not that he was deliberately withholding information per se… It was just that he never really brought them up beyond an occasional passing comment.

The one time you did ask him about them directly he sighed and said—

“We’re very close, but… I suppose we’ve just gotten used to being very private.”

There was clearly more to the story, but you were confident that Tae would share it if and when he was ready.

“My parents are in Seoul opening a new branch of the company. They took my little sister with them and my older brother has his own house so it will be just us.” He snuggled deeper into the first class seat directly next to yours. “We’ll hang out by the pool and chill during the day, then hit up some of the new clubs or whatever at night.”

“So… No one from your family will be there?”

Perhaps the invitation was not so surprising after all.

“Nope. Just you and me and thirty acres of ocean front property.”

You grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Whose room is that?”

The two of you were lugging your bags down the main hall of Taehyung’s expansive mansion when a strange hint of...something caught you right by the nose.

Your friend turned to find you frozen and staring curiously at a familiar door near the balcony.

His eyes widened, but you were too preoccupied to notice his momentary concern.

“That’s just Jin’s room.”

A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged you away, but your eyes stayed glued to the source of the mysterious scent until you were around the corner and out of sight.

Your suite for the next two weeks was right across the hall from Taehyung’s. There was a whirlpool, a full bath, a balcony, and an ocean view that would rival the cover spread of any travel magazine.

Tae headed for the shower (to ‘wash the airplane off’) immediately after showing you the room and you were thinking of doing the same except…

Your mind kept going back to that door and the hint of scent you detected.

There was something… different about it.

It was faint—and far from fresh (which made sense considering that one of the few things you did know about Kim Seokjin was that he hadn’t lived in this house for years).

But still…

The need to smell it again pressed insistently at the back of your mind.

Suddenly the sound of Taehyung singing raunchy lyrics in the shower carried over through the walls and you found your feet moving almost of their own accord.

What Tae doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you rationalized, making your way down the hall toward Jin’s door. Besides—it’s not as if I’m going to steal anything…

You just needed to find that scent again.

By the time your fingers closed over the knob every one of your nerves was strangely—acutely—alert but nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting behind the door.

Oh. My. Gosh.

“What a colossal nerd.”

The room was covered floor to ceiling in Nintendo memorabilia.

Bright primary colors assaulted your eyes from all directions in the form of action figures, posters, pillows, and every other conceivable merch variety known to man.

In the center of the suite stood a large king-sized bed covered in a custom black couture toile-style Mario-verse bed set (that looked every bit as expensive as it was geeky) and a mountain of high quality Nintendo character plush toys.

Everything was simultaneously luxe and nostalgic—a rare combination of sophisticated aesthetic balance and childlike indulgence.

And the scent was there.

It was faint and covered under layers of cleaner and air fresheners, but still lingering just below the surface—too weak for you to get a really good whiff, yet potent enough to torment you.

You moved forward unconsciously toward the strongest source of the hypnotic smell—the strangely inviting expanse of Kim Seokjin’s mattress.

Suddenly the urge to climb—no crawl—across the bed itself and roll around in it like a kitten in catnip gripped you out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” you muttered, rubbing absently over the mating gland at the base of your neck.

Something very odd was going on with your body.

Your restless gaze zeroed in on one of the stuffed toys piled atop his pillows. It was a cute little mushroom man your brain recognized as a Mario character named ‘Toad’.

Take it.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

You need it.

“Am I going insane?” you wondered aloud.

You have to take it.

Muscles in your hand began to twitch involuntarily. You bit your lip.

Bring it back with you.

Several minutes later a freshly washed Taehyung wandered over to your room and found you sitting perfectly still on your bed while staring off into space.

His head tilted in curious concern.

“Everything ok?”

You started a bit at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.

“Never better!” you chirped—almost too brightly. “Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.”

Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen—shutting the door before he could catch a glimpse of his brother’s stuffed Toad doll stashed underneath your pillow

“...a critical water main rupture in the city’s New Market district early this morning has forced several residents out of their homes as flood water swelled up to nearly two feet. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered hotels around the city to accommodate the displaced citizens. Crews are still clearing the water and assessing damages. We expect—

“Hey!” you shouted through a mouthful of cereal, after Your best friend switched off the television, “I was watching that!”

“And what you should be doing is getting ready for the pool.” Tae snatched your cereal bowl and dragged you by your shirt collar toward the stairs. “It is the first morning of our vacation. I’m not trying to waste any time. Now go.” He shoved you forward, smacking your ass for good measure.

You swatted back at him half-heartedly as jogged back up to the room where you enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep last night.

Kim Seokjin’s door glared at you accusingly as you shuffled past—unable to let you forget that you had kidnapped it’s little mushroom man in an unexplained fit of kleptomania, but that was a problem for your future self.

The you of right now was going to zen out in the Kim family's premium glass-enclosed indoor pool (it was still a little chilly for the outdoor pool) with her best friend and bask in the simple joys of good company and no responsibility.

...Or not.

A few minutes later you bounced into the living room wearing a simple black tankini with a cute floral cover only to find Taehyung on the phone with his head in his hands.

“Yes, sir. I understand… I...I know this is my responsibility...”

That didn’t sound good.

After a few more tense moments, Tae hung up and collapsed backward into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“That water main break you heard about on TV this morning was the last straw between the province and its current contractor. They called an emergency meeting for new bids.”

Your heart dropped as you sank down beside him.

“Your dad wants you to go...doesn’t he.”

Taehyung nodded miserably.

“He can’t leave the Seoul opening on such short notice and managing government construction contracts is part of what I’ve been training for. This could be huge for our company.”

“Well...why doesn’t your brother go?”

“Jin is the brains behind most of our patented gaming and tech innovations. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with this sort of thing. Besides,” his lips quirked up in a rueful grin, “my brother doesn’t have the patience to stroke entitled geriatric egos for hours on end—which is likely what I’m going to have to do.”

The two of you headed back to Taehyung’s room where you helped him pack some suits and toiletries for his trip.

Naturally you were disappointed but...this was a great opportunity for your best friend to prove himself in his chosen field and you both knew it. In fact, he was already starting to brighten a bit.

“The meeting is about a hundred miles north of here. My dad’s secretary already handled the flight and hotel room.” His eyes darted around the suite to see if he was forgetting anything.

It was clear he was nervous, though you were sure he didn’t need to be. Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat, but he was also talented and deeply passionate about his family’s company.

Someday this would be the norm. The two of you were stealing time in college, determined to live a little before the expectations of your powerful families transferred fully onto your shoulders.

It was becoming more and more clear, however, that your carefree time was slowly running out.

Mother had already spoken to you about potential marriage alliances and your father expected you to intern with his Vice President this summer just as your elder sister had...

Taehyung’s voice suddenly interrupted your bittersweet introspection and you couldn’t help but smile at how grown-up he looked in his suit and briefcase ensemble.

Everything was going to change, but not quite yet.

“They estimate negotiations should take around a week or so…” He walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. “There should still be some vacation left for us when I get back.”

“Hurry back then,” you mumbled grumpily into his chest and he chuckled.

“I will.”

Taehyung had been gone for less than twenty minutes when you decided that the best use of your time would be to eat more snacks.

The last thing you expected when you skipped merrily into the kitchen was to find it occupied by a shaggy-haired homeless man in glasses.

Your first instinct was to scream which caused the homeless man to drop the apple he was biting right onto the floor where it rolled around for a small eternity before coming to rest at his ankles.

Your second instinct was to grab a butcher’s cleaver from the nearby knife block and wave it chaotically at the intruder while shouting something along the lines of—

“You’ve made a huge mistake! My boyfriend is the biggest, meanest mafia boss in Seoul! Leave now and he might let you live!”

The homeless man continued to stare at you with a mixture of confusion and shock, but made no move to run away in terror like you were hoping.

So you tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! The last man who touched me drinks his steak through a straw now! Do the smart thing and leave before my boyfriend comes down those stairs and it’s too late!”

Infuriatingly, the homeless man was still not fleeing for his life and frankly you were starting to get frustrated. You drew in a deep cleansing breath and were prepared to issue another grandiose threat when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, miss. I... think there’s been some sort of mistake. Who is your boyfriend?”

There was no rational explanation for what came out of your mouth next, but it rolled off your tongue so smoothly and you didn’t even flinch.

“Kim Seokjin.”

For the first time in your entire exchange, the intruder looked truly alarmed.

Now that’s more like it.

“You’ve heard of him I see. He’s a dangerous man and my body belongs to him.” You slammed the cleaver down onto the countertop with a (hopefully) menacing slash. “Kim Seokjin doesn’t like when other men put their hands on what belongs to him.”

There was a long, unpardonably tense moment of silence…Then the stranger slowly reached forward and picked up a mobile phone from the table in front of him.

His eyes remained locked with yours as he pressed a quick series of buttons, brought the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds and said—

“Taehyung… Would you mind telling me why there is a half-naked, knife-wielding omega in our kitchen claiming to be my girlfriend?”

Hello! Please comment on this post if you would like to be added to the taglist!

You guys were all so wonderful, and encouraging, and excited that I literally got this teaser out in three days! If you like what you read so far, please let me know! I cannot put into words how meaningful and valuable feedback is to me. I truly treasure it! It fuels my creativity and keeps me writing. I would love to hear from you!

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tsukidrama · 4 years ago

Text

Space Turtle

ᴘɪᴇᴄᴋ ғɪɴɢᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢѕ: smoking / recreational drug use

Pieck invites you to smoke weed with her, and hooks you up in multiple ways.

ao3 | wattpad | art

written 18 dec 2020, reposted dec 2021

note: to minors who read this - don't do drugs! when you're 18 or older, do whatever you want but make sure you keep yourself safe. that being said, yes Space Turtle is a real strain, and yes it is a damn good one.

word count: 2.4k

Pieck twists open her hot pink grinder and presents the contents to you with a wide smile. She sifts through the finely ground, fluffy marijuana.

“Do you see the trichomes in there?” she asks, pointing out the orange flecks amongst the sea of green. “That’s how you know this is some good shit. Wanna smell?”

You nod, and hold the bottom half of the grinder up to your nose. An unmistakable aroma fills your nostrils.

“Smells fruity,” you observe.

Pieck smiles at you, and hands you a lighter with a light blue plaid design on the plastic covering. You hand her back the grinder, and watch as she gently knocks the herb with her finger into the bowl of a small, glass pipe.

“You can have the first hit,” she says, handing it to you. You gratefully accept.

The pipe fits snugly into your hand. A curved base cups the bowl above it, with your thumb resting comfortably next to the small hole in the side. The stem of the pipe is striated, blue and red glass intertwining and twisting into an intricate pattern. Before you light the bowl, you lift the pipe to see the pattern at the bottom of the bowl; the red and blue glass twists together to form a textured spiral in the center.

“Cute pipe,” you tell her, before you flick the lighter and hold it above the bowl. You plug the carb with your thumb and inhale, reveling in the crisp smell of the bud burning, the ends curling orange as the smoke rushes into your lungs.

You plug the carb with your thumb, and hand the still-smoking pipe to Pieck. She inhales deeply as well, holding eye contact with you as she holds her breath. She smiles at you contentedly, and lets her eyes slide closed.

Pressure in your lungs turns into a slight tickle, so you begin to exhale, but halfway through, you choke, and cough raspily. Pieck blows out her own hit smoothly.

She hands you a water bottle, which you wrench the cap off of and chug as if it’s the essence of life. Your throat still burns, but your lungs have stopped contracting. .

With a flick of the lighter, Pieck lights the bowl and takes another hit. She offers it to you with a small shrug and a small sigh. Smoke puffs from between her lips. You ignore your sore throat and hit it anyway.

After several long seconds, Pieck exhales. “Do you like indicas or sativas better? Or do you not really have a preference?”

You blow the smoke off to the side, with only a slight clear of your throat this time. “Uh, the kind that gets you high?” you say, stupidly.

Pieck blinks, and looks off into the distance with a more thoughtful expression than your comment deserved. “Who’s your weed man?” she inquires.

“Nobody, I guess,” you reply as you hold the pipe to your lips once again, “I usually smoke with other people. Sometimes I buy from friends who have extra.” As the flame hits the bowl, aromatic smoke curls up to tickle your nose. Pieck takes the pipe, chuckling.

“Ah, so you just bum off of other people? Is that what’s happening here, then?” she questions, looking pointedly at you.

All of a sudden you feel self-conscious. You let the smoke out through your nose, and cough quietly.

Pieck snorts, and places her hand on your knee. “I’m joking, don’t worry. You’re welcome to have as much as you’d like. And you need a dealer. I’ll hook you up with the guy I usually go to.” She re-lights the ashy bowl, and the soft light of the flames dance across her nose and cheeks.

“Thanks, Pieck,” you say, eyes fixed on her dreamily.

She hands you the weed again, and you quickly hit it before the embers go out. Pieck continues on.

“Anyway. I was saying. There are two types of weed. Indicas and sativas. Sativas are more energizing. I personally think they’re good for daytime smoking.”

You pass the bowl to her again, and suppress another cough.

She hit again before finishing her point. “This is the kind that’s good for pain.”

After dumping the ash in a trash can, she knocks another bowlful of fresh weed into the pipe, and scoots to sit just an arm’s reach away from you. Her hand touches yours as she hands it back to you, and you swear her touch leaves you tingling.

“This is a sativa?” you ask, peering at the crumbly green bud, trying to hide your nervousness when you notice that her knee is touching yours.

Pieck holds the lighter up, and holds it lit for you above the bowl. You inhale, and the top layer darkens to ash. Instead of taking the pipe from you, Pieck leans her head close to hit it while it’s still in your hand. She closes her eyes as she savors it, and between the way her lips curl into a smile and the way she’s so close that you can see every pore in her face, it’s a surprisingly intimate gesture.

Finally, Pieck exhales a small wisp of smoke. “This is a sativa-dominant hybrid.”

“Damn,” you say, hands trembling. Your face is hot, and you’re uncomfortably aware of the sound of your own heartbeat. For a moment, you wonder if this hybrid shit is going to make you bug out, but your fears quickly dissipate.

“Hybrids are pretty common. People like the best of both worlds, I guess,” Pieck rambles, and her words seem somewhat distant. She grabs a small ziplock bag from behind her, half-filled with little green nuggets of various shapes and sizes. Your heartbeat quickens loudly in your ears as Pieck tucks her hair behind her ear, glancing at you from underneath heavy lidded eyes.

“But like, there are hundreds of strains out there. They’re all gonna get you high but sometimes different strains make you feel a little different.”

“Can I have another hit?” you blurt.

“Of course, babe,” Pieck hands the lighter to you, and lifts the open baggie to her nose, and then offers it to you to smell. “This strain is called Space Turtle. Hold on.”

You take another hit.

Pieck picks up her phone and unlocks it. Her fingers tap away at the touchscreen, and the light of her phone screen changes from one color to another as the webpage loads, casting a multicolored glow across her face.

“Yep, here it is,” she says. “60/40 sativa dominant hybrid. Both of its parent strains are hybrids, too. Nowadays you have all kinds of shit out there.”

“Woah,” you say, watching the way the light from her phone drifts through the smoke. “That’s a whole ass family tree.”

You notice the pipe is still lit, and hit it one more time before you pass it to Pieck again.

She takes a hit as well, and while holding her breath, says, “Kudos to the growers for getting this combination though. Those people are artists and scientists, and have all my respect.”

You nod in agreement. “What about the other type?”

“Oh shit, my bad,” she sits up straight. “Indicas make you feel more relaxed. All weed does, but this kind especially. It makes for some pretty bomb ass naps. Or insomnia.”

“Sounds nice,” you mumble. At this point, your eyelids start to feel heavy. Your head feels weighted, and you prop your chin on your hand.

Pieck’s hand is touching your arm. You aren’t sure when it got there or how it came to happen, but the wheels in your head begin to turn, and you are suddenly aware of your own heartbeat once again.

“You have trouble sleeping?” she asks.

You nod, and try to swallow your nerves. “Sometimes.”

Pieck looks away, but keeps her hand on your arm.

“Me too,” she says after a few moments.

She catches your eye. You can’t have been looking at each other for more than a few seconds, but in those few seconds, time passes at a fraction of its normal speed. Pieck’s dark eyes have something deeper behind them, something that has peaked your interest since the first time you met her.

Yet now, with your faces just inches apart, you can’t help but feel like you’re out of place. Your heart pounds in your throat at the sight of her long lashes delicately curling off to the side, and of the stray hairs that wisp in front of her face carelessly.

For a moment, you picture her closing the distance between you, and the idea makes your heartbeat quicken. Right as you feel like she may actually be coming closer, she twists around to sift through the cloth bag full of sandwich baggies. She reads the scribbled sharpie on a couple bags until she selects what she was looking for.

“Here. You can take this if you want,” she says, holding the half-filled baggie out to you. “It’s a quarter of an ounce. Should last you a little while.”

The smile on her face warms your heart, but you can’t help feel like it’s too much.

“Are you sure?” you ask nervously, “This is a lot.”

Pieck nods, stretching her lips into a flat smile. She holds the lighter above the bowl. “Yeah, take it! I was going to give it to Galliard, but I already gave him a ½ last week, plus an edible.” She takes a hit.

“He won’t be mad?” You know that he will be, but you also know that Pieck also isn’t the type to rat you out to him. And after all, she was offering -- and who wouldn’t turn down free weed?

She shrugs. “Eh, he’ll get over it. It’s always a pain in the ass to get him to pay me back anyway.”

You snort. “Well, don’t tell him it’s me you gave it to.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Pieck assures you, “I’ll just say I smoked it. It’s mine, after all.” Pieck rests her hand on the top of your leg.

Immediately, everything around you blurs out of focus, your vision tunneling as you stare at her hand against your skin. You feel like a deer in headlights, and can only pray that the expression on your face doesn’t reflect that.

If Pieck notices your odd behavior, she doesn’t comment on it.

“Do you mind if I play some music?” she says after a few moments of silence.

You shake your head, ears burning. Her phone unlocks, and once her music app loads, she selects a playlist and hits shuffle.

The bluetooth speaker on her dresser hums to life, the bass vibrating through the wood. The beat of the song is slow, with soothing synths harmonizing along with dreamy vocals.

Pieck’s hand never leaves your leg. As she relaxes, her hand slips further up your thigh, and by the time it’s traveled several inches, you can’t help but inhale shakily at the sensation. Her hand freezes, and she pulls it back against her body.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, averting her eyes.

Panic flashes in your brain, and your inebriated brain cannot hold back the instinct you have to reach for her wrist. Your fingers tighten and you place her hand back exactly where it had wandered.

“It’s okay,” you whisper breathlessly.

Pieck’s eyes — low and red, flit back to meet yours. Her lips part slightly as if she is going to say something, but when her eyes break away from yours once again to stare at the floor, your heart drops.

“Pieck,” you begin, and your grip on her wrist slackens, “I didn’t—“

Before you can finish what you were going to say, and before your brain has time to process how you got there, you’re leaning forward with your lips pressed against Pieck’s. At first, your initial shock makes you freeze, and you sit still as she kisses you. Her lips are soft and warm, as is the hand that rises to touch your cheek.

As soon as her hand touches you, something inside you stutters to life. You kiss her back. Her other hand finds yours, pulling it from your side to press it against the side of her waist. For some reason, your fingers won’t stop shaking. Pieck pulls away from you, a concerned expression on her face.

“Is this okay?” she falters, “You seem--”

“Yes,” you interrupt. “Yes, it’s okay.”

“I think maybe I’m just high?” she offers, and tries to scoot back. Your hand tightens on her waist.

“I’m okay! Please...” you whisper. Pieck relaxes, and the lump in your throat dissipates.

You swallow hard before you gather the strength to speak again. Your voice trembles.

“Please kiss me again.”

As much as the first kiss had shocked you, it somehow feels even more surreal to kiss her for the second time. Again she places her hand on your cheek, and it feels as if she’s drawing you further into her. Her nose presses against yours and accidentally bumps it hard when she shifts to kiss you at a different angle.

Her tongue slips against your bottom lip. Your lips part and a shiver runs down your spine. Another slight shift in position, and once again, you find yourself swept up in a series of events that unfolds so quickly that you can barely process them until after they’ve happened.

Pieck’s hand is threaded in your hair, sitting on her knees and nearly straddling your hips with her tongue shoved halfway down your throat. Your arms are around her waist, hands splayed against her shoulder blades. Her eyelashes are so long that they flutter against your skin delicately. It’s hard to ignore her hips pressing into your body insistently, and in response, you hold her against you as tightly as you can manage. Pieck’s tongue runs along the backsides of your teeth before she kisses you full on the lips once more.

Her cheeks glow crimson, eyes hooded yet wild in intoxication of multiple kinds. She touches her forehead to yours. Both of you breathe hard, still clinging to one another.

“What was that for?” you ask her. Her grip on your hair slackens. As she pulls her hand down, she strokes your cheek gently.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Pieck responds, “but I liked it.”

You brush a wispy strand of hair out of her face.

“I liked it, too.”

Pieck sinks down to sit on her heels. A wicked smile crosses her face, and at that moment, you would do anything she asks of you without a second thought.

“Stay the night, then.”

You smile.

“I can’t wait.”

#pieck finger #pieck finger x reader #pieck aot x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #pieck finger x you #pieck finger x y/n #shingeki no kyojin x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan fanfiction #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #tsuki reposting #writing for my wives

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narumi-gens · 4 years ago

Note

Okay but would Naoya have a secret breeding kink when blue ball queen was dirty talking him about “filling her up” or would he just be infuriated 👁 👄 👁

note: even a broken computer isn't enough to keep me from digging in the trash 😣 warnings: smut, impreg kink, misogyny (naoya, duh) words: 1.7k (because I’m the trash queen) related drabbles

As Naoya watches you underneath him, practically folded in half from the way he's pushing your knees to your chest with his hands on the backs of your thighs, he finds himself angrier than usual.

But for once, he can't blame it on you despite how much he wants to. He can't blame it on your disrespectful mouth that never shuts up or your inability to recognize him as your better.

No, he's angry at himself. Because instead of focusing on the way your tits bounce with every brutal thrust or how your fingers are furiously rubbing at your swollen clit or the string of moans escaping you, all he can pay attention to is your stomach.

Or more precisely, all he can pay attention to is the thought of what it would look like if he didn't pull out like he usually does.

The last thing he wants is for you to end up pregnant with his kid. He doesn't need any bastard kids running around, especially not ones that would tie him to you for the rest of his life.

But the thought pumping you so full of his cum that your pussy is overflowing is too tempting for him to ignore. He imagines your stomach swelling, your tits getting big, your body changing like nature intended because of him.

In spite of himself, he finds his hips pounding into your ass even harder as his grip on your thighs tightens.

He wants to be the one to show you that all you're good for besides fucking is getting pregnant and having kids. He wants to force you to accept that you are truly the weaker sex by design. He’ll make you see that any notions you have about "self-worth" and "agency" are nothing more than misconceptions.

He’ll turn you from a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, disrespectful jujutsu sorcerer into a wife and mother who bows her head when she talks to him and knows her place.

The thought of breaking you in is so tantalizing that it almost has him coming on the spot.

"Gonna show ya," he pants, his eyes squeezing shut as his mind paints the image of you so fucking big with his kid on the backs of his eyelids. "Ya ain't good fer anything else."

"Shut up," you're quick to reply between moans, but it only urges him on. You won't be so mouthy when you're taking care of his kids, when you're cleaning up after them, when you're breastfeeding them.

He lets out a low groan as he pictures how big your tits will get when they’re full of milk for his kid. It's enough to push him over the edge and before he knows what he's doing, his burying himself as deep as he can inside of you and coming with an almost animalistic growl.

His hips give a few jerks as he fills you with his cum, his hold now so tight on your thighs that finger-shaped bruises are a guarantee. His shoulders rise and fall rapidly as tries to catch his breath.

When he lets his cock slip from you, he can't tear his eyes away from the way his cum slowly leaks out of your messy cunt and trails down the crack of your ass. He continues to hold you in place for a few moments longer before collapsing onto his back beside you in bed with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, already reflecting back on how that may have been the hardest he's ever come before. He pointedly ignores the fact that imagining you pregnant with his kid was the cause.

But while he's busy luxuriating in the aftermath of his orgasm, he's completely ignorant to the storm brewing beside him.

"You fucking came inside me!" you shout, sitting up in bed and hitting him hard in the face with the pillow that you had been using.

He recovers quickly and grabs it from you so that he can place it behind his own head with a smirk.

"Yeah? And?" he asks, his tone bored. He watches you from the corner of his eye as you angrily get out of bed and pick a discarded shirt up from the floor that you slip over your head.

"You're so fucking lucky I'm on the pill," you hiss as you storm off to the bathroom, loudly slamming the door shut behind you.

"Good! That means I don't gotta keep pulling outta ya anymore!" he yells after you with a sadistic grin. He wonders what you're more upset over -- that he came inside of you or that you didn't get to come.

You're only gone for a few minutes. He hears the toilet flushing and the water running before the door opens and you come back into the bedroom.

"You're fucking useless," you mutter and he closes his eyes as he stretches with a loud yawn. "I should've just gone with my vibrator. It doesn't have a mouth and doesn't make a mess. And it also makes me come every time."

"That ain't my job," he scoffs, a truly amused smirk playing at his lips at the idea that he's here for your pleasure.

He cracks an eye open when he hears you sliding opening the door to the balcony just off your bedroom. He catches just a glimpse of you holding something in your arms before you disappear onto the balcony for a few moments. When you return, your arms are empty.

He watches you as you pick up his boxer briefs before slinging them at his face. His reflexes are quick enough that catching them before they hit him is an easy feat.

"Get the fuck out," you say without sparing him a second glance on your way out of the bedroom and he chuckles to himself. Frustrating you is almost as gratifying as sex.

His amusement persists even as he sits up and slides on his boxer briefs. But it doesn’t last much longer because he’s quick to see that your bedroom floor is now empty, his clothes nowhere in sight.

He glances at the sliding glass door that’s still open and his eyes widen when he suddenly remembers that you had carried something onto the balcony, only to come back without it.

No.

You couldn’t possibly have.

No.

In the blink of an eye and with the speed he’s known for, he’s on your balcony and tightly gripping onto the railing as he searches the mostly-empty street below. When he sees his shirt, kimono, and hakama scattered on the sidewalk, pure rage explodes in his gut.

“Fucking BITCH!” he yells with no care for your neighbors or the late hour.

He’s moving so quickly that in the back of his mind he wonders if it’s the fastest he’s ever been. One moment he’s on your balcony and a millisecond later, he has you pinned on your back on the couch where you were sitting.

He straddles your hips as he wraps a hand around your throat, his grip growing tighter when he sees how your eyes are dancing with mirth.

“You already up for another round?” you ask, a slight wheeze to your voice from how hard he’s squeezing your throat. His fury is so all-consuming that he doesn’t even notice the way his cock twitches.

“You fucking bitch,” he seethes. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

You raise an eyebrow at how his anger actually has his Kansai accent easing, like his ire is great enough that it’s actually able to override any pronunciations and verbal ticks.

“Well, before you do that, you might wanna go get your clothes,” you point out, sounding almost bored. “The bars are getting ready to close and all it takes is one person who can’t hold their alcohol before they’re throwing it all up.”

He wants to argue with you, call you a bitch some more, and punish you for thinking you have the right to talk to him like this and treat him this way. But he also knows you’re right. He needs to recover his clothing or else all he’ll have to wear on his way home is a tight pair of boxer briefs.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to get them back for the world's fastest sorcerer," you mock with a rasp and he lets his hand close even tighter for a few moments, wanting you to think your life is truly in danger, before he releases you.

He’s gone before you even know what’s happening and he’s already halfway through getting dressed by the time you make it out onto the balcony to watch him struggle. He ignores the heat of your gaze on him, as well as the stares of the few passersby who stumble upon the bizarre scene playing out in the middle of the street.

“Oi! Zen’in-sama!” you shout down to him as ties his hakama. He refuses to acknowledge that he’s heard you, although how could not have with how loud your voice carries. It’s enough to catch the attention of everyone down below. The mocking tone is gone with your next words, your voice as cold as ice. “I know my cunt’s so sweet that it’s hard to resist, but the next time you come inside of me without permission, I’ll cut your balls off so that you can’t make that mistake again.”

He looks up at your balcony, but you’re already gone. He growls to himself, seething that despite everything, you’ve still somehow managed to not only end up with the last word, but also to have humiliated him.

Now that he’s no longer buried ball deep inside of you, he can think with a clearer head and even through his anger, there’s an irritating note of relief that you’re on the pill.

It’s already bad enough that he can’t seem to give up your pussy, but that’s at least a habit he hopes to one day break. A kid would keep you in his life permanently.

A chill runs down his spine at the idea, disgust curling in his stomach. He tries to ignore the hint of arousal that lurks just underneath it.

#it's trash day #naoya zenin #naoya zenin x reader #zenin naoya #zenin naoya x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk hc #hate fuck!naoya

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ravensilversea · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Costumes

Author: @ravensilversea

Rating: G

Pairing: Miura Haru & Reborn

Prompt: Ritual Summoning/Theatre AU

Tags/Warnings: No Major Warnings Apply, College AU, Theater AU

Summary: Haru knew exactly what she wanted to do when her professor announced the semester-long project worth 50% of her final grade. However, she might have bitten off a bit more than she can chew this time.

Haru knew exactly what she wanted to do when her professor announced the semester-long project worth 50% of her final grade. Her pencil scrawled across the next page of her notebook, smearing lead on her hand in her excitement, even before the professor finished explaining the project: ‘Design and produce costumes for a theatrical production for a local elementary school. Extra credit available if your costumes are used in the production.’ Haru knows the intent is for them to find a production that’s already being planned and is looking for volunteer assistance, but she also knows her old elementary school would love to host a play she produces. Sato-sensei was the one who helped her design her first Namahage costume all those years ago after all.

A delicate, yet pointed, cough draws Haru’s attention away from her now three pages of notes and sketches. She looks up. The theater’s lecture hall is completely empty except for her and Reborn, who stands over her left shoulder. “If you’re quite finished,” he says, “there’s another class coming in five minutes.”

Haru sniffs. “You’re one to talk, Reborn-san. How many times has Haru found you working in an empty lecture hall?” Nevertheless, she closes her notebook, clicks her pencil’s lead back into its tube, and puts both in the messenger bag at her feet. She stands, swinging the bag onto her shoulder. “In fact, Haru distinctly remembers Reborn-san working until halfway through one of her classes.”

“As a graduate student pursuing multiple degrees…”

Haru tunes Reborn out as they walk out of the theater; the next class begins to filter in. Firstly, because he really just likes to hear himself talk so it’s not like there’s a need for her to engage in this conversation again. Secondly because it’s hard to forget Reborn’s pursuing a PhD in both mathematics and costume design when he’s constantly both at the campus theater and her father’s guest at Sunday dinner.

Reborn steps around and in front of Haru. “You’re not even listening to me,” he crosses his arms and sticks his bottom lip out.

Covering her smile with a hand, Haru says, “Maybe you should say something interesting then, desu.”

“But I’m always interesting!”

Ao3

This time, Haru breaks into giggles, and it takes a moment for her to regain her composure. Reborn simply sighs loudly as if the entire world as turned against him. They separate, each taking a side of sidewalk around a group of five clumped together and walking down the exact middle of the sidewalk.

Coming back together, Reborn asks, “What is your plan for the project?”

“Oh? Was Reborn-san lurking in the back of Haru’s class again?” Still, Haru bounces on the balls of her feet than takes a few quick strides to catch back up with the taller man. She explains her half-thought out idea for a play, the costumes, how she plans on reaching out to her old elementary school for a place to show it, and her plans to direct the play on top of all her schoolwork. She bumps into at least one person while walking backwards for better eye contact with Reborn and offers a distracted apology before jumping back into her explanation.

“Are you sure you can handle all of that?” Reborn asks, and for a moment, Haru thinks she sees concern in the faint wrinkles of his brow. But if it was there, it quickly slides into his usual smirk and hands-in-pockets-weight-on-his-heels posture. “Or is this your way of asking for the help of the World’s-"

“Most Self-Centered Grad Student, desu?” Haru asks, pointedly turning her wide smile towards Reborn as she blinks slowly, innocently if you will. Once Reborn makes his usual quiet noise of offense, she shakes her head. “No, thank you. Elementary theater productions are only an hour long at most, and have few or no costume changes.”

Reborn hums. “If you say so.”

Haru glares at him. “I have everything perfectly under control, thank you very much, desu.”

Haru, most definitely, does not have everything perfectly under control and, most definitely, cannot handle it.

Sato-sensei had leaped at the idea, just like she expected he would, but before she could fully finish explaining her vision, he said, “It would be so nice for the children to see a performance directed and created by one of our alumni here in the school.” He had shaken his head with an eye-wrinkling smile, like he hadn’t just increased the pressure Haru was feeling to make it more than just good. “You and your friends have my thanks. It’s so good to see young adults contributing back to the community.”

Haru had said something about it being no problem, all while internally panicking over the very sudden realization that she knew absolutely no one well enough to ask if they’d be willing to assist with her production.

Her head lands on her desk with a quiet thunk. Who was going to be willing to act in a play for elementary school students right before finals week on relatively short notice? They’re already halfway through the semester for goodness’ sake!

A knock at her bedroom door draws Haru’s attention, and she sits up straight before asking, “Yes?”

Her father pokes his head into the room. “It’s almost dinnertime, Haru-chan. Reborn-kun’s already downstairs, so why don’t you come down and join us?”

Haru sighs, glancing at the pile of notes, sketches, and crumbled paper balls on her table. Part of her wants to skip dinner and continue working, and definitely not feed Reborn’s ego by admitting she maybe, possibly needs help. Specifically his connections. The man is involved with seemingly every club and organization on campus, and Haru hasn’t figured out how he does it yet.

“Your work will keep, Haru-chan,” her father says with a quiet chuckle. “It’s long past time you took a break anyways, and, as you know, a tired brain-”

“Misses the obvious and makes mistakes,” Haru recites. A smile spreads across her face, and she looks back at her father. “I’ll be down in a moment, Otou-san. I just want to organize my papers really quick.”

Nodding, her father disappears from the doorway. Haru gathers the papers and taps them against the table to bring them into a nice, neat stack, which she then sets down just in front of where she’s sitting. After that, she stands, brushes her skirt off, and walks down the stairs, her hands trailing along the bottom edges of picture frames.

Reborn’s voice echoes up the stairs- he’s grinning, Haru can tell because of the almost wild brightness in his tone. A timer goes off, and dishes begin to clatter. She turns into the kitchen, and Reborn salutes her with his glass of wine. “Good evening, Miura-chan,” he says seriously, his twitching lips betraying his humor.

“If Reborn-san is going to disrespect Haru’s friendship like this, then perhaps Haru should take her dinner upstairs, desu.” Haru lifts her nose into the air and turns away from Reborn just so.

Her father sighs loudly. “Kami save me from you hooligans,” he says. He begins setting dishes full of steaming food out on the kitchen table. “Haru, could you set our places please?”

“Of course, Otou-san.” Haru’s house slippers slide slightly over the tile floor as she crosses the kitchen to reach the dishes in the cabinets.

“Let me help you with that, Miura-sensei,” Reborn says behind her. Between the three of them, they get the table set and food served in only a few minutes.

Reborn and Haru’s father talk about Reborn’s thesis project over the clicking sound of their chopsticks. Haru occasionally interjects with mostly related questions that serve to make the mathematicians look at the problem from a different angle, if only because they have to explain the most complex concepts to her. Eventually, the conversation turns to theater and how both Reborn’s and Haru’s classes are going.

“You seem awfully busy with your project recently, Haru-chan,” her father says. “How much more do you have to do?”

Haru swallows her latest bite of food, then takes to stirring her chopsticks around in the bowl. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew,” she admits.

Her father laughs, “Not my daughter!” and Haru cracks a smile. “What exactly do you have to do and what have you added on to it?”

“I have to design and produce costumes for a theatrical performance for a local elementary school, not necessarily performed by the elementary students,” Haru recites. “However, I reached out to Sato-sensei and suggested that I create a theater performance to be shown at Midori Elementary.”

“Not like you haven’t done anything similar before,” Reborn says. “What’s the problem this time?”

Haru wants to shrink down into her chair despite her father’s many lessons about good posture and table manners. “I don’t know anyone enough to ask if they’d be willing to perform in it,” she says to her food.

“Please look at us while speaking, Haru-chan,” her father says. When Haru lifts her head and makes eye contact, he continues, “I take it you didn’t think of that until you had already spoken to Sato-san.”

Haru nods.

Her father hums and looks from her to Reborn pointedly. “A Miura doesn’t go back on the promises, Haru-chan, so it sounds like you should come up with a solution to that problem sooner rather than later.”

Catching her father’s point, Haru turns her focus on Reborn, who leans back in his chair and takes another sip of wine. He isn’t subject to her father’s reminders about posture and manners like she is, and it does drive her a little up the wall. “Yes?” he drawls.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who would be willing to act in my play?”

“I might know a few who would be interested in adding to their resumes.”

“Would you mind putting me in touch with them?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Reborn sets his glass down and leans forward until his forearms rest on the table, clasping his hands together. “I’ll get them to agree, and I’ll help make sure they’re up to snuff.”

Haru narrows her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“For you? None.”

Deciding to leave it at that, Haru returns to her dinner. She has no desire to know how her future actors managed to become indebted to Reborn; it’s not something he tends to do over some simple tutoring. “Thank you, Reborn-san,” she says.

“You’re quite welcome, Miura-chan.” Reborn straightens, and the meal continues.

Haru pushes herself away from the sewing machine with a muffled scream as it stalls yet again. The last time the machine jammed, it was a bent needle. The three times before that was because of the machine unthreading itself, and the time before those was because she ran out of bobbin thread.

She lifts the foot up with perhaps more force than necessary, but it feels like it makes a satisfying thump when she does it. Pulling the fabric away, she scowls at the once-again unthreaded needle.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Reborn asks from behind her.

Flapping her hands at the machine, Haru simply says, “It keeps rejecting Haru’s thread.” She sets the costume she’s working on to the side and begins checking that she hasn’t preemptively and accidentally pulled a pin out.

Reborn hums as he leans over her shoulder. “Have you considered not having it do that?” Haru gives him the narrowed side-eye that sentence deserves. “You’re missing a pin there,” her points to the empty spot.

Haru sighs but replaces the pin. “How was rehearsal?” she asks. “And have you cornered Sawada-kun to send him my way? I need him to try on his costume, so I can make adjustments,” indicating the costume in question, hanging on the rack, with a jerk of her head. She would have said something to Sawada herself when she was at the previous rehearsal, but he had run out the door almost immediately after it was over.

She still hasn’t figured out if he’s flustered out of fear of Reborn or flustered because he thinks she’s pretty.

“He should present himself at six o’clock sharp tomorrow evening.” The low, dark purr in Reborn’s voice says ‘or else’. Haru makes a note to add a prayer for Sawada-kun’s well-being when she pays her respects at the shrine in the morning. She doesn’t envy any of the poor sods Reborn rustled up to act in her play; Reborn’s a nightmarish task master at the best of times.

Setting the half-finished costume aside, Haru begins rethreading her sewing machine. This time she starts from the top again, winding the blue thread through all the hooks and cranies, instead of just finding the end of the thread and rethreading the needle. “The rehearsal?” she asks again.

“They’re all idiots,” Reborn says, stepping back from her shoulder. His shoes click against the wooden floor of the theater’s makerspace, and Haru can just picture him pacing back and forth with his arms folded tightly over his chest, chin and fedora tilted down. “Sometimes I wonder if any of them actually know how to read. Gokudera managed to set his script on fire three times today alone, and I have no idea how he keeps doing it.”

“I told you to confiscate his cigarettes and lighters.”

“I did!” Reborn says. His footsteps stop, and he sighs heavily. “They’ll be ready. Can’t promise it’ll be anything to write home about, but they’ll at least know their lines and the choreography.”

Haru yawns, doesn’t she know it. Reborn says it often enough, and she’s seen the near disaster firsthand multiple times already. “It’s a show for kids, Reborn-san,” she says, as much of a reminder for herself as it is for him. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.” She stares down at the sewing machine and tries to convince herself to start sewing again. The costumes aren’t going to sew themselves, and they are actually the part she’s being graded on.

Reborn spins her chair around. His black eyes are narrowed as he leans down to Haru’s level. “How long have you been at this?”

“Only a few hours, Reborn-san. I came in after my three o’clock class got out at about four, and now it’s…” her voice trails off as she turns to look at the clock.

The clock cheerfully reports that it currently around 9:45 and tick-ing.

“A quarter to ten,” Haru finishes sheepishly.

Reborn’s eye appears to twitch, and he mutters something about “idiotic undergraduates” under his breath. Then, he crooks a finger at her. “Up. You’re done for the night.” He steps around her and unthreads the machine again, winding the thread and pulling out the matching bobbin before putting both away.

“I still have-”

“Nope!” Reborn grabs Haru’s arm and pulls her out of the chair. “No, you don’t. Not tonight, Miura-chan. The only things you still have to do is eat and sleep.”

Haru doesn’t try arguing further and simply lets Reborn drag her out of the theater and down the sidewalk to a nearby coffeeshop. She gets a sandwich and a cup of tea to go. He, of course, gets an espresso.

“You just wanted a late night espresso,” Haru accuses as the door closes behind them.

Reborn gives her a Look. “I’m offended. I really truly am,” he says. “I bought you dinner, and this is how you repay me.”

He also walks her to the train station and waits with her for the next train. Before she gets on, he makes her promise to text him when she gets home “or else”.

The train doors shut, and Haru takes a sip of tea. Seven stops to go until she gets home.

The cafeteria of Midori Elementary fills with noise as class after class files in to sit on the floor. The backstage is in absolute chaos, and Reborn has already had to swoop in and stop two fights and one potential fire already. Haru’s about one more prop being used for monkey-in-the-middle away from stabbing someone with her pen.

The play starts in fifteen minutes.

Reborn resettles himself against the wall, arms crossed, and fedora pulled down to shade his face. Haru’s about to join him when she sees Superbi grab something out of the corner of her eye.

“Superbi-san, I know you’re not about to throw that at someone,” she says in the sickliest sweet tone she can manage. Turning on her heel, she’s rewarded with the sight of the older man’s wide eyes and quick release of the prop. The prop bounces off the floor and rolls a few centimeters before stopping.

“There are impressionable young children on the other side of that curtain,” Haru continues, making sure she meets each of her actors’ eyes. “For the next hour, those children will be watching your every move. It would be a shame if Sato-sensei tells me they learned even one bad habit from any of you.”

For once, you could hear a pin drop backstage.

“Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miura-san,” everyone choruses.

Haru brightens. “Hahi! Everyone get back to your preparations then! Curtains’ up in ten minutes!”

The resulting scramble for costumes, props, and makeup is still very chaotic, but it’s much less loud and antagonistic. Haru hopes the attitude continues through the rest of their time at Midori Elementary.

As she walks back to the wall Reborn’s leaning against, Reborn slow claps. “Marvelous job, Miura-chan,” he says. “I don’t believe they know what hit them.”

Haru giggles. “Haru thinks they too much focused on Reborn-san and underestimated Haru as a result.”

Reborn leans his head back against the wall with a smile towards the ceiling. “Reborn thinks Haru might be right,” he says.

The final preparations go relatively smoothly, and by the time Sato-sensei is on the stage introducing the play to the students, everyone is tucked away in the wings awaiting their cues, the set pieces are in place, and Haru has a hand on the curtain controls. “Please enjoy the performance today,” Sato-sensei finishes.

Haru holds up three fingers. Counts them down. Hits the button to open the curtains.

And the play begins.

#khrrarepairweek2022 #khr #miura haru #reborn #raven's pen

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barzzal · 4 years ago

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morning rituals

summary: nolan fucks you from behind while you make him the classic ham and cheese sandwich.

↳ pairing: nolan patrick x you

↳ warnings: unprotected morning sex (wrap it up), +18 minors dni, domestic bliss, and nolan getting his morning quickie ;)

↳ genre: fluff, smut, established relationship

↳ length: imagine; 1.2k

↳ masterlist: the barn

note: i guess we’ve now established that i’m writing for patty 🤷🏻‍♀️ this is more of a spur of the moment kinda thing but i do hope y’all would enjoy! good morning to nolan patrick aloooone!!

Nolan woke up to the unsettling feeling of your empty side of the bed.

It was the fourth day of training camp and now that he’s back full time, you figured it’d be best to make him breakfast everyday just like you always did before he needed to take time off the ice. For most part, he was getting better and that only made you want to take good care of him more.

Even if it meant having to wake up before the sun rays hit your bedroom window.

Nolan rubbed the sleep off his eyes as he went downstairs wearing only his boxers on. His hair was still all messy and tousled from his deep sleep but he didn’t mind. What he did mind, however, was how your waist moved along the serene rhythm of your morning playlist, just as his gaze tread onto his sweatshirt you were wearing; its hem resting just above your hips before his sight finally gets absorbed by your ass indecently covered by the sheer material of your pink laces as if to forfeit the sole purpose of wearing any undergarment at all.

Nonetheless, it did wonders for him.

You were too preoccupied with fixing your boyfriend an extra packed ham and cheese sandwich (for you knew how he tends to snack in his car), ala Nolan Patrick, when you felt a set of familiar strong hands graze on your hips, lightly pushing the hem of his sweatshirt just so he could get a better view of your behind.

“So beautiful.” He voices, husk and heavy as he kisses the sensitive skin at the back of your ear.

“Morning.” You tilt your head a little to the side so as to give him enough space to bury his still groggy self in the crook of your neck, his steady breathing sending shivers up your spine, causing you to immediately forget your morning task.

“I made breakfast.” You tell him. A remark that was later on acknowledged by a small peck placed endearingly on your exposed skin.

“What’d you make me, hm?” He hums, still quite fond of nibbling his nose on your neck, maintaining to leave the same kisses he’s been giving you.

You can’t help but smile and take your hand to softly pat the side of his cheek when he lifted his head up. “The usual, this sandwich, and your green juice for the road.”

Nolan didn’t bother to answer and was instead hooked on brushing his lips on your neck, placing idle and faint bruises while he’s at it.

You needed to take the cheese placed across the kitchen island, ergo having to bend over, clueless that such movement would wake the already heated man standing behind you.

Nolan was quick to cage your hips in his grasp. Evidently coaxing you just as you feel him on your back. Thick, and very much aroused.

He wasn’t much of a talker, not that he needed to say a word. Nevertheless, you try to suppress a grin for you already know what’s about to happen next.

The shuffling sound of Nolan’s boxer shorts was what you heard in an instant. His dominant hand squeezed onto your ass, preventing himself from ripping your panties off. He did it once when you wore that fresh black Fenty you’ve pre-ordered and let’s just say he’s learned his lesson not to fuck with any of your lingeries.

You didn’t mind him and instead let him get busy with his stuff just like you were with preparing his food. Not long after, the fabric that was once covering your bottom, slides off with ease as Nolan lets it fall onto the floor, resting just atop your feet next to his already discarded undergarment.

You feel Nolan’s head poking against your skin whilst he takes time spitting on his hand before gliding his fingers down your slit in order to ease your walls as you take him. You let out a sudden moan at the contact, his fingers enough to awaken all your senses.

“Already wet for me, eh?” Nolan steadily stands behind you, anchoring his veiny length upon your entrance. Once he’s set, he holds your hips with his hand, the other supporting his cock as he finally pushes into you, feeling your walls tighten around his member upon contact, your warmth sending him to overdrive in seconds.

A muffled groan escapes from his lips as he furthers himself through you. The strokes he makes starting off at a slow and gradual pace, the firmness of his grip on your wrist growing all the more stiff. Nolan breathes heavily next to your ear, both your bodies undeniably close, basking in each other’s warmth and eagerness to get off.

As Nolan sought his pleasures in the comfort of heating up the kitchen with you, you start wrapping up the sandwiches you’ve made and snuck them inside two designated zip locks. “Fuck.” You whimper when he hits the spot, jolting bolts of electricity you didn’t know your body could process. Nolan finds your hair and starts gathering it in his fist, “Clear the counter.” he orders, this time, his voice almost turning into a growl because of the heavy grunts he tries so hard to stifle.

You quickly oblige and carefully sweep the materials you’ve used in one swift motion. Once Nolan sees he has enough room, he pushes you down the cold marbled surface of the island, beginning to pick up at a speed that ought to make you wail from underneath him.

“Nolan,” You pant at the pleasure he was giving you. You feel his wholeness hit your core, slamming on your walls like it wasn’t seven in the morning. You don’t hear a word from him. Instead, his hand trails down onto your shoulder, gripping on your skin just as his other retained its position on your hips, his fingers digging through you whilst his thrusts deepens the closer he feels to reaching his high.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He breathes the word out, leaning over, lips touching the back of your ear as he starts nibbling on it.

The walls of your home were filled with your wails and endless moans as you begin to feel the build up forming in your middle. Nolan kept thrusting in you, evidently fond of hearing you scream his name so early in the morning.

Your legs begin to wobble, almost failing to support yourself at the amount of pleasure coursing through you at once. You grip onto the counter just as one whole stroke from Nolan reasoned your breaking point, elating your body with the same indescribable ecstasy you have always craved in more ways than one when you’re with him.

Nolan felt his own too, following how your walls sucked the life out of him. He quickly pulled his shaft out, taking it in his hand as he took the remaining clothing covering your body just above your waist before he starts jerking off on your back, moments after he’s made you cum.

Not long after, Nolan’s robust groans filled the room, signaling the hot liquid he squeezed out on your back. He then presses himself on your skin, ensuring that he gets it all out, letting most of it drip down to your ass.

Once he’s got himself covered, a yelp escapes your lips when his cold hard palm comes in contact with one of your cheeks. He gives it a firm grip, fairly fond of the art he’s graced your body with.

With a smug smirk now apparent on his lips, Nolan gives you a quick peck before whispering in your ear, “I’ll go get the water running.”

#nolan patrick imagine #nolan patrick fanfiction #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey smut #nolan patrick smut #nolan patrick x reader #letters to nolan #barzzal imagines

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helenazbmrskai · 4 years ago

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Cat And Mouse: The Noble Tale (M)

Pairing – Rich! Taehyung x Reader

Genre – Romance, Roommates To Lovers, Fluff, Smut, Best Friends To Lovers

Summary – [Charity balls are always the same. Expensive champagne and nobles staring at you and Taehyung left and right, however, this time you have to thank his mother for intervening if it weren’t for her you two would still play that game of cat and mouse.]

Warnings – smut, teasing, vaginal fingering, blowjob (road head), ruined orgasm, implied penetrative sex, dom! tae for like 5 seconds, tae has a rich bitch mother in this fic and doesn’t like oc

Word Count – (7,5k)

Author note. I edited this bad boy so it got longer as I added 1.5k words plus and tried to catch any mistakes and errors (but there’s probably some that I didn’t see anyway) also changed the header. Please enjoy this version as well!

Menu: Masterlist l Be part of my permanent taglist to recieve a notification when I upload a new fic or send an ask!

Internally cringing away from your reflection, you defeatedly let the elevator’s heavy metal doors shut in front of your tired form, well, you can always call for it again. You aren’t a fan of small talk either so it’s a bonus that you decided not to get in with the old lady from room 45, she’s sweet and you like the cat pictures she shows you proudly but today is not the day that cute animals can cheer you up.

You mechanically try to rake your fingers through your hair before realising that the high ponytail you arranged this morning gets in the way. That was the only solution so you could leave the apartment on time without opting for a quick shower first. Greasy hair was the least of your concerns on the long lists of worries.

Your mood was as shitty as your appearance and you almost turn around to leave when someone on the sixth floor holds up the elevator for too long, you don’t have it in yourself to glare at the businessman that steps out nearly running you over, and normally you’re not someone to let things like that slide without comment.

Something must be wrong with you, or you’re just too tired to care. Shaking away the thought you stick a hand inside, near the sensors so the doors don’t manage to slam shut in front of your face again and finally walk inside, using unnecessary strength to push the button to the fifth floor, you think being rich would be nice.

Not that you have any right to complain, your friend helps you out plenty of times with his money, standing inside the lavish building with nice interior design and secure neighbourhood with guards and front desk receptionists is speaking volumes itself, even if you look out of place with your unwashed hair and zombie shaming looks the woman that lives next door still makes sure she sends you a pleasant enough smile as a greeting it’s only you that send back a grimace that you can hardly call a smile.

It’s not your fault that she caught you on a bad day, normally you are not this swallowed up in self-pity and despair but the lack of sleep you got on these few days started to take its toll on your body and mind.

You’re not even sure how you managed to wake up this morning when the time you finally closed your eyes provided you with two hours of sleep at most. If anyone asked you, you would deny but hearing Taehyung kill zombies in his video game at four in the morning filtering through your shared wall calmed you down and quieted your overwhelming thoughts and even managed to make you feel better that you are not the only one up.

Dismissed the idea immediately to knock on his door no matter how much your fingers itched to turn the doorknob of your room and knock on his, he’s your friend so you’re positive he would have beckoned you inside with that cute smile of his but the thought that he endures so much of you lately made you reconsider.

You don’t want to be a burden. Right now he might not see you as one but eventually, he will realise that you’re just a waste of oxygen in the apartment. He’s not even making you pay rent, you literally are useless.

You might be showering him with your undying support and love but that’s literally it that you can offer.

His biggest dream is to become a video game developer one day instead of the head of his father’s phone company and that created great issues as following his dream not only crushed his parent's expectations of him but he lost some good bachelor friends to that so Taehyung packed his bags and moved out of his very expensive penthouse his parents rented for him to chase his ’delusions’ as his parents liked to call it.

His friends were not good for him (feeding Taehyung with their greed for money and status) as they lived up to the title of ’snob rich kids’ you saw some of them and you could tell with one look at their faces that they were born with silver spoons up their asses.

Even if later on he realised that they were up for no good Taehyung still felt devastated when they turned their backs on him once his income started to lack even a single digit at the end since his father told him he’ll not support his childish dreams, the money stopped circulating. He had enough to move to a more manageable apartment and later he found a way to earn his own money.

At first glance, Taehyung didn’t seem much different at that time.

He’s too friendly for his own good, he’s often perceived as naive and he easily gives his thrust away to anyone who shows him a big enough smile not considering the consequences that it can lead to eventual betrayal. He’s an honest person like that. He wears his heart on his sleeve giving everyone second chances, that’s the rich quality of his personality that you recognised first and you cherish him for it, even though sometimes you have to scold him for his too trusting nature.

On the other hand, he’s even more than that to you. He tries to mend conflicts by playing rock paper scissors and can’t cook for shit like a spoilt brat but he has his moments when he can act like his age.

Remembering that time when a man grabbed your butt while you were working as a waitress. Taehyung happened to witness it and moved in front of you instinctively even so that this man was twice his size, he stood proudly defending you in front of the people that failed to do so as not even your boss helped you.

You often feel like you don’t deserve his friendship as you always think you benefit from your relationship more than he does.

The ding of the elevator announced your arrival with the automatic doors sliding open the next second and you moved before you had to stop the doors from closing again on you already digging through your bag to find your keys.

The place smelled like the ocean scented fabric softener you bought last week and your eyes easily found the rack of clothes hanging neatly on the dryer at the corner of the living room nearby the open window.

You hesitated at first to share dirty laundry baskets howbeit you soon realised that doing laundry separately made the water bill extend in number unnecessarily so you relented and permit him to handle your undergarments and dirty socks just like you had the right to touch his boxers and shovel it into the washing machine.

You told yourself not long ago how you don’t want to be a burden to him but thanks to the exhaustion and gloomy nature of your thoughts swimming inside your head it begins to crush you under their weights. Start to lay unbearable paperweights on your heart so despite all the warnings going off inside your head, after kicking your shoes off at the entrance your limbs carry you to Taehyung’s room instead of your own.

The room is dark because of how tightly the blinds are drawn and the air stuffy when you enter trying hard not to make any sound that might wake him up, sweat and his favourite cologne mixing in the air. However, you pay no mind to it as you drag your feet further inside until your toes meet with the edge of the king-sized bed.

You help yourself to the right side of it since Taehyung always sleeps on the left side. Taehyung stirs in his sleep when he faintly feels the extra weight added on the mattress beside him moving automatically closer to wind his arms around your waist.

He not so secretly likes when you sleep next to him, he has a habit of hugging something to sleep better and you always smell nice and inviting, the best thing about you however is that you’re the perfect size for him to comfortably cuddle with. Like your body was made for him to hold all along.

Letting out a silent sigh you let yourself feel comfortable in his embrace, the heat he radiates warms up your skin and you absentmindedly move your hand to play with his hair, trying to tame his soft brown locks that are sticking to every direction. Taehyung hums into your skin peacefully holding you and pulling you closer until your body is moulded with him perfectly with his head resting on your heaving chest lulling him back to sleep.

You slowly follow his lead and drift off to sleep, letting your tired mind relax, feeling the warm huffs of air periodically leaving his slightly parted lips, tickling your bare skin. Your eyes are closing in their own accord recognising the calming presence holding onto you securely. In your dream clouded mind, the sudden thought appears that things should be always like this. This is peaceful.

You open your eyes before him even though it’s in the late afternoon almost nighttime. Nothing’s new about seeing his closed eyelids, as he surely likes to take his sweet time waking up. Sometimes you wish you could be a heavy sleeper like him. In your sleep, you must have moved around because you no longer were in the position you fell asleep with Taehyung’s head resting on your chest, he still had his hands around your waist but your head was tucked under his chin while both of your bodies rested in a sideways position, thighs pressed up against each other ankles knocking together.

This makes your escape more challenging to carry out as no matter how you try to wrestle out of his hold Taehyung doesn’t budge, he’s stubborn even in his sleep to keep you close.

”Stop moving around.” Taehyung’s voice is deep and raspy, heavy with sleep, to make a point he tightens his hands around your waist so he can stop your movements altogether there’s no more space between the two of you by the time he plants a lingering kiss – his mind is still mussy from sleep – onto the top of your head before nosing around your hairline inhaling your natural scent, you dare to look bashful when you remember the fact that it's been a couple of days since you washed your hair and suddenly you’re able to find the strength within you to push him away.

A displeased groan vibrates from the depths of his chest ready to curl his fingers around your wrist before you could get out of reach and drag you back next to him. The cold air hits his body once yours is no longer warms his side and he reaches out to grab you, your skin is soft under his fingertips when he makes contact but he misjudged the angle as you landed right on top of him. You’re not particularly heavy but he makes extra noises to annoy you that earns an eye roll and a hit.

”I’m hungry so let me go before I bite a chunk out of you instead.” A breathy chuckle that follows your statement seem to dismiss your empty threats in no time but Taehyung lets you go when you playfully pull at his long curly hair.

He decides to tag along since he feels absolutely famished after the long gaming night he had with the boys.

”Nope.” You dig your pointer finger into his chest when he tries to exit his room after you and he looks like a confused puppy when you deny him more cuddles. To enlighten him you give instructions to head for a shower first since he stinks like he just rolled around in contaminated takeout pizza and a bucket of sweat the exact smell that greets you whenever he spends nights holed up in his room for over 24 hours (exactly what he did by the way) and tell him to let some fresh air inside because if he stinks his room is probably worse.

He can’t argue with that as he opens up the windows the fresh air helps subduing his headache.

You always know what he needs he thinks with a shy smile that graces his features at the thought before fishing out clean clothes to retreat inside the connected bathroom and wash up.

You can’t wait to have a shower as well since you feel dirty and smelly that definitely doesn’t help to lift your mood but it has to wait because your stomach can’t take any more minutes without something filling the emptiness.

You prepare a simple and quick omelette that you shovel into your mouth within seconds, you almost choke on the bites very unladylike considering how fast you inhale the whole meal not waiting for Taehyung to join you.

”Smells good.” Taehyung beams when he smells the food. Droplets of water wets the material of his shirt, it slides down from the tips of his hair following the line of his neck before it gets soaked up by his white shirt, the strong smell of his body wash enters your nostrils even from a distance.

Taehyung smells nice naturally but you can’t deny that when he is freshly out of the shower he looks and smells tempting can’t settle down if you want to hug him while inhaling his scent or lick the droplets of water from his neck tasting his clean skin. Ok, that’s way ahead of yourself, but you can’t help it.

”Anything smells good to you unless you were the one who made it.” You snort, the jabs at his ego serves as your coping mechanism when your thoughts are about to take dangerous turns you distract yourself with insults hoping that Taehyung will never learn the true meaning behind your words.

If you keep being mean he won’t think you’re head over heels for him, right? That’s your tactic.

He's clearly not someone who cares about financial statuses – or more like differences – because if he did, you two wouldn’t be friends in the first place but making him a potential love interest.

You’re not insane yet. Your fates are cross starred from the beginning not just because he is way out of your league (status apart, he’s a softhearted person, considerate, funny and adorable in his own stupidly endearing way) the list could go on why he is apparently too good for you.

What can you even offer him? Anyone can cook him nice meals and you’re sure someone would support his dreams even if you’re not, he’s so easy to fall in love with that anyone would be happy to have him.

You sometimes fantasize about him telling you, that all of the above might be true but he only wants to eat your meals and have your support and even your love to himself. He cherishes you as a friend you can’t possibly imagine how good of a lover he would be. If only things would be different.

It gets harder and harder with each passing day spent with him by your side to stop those thoughts from spiralling out of your control. You know he would reject your confession delicately making sure he tells you sweet lies so it wouldn’t hurt you that much. He would keep you as a friend but things would never be the same after that before eventually, he drifts away.

You’re not ready to flush this carefully crafted friendship down the toilet and you probably never will. He might not know you’re in love with him but he sure knows your weakness is his pleading, round star-filled puppy eyes.

”Your parents hate me! Their blood pressure will be over the roof as soon as they see me at your side. If you want to witness my death there are more civil ways to do it. You don’t have to throw me in front of the sharks like that!”

Tae finds your little outburst entertaining in some sort of way. He even laughed at your dramatic approach until he realised you meant every word since you didn’t crack a smile as he anticipated at the end and instead met with your panicked eyes.

”I can only bear those events because you’re with me. Would you really let me go alone? I thought we were a team!”

Well, he doesn’t have to say it like that. You’re a sucker for those kinds of compliments and you can already feel your strongly expressed ’no’ turn into a shy ’maybe’ not after a full minute passing after your outburst. You hate he has this much power over you.

”We are a team.” You sigh, there’s no way you can talk your way out of this so you admit your defeat quickly and start mentally preparing yourself because this will be a hella long night. At least he should have given you a heads up and not drop this bomb at you on the same day, even the day before would have been nice.

”Wait, I don’t have a dress to wear!” You nibble on your bottom lip anxiously when Taehyung chimes in swallowing the last bites of his late breakfast, that’s like probably dinner and motions for you to follow him back to his room.

”I hope you will like it I put a lot of thought into what to get you.” Tae shyly smiles under his nose opening his closet to reveal your dress to you. It has a silky touch to it that you’re already in love with, the dress itself reaching mid-thigh if you’re not mistaken and it’s in the shade of a nice emerald green colour, you don’t want to know how much does this pretty thing cost. You keep looking between the dress and Taehyung and he takes your silence as a bad sign as he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

”I love it, it’s just that you didn’t have to do this. I don’t want you to spend your money on me.” The concern shows in your expressive orbs, he sees that you’re grateful but he sees the guilt behind it as well.

He knows what’s inside that pretty little head of yours before you got the chance to tell him.

”You’re not using me Y/N. I got this for you because I thought you would look pretty in it, it’s a gift.” Taehyung cradles your shoulder in his hand to meet your gaze, you feel the sincerity behind his words and there’s something you see in his eyes while you explore the depths of his darkness.

”I know my parents called you a gold digger but we both know it’s not true. I know you didn’t befriend me because of my money, you’re the only true friend that I’ve ever had in my life so don’t let them tell you such things.”

When Taehyung says things like that your heart squeezes inside your chest uncomfortably, even if the sentiment warms you, you truly don’t deserve the affectionate words. You’re a liar, you don’t consider him your friend for a while now and here he is calling you his first real friend. What would he think of you if he found out your not so friendly feelings for him?

You’re aware of the fact that Taehyung’s parents just say stuff to hurt you so you would eventually give up on their son because they think if you don’t support him anymore he would eventually crawl back to them and succumb to their wishes.

It only hurts because you think you don’t deserve him as much as his parents think, you might not be a gold digger since he helps you out of his good heart’s will but it still feels wrong to depend on him this much.

The guilt is not enough to change your mind, you stay because you can’t imagine a scenario when Taehyung is not by your side.

”I’ll be by your side the whole night! I promise I won’t let them separate you from me again, they had no right to insult you like that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

You nod embracing him in a tight hug to cover your crestfallen expression, he reciprocates the affection immediately and you calmly inhale his comforting scent resting your head on his shoulder for a few minutes before slowly pulling away.

”They can have you over my dead body, so don’t worry about things like that. I’m a big girl I can handle some mean people spouting nonsense.” You show him a big smile as you do what you can do best, mask your real feelings to make him feel better, you know he feels responsible because of that night his parents tried to scare you away. He apologises even though it’s not something he’s entitled to do.

You’re more than happy and ready to fight for him if this life he lives with you makes him happy. Even if the day comes when your paths can’t cross anymore, you’ll be content with the thought that you got lucky enough to experience this friendship with him.

Inspecting your figure in front of the body-sized mirror hours later you stress over your imperfect features although you’re aware that nothing is there that you can do to please his parents you still try.

You smooth the wrinkles of the silk with your hands that hug your body modestly, looking at your finished makeup you add the final touch of your favourite lip balm when you hear a knock on your door.

”Come in.” You call out since other than Taehyung no one would knock on your door this late he’s probably here to fetch you so you two could go.

Looking around you locate your heels at the foot of the bed and bends slightly to pick them up at the same time that Taehyung turns the doorknob having a great view of your cleavage at that angle, not flashing him entirely just showing more than he ever saw of you. Taehyung thinks you have nice proportions and he can’t say anything else considering the swell of your breasts. You smile up at him so innocently that he feels bad about his dirty thoughts, not changing the fact that he thinks your breasts look beautiful in this dress he just only hopes no one will see what he did he will make sure to bend down for you to pick up something if it’s necessary.

”Do you need help with your tie?” You giggle when you spot the item hanging loosely around his neck. Taehyung nods in confirmation but looks away quickly when you step so close to him he’s fine being close to you normally but the previous encounter that you’re not even aware of makes him act all shy all of the sudden.

”You..” Taehyung gulps when you look up at him, waiting for him to continue what he started but he feels incredibly shy around you. After you’re finished with the neat knot you rearrange his collar with your hands letting your fingers glide along the lines of his shoulder blades and you swear you feel him shiver under your touch.

”I, what?” Tilting your head to the side curiously you remove your touch from his shoulder that shakes him up to finally tell you.

”You look so pretty in this dress.” His long hair prevents you from seeing as his ears begin to turn pink with embarrassment.

He doesn’t look half bad himself but you don’t tell him that instead, you giggle like a high schooler and that makes Taehyung smile at you affectionately.

His hair is prettily curled looking invitingly soft in your room’s dim lights taunting you to touch it so you listen curling a few strands behind his ears gently. Every man looks good wearing a nice suit and a tie but Taehyung is an entirely different standard.

After he showed up in your life you can’t help but compare every possible suitor to him and in the end, no one can beat Taehyung. A guy can be nice but he’ll be nicer, he can be good looking but you only find Taehyung breathtakingly handsome.

”We should hurry, we’re running late.” Hearing your statement Taehyung’s eyes widen in realisation as his gaze narrows on the clock, you giggle again seeing his mortified face but step into your shoes so the two of you can avoid being any more late than you already are. A true gentleman that he is, Taehyung offers his arm to help you balance on your heels and you happily leech onto him.

Not even the silence is awkward with Taehyung sitting beside you, watching as he drives the both of you to the charity ball his slim fingers operating the wheel to take a turn getting closer to the destination.

Your growing nerves start to get the better of you be that as it may your companion is attentive, tuned to the smallest twitch of your muscles he takes your hand in his to squeeze rubbing small shapes into your skin helping you unwind.

”Do you trust me?” Taehyung parks the car before twisting his body to face you in the confined space of his car, seeing the open vulnerable look in his eyes, you have no doubts that you certainly do trust him, so you nod with a small smile.

”I wonder what your mother schemed up this time around.” The futile attempt of a joke was a way for you to cut through the thick tension, even though Taehyung tried hard to appear as confident before you and nonchalant about the event, you can sense his nervousness radiate off of him when he grabbed your hand, you saw them shake he was getting comfort by touching you as much as it helped you calm down.

He’s not nervous directly because of the event, the people who normally attend these kinds of parties he’s not so fond of meeting. News spread like the plague in the medieval period between rich and powerful people and he’s tired of listening to them questioning him about his life choices, subtly trying to tell him he should have chosen more wisely and it’s not too late to stop this phase of rebellious behaviour and the fact that brings him the most discomfort that he doesn’t like the stares they give you.

”I feel like I should say sorry in advance.” The chuckle is humourless and you grab his hand before he can move forward.

”Take a deep breath Tae, I’m not going anywhere. Hold onto me tight and watch me make these big bad nobles pop a blood vessel if they try to insult you.” Shaking his head in playful disbelief he nods holding onto your hands tight pulling you to face the music, quite literally, but you proudly step beside him matching his footsteps head held high because you’re proud to stand next to him.

It’s their loss they don’t know the real him. You know Taehyung like the back of your hand and he knows you just as much, there’s nothing you can’t endure just to stay by his side. Romantic feelings aside you would always support him.

Before you can chicken out you move to place a small kiss on Taehyung’s cheek as a form of encouragement.

”Your mother is at one o’clock already staring at us.” You whisper into his right ear while placing a hand on his shoulder to draw closer to him the sound of your voice hits the shell of his ears howbeit it gets drowned by the chatter and music that surrounds the elegant ballroom, you’re in perfect height to reach him without problems thanks to your heels and while you’re at it you should give his mother something to munch on.

”Taehyung, glad you could make it.” His mother’s tone is dripping honey as he greets his son pecking the same cheeks you pecked moments prior, you somehow felt triumphant by that tiny fact, not surprised when your greeting is delayed like always, however, ignoring me won’t make me disappear doesn’t matter how much she obviously would like that idea.

Her smile gets more stained when she’s forced to acknowledge my existence you expect a half-hearted hello or something similar but she surprises you with a gentle hug.

”Y/N, I’m pleased to see you, actually I have a surprise for you since you always support my son I thought I should somehow thank you. Have you met Park Jimin yet?” Oh, you don’t like the sound of that. Glancing at Taehyung through your peripheral vision a sudden appearance forces your eyes to focus on the man before you.

”I’m afraid I didn’t.” You force a smile as you exchange awkward greetings with the man, he’s handsome you give him that. Jimin asks you if you would like to dance like it’s prompted to happen and you’re in no position to say no when eyes are on the two of you, so you detach yourself from Taehyung and accept this man’s outstretched hand letting him guide you through the people.

You look over Jimin’s shoulder to get a last peek at Taehyung’s form standing next to his mother it surprises you when you found his expression morph into a frown watching you led by another man.

Well, he promised you to be by your side the whole night, he’s probably upset because he couldn’t keep it.

Your intellectual guess cannot be farther from the truth as he observes Jimin’s hand with jealousy sliding down your back turning you to face him and break eye contact with Taehyung.

”What do you get out of this?”

You’re not a fan of beating around the bush, you so confront him directly Jimin acts like you said something funny his body slightly pushes against yours, hearing him chuckle so close to your face lets you admire his nice profile you play along as you let a smile appear in the corner of your mouth all the while the flute in Taehyung’s hand is close to breaking due to the strong grip he has on the poor drink.

”I have my reasons.” He answers curtly, but it’s not enough to satisfy your curiosity. Pulling you closer he guides you through the steps leading you gently along with his graceful movements, Jimin is not just handsome but a good dancer too.

”Shall we exchange secrets, sweetheart?” His breath hits the side of your face as he lowers his head near your ear to whisper into it, he has a melodious voice with a playful edge to it. That feature probably makes him popular with the girls.

”You can start by answering my question first.” A brow raised face unamused Jimin realises then and there that his charms won’t work on you, he can’t capture a heart that’s already captured.

You have someone in mind (even now when you’re talking to him) and he can’t compete with that. He wonders if it has to do anything with the Kim family’s black sheep son that you clung to before he led you away.

”Because I’m bored. There has to be a reason behind every action?” Jimin’s smile grows as soon as your expression changes from shocked to sheer bewilderment. You’re more entertaining than he first thought, refreshing to see someone so expressive of their emotions.

You regard the rich boy with narrowed eyes, manners can be damned. You refuse to be his plaything as a fit of newfound anger emerges from within the pit of your stomach.

You might not be rich like he is but your life is not a show for him to find entertainment in. Sensing your newfound hostility Jimin spins you around before pulling you back, your hands are firmly placed on his chest for the reason that the spin caught you off guard.

”Don’t look at me like that. How about I help you out as well?” Jimin glances in the direction that he knows Taehyung is still standing paying no mind to his mother chatting more focused on the way Jimin curls a lock of hair behind your ears before whispering into it like second nature.

”You like him don’t you?” A wicked smirk is written all across his face seeing your eyes widen in dread, he likes your reactions so much, it’s a shame you’re in love because he sure would be interested in you otherwise.

You always thought you were subtle enough but it’s clearly not true as a complete stranger can tell your fond feelings about your best friend, bashfully looking away you’re not sure if you should give in and confirm or try to deny it.

Reading you like an open book Jimin shakes his head in a mocking gesture. ”No need to lie, after tonight we’ll never see each other again. Aren’t you curious if he feels the same way or not?” He has your undivided attention at that, of course, you’re dying to know where Taehyung’s heart lies. You were just always too afraid to ruin what the two of you have built over the years.

”What are you suggesting?” Tightening your hold on his suit, he’s aware he has exactly where he wants you to be, right in the palm of his hands.

”Don’t take it personally sweetheart.” The smirk appears again when your face contorts into a scowl.

”What are you talking about .. hmmp.” His hands dip lower stopping just above your ass the sudden contact makes you jump a little halting your words altogether and Jimin lets a warm laugh out at your reaction.

”You’re cute when you get all flustered.” The next thing you feel is his plump lips giving a lingering kiss onto the centre of your forehead, the gesture featherlight and sweet, he could almost fool you if you didn’t feel his hand so closely situated near your butt.

”I guess it’s time for us to say goodbye. If things don’t work out with him you can always just search for me.” You have no time to take in and consider the meaning behind his words because someone grabs your hand absurdly pulling you out of Jimin’s hold, your dance partner smirks up at the intruder and raises his hands in lazy defence.

The familiar smell of Taehyung’s cologne envelopes your senses you tense up and relax at the same time as his touch is burning but soothing on your skin leaving you to bask in the exciting mix of the two emotion, it doesn’t require rocket science to know whose chest is that you’re pulled against. His fingers curl around your silk-covered waist protectively while the other is still holding onto your hand.

Taehyung left his mother standing with a shocked expression overtaking her features, leaving her in the middle of a one-sided conversation that she failed to realise but his vision was always trained on your form, he started to see red when that bastard blond man began to get too close to you.

”It was a pleasure meeting you miss Y/N, don’t forget to look for me if you ever get bored.” Ready to get your love interest riled up (beaming at the both of you) Jimin takes your free hand to plant a small kiss on the back but Taehyung instinctively pulls you out of reach before he can get too close again.

There’s no way in hell that he would let him touch you for another minute longer, at the same time a hand digs into your hip bone but you’re too caught up in the situation beforehand to register the feeling of Taehyung’s hand tighten on your body possessively.

”I guess I’m done here, you have your answer.” Jimin gives you a last good-natured wink before his body gets swallowed up by the people dancing around your frozen form.

Turning around you finally face Taehyung for the first time since the both of you got separated his bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he regards you with bottled-up desire and longing. He can’t bear the sight of you so close to someone else that’s not him.

Realisation lits up in your orbs as Jimin’s melodic voice echo inside your head. ’You have your answer’ and what a nice answer that you got.

Can’t contain your feelings anymore you pull Taehyung closer to your form using a fistful of his tie to aid you and crash your lips against his. Fireworks erupt behind your closed eyelids as you feel Taehyung’s body mould against yours perfectly, his lips are gentle as he moves against yours and you almost moan into his mouth when he parts your lips with the tip of his tongue.

”Tae..” You’re the first to pull away when it hits you where the two of you are – in the middle of the ballroom where everyone can witness your first kiss with him – but it’s not long before Taehyung connects your mouths again despite your efforts to part from him you find yourself responding to every little peck he delivers. His lips, his scent everything is so intoxicating.

”Taehyung, your mother will faint if you keep kissing me.” He chuckles into your shoulder nose buried deep into your hair inhaling your sweet scent, it’s hard for him to hold himself back when he finally gets a taste of you.

”Let’s get out of here.”

”So..” You start talking once the both of you are situated inside his car as he drives back home after the initial shock wears off that yes, the two of you indeed just kissed in front of at least 20,00 people nonetheless in front of his mother who would probably strangle you if she had the chance.

”Just to make sure. You..do like me right?” Rubbing your clammy hands on your expensive dress shyly you avoid eye contact with Taehyung but it doesn’t deter him from looking at you a few times before he rightfully turns back to watch the road.

His tie is loosened around his neck and a few buttons are undone as well, the air inside the car took a turn.

”I do. Do you?” Your best friend gulps gripping the steering wheel nervously even if you were the first to lean in and kiss him he can’t help the doubts that start to fill his head. What if you regretted it?

Feeling more relaxed after his confession you give his thighs a small squeeze that startles your friend. You feel his leg muscles go rigid under your touch so you decide to remove your hand that makes him panic more. He’s not trying to reject you, he just has a hard time accepting the fact that his feelings for you are reciprocated.

His hand finds your bare skin mid-thigh just below the material of your dress, sensing the inappropriate touch he tries to pull back, cursing under his breath that he can’t do a single thing right with you but you intertwine your fingers placing it back on your thigh.

Your smaller ones are entirely enveloped in his warm touch like he was made for holding your hand all along. ”I like you too.” You confess. It feels weird but you are relieved and somehow giddy that you could tell him your honest feelings after keeping them to yourself, that you’re able to share it with him confidently without fearing rejection or behind the shadow of the possibility to lose him as a friend.

”You do?” His smile reaches from ear to ear as he asks you, more confident in his skin after hearing you say it his hand glides further up on your thigh reaching the hem of your dress, his smile never falters even when his index finger reaches the apex of your thighs a yelp of surprise leaves you but not making any effort to stop him.

He draws sluggish circles over your clothed clit that makes you bite your lip preventing yourself from forming too much noise, your cheeks heat up because of his ministrations yet you shamelessly spread your legs further apart for him to comfortably reach under your dress. Taehyung keeps his caress light, intent on not scaring you.

”Of course I do Tae.” You tell him like it’s crazy that he even thought otherwise, Taehyung rewards your honest words by cupping your heat with his palm rubbing you firmly over your underwear his movements are uncoordinated because he had to divide his attention between you and the road but his touch feels good all the same.

”Fuck.” You curse when he grinds the heel of his palm over your throbbing clit. Just a few hours prior while you were getting into the dress Taehyung bought you, you would have never imagined that this night will end up with his fingers inside your underwear but you’re certainly not complaining.

”Tae, please.” A mewl that soon turned into a whimper was the last thread of his sanity when he finally pulled aside the damp material that started to cling onto your skin uncomfortably, his finger got coated with your excitement as he slowly rubbed your heat sliding his finger up and down your slit nudging your lips apart so he can dive deeper.

Impatient you gripped his wrist and lowered his hand so his finger was closer to your entrance, reading between the lines Taehyung circled his digit around your clenching hole before easing a finger inside curling it experimentally inside you that earned the loudest moan so far. The angle is awkward but he tries to move his fingers in and out of you to the best of his abilities while he keeps his eyes on the empty road.

He felt his cock harden under his pants even more due to the sweet noises you make for him the feel of you so wet and needy sucking his finger inside and clenching around him, you truly were the woman of his dreams.

You remove his hand licking his finger that’s coated with your essence clean before you move to open up his zipper. Taehyung’s hand fists into your hair when he realises you’re about to give him a blowjob.

”Fuck, this is so dangerous.” He curses but doesn’t pull your head back when you lick his swollen tip. Taehyung forces his eyes to stay open as you take more of him into your mouth, sucking and licking along his shaft.

You have one hand on his strong thigh to keep yourself hunched over him as you try not to interfere with his driving.

Moving your mouth up and down you keep your movements slow but make sure you suck every time his tip reaches the back of your throat breathing through your nose you lick into his slit when you reach the head of his cock.

Taehyung’s grip on the steering wheel makes his knuckles go white with the force to keep the car in line while you keep sucking him off. You give the most attention to his sensitive tip as he’s already close to cumming.

You pull off before he could. Watching as his hard cock slaps against his stomach, precum drooling from the tip mixed with your saliva. He’s truly a sight and you get to admire him close as his chest moves rapidly sucking in ragged breaths, you can tell that he wants to cum so bad.

”If you drive faster you can get more than just my mouth on your cock.” You tease him tucking his painfully erect cock back into his pants, Taehyung continues to look ahead watching the road, clearly frustrated that you didn’t let him cum but steps on the accelerator to give the car more speed. Can’t wait to finally have you.

”Just wait till we get home, you’re going to regret teasing me, baby.” His voice is deep, hoarse from the moans and dark with evident sexual frustration, you know he’s still hard inside his pants but willing to wait until he could bury his dick inside your sweet cunt.

You’re in for a wild night. If you can still walk the next morning you’re going to send a gift basket to his mother to thank her for intervening because if it weren’t for her you two would still play that game of cat and mouse. Maybe thank Jimin too.

#taehyung smut #btsghostie #taehyung fanfic #taehyung #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fluff #taehyung fic #taehyung edit #cat and mouse #noble tale #rich! taehyung #poor! reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff

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kithtaehyung · 5 years ago

Text

Room 3 | PJM

summary: it’s just another normal day for you at the wellness center until it suddenly isn’t. note: standalone for now! part 2 is semi-written but no solid plans atm. note 2 (june 7th, 2021): this will be revamped in the future! i really enjoyed this premise so i won’t get rid of it completely. pairing: idol!jimin x massage therapist!reader genre: fluff word count: 9,188

Thirteen.

The sidewalk underneath your feet has thirteen cracks in the little square you stand in. Sliding a small rock into one of them provides you with something to do until you hear the squeaking, screeching brakes of a bus struggling to a stop in front of you.

You adjust the strap on your shoulder as the doors open with a hydraulic hiss, and you give the driver a small smile before finding a place to stand. There aren’t many people commuting today, so it’s a pleasant surprise that you get to sit down for a change.

It was just another day in your life. You got up this morning and did your routine, listened to your wake up music on repeat, and checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and earphones before heading down to the bus stop. The very same earphones are still on as you now have your library on shuffle, and you hum along to the “na na na’s” of the current tune.

Living in Seoul for about a year now, you were pretty settled in. The people were accommodating, the quality of life was much better than where you were before, and you felt like you could live here for the rest of your days. It was insanely tough at first, but the initial culture shock and feeling of loneliness lessened as you made friends and befriended coworkers. You don’t have many people close to you here, but you can count on the ones that are.

You turn your head to gaze out the windows. Shimmering glass buildings tower over you, shops and street signs whiz by, and people look like they’re walking in slow motion as you follow them with your eyes. Blips of pastels and bold colors mingle together and you look down to observe your own monochrome uniform. For the place you worked at, you didn’t expect the clothes to look luxurious, but they’re actually designed very well. And they’re soft.

That’s enough for you.

Your stop is next, so you hook your arm around the nearest pole to prep. The steel has a coldness that seeps into your sleeve, but your only thought is wondering what you should eat for lunch.

Why do you feel so tense?

The sign right above you emits a sense of relaxation, but there’s a tightness in your shoulders. Odd. You lock your phone with one hand and grip the strap of your pack with the other before taking a deep breath. You count down from three before letting it out.

The hiss of your exhale mingles with the standard sounds of the city, and you concentrate on the flow of life both inside your body and the environment around you. You did this often when you felt out of place, and it served to recalibrate you and your thoughts. Storing your phone away, you make your way inside the frosted glass doors.

Working at one of Seoul’s prestigious wellness centers was definitely something you were proud of. If there was one thing you’ve wanted for years, it was for a way for you to massage yourself. Everyone seemed to love your massages, but no one knew how to massage you. That is, until you came here. You’ve never experienced people knowing exactly where you were hurting and effectively working out all of those kinks during one session. It was magical.

What is even more magical is the fact that you joined the ranks of those same angels from above. You love them, and they love you.

“Good morning! I hate you!”

Well.

“Morning, Yoon,” you respond lowly as you take your earphones out and store them. “Love you, too.” As you walk around front reception, Yoon smiles at you and comments,

“No, really, I think you legitimately repulse me now.”

You shoot her a look of pure terror. “What the hell did I do?”

“Nothing,” she sighs, dropping her eyes to the papers in front of her.

In a state of panic, your mind speeds through any events that happened since the last time you saw her. Did you accidentally ignore her once? Look at her funny? Yoon was big on body language.

You didn’t realize you were still staring at her until she tapped the glass counter between you two. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know you’re nervous. I just thought jokes would help.”

What?

“I’m not nervous, just tense for some reason. Although, you definitely made it worse,” you admit, “I might need to take a longer break today and somehow get Jay to rub my shoulders. Maybe I can bribe him with samgy--”

“--Uhh, forget him; have you even checked your client list for this week? I’ll do anything if you switch your schedule with me.”

Double-what?

“Okay, now you’re just being weird,” you chuckle, “But also, no, I haven’t checked yet. It’s Monday!”

In a sing-song manner, Yoon warns, “You better check your schedule before I snatch it...”

You laugh again and wave her off, but her words only mess with your head. As you make your way to the back room, you fidget and check your phone for any notifications you missed between when you exited the bus and now. You don’t know what you expected: still nothing.

As if you feel the weight of eyes on you, you glance up and notice some people are giving you looks.

What in the hell is going on? It’s 7am on a Monday and therefore way too early for people to be this upset with you. Yoon may have said she was joking, but by the looks of everyone else...

A hand claps onto your shoulder, causing you to yelp and feel like you rocket right into the ceiling. Only the hearty laugh beside you clues you in on who you were getting revenge on later.

“Geez, someone’s not looking forward to today.”

“You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Jay,” you seeth, hands rubbing your temples as you struggle to steady your heart rate. “Also, what’s so special about today? Yoon was being strange just a second ago, too.”

Your coworker looks at you like you have seven heads. “Okay, first off: if I had the amount of adrenaline in your body right now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. And second: you didn’t check your schedule yet?”

They didn’t know it, but they were going to be the death of you.

“No, I ha--It’s a Mon--you know what, I’m going to check now; you guys are killing me.” You leave Jay in a rush and race to the employee lounge. The anxiousness in your chest is bubbling over.

Jay’s on your heels, whispering loudly, “I can spoil it right now if you want!”

You respond in a low voice, “Don’t you have a client to see?”

“Nope!”

You round the corner and see the back room door is already open, so you power through and head straight for the docking table on the other side. Everyone working here has a personal tablet, and you unplug yours from the charging port. Pressing through the menus as quickly as the tablet allows, you feel a thin layer of sweat on your skin. Touch ID. Login. Main Menu. Scheduling. Weekly Outlook. Confidentiality Prompt.

Shit.

Confidentiality Prompts are for the therapists that have huge clients scheduled. They’re put in place for celebrities and business executives to have guaranteed privacy.

With a start, you wonder why the hell Yoon wanted your schedule. Everyone here is wary of high-profile people. It’s a whole different experience since they basically hold your life in their hands in each session. You recall a horror story that happened when you first started working there, and still don’t know where that employee ended up.

Your only problem is that you’ve never had to deal with this before. Jay, Yoon, and a bunch of the veterans have, but this is going to be your first.

“Damn, yours is longer than mine was,” Jay observes before you squeeze your tablet to your chest. “That looks intense.”

“Umm, snoopy much?” You shift your body away from him and speed read through the very long, very wordy window. When you hit Accept, another window pops up that you have to read through. This one is even more fine print. You suddenly realize something and dart your eyes up. “Wait, you got one, too?”

Jay nods and looks away, and he actually looks nervous. “Yeah, we all got them this time.”

Now that is alarming. This client must be something else.

Window after window comes up and you wonder if you should probably read these in earnest. It’s starting to genuinely scare you.

If this is that big of a deal…

You banish that thought from your mind as soon as it appears. Elephants would have to fall from the sky before you believe someone from that group is booking you here.

You hit Accept before you realize you didn’t actually read and instead mindlessly scrolled through the prompts. As the screen buffers, you bite your lip.

The screen goes back to normal and presents your schedule for today. Your coworkers are living their normal lives, putting their stuff in their lockers and getting materials ready for various sessions. Jay is being completely normal as he can’t stop laughing at your expression.

And your life is anything but normal anymore because elephants are dropping from the clouds and the words Monday, 8am, Park Jimin are staring you right in the face.

“You mean to tell me that you cleared your morning schedule just to see my reaction?”

Jay laughs in earnest. “Yes, and it was so worth it.”

You are failing to stop bouncing your leg as you wait at one of the tables in the employee lounge. There’s a cup of coffee in front of you, but you already know you aren’t going to drink a drop of it. You are about to be in close quarters with the equivalent of a royal family member, so coffee breath is out of the question.

Suddenly self-conscious, you ask, “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“I actually do. Let me grab it.”

As your friend gets up, you scrutinize the table in front of you to avoid peoples’ lingering stares. How everyone somehow knew your upcoming client before you did was a mystery, but you don’t really care enough at the moment to find out.

Jay hands you what you asked for and you thank him before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. After you brush your teeth like a madman, you check your face for discrepancies and sigh at your choice of almost no makeup today.

You can’t help but wonder if the thirteen cracks in the sidewalk are laughing at you at this very moment.

Checking your smart watch, you realize you have either the longest or shortest 30 minutes of your life left before your appointment with Jimin.

You huff out a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. You refuse to believe this is real until you physically see him in the room. Confidentiality forms or not, the name Park Jimin or not, you still can’t wrap your head around the situation.

Speaking of the forms, you assume that they were printed out for company records as soon as you submitted yours to sign. You decide to head back to the front desk after throwing Jay his spare toothbrush, to which he responds with pure disgust.

It was like Yoon was waiting for you because as soon as you open the glass doors, she’s hounding you, “So what did you do in a past life? Did you save an emperor? Rescue a prophet?”

“I don’t know about a past life, but I did save a turtle when I was five.” You tap your fingers on the reception desk and stare at the orchids on the counter. “Or at least I thought I did. I probably just made his life harder. Can I see a copy of the forms I signed?”

“I’m gonna go with the saved prophet. Which one was it?”

“Yoon,” you beg, desperate as you glance at the abstract clock above her and see that you have 20 minutes left. A mere 20 minutes until he is supposed to arrive to check-in.

“Okay, okay! Hold on,” she chuckles and rolls her chair away from you and towards the printer. “By the way, if I wasn’t the one checking him in, I would’ve hijacked your entire day already.”

Her words are garbled since you are laser-focused on rubbing an orchid petal between your fingers. Its soft and supple touch is calming you, and just for a second, you are able to clear your thoughts.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Yoon hands you the forms. The paper is still warm as you thank her and head towards the doors.

“Oh, wait,” Yoon calls behind you, and you turn to see her grabbing another small stack of papers. When she extends them over the counter, she explains, “I was waiting until you saw your schedule to hand these over. Read through them carefully.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, even more anxious than before.

Your heart jumps into your throat when you see what Yoon handed over. You don’t even remember the walk to the back lounge and to one of the secluded tables; all you can focus on are the papers in front of you. They look like they were written on and scanned before being sent over to the wellness center.

It’s Jimin’s handwriting.

You’ve seen his penmanship before. There is no mistaking the neat, determined strokes. Even the way he checked the boxes and circled the pain points on diagrams proves very... well, him. Any other uncertainty dissolves after you see his birthday filled in, as well.

This is really happening.

You gently slam the papers on the table and hunch over to commit the information to memory. Months and months of schooling have sharpened this ability of yours, and you are determined to imagine this as just another client you have to memorize.

Light to medium pressure. Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back. Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points. Facial area priority.

A trip to the countryside right at this very moment sounds like a fantastic idea.

Jay plops into the seat in front of you, and that thought bubble bursts. “This color on your face suits you. Reminds me of what’s-his-name, Edward.”

“How much time do I have,” you question, not even acknowledging him.

“Seven minutes.”

“Of course,” you mutter before standing, the irony not lost on you. “I’ll go prep now.”

You don’t see Jay waving you off. “If you survive, I’ll see you on the other side!”

A laugh escapes you. Personally, your only goal is to make it through five minutes. If you pass away after that, you would have no regrets.

You stand behind the reception doors with your tablet to your chest, staring at the wall across the way. The subtle wallpaper pattern is a great choice for this place, you decide.

Indescribable anxiousness and fear aside, you have a job to do. As long as you keep your outside actions professional, your inner turmoil can be whatever the hell it wants. You’ve been in this profession long enough and you know you’re ready to do this. You’ve seen the whole spectrum of human emotion in this line of work. No matter how well of a job you do, there are still people that are never happy. As long as you focus on keeping the client’s wellness and health in mind, you keep your consciousness clear.

Then again, you haven’t had to deal with a client like Park Jimin before, let alone a high executive or well-known actress.

A muffled “Good morning and welcome” reaches your ears and you push yourself off the wall. The frosted glass only allows you to see so much, but you can make out a few guys standing in the front area. Two are taller and only wearing dark clothes, and the other is a bit shorter. The latter is looking to be wearing a beanie, light colored top, and dark pants.

You can’t hear anyone talking other than Yoon, but suddenly the shorter one makes his way to your doors.

It’s him. You’re absolutely sure.

Steeling your resolve, you pull your side open. With a smile, you look straight at your client’s sunglasses-and-mask-clad face and greet him just like you would anyone else, “Good morning and welcome. Am I speaking to Mr. Park?”

He stills for a second before he nods.

“Nice to meet you. We’ll be in Room 3.”

Jimin bows to you slightly and whispers a thank you, and you follow him to your room. Your heart is rattling nonstop as you note the height difference between the two of you. It isn’t as bad as you thought it was.

The door to Room 3 is already open, and when Jimin enters you stop at the entrance.

You lied earlier. None of this feels real. He’s physically in the room, and you still don’t think this is happening.

You let Jimin put his bag down on the corner chair before gliding into the formal greeting, “Since this is our first session, please let me know if there’s anything you need. I did go over your forms, but if there was something that wasn’t specified, feel free to ask. I want to make sure all of your needs are met today.”

“Your name?”

You falter. “What?” Did he just...

Jimin takes off his sunglasses, and you feel all oxygen leave your body. He’s still wearing a mask, but you can see that his eyes are creased just a tad. “It wasn’t specified on the forms. Your name?”

A part of you just chalks this up to being standard Jimin behavior, but the other part of you wonders if he really didn’t know whom he was getting a massage from. Did Yoon not tell him? Check-in is supposed to confirm your specialist.

You also note that his voice is infinitely softer in person. TV and recordings did not do this man justice.

Keeping it professional is all you must do. You tell him your name, apologizing for not introducing yourself already. It’s also on your tablet, so you show him while you talk.

Jimin leans forward to read it and smiles again. “Ah. Pretty.”

Are your five minutes up? Can you pass away now? He’s a mere six feet away from you but it feels like his presence is engulfing you.

All that escapes you is a tiny thank you. “So, mhm,” you clear your throat and yell at yourself to get it together, “Go ahead and undress down to your comfort level and lie down on the bed with the sheet on top of you. That remote there is connected to my tablet, so just take it off the charger and bring it to the bed. You can press the green button whenever you’re ready.”

Jimin looks towards the console table next to him and sees the white remote. It’s docked in a sleek charging port and stands out against the light wood. He nods, and you give him one last smile before reaching out and closing the door.

The only words your brain can process at the moment are not work appropriate, so you just go on autopilot to the employee lounge. You expected Jay or even Yoon to be chomping at your heels as soon as you left Jimin by himself, but neither of them are around. That was completely fine: employees aren’t allowed to divulge anything that goes on in client sessions unless it’s dangerous to either of you.

You help yourself to a cup of water and down it before pouring another. The fruit flavor for today is strawberry, and you watch the fruit and ice swirl around as you stir the big glass container. There are pastries and assorted breakfast foods calling your name in the clear cabinet next to you, but you refuse. Your adrenaline is hindering your appetite.

People are still giving you daggers for stares, but after seeing Jimin in person you really can’t blame them. Even when you couldn’t even see his face, you felt his presence. His aura filled up that entire room and he only spoke around ten words. It would be a lie to say that you aren’t intimidated. You can already count the number of times you almost bolted out of the room on two hands. But you made yourself proud: as long as you keep your outer actions calm, you can get through this. Your voice was fairly level for someone whose heart was bouncing out of their ribcage. In the end, you want to make him feel comfortable and safe. Emotions cannot exist right now.

Self-deprecation comes into play as you wonder if this is a huge mistake and if Jimin is already out the door to find a better therapist.

Oh, well. At least he said your name was pretty.

Your doubts are casted aside as your tablet dings.

Jimin’s ready for you.

When you enter the room, you can see that your client followed your instructions completely. You glance at the corner chair and see that he even folded his clothes and set his jewelry neatly on the thin, long table. Since Jimin can’t see you from his position, you allow a warm smile to grace your features.

You close the door as softly as you can. The way the room is designed, the clients lie down so that their head is opposite the doorway. It takes you a few steps until you reach the head of the bed. You gingerly take the remote from where Jimin placed it next to his neck and turn around to redock it, and start to dim the lights with your tablet. Per standard, you ask, “Mr. Park, is this okay, or would you like the lights lower?”

His voice is projecting straight towards the floor, but it still sounds so light, “This is good, but please, call me Jimin.”

That’s definitely not what you expected, but you are touched. You nod before realizing that he still can’t see you. “Do you have a music preference for today?”

“Whatever you prefer is fine.”

Jimin is being so agreeable that your nerves start to dissipate. You were expecting him to at least be a little particular at some things, but he is being really easy to work with. The atmosphere starts to feel safe enough for you to joke, “Well, it does depend on my mood, so for now I’ll play Standard Spa Chord Progression, No. 5 instead of No. 3.”

The small chuckle you hear melts your heart. “Ah, is that the one with the harp?”

“No, that’s Spa Concerto, No. 4. We don’t have that one in our library, but I think it’s terrible anyways.”

Jimin’s head lifts from the table in an earnest laugh, and you can’t help but laugh with him. It’s infectious.

You select a random song on your tablet, and you weren’t lying when you said it was standard. The song is less of a song and more like a bunch of reverberating chords in slow succession. That’s one thing you noticed about this place: modern tech but very outdated music. Get with the times! At least have some nice piano covers to choose from.

“Not having Spa Concerto, No. 4 may be a deal-breaker for me,” Jimin comments, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You’re still tapping on your tablet to get to his file, and you make your way back to the door. There’s a clear slot on each room’s door to hold employee tablets, and as soon as you store yours, you can finally start. “I don’t blame you, even though I think it’s awful, that one still topped the char--Oh, shit!”

You aren’t watching where you’re going, so you don’t see the shoes in your path. It’s so dim in the room and his shoes match the floor color but none of that matters because right now you are falling and you are falling fast. Your first instinct is to grab the table, but that would risk pulling the blanket off of Jimin and you would rather die than do that to him.

So, floor it is.

Your hand not holding the tablet breaks some of the fall, but your face definitely makes contact with the ground. You can feel the slight burn on your nose and hand, and a sharp lingering pain follows.

Okay, now can you pass away. Someone from the heavens can come claim you now.

Drowning in shame, you don’t help yourself off the floor right away. Not only were you breaking your rule and joking around, you also weren’t paying attention and now possibly ruined Park Jimin’s shoes.

You’ll look up good resigning practices later tonight. You have enough money saved up to make it a couple months without a job, you reckon.

When you finally lift yourself off the floor, you turn around and see Jimin pushed up on the table. His whole upper body is bare and twisted towards you, and this is the first time you see his entire face. It’s more beautiful in person, you conclude, even though it conveys nothing but concern right now. “Are you okay?”

You nod furiously and stand up completely. Your voice is shaky as you apologize, “I am so sorry. One moment.” Before checking yourself, you check your personal tablet. To say it was worth more than you isn’t that far of a reach. No scratches, though. Praise be.

“Don’t apologize… Did you trip on my shoes?”

Embarrassment washes over you as you nod, not looking at Jimin. Placing your tablet gingerly on the console table, you dust your uniform down and inspect your hands and feel your nose. Luckily, there’s no blood, only slight rug burns. If there was blood, you would have to postpone the appointment until you effectively sanitized. With what you have, you just need to go wash up.

Jimin is still watching you intently, which makes your face burn even more. What a mess. He’s probably second-guessing this whole thing.

You bow, feeling tears at the corners of your eyes. “Mr. Park, I am so sorry.”

“Jimin.”

“I’ll just need to clean my hands and then I promise we will start as soon as I get back. I know your time is valuable so I’ll make up for the minutes we lost.”

“I… Okay. Thank you.”

You make your way out of the room, still courteous enough to shut the door quietly. Rushing to the nearest sink, a small sob leaves your throat as you wring your hands under the water. Life is kind to you at this moment because no one is around. You would never live it down if someone saw you coming out of Jimin’s room crying.

After splashing water on your face and drying it, you take out a cotton pad from one of the glass containers on the counter. You press it onto your eyes, decreasing the evidence of your current state.

So much for making Jimin feel safe and comfortable. You’ve only made it awkward.

With a deep breath, you enter the room.

Jimin turns his head and puts it in the crook of his arm to look back at you. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t help you…”

You go over to his shoes and move them under the chair, wincing when you see visible tears on them. Guess you’re withdrawing a chunk of your savings to pay Park Jimin for damages.

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you state firmly, but soften, “But I’m really sorry about the shoes; I may have torn them. I can pay you back.”

You hear sheets shuffling, and when you face him, Jimin’s fully on one elbow and turned towards you. “No, please, don’t worry about those. I should’ve put them out of the way. I feel bad.”

“It’s definitely my fault,” you countered, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jimin uses your name, which stops you in your tracks. “Everything’s okay, I promise.”

You should feel many different things, like pride in getting to see this man in person, or happiness from him actually addressing you by name. But all you can think about in this moment is how disappointing you’ve been to another human being, and you sigh.

You nod, but still plan to pay him back. You know enough about designer brands to know those aren’t cheap, and they’re shoes you’ve seen him wearing a lot in photos.

“It’s okay to lie back down,” you say softly, unmoving.

Jimin searches your face one more time before settling back face-down on the table.

It’s a normal day at work, you tell yourself. Go through your routine.

Launching yourself into action, you move to the far end of the console table. Grabbing a bottle you’ve clutched so many times before that its label is wearing down, you uncap it and oil your hands and wrists. You also unstopper a bottle of lavender oil and pour a few drops into the nearby bamboo diffuser and start it.

You make your way to the head of the table and grab a rolling stool from a corner of the room. The wheels on your chair don’t make any noise, which you fixed up yourself. This day isn’t any different - it’s still silently gliding on the carpet. Plopping your devastated self onto the cushion, you scoot towards Jimin’s head. You’re about to place your hands onto his bare shoulders to start, but you whisper,

“It’s also okay if you want to cancel and reschedule with someone else, Mister--Um, Jimin.”

You can’t believe you just gave Park Jimin a way out of a whole 60 minutes with you. Where did this conviction and restraint come from? Is this going to be the regret of your entire lifetime?

After a long silence, Jimin answers with his face in the headrest, “If you call me Mister Jimin again, then I will.”

You huff out a laugh at his unexpected answer, and your shoulders finally relax. It seems like he’s still fine after everything that’s happened, and you thank any deity you can think of for this second chance.

Light to medium pressure. Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back. Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points. Facial area priority.

You aren’t a fan of light pressure, but you understand why people prefer it. Not everyone can handle the deep tissue or harder pressure massages.

Jimin’s shoulders are incredibly tense, though, so you feel bad that you’re limited in what you can do. You allow some medium pressure to the worst spots, and when you approach the insides of his shoulder blades you lessen the intensity.

Gliding your fingers back to the ridge between his neck and shoulders, you feel that his right is still tight. You use your left elbow to work that knot, careful to press even lighter than you would with your hands.

Jimin grunts, and you still. “Is that too much?”

“No, I like that.”

You keep that in mind as your hands travel over the rest of his upper back area. From time to time, you reapply the oil to allow for less friction. It lets your fingers slide deftly across muscles and quickly work any troublesome areas, which Jimin has a lot of.

It makes sense: you can’t even imagine the amount of pressure all of the boys were constantly dealing with. There was a lull in their activity recently, so you knew something was in the works. Between recording songs, shooting music videos, fulfilling their brand contracts, and whatever else they do, you’re surprised you don’t feel more knots under Jimin’s skin.

The soft chords of the next song float around the room, and you lose yourself in your movements. You can’t see his face, which makes it a lot easier. You worked through his whole upper body, neck, and upper arms area so naturally that you were admiring his wrist tattoo before remembering who you were massaging.

For the seven hundredth time that day, you cannot believe this is happening. You really hope Jimin does feel safe here despite your whirlwind of thoughts. Have you kept it professional enough? Neutral enough? He seemed to be fine with your joking earlier, and he didn’t seem upset about the shoes in the least.

But still… Maybe he was just tolerating you because it’s the same situation for him, different place and day. Putting yourself in his shoes, you would feel pity for you trying your best to accommodate him. The pressure over everyone everywhere you go had to be exhausting. It couldn’t ever be normal.

Your shoulders suddenly slump under the weight of what you feel for him.

And Jimin seems to notice. “Really, it’s okay about the shoes. Those were getting pretty worn anyways.”

You still. Of course he thought you were still fussing over the shoes and not over his life. His unending consideration was like a burning hearth: it made you feel so warm.

“Okay,” you respond softly, “I understand.”

“Good. If you worry about them again, I’m walking out barefoot,” Jimin says sternly, even though you know he’s kidding. “And don’t test me, I’ve done it before.”

Your words leave you before you think. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh?”

Jimin puts his hands on the table and you yelp, “Okay, okay, stop!”

He laughs and plops his arms back down flat. You lament as you still can see how his muscles bulge in your mind.

You shake your head and sigh before rolling to his left and softly taking his arm. His skin is so soft you don’t even need the oil, you notice. You work his forearm before moving down to his wrist and fingers. Thinking about Jimin’s threat, you are pretty curious. “Be honest: did that really happen?”

“It didn’t,” he responds immediately, “But I thought about it once. My shoes were killing my feet so I thought about walking without them until I found a shoe store.”

It sounds so childish to you that you chuckle. “Where was this,” you ask, completely intrigued now.

“Ah, I honestly can’t remember. I think somewhere in Europe.”

“...Did you just pick an entire continent because you couldn’t remember?”

“...There’s seven continents and one of them is Antarctica! Picking one out of six is easy.”

This man is something else. You finally finish off his right side, and you gingerly set his arm down on the table. With a mental pat on the back, you get ready for the next part of the routine. In your softest therapist voice, you instruct, “Okay, go ahead and turn over and slide down until your head is on the table.”

Jimin obeys right away, shifting over and moving down. The white sheet slips down his body a bit, and you diligently pull it up until it’s covering everything up to his neck. During this, you feel rather than see his eyes on you, so you don’t dare yourself to look.

You go back to your plethora of containers to re-oil, and roll your chair to the foot of the table. All that time, Jimin thankfully has his eyes closed.

You were equal parts dreading and looking forward to this part of the massage since his face was going to be visible. This way, you can’t escape the reality of the situation.

But you decided to follow the flow of the conversation. You learned the subtle nuances of human communication throughout your experiences: when people wanted to talk or stay quiet, if they were liking the conversation or not, etc. Jimin seems to be fine with talking despite your assumption that he was going to be quiet for the most part. It has definitely made this easier for you, though.

“I want to visit all seven continents one day,” you decide to admit.

“I do, too,” Jimin responds, eyes still closed. “How many do you have left?”

You start on his feet, working along the smooth skin.

“Uhh, well,” you whisper, “A good chunk. I’ve only been here and back where I’m from, and I just moved here around a year ago.”

After you tell Jimin where you were before, he sounds amazed, “You seem like you’ve lived here for so long. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He’s definitely being nice. You are just now getting decent at the language and customs, but there is still a lot you have to learn.

“But, I do want to start traveling again for a specific reason,” you divulge, sighing to yourself as you think yet again about your lofty dreams.

“Which reason is that,” Jimin asks, and you somehow know his eyes are open now.

Your own eyes betray you as you connect your gaze with his. “I want to experience different techniques in person.” You don’t know he can feel the fire behind your eyes. “There’s no better teacher than experience, at least to me. I know I’m good at what I do currently, but there’s so much out there that I want to learn and get better at.”

You debate whether to keep going or not. Jimin’s eyes are alight with curiosity, so you take that as your cue. It’s surreal that you get to talk about your dream with him of all people, so you strive to make it count. “Take music, for example: everyone agrees that music is healing, therapeutic. But, there’s so many genres, so many ways to create it. I see massage as the same way: therapeutic, but many different ways to make people feel better.”

Jimin is silent as he tears his gaze from you to look at the ceiling. You concentrate on his ankles, working them as delicately but effectively as you can. A part of you wants to keep talking, but you don’t want to push it. You may have said too much as it is.

The next song has soft chimes to accompany the rippling chords. Lavender wafts through the air and quells your nerves. You continue to Jimin’s lower legs and glide your fingers along the flow of his muscles. When you feel a break or disturbance, you stop and tend to it until you feel it’s balanced. After his lower legs are done, you move on to his thighs. You feel tightness all over, and you apply medium pressure to these areas because of how much muscle they contain.

Jimin’s legs are a work of art on the outside, but so chaotic on the inside. The chakra highways are disjointed, and you have worked through so many kinks in the roads. If you imagine yourself as someone walking down a path, you are stopping every 10 steps to smooth over a pothole or breakdown a hill in the way. You can’t see how this person can even walk, let alone perform on stage like this. All of them never cease to amaze you.

“Where would you start?”

Jimin’s sudden inquiry throws you. You swear he was silent for a good ten minutes. “What?”

His eyes are glued to the ceiling still. “Which places do you want to visit? Like, where would you go to learn?”

“Well…” You are almost too stunned to speak. He has been thinking about what you said this whole time? Aren’t there plenty of more important things he needs to be thinking about right now? “There’s this technique called amma that originates in Japan, and there’s an American technique called esalen that I want to learn, too. I think that one is from California.”

On a high from Park Jimin’s interest in your life, you ramble about a few more, your voice getting more animated the more you talk about different things. It can’t be helped; you’ve been passionate about traveling and learning for so long. You’ve just never been able to really try it since money was part of the equation. Or more so out of the equation. In addition, you didn’t really get to talk about it with anybody. No one’s actually asked. But somehow, Jimin did.

When you realize you actually stopped massaging his thigh, you look up in horror to apologize, “Oh, I am so sorry - I didn’t mean to stop.”

Jimin’s head is turned to the side, his hair falling into his eyes. The smile gracing his face is soft. “It’s okay,” he assures you, “I feel much better already anyways.”

Your cheeks flush before he even stops talking. “That’s good,” you whisper, “We’re almost done so I would hope so.”

“What!” Jimin’s eyes dart to the clock on the table. It’s already 8:50am.

That saddens you a lot more than it should.

“On second thought: I feel tense in my hand, I think you need to go back and redo it. Here.” He’s extending his right hand towards you as if to shake hands, and you laugh.

“Nice try, Jimin,” you say, “But I do need to work on your face for the last part. Close your eyes for me, please.”

He stares at you for a second before obeying. The smile from earlier makes a return.

You roll your chair back to the head of the bed and plop down. Jimin’s face is angelic even upside-down, and you pray to the heavens that you massage it perfectly.

When you start, you quip, “See? You’re so happy we’re almost done.”

“No, no!” Jimin laughs. “That’s not it. You just called me Jimin - it was nice.”

“Oh.” You swear steam is billowing from your head. How can he affect you so intensely? And how were you keeping yourself together?

With the resolve of a thousand emperors, maybe including one you probably did save in a past life, you steady your hands on his temples. Rubbing in delicate circles, you start the last segment.

Face massages are your favorite. Even the smallest movements are invigorating, and you feel very refreshed after one.

“When I come back, Spa Concerto, No. 4 better be available.”

You smile. There’s no way Jimin will be back, but you appreciate his friendly nature.

“It’s not even all that great, but I’ll let them know,” you play along. “I’m more of a piano person, though. There’s a lot of piano covers saved in my phone that are way better.”

Jimin’s eyes flash open at the same time he proclaims, “Ah, I love piano covers! Especially on rainy days.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, “I can listen to those all the time.”

Your heart drops like a stone as you glance at the clock and see your time is up. The hour absolutely flew by. Dropping your eyes back onto Jimin’s face, you take your hands off his cheeks and say, “Okay, that’s the end of our session today.” You get up to dry your hands and lower arms with a cloth while going over the last steps, “I’ll leave you to get dressed, and I’ll come back to the room to give you water and some stretch and wellness recommendations moving forward. Just press the green button on the remote when you’re ready, like last time.”

When you turn back to him, Jimin’s fully propped up with his hands behind him. The blanket over him is draped across his body, just enough to cover his ribs. He’s smiling right at you as he speaks, “Thank you. You’re really good.”

You bow in thanks, face lighting up like wildfire. “You were great, too,” you comment in return, immediately cringing inside. “I’ll be back when you’re ready for me.”

Right after you leave clients is when you start filling out their evaluation and wellness recommendations on your tablet. You just worked on them, so the memories are fresh. The forms are a mix of multiple choice and fill-in, and you recommend some specific stretches and deeper pressure for Jimin.

This time, Jay is in the employee lounge when you come in to wait. His legs uncross and he pops up from one of the modern loveseats that are just as firm as they look. “She’s alive!”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the flush in your cheeks. “I’m here, but barely,” you chuckle, your tablet dangling in your hand by your side, “I still can’t believe that actually happened.”

Jay leans in so that no one can hear what he has to say, which makes you suspicious since there’s no one around you. In a low voice, he reveals, “Yoon and I made a bet.”

“Wonderful,” you drawl, “I’m gonna walk away now.” You can already tell this is one-hundred percent not in your favor.

“No, wait!” His whisper is loud. He bounces after you to the water and food station. While you fix yourself a cup, he continues, “Yoon thinks you’ll get done with the appointment unscathed, but I think you’ll come out of it with a problem.”

Jay’s words remind you like alarm bells.

You need to pay Jimin for damages.

“Oh, shit, I need to get something,” you say in a rush, grabbing your tablet off the food station and scurrying to the locker room. In the wellness center, the employee lounge is in the back, and the locker room is in the back of the lounge. You think you still have time before Jimin is ready.

There’s a notebook you keep in your bag along with a pencil case. Tearing a sheet from the notebook, you write down what you think is a good estimate for the shoes. Before you write anything else, you pause.

You only skimmed through the confidentiality prompts, but you do remember a section about personal information. Therapists aren’t allowed to give out their personal information unless specifically asked, and there has to be solid intent behind the client asking. Jimin didn’t need to ask you for yours; he just said not to worry about it.

After a good thirty seconds of your pen lingering above the paper, your tablet chimes.

A split second decision has you crumpling the paper and chucking it in your bag. You tear out a new sheet and tuck it with the pen under your tablet as you head back to Room 3.

You get to the room with a paper cup of water you grabbed on the way, and since you have things in both hands it’s a bit difficult getting the door open. You try the handle but it only jiggles a bit. One more try has you pushing the door right as the handle gives, and it works.

Jimin goes to you immediately when he sees your hands full, and you almost reel back from having him so close. Which should be odd, since you were literally just with him for a full hour, and he was not fully clothed. In the end, his presence alone is enough to affect you no matter the situation.

You extend the cup to him and he grabs it with a small thank you.

“I filled out your evaluation and it should be printed at the front already. Make sure to drink more water after you leave,” you say with a smile, your chest heavy. This was most likely the last interaction you would ever have with him.

Jimin nods, his mask covering his smile but not his eyes. He doesn’t say anything more.

You almost leave it at that, but something in you doesn’t want this moment to end, so you take your chance. “And, umm,” you stutter as you fumble with the pen and paper. You just lay your tablet on the massage table to free your hand, and click the pen open. “How much should I pay you,” you ask, your gaze ironically on the very shoes you tripped over earlier.

Jimin sets his cup down on the console table before taking the paper and pen from your hands. You watch him write something - a price in Won most likely - as you explain, “I’m a big believer of making things right, so please let me pay for your shoes. I should’ve seen them on the ground.”

He folds the paper and hands it back to you with the pen. “If you insist. But don’t check this until you get home.”

“What, why?” Your eyes dart to his face.

Jimin stares at you before responding, “Nothing bad. It just might shock you.”

Immediately, your gaze lowers. If you tell anyone how your day went today, you would think they were weird if they believed you. If you tell anyone why you’re suddenly broke come this Wednesday, they would be lying if they just went with it. “Okay, I won’t,” you assure him, and you’re telling the truth. You are equal parts surprised and nervous that he’s allowing you to pay him back.

With a deep breath, you give Jimin your best soft smile. Your heart is hurting as you send him off, “Well, it was a pleasure. Have a great rest of your day, Jimin. Until next time.” You catch yourself in a sea of emotion as your words die on your tongue. The boys have schedules on schedules, so the likelihood of him stepping foot inside this wellness center again is minuscule at best.

If anything, you’re grateful that you get to address him by name, and you succeeded in making this as smooth and safe as possible for him. At the expense of a scraped nose and hand, but rather you than him.

Jimin hoists his bag on his shoulder, the water cup you gave him already in the trash bin. He walks right up to you and stands there, and you swear both of you can hear your heart beating. One of his hands comes up to his masked face, and he speaks softly as he advises, “Ointment will help your nose if it still hurts.”

Warmth blooms in your chest and cascades all the way to your fingertips. Mirroring him, you bring a hand up to your nose and nod. Your words tumble out, “Oh, yes, you’re right. I can check if we have any in the back.”

Satisfied, Jimin nods. “Until next time,” he offers, his eyes creased and warm.

You smile again and bow slightly. He puts on his shades before heading out the door frame and into the hall, and you feel emptiness in his wake. The world is fuzzy around your vision and you are trying so hard to commit everything that just happened to memory.

Until the doors to front reception close, you watch Jimin’s retreating back. When the frosted doors close shut, you close your own door to Room 3 and lean against the wooden frame. The scrap of paper is creased in your hand as you clutch it to your hammering chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. It takes a good minute for you to compose yourself before pushing off the door and getting the room stripped and ready for the next session. The whole time, you replay everything in your head.

Jimin was just as nice as you have seen him through the lens of cameras. If that was the case, all of them had to be the same way. You are proud to like these wonderful people.

You’re so happy you got to actually spend all this time with him, but that just magnifies the sadness you feel when it’s over.

The room is done and cleaned up, and you go through the rest of the day on autopilot. Not even Jay’s constant teasing could free you from your euphoria-numbed state. The only thing that throws you back into focus is Yoon, and it happens at the very end of the work day.

You push open the doors to front reception, and smile big at your friend behind the counter. She’s beaming right back at you, and she puts her chin in her hand and shakes her head.

“That must’ve been one hell of a message,” she says through a barely contained smile.

Your hand flies to your forehead and you nod. “I can’t believe that happened, Yoon. I mean, it was really him. Opportunity of a lifetime… I just hope he enjoyed the whole thing.”

“You could say that,” she chuckles, “Enough to book you again, at least.”

What?

“He did?” Your breath leaves you in a rush. “If you’re joking with me, I’ll--”

“--He did. It’s not for a long time, but he asked for you specifically.” Yoon gathers papers in her hand and starts to organize them in the containers behind her. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“Love you, too,” you whisper, your head completely above the clouds. You grab your phone and start checking your schedule from the wellness center app you have installed. Grabbing the door handle, you absentmindedly wave back to Yoon and call out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The sun emits a golden glow at this hour, and the glass buildings along the street bask in its shine. You head towards your bus stop while skimming your calendar for Jimin’s next appointment, but you’re already four months out and see nothing. Not losing hope, you keep going and see a booking six months in advance. Your heartbeat skips as you click on the appointment, and almost skids to a halt when you see his name written down.

As soon as you enter your small apartment, you head straight to your bed and drop your bag on the comforter. Your whole body bounces as you plop yourself down next, and you stare straight at the ceiling.

Your life is still normal, right? Sure, you were able to spend an entire hour with Park Jimin, but that didn’t mean you aren’t still completely and utterly average.

You close your eyes and go back to Room 3. The scent of lavender fills your nostrils and you can still see his number tattoo as plain as day as you massage his wrist.

In all honesty, it still feels like a fever dream. That was someone else’s life you were able to live, someone else there with Jimin and you just decided to hitch along for the ride.

But that was real, and so is the amount of money you still need to withdraw from your bank account.

With a sigh, you reach into your bag and take out the piece of paper. You were dreading this moment all day since he left. Unfolding it, you prepare for the worst.

But all you can do is stare.

Jimin didn’t write down a price at all.

Your name is at the top, and the rest is as follows:

Save your money for traveling and learning new things, not on me. I can’t wait to see what you’ve learned when we meet again.

a/n: thank you for reading! if you guys have any comments or feedback, please feel free to let me know!

#text #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts fics #jimin fics #room 3 jimin #room 3 #ryen writes #member: jimin #long post #grammy nominated singer fic!!#ryenwrites

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