#Its surreal putting these side by side...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

One year later redraw!

Wake up! Your legacy is in shambles!

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[starshipsofstarlord]

divine like aged wine | daryl dixon

summary. daryl begins to feel like you will get bored of him sooner or later as he is older than you, and starting to show his age. you show him just how much that doesn’t matter, and that despite the grey hairs and looming wrinkles, that you still love him (6.2k)

warnings. smut, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, praise, slight hair pulling, insecure!daryl, older!daryl + younger!reader (reader is mid 30s, daryl is mid 50s), age gap relationship, mentions of death, angst, fluff

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The silhouette that Daryl saw in the mirror was a different man than who he had once been, he was no longer the young tracker that he was at the beginning of the outbreak. He’d aged, and there were clear staples in his appearance that made that evident. His hair was waved with its grown out length, and he carried the definition of crows feet around his eyes; his eyes that had witnessed so much misery, that had cried when he had mourned those lost.

He was bulkier, his arms held memorised muscle from his tactical efforts of taking down walkers and fighting the bad men and disastrous women that wished to cause pain in order to earn themselves power through the transpiring impact of fear. But that weight that rested either side of his torso had also brought additional huskiness to his stomach, he was no longer slender and lean like he had been when he had met you, he was a unit of the world’s making, and he was losing his appetite from looking at himself.

It would be a sin to deny the prize of food, he was aware of that, considering that in the past tense he had to survive days without consuming a meal, and you were preparing the finest dining that you could effectively make in the dim reality of the apocalypse. Years had gone by and he’d never once taken in his appearance so sullenly, but the chaos had calmed for the moment, and his thoughts were entangling in his insecure peripheral. Perhaps he could eat less, he thought to himself, understanding that there were men in better shape than him whom would risk their life to be sat at the dining table by your side.

Daryl squinted his eyes at the version of him that appeared in the bathroom mirror, the act bringing more attentive focus to the scar that ran down the left side of his face. It was on the right in the crafted glass which opposed the realistic truth, and he raised his hand to slant his fingertips against the damaged flesh. It was best for him not to turn, he was focally aware of the scars which were imbedded with cruel love upon his back’s damaged canvas. If he told himself that he was not troubled goods, he’d be lying to himself, he was imposed with the tragically acclaimed boulder of daunting tragedy casting a bland and aging shadow across his entire being.

The towel hung lowly on his wide hips, shielding the appendage that fuelled his testosterone from his own belittling view. He didn’t want to change into his everyday clothing, he’d have to discard the material that concealed half of his body and see another mound of flaws that made his heart heavier. He was lost in the time frame in which he had been discriminating his body, it had felt as though everything had been put on pause around him. But that was idly not the certified case, the soft approaching footfalls met with his ears before the door creaked to be ajar, and Daryl whipped around on the intrusion.

It was the first time that he in fact minded being interrupted following a shower by you, he’d never once flinched at your presence, and that made a light frown appear on your surprised complexion. He had been too cooped up in picking apart all the things that he did not like about his form that he had almost forgotten that you had expected him to return to you in the kitchen, and he felt surreally guilty that you had walked in on him during such a disappointing moment. “Is everything alright Daryl?” Your tone made it clear that you were concerned, and that emotion was only emphasised when he drew his gaze to the floor.

As he did so he realised that even his feet had scuffs and blisters on them, and he felt repulsed. He was attuned with the morals that he followed, but he hated the capsule of flesh that he was trapped in whilst he routinely kept somehow striving onwards. Before there had hardly been a moment where he could ponder on all the things that he despised of himself, but now there was, he realised that he had a dislike towards everything that his body had grown into. “‘m fine.” His words were not convincing, Daryl did not give you the chance however to get a conforming answer, he strode out of the bathroom, gripping his towel around himself with tight fingers as he fled from your view.

You stood there in your lonely and confusedly adjourned suffering, misunderstanding the cold attitude you had seemingly earned. All you had clambered the stairs to find Daryl was so that you could inform him that supper was ready, but he had slunk away into your bedroom, taking up the efforts of closing said door behind his retreat. Your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared into the mirror, your saddened reflection gazing tiredly at you, feeling fruitless in your attempts to make the man that you loved happy. Maybe he had fallen out of love with you, you thought with solemn afflictions, knowing that if he had it would still be impossible to hate him.

The behaviour that Daryl was displaying was strange, and you felt as though you were the root for the cause, especially since he had been aiming his attention in any direction but you. With a shaky sigh you ran your hands through your hair, tidying up the frizzed strands that had moved on their own accord from the heat of the stove. Spite boiled up inside of you as you saw your first mere strand of grey, however you held it in, shaking your head softly as you realised that there were bigger problems in the current world than your own appearance. You were in your mid thirties, making you roughly twenty years more youthful than your lover.

It had never been a problem before, your age that was, it had barely come up in conversation. With a surrender towards Daryl wishing to be left alone, you trudged back down the stairs, eating your meal by yourself and enclosing the portion that you had spared for him in a tupperware container, assuming that he would venture downstairs to eat it later. But later never came, the house remained indignantly silent and still throughout the falling dusk, and you twiddled your fingers with nerves. He needed some time to mull whatever was racketing through his brain over, and you wanted to give that to him, and so you pulled a blanket onto the couch, deciding that was where you were to lay your head tonight.

Dog curled up on your midsection, and you ran a numb hand along his back, ruffing up the fur and then smoothing it down. He was nuzzled atop of you, his chin curled in the crook of your neck, gifting you with more warmth than the blanket with. The company of the loyal canine made you feel a tad better from the distantness that Daryl had treated you with, your brain mulled over the situation as you drifted out of consciousness, feeling dread for the approaching morning. You would discover the rouse that was clouding Daryl's brain, and aid him in fixing whatever was broken within it. As you closed your eyes and drifted off, you were oblivious to Daryl's presence descending down the stairs.

The bowman watched your peaceful slumber without disturbing you, his weapon of standard choice draped over his shoulder with its leather strap. He felt guilty leaving the house in the night when you were asleep, but he found solace in clearing his head through the art of hunting. To be outside the walls was something that he had always favoured, and whilst this was his home and so were you, he was aware that he was in dire need to screw his head on straight. It wasn’t fair for him to take his toll of insecurity out on you, and guilt bubbled within him from his sudden exit from the bathroom previously.

He was now draped in his outdoor wear, the same damming boots slung on his feet that had given him those gnarly blisters. There was no time for rest, he thought solemnly, it would only enforce the fact that he was growing older in your mind, and that wasn’t how he wanted you to picture him. He wanted to be the lean, protective redneck that he once was, the one that you had met during the outbreak. There was a dwindling twine of sadness that harboured within him, there was no situation where he could go back into the far past, he’d been too preoccupied with searching for a future in which you would all survive that he hardly had a chance to glance backwards.

But now the calm of the storm had set, he had that opportunity, and he resented the journey that had drifted him into the arms of safety. Your arms would be the angelic wings that would console him, but admitting his insecurities would only damage the exterior that he had built up throughout the difficult years. His age was the threat that grabbed with ferocity at his throat, with each passing 365 days his body was now growing weaker, slowing down only had the capability of enforcing the democratic, virtuous stance of becoming a senior citizen.

He wished to bend down and press a featherlight kiss to the brim of your forehead before he departed, though he would be swindled with repenting guilt if he were to wake you, and so he plodded by his lonesome out the front door, Dog watching his fleeing footsteps with one eye open. The weight that pressed infinitely down onto his shoulders did not lessen as he stalked away, his eyes were withdrawn from anything that he could fixate on, he was relevantly seeking out a distraction in his mind. There was a subdued ache in his knee, and he had gotten used to the afflicting discomfort despite it making him feel eons older. He assured that the door closed with nothing more than the click of the flattened hinge, and Dog's ears pricked up from the sound, though he remained across your torso.

The sonnet of chorusing crickets rattled their legs against their emerald wings outdoors, the symphonised ruckus leading you to peel your eyes open. It was still fairly early in the morn, the dawning sunbeams casting shapes and dusty shadows across the wooden floorboards. Dog remained atop of you, groaning with a tiresome tone as you shuffled beneath him, removing yourself from the horizontal position that you had slept in so that you could simply be seated on the aged couch. You felt disdained, there was an enveloping silence in the house, and as you drifted your gaze over to the front door, you could only release a defeated sigh. Whilst the door remained in its closed state, the scarred boots that fit Daryl's feet and his companioning crossbow had vanished from their placements.

Daryl had left. Left you and your home to find the flavour of solace elsewhere, and you were conveyed with regretful sadness; you should have assured him that he was able to open up to you, followed him earnestly until you were assured that he was fine. The youngest Dixon was the man that you had heartedly fallen for, and whilst the deterrences that he had faced had impacted him, he was still the one that you loved. With shaky hands you brushed your knuckles under your eyes, refraining any tearful emotion from sloping down your face in the form of beaded salt. There was something the matter, and it was upon you in dutiful position to uncover what it was.

You remained seated, Dog beside you as you waited and waited. However your head instantaneously whipped to the side as you heard the door moan to be ajar, and watched as Daryl entered your home with the look of failure written in irritated scripture on his face. He’d been out hunting, it was clear from his attire and stance, however there was no game strung to his belt loops, it was starved from any prey. Daryl dared not glance at you, despite how besotted with you he was - he just wasn’t good enough, those words repeatedly whirled in his brain like a thorn stuck in his side. This time though, you were not going to let the silence create a divided space between the both of you, and so you stood, and crossed the entry way into the living space. Dog retreated from his seating, first going over to greet Daryl before excusing himself, no doubt going to rest on your bed in peace.

“Talk.” The command was missing the pressure that the word often enforced by it, instead your tone was as light as a feather, it brushed across his ears in a gentle caress that tickled his senses, and you hoped that it did not provoke his problem once more. You reached out with your palm, holding his jaw with sweet exasperation as you angled his irises to connect the dots with your own. “Whatever the matter is D, communicate it with me. I’m here to listen, it’s give and take in this relationship, so don’t, for the love of god, do not shut me out.” He wasn’t going to back away this time, the sigh that he released with fruitless despair stated as much. Even though he was evading direct eye contact, he licked his dry lips as he began to speak, his sentence breaking your heart into helpless smithereens.

“I’m gettin’ old, sunshine, an’ one of these days, you’re gonna get bored of me.” There was a somber cast across his blue paned irises, derived from his prevailing insecurities that gripped him suffocatingly tight. “An’ that’s alrigh’ if yer do, I get it. Jus’ wanna be with ya fer as long as I can.” The rolling pebble of emotion drifted down his waterline, despite the irony of him leaving to hunt. Perhaps it was his sorrowful minded thinking of lessening the blow on himself of the departure that would inhibit him from losing you, though his brain’s protective coping mechanisms were righteously silly, as you had not once had the intention of ever abandoning Daryl, and you never would.

“We’re all aging honey,” you proclaimed, copiously understanding that the toll in which your partner was experiencing were enhanced due to him being your elder age wise. But since the beginning of the outbreak, none of you were as youthful as you had began your walker killing journey on, and since being induced with every inkling of distasteful grievances that outlined your persons, you certainly all appeared older than your first scuff of survival. “And that is definitely not a flaw; we’ve lived through years of shit that has been thrown out of blue at us, and we are the ones who have lived through it. You are still Daryl Dixon, the man that I love and will always love. Your age does not define what you mean to me, and it never will. I have fought my ass off to remain beside you, and there is nobody, nobody else that I would rather have settled down with. We aren’t young any more, and there’s nothing wrong with that, we’ve grown older together, and I intend to grow even older with you until our last days.”

Daryl was possessed by speechlessness, his tongue felt like it was trapped by the sharp indent of a pin that held it to the bottom of his mouth, he was strongly relieved that was your point of your view on his mental qualms, though there were still some sirens springing a constant, nightmarish lullaby in his head. “Bu’-“ He felt as though his insistent problems may irritate you after your consoling speech, and he did not want to rouse the need for your forgiveness in the air. But he could not in-debt himself with remaining quiet now, not since he had opened his worrisome rambling heart up to you. “You still attracted ta me though? I’ve got all those ol’ scars, an’ I’ve got wrinkles now, an’ I ain’t as fast on my feet as I used ta be.”

“Daryl, honey.” You braced your hands on the same biceps that were often once flaunted by his torn sleeveless flannels, holding him steady as you leant your face closer, the tips of your noses tapping against each other. “None of that makes you any less beautiful to me, it shows that you have survived an eerily long time, and I cherish anything that you see as a flaw in yourself. Because to me, you don’t have any flaws, sure sometimes there’s decisions you make that I don’t agree with, but we all do things in the spur of the moment. And in no moment will I up and leave you for a singular reason, as there is nothing that you could do or have upon your flesh that could ease everything that I feel toward you.” You words were viper sharp with passion, and in the midst of your sentimental wording, your bodies had drawn against one another, in the proximity that you never took advantage of. Just being close to Daryl was a gift, there was a whim of it being the last time, and so you made sure that you made the most of it.

“I love you woman, more than I ever thought I could.” He traced the outline of your form with comforted serenity, his hands picked your own in the clasp of his unshackled wrists, as his thumbs stroked across the back of them. “An’ there ain’ nothin’ that could stop me from worshippin’ ya. Yer sweeter than those nasty berries that you and Maggie planted, an’ more peaceful than watching the river brush over itself.” His face lowered, as he nudged the hair out of your adoration filled expression, kissing you with vigorous need. You participated with as much necessity, as you breathed heavily through your nose for oxygen access. Your body was endorsed by the coursing adrenaline that travelled within your veins, your heart was palpitating uncontrollably in your chest from the premise of a sexual endeavour with the only man in the world that you were so enamoured with.

Releasing his hands, you gripped his locks, tugging at the rooted strands as Daryl cupped your waist with sensual desire. Your mouths were copiously in sync, moulded together in blissful animosity, as you devoured every inch of controllable humanity that rested in your skeletal bodies. He moaned into your mouth as you gave one last defying tug to the brunette strands attached to his scalp, before your fingers inadvertently danced with poisoned temptation upon the metal buckle of his belt. You laughed lightly as you gave yourselves a momentous breath from locking lips, as you unshackled the entrapment that encircled his waist, allowing the combination of metal and leather to fall to the ground. “Boots off too?” You enquired, and Daryl smiled, loving how well you knew him, the blisters were excruciating although he had masked the biting pain whilst you were orally entangled in arousing physicality.

“Yeah.” He smiled, his cheekbones becoming brightly prominent during the emphasis of his lips; with you he felt truly happy, more so now that he knew that you accepted him with age riddling his entirety. “Take ‘em off sunshine.” His tone was as smooth as a block of farmhouse butter, and you were attuned to the fact that he was not referring to his tattered footwear. With the tasking tips of your fingertips, you drew down the teeth of his zipper on the jeans that he wore, descending the metal partition lower until the top of his trailed abdomen was exposed, and the tough denim became looser around his waist. The coil of starving lust swirled around in your stomach as you shimmied the hugging fabric lower until his precum ebbed length sprung up from its aroused state. He needed this, and you, and whilst he often had the preference of being the giver in these situations, he was captivated with the notion of being the centre of your devoted attention.

Daryl always looked out for others, it was a loyal tendency that he hadn’t ever relinquished, and he felt proud with you being the focal point of his priorities, though it was admittedly nice for him to feel cherished by your body and mind. His hips surprisedly jolted as you wrapped your hand around the thick girth of his cock, the contact causing an array of hormones to shoot out from the core of his apocalyptic designed being. Air rasped in puffs inwards and outwards from his mouth as you stroked him, your motions being made up from slow and teasing intentions. You wanted him to feel like he was about to burst, he had to feel alive, which was the most important part of surviving as if there was no other time to breathe a last breath. The tip of his cock was a deep hue of pink like a well gardened rose petal, precum leaking from the slit at the very top.

Daryl’s arousal rarely was as apparently throbbing in the visual aspect department in comparison to the present; his length would usually already been sheathed within one of your pleasurable spots, such as your mouth or cunt. Patience was not a virtue to either one of you, however you wished to admire every inch of his ridged flesh, as its weight was balanced in perfect disposition upon your palm. The desire to taste his supple flesh was crawling down your spine in a stoking manner, causing bumps of paralleled anticipation to outline the shape of your vulnerable human skin. You were salivating, the moisture wafted around your tongue as you leant closer to Daryl’s shaft, the swelling waiting time lessening as you opened your mouth to take his length within its oral capacity.

“F-fuck.” His accented whisper was strewn ruggedly out from his lips as he bit stubbornly at his bottom one from the sensations that raptured his soul that had felt weakened by the clouding insecurities that bereaved any whisper of judgment into a contorted flaw which made him significantly lesser than he had once been. The feeling of your supple lips gliding down his length and towards the base of his wide cock made his mind become clouded from the affects of euphoria, it was a paradise of escape from the qualms that he often faced, and he was physically too weak to push your head away from his most personal area of his form. The large tip finally reached the back of your throat, and you swallowed down the instinct to gag, instead forcing your body’s primal limitations to continue applying pleasure to the man that you so wholly adored.

This was to be about him, and you found it to be your own duty to ensure it remained so, stretching your tongue out from beneath the heavenly weight of his cock to stroke farther down the parts of his shaft that you couldn’t quite accommodate to fit into your mouth. Your cheeks ached in a delightful way as your lips were stretched around his width, and you had to focus your breathing through your nostrils as there was no route for airflow to make passage through your mouthful of him. In a gentle notion, one of your hands found purchase around his balls, lightly stroking the skin to grant the man that you called your own more pleasure.

Sweat framed his brow, glistening beneath the dim lighting as it trickled upon his temples, his teeth gnawing frustratedly upon his bottom lip, peeling at the blood flushed flesh. This was the solace he needed, not the sexual advances of your warm, wet mouth, though he wasn’t to to complain about your heavenly lips, but you in your entirety, accepting and loving him as the same. It had riddled him with an anxiety that had rattled his bones throughout thinking that he was naught enough, contorting his mindset into one of wallowing in silence and submission that he never would be.

He was attained to wearing his flaws unto his sleeve, although you had finally brought silence to the insistent pacing of his mind. And though his body was tensed, it was for an alternative reason, as he fought off the inexplicable ending that his body would succumb to with a physical release. The motive to vanquish all tension from his body was upon him, barrelling through his veins in strokes of pleasure as your tongue danced over his sensitive flesh, but he relented, taking mouthfuls of air as he staved off from surrendering to emptying his seed into your mouth.

You were intoxicated by the careless sonnets that ripped out from his chest, they were almost that of a beast than a man. He was becoming feral, you could feel as much as his sack tightened, ready to spend all that lay within. But surprise chortled you as Daryl leant decisively backwards, pushing your head away from his nethers attentively, grasping lovingly at the line of your jaw. “Somethin’ wrong, honey?” You spoke now that your mouth was vacant of his length, ogling up at him with eyes that adored to take in his appearance, not only in moments like this.

Everything felt better now that you had consoled him with the assurance that you had no intentions of abandoning him in the now nor future, and he wanted to repay your kindness with his own actions, that too would bring him a simple man’s sin of gluttonous pleasure. He lightly pulled you up by your arms, bringing you closer to his height, his lips flush from the rotation of blood in his body that you had caused. “Nah.” Daryl answered, eyes trailing across each curve that shaped your figure with his heart practically in his throat. “Not a single thing, jus’ need ta be inside ya sunshine.”

It would be the most secure embrace that would ground him to his very core, a haven from all the shit that surrounded the both of you. Times like this reminded Daryl that the difference in age between the both of you in fact was not crucial, though sometimes it did numb his mind with it as a distraction. He pulled you to him, laying you delicately on the couch as though you may break, because you were fragile, but not in the literal sense he knew. There was nothing in the world that he cherished more than you, you were his slice of peace in the fucked up reality that you both endured, and he would be damned if he cracked any mental or physical attribute that your soul attained.

You resumed your battle of tongues, playfully biting his bottom lip that stirred an animosity within him, driving him forwards to clamber over your body, pressing himself closely to you, but it was still not close enough. His hands slithered downwards, pulling with uncoordinated vigour at your pants, appreciating the aid you granted him with removing them. He was consumed by his supple lust, a man hungered for the need to be connected with the woman who he loved. All that remained was your panties that concealed you from him, and he had little patience to toy with them.

And so he tore them from your hips, the cotton splitting in two from his lack of restraint, a half in each hand which he discarded on the floor, having peeled away all of the layers that kept your sex hidden from his gaze and touch. His digits could not resist in feeling the slick that had gathered upon your core, created from the image of him lost in his pleasure. It astounded him that your attraction to him could make you so drenched, practically lathered in a river of lust; even if he was aging you found him to be as beautiful as a deity, weathered by survival but still regarded among the gods. Though he didn’t see it, and you did, there was no other man remaining in the world that was like him, he was a perished breed of human that remained on the earth. A survivor, hardened by time but continually fighting for the beliefs that formed layers around his soul.

“Stop teasing Daryl. I thought you needed to be inside me.” His previous words spat desperately from your tongue, as you regarded him with an impatience to feel all of him. It was merely torturous waiting to feel every inch of him within your cunt, even as he adjusted himself, taking a grasp of his shaft and angling it to slide down to your entrance that was yearning to be stretched open by his length. He sung a groan out as he felt how much your body desired him against the tip of his cock, he wanted to bury himself within your heavenly warmth and become doused in the comfort that the tightness of you wrapped around him allowed him to surrender to.

His movement was slow yet backboned with intent as he pushed into you, breathing out a strung out breath that had built in his chest for far too long. He had felt inflicted by the consciousness of his wilting appearance the last handful of times that you had made love together, and he had hidden that voice. It had been imprisoned in the corners of his mind, and he had tried with determination to push it away but it had not yielded. But all he had required to dull the commenting thoughts that digressed his own body was you to pour your adoration onto him despite the flaws that he resented. “Fuuuuck.”

The tone of his voice was gravelly, stripped down by the raw emotion that he felt. Your nails imbedded themselves into his shoulder blades, sketching crescent moons into his clothed flesh as your head sank deeper into the seating of the couch. A moan was strangled out from your throat from the pleasure that sparked in your midsection as he pushed deeper into you, until he was filling you with his entirety. “You feel so- fuck, fucking good baby.” The praise that you bestowed upon Daryl lit him up like a flame, a depraved hunger danced behind his eyes like burning embers. From your words, he leaned back, his hands on either side of your head and pulled back, only to push straight back into your pussy, bringing both of you ample pleasure.

There was nothing that could compare to being so close to the man that raked his hips to pivot against your own, his pace building as the explosions of ecstasy transcended between your bodies like a cycled blood transfusion. Not a single thing. Each movement was an act of pristine intimacy, a link that blessed your vessels with the passion of having the ability to be so vividly close to one another. “So do you s-sunshine.” Daryl hissed out, having forgone thinking about a singular qualm that had blinded his perception of how lucky he was in this reality. He had survived this far, and not only that, but you had too, giving you the chance of a life together throughout the maelstrom like carnage that had changed the entire planet for eternity.

He felt his tongue become drowned by the gruff noises that it permitted to leave him, responding to each whimper and keen and moan that released from your parted, panting lips. His brow bone was tense with a frown put together by focus, as he stared down at your face, pride swelling in his chest as he had the knowledge that it was him giving you rolling waves of pleasure to spin uncontrollably throughout your veins. Your arousal coated him, making it far more easier to slide in and out of your succulent walls, they parted for him each time from the accustomed entry that you always granted him. He knew that he never had to worry about another man being in his position, he couldn’t imagine it, and nor could you from the blissful contortion that rested heavily and without care on your features.

“Getting close Dar.” The information was heaved out from puffs of air, your lips mindlessly moving even when words were not falling from them. Daryl too could feel the oncoming tide of his own release, it crept up on him like a hunting predator, staving off the kill until the prime opportunity presented itself. There was plenty of things that he was still not certain of in this world, but one that he was sure of was that he was going to ensure that you came first - as he always did. Daryl’s body continued to move, spinning the room out of focus for your eyes as he continued his motions, staggering his pace just a little, but not too much so that the looming of your high would not collapse and crumble.

Your legs bound themselves strictly around his waist, your teeth clenching as spots swayed in your vision, peppering the sight of the man fucking you with pixels of black and grey. He had you where he wanted you, topping over the edge of your orgasm as it transpired around you like an aura. He thought selfishly that he was pleased that no other soul had witnessed you appear so distracted, you were always on guard when out of the confines of your home, aware that the unexpected could traipse upon you at any second that it desired. “You getting there?” Too fucked out to form full sentences, you tangled your hands in his hair, and that seemed to pull the trigger within him.

The sound of your name escaped Daryl’s lips as he buried his head into the safety of your throat, spreading little kisses against your skin as his tension dissolved. Ropes of his seed spilled within you, filling your core as he remained inside, small, almost inaudible whimpers leaving him. You pressed your lips to the crown of his head as you brought your arms around him, cocooning him in the afterglow that you shared. He remained there for minutes longer, composing himself before he removed himself from your cunt, falling beside you on the couch that was too small for most, but for the both of you was as cozy as it could get. “Thank you sunshine.” Daryl murmured as he brought you closer to be resting against his body, and you stifled a chuckle at the doziness that had befallen him

“You don’t have to thank me for sex.” Your eyes rolled, but the archer shook his head of brown locks, his hand angling around you to raise your face to meet your his own, your lips meeting in a delicately languid kiss. His fingertips traced the line of your jaw, his heart swimming with leaps of love for you and only you. Daryl was a good man, he knew that he tried his best to be, however he was delirious with how you saw him. Not everyone would find him to be a diamond in a pile of cracked rocks, but here you were, always caressing his scars with care, and reminding him that he was allowed to be loved. A long, long time ago he wouldn’t have believed that he would have someone that stood by him through everything, let alone the silent battles ongoing in his mind. You had your own opinions, and you depicted them outright, always giving him time to himself when it was required, and as soon as there was a place to console him, putting yourself in it.

“Not fer tha’, for everythin’.” He thought of his life with you, and he could not have been more appreciative of it. It was never going to be perfect, you were both humans fighting to live in a world that wished to eradicate your species, but there were moments to be cherished when you were not trying to protect yourselves. Daryl wanted to kick himself for even attempting to protect himself from; it was foolish on his part, but you always managed to understand his mindset. That was one of the very many reasons as to why he loved you, and he could not voice it enough as he remained curled up with you, basking in the mortal emoting of the love that you held dearly for one another. He was aging, and he had hated it, but he despised it far less now that you had brought a light that only you could give to the natural process that was weaving through each of you, reminding him of the normality of it.

[lightwing-s]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader

It must’ve been early when the knocking woke you up. Rolling in the warmth of the bed, you struggled to get up and once you did, you walked towards the door on pure muscle memory, still too tired to proceed with any coherent thoughts.

You opened it automatically, rubbing your heavy eyes and letting out a yawn.

“Ghost, Price and I were thinking that maybe…” you heard a voice you faintly remembered blurt out words you vaguely put together. “Yn? What are you doing in Simon's room?”

Freezing at the spot, your eyes dart open, as wide as they could possibly be, and a burst of energy runs through your body, making your mind jolt alight, finally deciding to work.

“Fuck.” you whisper, as you could hear the sound of objects falling and stumbling steps rushing to your side. Simon, still shirtless, holding up his loose sweatpants and whose mask had been clumsy put on, only one of his eyes properly fitting through it’s proper hole, arrived beside you breathlessly, pulling Gaz into the room and closing the door immediately thereafter.

Pushing the Sergeant onto the unmade bed, it took him a moment to catch his breath, spinning around on the same spot on the floor. He had fixed his mask, and the moment his eyes caught yours you could clearly understand his message.

We’re fucked.

Your eyes were restless, moving from Simon and Gaz so quickly it was making you dizzy. Your hands tugged at Simon’s shirt, dressing you like a dress, but barely covering your legs, ones you were not used to exposing in front of your comrades.

It was awkward, this whole situation an awkward mess you had put you all in.

I’m sorry, you mouthed and pleaded with your eyes as Simon stopped in front of you, his hands reaching for your arm, rubbing it warm, consoling you as much as he could as you two sulked in unwanted company.

“Can you two explain what’s going on?” asked your “guest”. Exchanging glances once more, you two fought over who would break him the news. “Or am I supposed to make my own conclusions?”

“‘S pretty obvious, innit?” Simon replied, dryly.

“I wanted to hear it from you, it looks too surreal.” he said, leaning back and straightening his position, a smirk spreading on his face, amusement evident in his eyes. “The Lt and Yn shagging.”

You looked back at Simon once more, his arms crossed on his chest making his biceps look twice their size, and his clear crunched jawline, probably planning three hundred different ways to murder his teammate. Touching his shoulder, you asked for allowance, watching as he considered the options before nodding in return.

“Gaz.” you called, catching his attention. “We’re married.”

Gaz’s head bobbed forward as his eyes almost jumped out of its socket, questioning the shocking news and his own reality. To confirm your words, showed him your hands, more specifically your ring finger, where a pair of letters, ‘SR’, were tattooed secretly on its side. The Lieutenant followed suit, uncrossing his arms to expose your initials drawn on the same spot in his ring finger. 

You two were married. Married, and no one in the base knew it. Hell, they didn’t even know you two had a thing for each other, was going through Gaz’s mind.

“Married?” he repeated, more an affirmation than a question, trying to process it in his head. “I can’t wait till Johnny knows it.”

“Johnny can’t know it.” you immediately cut him. “Please, Gaz. I-it’s…” private, you wanted to add, our lives. But a lump in your throat caught you, feeling everything you’d build crumbling down. 

You’d been so careful. You and Simon had taken every possible precaution since the first night you hooked up, not wanting anyone to find out your silly “mistake”, to the day of your wedding two years ago, the most important day in your entire life. And now the secret was done for, days counted even if Gaz were kind enough to keep it to himself.

“Private.” Gaz completed your words after a brief minute of silence, and the hope in your chest grew. “I get it. You know I’m not a snitch.” Standing up, he continued. “Your secret is safe with me.” and extending his hand towards your husband he wished. “Congratulations, Simon.”

Your husband, after second thoughts, shook Gaz’s hand in his, evident force used to make sure a warning was heard: you say anything, you’re dead. However, knowing him like no one else, you notice signs no one would, and the slight drop in his shoulder lets you know he trusted his Sergeant.

“Congratulations you too, Yn.” he turned to you, giving you a tight hug instead, lifting you off your feet for a brief moment before returning you to the floor. “Does this make me the best man over Johnny?”

Fishing for a pillow, Simon threw it straight into Gaz’s head as he rushed out of your room, giggles heading out with him. You too stood laughing, enjoying knowing your secret paradise wasn’t done for yet, and trying to calm down your sulking and annoyed husband.

.

a/n: short drabble to announce i'm now taking simon and other cod men requests ♡

[mrsvante]

Terms of Surrender

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, pfp (kinda)

summary: he always left a piece of himself behind when he went away. now he’s trying to remember where he put it. a slow burning love letter to quiet homes, messy reunions, half eaten cake, and the way someone’s touch can make a tired soul feel whole again.

warnings: military discharge, emotional vulnerability, fingering, oral f!receiving, light edging, praise kink, yoongi calls you a good girl 🫠, swearing, teeth rottingly tender intimacy, clingy yoongi, post service identity crisis, minor angst with comfort, domestic fluff, one deeply judgmental dog named holly

word count: 4,907

a word from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i know these drabbles have been pretty much pfp but i got a little emotional with yoongi because we made it!! they’re all finally home & whole. how could i not get emotional?! ughhhh it feels so surreal to know ot7 is back 🥹 anyway, enough of me blabbering..hope you enjoy!

Yoongi slouched deeper into the backseat of the cab, his head tipped against the cool glass of the window as the late June sun painted long shadows over the city. Seoul hadn’t changed much. Same humming traffic. Same old buildings with half lit signs.

But somehow it all felt a little different today, like the world had edged forward a few paces without him and now he was just catching up.

The driver didn’t say much, which he appreciated. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

His shoulder ached, an old reminder stitched into the muscle. He rolled it slowly, grateful it hadn’t flared up during the last few months. He’d been careful, pacing himself. Desk work had its own kind of strain, though. Different from physical labor. More like being filed down from the inside out, every second smoothed into the next until time itself lost its sharpness.

Twenty one months. It was a long time to be out of the rhythm of everything.

But he was going home now.

The cab pulled into the underground lot beneath his apartment complex. Yoongi paid, murmured a soft thank you, and stepped out, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. His fingers tapped over the security pad and the door buzzed open, welcoming him into silence.

The elevator ride was short.

He input the house code into the door, and the smell hit him first.

Takeout. Sweet and salty. Something you knew he liked.

Then your voice.

“~Congratulations, our beloved Yoongi~”

You sang in an absurdly high pitched voice, standing in the middle of the dining room in fuzzy socks, his old sweatshirt, and some too tiny shorts that clung to your ass like a second skin. A small cake sat on the table beside a bottle of Glenfiddich and a cluster of takeout boxes.

Yoongi blinked.

You ran over to him, grabbing his hand before he could even take off his shoes, dragging him into the middle of the room.

“Dance with me,” you demanded, swaying your hips in exaggerated circles, clearly trying to make him laugh.

“I literally just got discharged—”

“Exactly. So you don’t have any excuses.”

He rolled his eyes but let you spin him around once. Then twice. You clapped like it was the best performance of his career and leaned in to kiss his cheek with a loud, theatrical mwah.

Yoongi’s mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile.

You cut the cake and plated a slice. Soft, homemade lilac frosting smudged along the edge. You were beaming as you scooped up a bite for him with your fork.

“Open.”

“I’m not a dog, aegi.”

You tilted your head and arched a brow. “Wanna bet?”

Still, he opened his mouth and let you feed him. The cake was good. Moist and sweet, but not too sweet.

He was tired. Fucking exhausted, actually.

But his heart, his heart had never felt this full.

You nudged his side gently. “You look more dead now than you did on your last day of basic.”

Yoongi groaned, head tipping back. “Because basic was body hell. This was soul death. There’s a difference.”

You giggled. “So… filing paperwork was harder than running ten kilometers with a loaded pack?”

“Absolutely. You ever been stuck with a malfunctioning printer and an angry office ajumma on your ass for six straight hours?”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest. “Guess I’ll just have to nurse you back to health.”

“You’re already doing a pretty good job,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Later that night, the cake was half eaten, the whiskey two fingers lower, and the takeout boxes stacked haphazardly on the counter. The lights were dimmed, the room washed in the soft glow of the TV as the drama played on the screen.

You sat curled against Yoongi on the couch, legs tangled with his, one of your hands absently tracing the inside seam of his sweatpants. Holly was nestled comfortably by Yoongi’s feet, occasionally twitching in his sleep as if chasing something.

Yoongi’s arm rested around your shoulders, fingers playing with the end of your sleeve.

The silence had long settled into something easy. He hadn’t said much since dinner, but you didn’t mind. That was just him. He was always more of a slow pour—thoughts aged like wine, shared only when ready.

The main couple on screen kissed under a lamppost. The music swelled dramatically and you snorted.

“They’ve known each other for like four episodes.”

Yoongi gave a soft, amused breath through his nose. “That’s two more than some people get.”

A comfortable beat passed. Then he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I missed this.”

You turned your head slightly against his chest, your ear catching the soft thump of his heart beneath his shirt.

“Missed what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers stilled against your sleeve.

“This,” he repeated, gaze fixed somewhere past the TV. “Normal things. You. Even Holly’s stubborn little attitude.”

You smiled, glancing down at the tiny dog in question. “He’s been moodier than usual with you being so regimented lately.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi exhaled slowly, “I’ve been moodier than usual without you.”

You lifted your head to look at him fully, but his eyes were still on the screen, though it was obvious he wasn’t really seeing it. There was a distant kind of sheen in his expression. Like he was still partially somewhere else.

He finally glanced at you, the corners of his mouth tugging faintly. “I think I forgot how to sit still for a while. Everything about that place… the rhythm, the silence, it’s different. Not bad, just…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Sterile. Like life paused and I was watching it through a window. The days bled together. Same halls. Same faces. Same tired conversations.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. He leaned into it a little.

“But now it’s over,” you said gently.

“Almost,” he replied. “Still doesn’t feel real. I’ve been fantasizing about laying on this couch for months without forcing myself to stick to a bedtime. About your cheesy dramas. About Holly hogging all the foot space.” He nudged the dog lightly with his toe. “But the moment I stepped through the door, it felt like no time had passed and also like a lifetime had gone by.”

He paused. His voice dropped just slightly.

“I’m nervous.”

That surprised you a little. You sat up straighter.

“About?”

“Coming back.” He didn’t mean the apartment. “About being with the guys again. Being BTS again. It’s stupid—I’ve done this my whole adult life. But it’s like… what if the music feels different? What if I feel different?”

You softened, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You are different. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

“I know.” His eyes flicked down. “I just—there’s pressure. Expectations. We’re all gonna be different now. Older. We’ve lived outside of that world for so long, it’s not going to be the same. And I’m scared I won’t love it the way I used to. Or that I’ll want it too much and burn out again.”

Your thumb softly traced beneath his eye.

“You don’t have to have all the answers yet,” you murmured. “Just take the next step. One at a time.”

Yoongi let out a breath. Not quite relief, but close.

“You always know what to say.”

“No,” you said with a small smile. “I just know you.”

He looked at you again, really looked this time, and that quiet, aching fondness was back in full force. The kind that never demanded attention but still managed to take up all the space in the room.

“I want you there,” he said, voice soft and sure. “When it all starts again. Not hidden. Not on the sidelines. Just… with me.”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his before whispering, “Always.”

Yoongi didn’t kiss you right away.

He held your face like it was the last fragile thing in a world made of sharp edges, and then, he kissed you.

You didn’t know who started it, but the kiss deepened before either of you thought to stop it. A soft press of lips became something hungrier, something hot and slow and aching with everything unsaid.

Yoongi’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing just behind your ear. The other slid to your hip, pulling you closer until you were practically on top of him. You shifted, straddling his lap fully, thighs settling on either side of his, and the sound he made sent a sharp pulse straight through the apex of your thighs.

His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, and you opened for him. The taste of whiskey lingered faintly on his breath, but more than that, it was him.

Warm and addicting.

You rocked forward just slightly, enough to feel the stiff press of him beneath you.

Yoongi tensed, groaning into your mouth as your hips moved again. The pressure, the friction, had you squirming before you could stop yourself. His hands gripped your hips harder, guiding the movement just a little, just enough.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice ragged against your lips. “You trying to kill me?”

You smiled against his mouth, breath catching. “Maybe.”

Another roll of your hips and he swore again, this time dragging his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, where he pressed a kiss just below your ear.

And then, a wet snort.

You both froze.

Then came a soft shuffle and another sneeze like exhale. Yoongi turned his head just enough to see Holly sprawled on his side by the couch, staring up at you both like he had just woken up to a live drama finale he definitely shouldn’t be watching.

You burst out laughing.

Yoongi let his head fall back against the couch with a dramatic groan. “This fucking dog…”

“I think he’s judging us.”

“I know he’s judging us.”

Still laughing, you moved to slide off his lap, but Yoongi caught you before you could. In one smooth motion, he stood, lifting you with him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders automatically, heart thudding.

“Yoongi—”

“We’re taking this somewhere Holly can’t emotionally imprint on the trauma.”

You laughed even harder, your nose bumping against his cheek as he carried you toward the bedroom, his grip firm and certain.

“And what exactly do you plan to do to me in there?”

Yoongi glanced down at you, eyes dark and glittering with intent, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “things you definitely shouldn’t do in front of your children.”

You shrieked and hit his chest, breathless from laughter, head tipping back as he kicked open the bedroom door with his foot.

Behind you, Holly let out one last disgruntled little puff of air and curled back into a loaf.

Yoongi didn’t rush.

He was finally done with his service. There was no need to. And true to himself, Yoongi planned to take his time with you.

Even with weeks of want pressed into the heat between you, even with the taste of your mouth still lingering on his tongue and the shape of your thighs burned into his palms, he didn’t rush.

He laid you down gently, your back sinking into the mattress, the light from the hallway casting warm shadows across your skin. His eyes took you in like he was starving, like he’d been starving for months.

He peeled you out of his sweatshirt with a few gentle tugs. No shirt underneath, no bra.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “You are trying to kill me.”

You smiled, breathless and hazy, but it faltered when he leaned down and dragged his mouth over your breasts. His tongue was slow, tracing lazy circles around a nipple until it hardened beneath the drag of his lips. Then he sucked, just enough to make your fingers curl in his hair.

Your breath hitched. Yoongi hummed, tongue flicking once more before trailing lower, over your side, your stomach, your hips.

He whispered things as he went, words too quiet to make out. You only caught pieces. So good… missed this… fuck, you’re soft… Like a prayer, or a lullaby meant only for his own ears. There was admiration in every press of his lips. Admiration and hunger and something even more dangerous.

By the time he slipped your shorts down your legs, your thighs were already trembling.

His palm dragged up the inside of your knee, thumb brushing softly over sensitive skin. “Open for me, sweetheart,” he said, low and hoarse, like it cost him to keep still.

You did, thighs falling apart with no hesitation.

The air kissed the wet heat of you, and Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, but still, he didn’t dive in. No frantic desperation. No rush.

Just his lips brushing along the crease of your thigh.

Then again.

Then the other side.

Over and over.

Getting closer.

And then pulling away.

You squirmed. Your hips lifted instinctively toward him, only for his hand to pin you down gently, thumb stroking circles just beneath your hip bone.

“Yoongi…” you whimpered, voice threadbare with need.

He looked up at you, chin tucked between your thighs, hair messy, lips slightly parted—but his eyes glittered all dark and mischievous.

“I’ve been waiting twenty one months to take my time with you,” he said, all soft spoken sin. “Don’t think I’m gonna rush it now.”

Then finally, he licked one long deliberate stripe up your folds.

You gasped, back arching clean off the mattress, but Yoongi only hummed like he was tasting something divine. He didn’t stop there. His tongue moved with devastating precision, every flick calculated, every slow swirl around your clit designed to bring you just close enough.

And then retreat.

And then build again.

He latched his mouth around you, sucking just enough to make your breath stutter, hips rising for more. His grip tightened.

But then, he stopped.

You let out a strangled sound, hips jerking in confusion, in desperate disbelief.

He looked up again, mouth slick, eyes too wide and too innocent to be sincere. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your chest rose and fell in sharp bursts. “You—you stopped.”

He tilted his head, mock concern twisting his features into a mask of gentle confusion. “I did?”

“Yoongi—”

“Shh,” he whispered, as two fingers slid deep into you before you could protest.

Your body seized, a cry breaking from your lips as he curled them just right, his thumb pressing lightly to your clit.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

He found that spot inside you again, massaging it with slow, steady strokes until you felt it build. All hot, overwhelming, and dizzying.

And then, he pulled away.

Again.

You choked on a sob, hands flying up to clutch at his arms. Your eyes were glossy now, cheeks damp, your whole body trembling from the tension he’d so artfully crafted.

“Yoongi—please,” you whispered, voice broken, barely holding together. “Please, I can’t—”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, lips soft against your skin.

“Yes, you can. You can for me, right?”

His voice was sweet, gentle. But it wasn’t kindness. It was torture.

Another round. Another climb. This time he used everything—his tongue, his fingers, his mouth—driving you to the edge until your body couldn’t tell if it wanted to cum or cry. You were gasping, breath breaking with every stroke, every flick of his tongue, thighs clamped tight around his head in desperation.

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your body pulsing on the edge of release, so close it hurt.

And Yoongi, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, that same faux innocence, like he wasn’t the one breaking you down piece by piece with every touch.

Like this wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

And just when you thought you’d reached your limit, thought you were about to break, he gave in.

Yoongi sat back on his heels for a moment, the soft light casting shadows across his jawline. His lips were still slick from you and swollen, a flush faintly blooming on his cheeks.

Then, without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Exposing the lean muscle and sharp lines of his body inch by inch. He tossed it to the side, not breaking eye contact. His hands moved to the waistband of his sweats next, dragging them down with a roll of his hips.

You propped yourself up slightly, breath catching as he stood to push them all the way off.

“Are you putting on a show for me, Min?” you teased, your voice soft but playful, cheeks still flushed from the cruel bliss of everything he’d just done to you.

He smirked, his cock heavy and flushed, bobbing slightly as he stepped back between your legs. “Don’t act like you’re not the one begging for an encore.”

You laughed, but it slipped into a gasp when he leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other lined himself up. The blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, hot, hard and achingly thick.

His eyes met yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the words barely audible over your pounding heart.

Then he slid inside.

Your cry was half sob, half surrender as he pushed inside slowly in a long, unhurried thrust. Inch by inch, filling you until his hips were flush against yours and you felt impossibly full, stretched wide and warm around him.

Yoongi dropped his head to your shoulder, breath shuddering against your skin. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice cracking on your name like he’d been starving for this moment. Like this was his first breath of air in months.

He didn’t move.

Just stayed there, pressed so deep it felt like he could feel the beat of your heart from the inside. You clung to him, dazed and overwhelmed, trying to process the way he filled you so completely it almost hurt.

And then, he moved.

Slowly.

So slow.

Each roll of his hips deep and devastating. He fucked you like he had all the time in the world, like he was making up for every lost second. His lips trailed kisses across your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His hands gripped your thighs and then your hips, grounding you as your body molded to his.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper, your nails scraping down his back as the pressure built again.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He kissed you softly. “I know.”

Your moans grew louder, breathier, every thrust coaxing more from you, unraveling you thread by thread. The steady rhythm turned hungrier, hips snapping a little harder, a little sharper, but never losing that deliberate care, that tether of control wrapped tightly around both of you.

You broke with a sob, your body clenching tight around him, your back arching as the pleasure finally tore through you. It rolled in waves, raw and overwhelming, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as if you could anchor yourself to him.

He didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” Yoongi rasped, the words gritted out through clenched teeth. “That’s it. Let me feel you.”

He thrust through it, riding the high, until your body began to tremble under his and your cries gave way to quiet, broken whimpers. He kissed your throat, your chest, lips suckling and biting your nipples as he fucked you. His hands soothed over your hips as if to apologize for the ruin he was leaving in his wake.

Then he finally let go.

He thrust deep one last time, a full bodied groan tearing from his lips as he came. His whole body shuddered against yours, mouth finding the hollow of your throat as he moaned your name into your skin, like it was the only thing he wanted to say.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away.

Yoongi cradled you against his chest, his heartbeat still pounding as your legs slowly slid down from around his waist. He kissed your temple, the corner of your eye where a tear still clung, then ran his fingers gently through your hair.

Your body still twitched in the aftermath. His touch was slow, soothing, grounding you as if he couldn’t bear to let you drift even an inch.

“I’m home,” he whispered.

And this time, it wasn’t a metaphor.

It was a vow.

No drills. No deadlines. No long hours and coming home too mentally exhausted to do anything.

Just this—his skin on yours, your name on his lips, and the silence finally filled by the sound of peace.

You lay tangled together in the low, amber warmth of the bedroom, skin to skin, legs lazily woven through his. The room had gone quiet again, save for the hum of the city beyond the window and the low, steady sound of your breath returning to normal.

Your skin was cooling but still slick with sweat in places. Every inhale brought the scent of sex and warmth and him. Something earthy, grounding, and entirely Yoongi.

Your head rested on his chest, ear pressed to the steady drum of his heart. The beat was slower now, steady again, but the weight of it beneath your cheek made you feel safe in a way that nothing else ever had.

Yoongi’s fingers drifted along your spine, light and slow and without direction, like his body needed the constant contact to believe you were still there. Every now and then his thumb would pause at your lower back, or brush along your side.

He wasn’t ready to sleep.

Not yet.

Neither were you.

You lifted your head after a while, your cheek creasing against his chest as you shifted just enough to look at him. His eyes were open, soft and dark in the low light, already watching you.

There was something in his expression that made your chest ache.

Something unspoken passed between you. That quiet pulse that always beat strongest when there was nothing left to perform, no ego, no masks. Just you. Just him. Just the knowing.

Then you shifted and climbed over him.

Yoongi’s hands found your hips instinctively, his breath catching slightly as you reached down and guided his still hardening cock inside you again. He was still sensitive, and so were you, but the stretch felt like being wrapped in silk.

You sank down slowly, breath trembling as your body molded to his. No urgency now, or easing. Just the soft, burning ache of connection that ran deeper than anything physical.

He stared up at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Hair tousled. Skin flushed. Lips parted as he exhaled a shaky breath that ghosted over your throat.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and low.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips in gentle circles, every glide and shift dragging him deeper, tighter, making both of you gasp. Your hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intimacy, by the heat, by the way your body gripped him like it knew him.

His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in just slightly, anchoring himself.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered. “Every time, but—fuck—like this…”

You could feel him trembling beneath you, trying to hold still, trying not to lose himself too fast.

“You’re perfect.”

You kissed him again. Softer now. Like a promise.

“I love you,” he said, the words so quiet they nearly disappeared into your skin.

You paused, not from doubt, but from the weight of it. From how much it meant to hear it like that. Bare. Honest. Unprovoked.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your temple.

“I do. I love you. And I’m so fucking happy you gave me a chance.”

“Yoongi—”

“I was scared,” he confessed, voice breaking a little. “Not of you—never of you. Just… of being seen. Of being known like this. You looked at me and didn’t flinch. You didn’t run. You stayed.”

You rolled your hips down again and his breath caught hard in his throat. His head tipped back, jaw slack with pleasure.

“You stayed.”

You kissed him again, this time slow and deep, like you were pouring every ounce of yourself into the space between you. Your hips moved with aching tenderness, each motion drawing you closer to the edge again.

“I think about the sounds you make,” he murmured against your throat. “When you cum. When you break. They’re so fucking beautiful, baby.”

Your breath hitched. The tension building again, coiling low and tight as his hands guided you in that same slow rhythm.

“I’m gonna record them one day,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your ear. “Sneak them into a track. Hide them in the layers so only I know they’re there.”

Your heart thudded hard.

“The breath you take right before you fall apart. That little gasp. The way you cry out my name. I’ll keep it buried in the beat like a secret.”

You clenched around him involuntarily, the pleasure building so high, so fast, your whole body quaked. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Let go,” he whispered. “Let me hear it, sweetheart.”

And you did.

You came with a soft sob, your entire body locking down around him, thighs shaking, chest pressed to his. You shook with it, clung to him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

Yoongi followed soon after, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you, voice catching in your ear as he whispered your name like it was the only word that still mattered.

The practice room was just how you remembered it.

Long wall of mirrors. Scuffed floors. The faint scent of sweat and long hours spent rehearsing lingering in the corners. And yet today, it didn’t feel like a space for work. Not really. It felt like something awakened. A quiet celebration carved out between return and rebirth.

You stood near the back wall, tucked between two Hybe staffers holding sparklers that wouldn’t light, watching as Yoongi was gently bullied into the center of the room.

He stood awkwardly, barefoot on the polished floor, sweatpants slung low on his hips, a bouquet of white peonies and hydrangeas cradled in one arm and a cake in the other. His ears were red, and he was already muttering protests.

And then they started to sing.

Namjoon sang the loudest. Jin the most off key. Hoseok was filming the whole thing on his phone while simultaneously trying to shove a party hat onto Yoongi’s head. Jungkook laughed so hard he dropped his sparkler, and Taehyung had thrown confetti prematurely and was now trying to brush it out of Yoongi’s hair with no real success.

Yoongi stood in the eye of the storm with Jimin’s arms wrapped tightly around him, expression caught somewhere between exasperated and shy amusement. His fingers curled tighter around the cake as he tried to will down the smile pulling at his lips.

He wasn’t successful in the slightest.

After the last line of the song was shouted more than sung, the room burst into laughter and clapping. Staff members cheered. One of the managers brought out a cooler of drinks. Jin wrapped his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder and gave him a firm shake.

“Welcome back, hyung. You’re officially free.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the look he gave Jin was full of something warm and deep. “Don’t remind me.”

The others gathered around him, pulling him into a loose huddle. There were back pats, too tight hugs, soft words exchanged that only they could hear.

They had all made it back.

Every last one.

For the first time in over two years, BTS stood whole again. Not just in title, but in body and soul. Hair a little shorter. Faces a little sharper. But hearts still tethered together by something that hadn’t faded with time.

“We did it,” Namjoon said, voice thick, gaze sweeping over them all. “All of us.”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “Now we make music.”

They stood there for a long moment. Just the seven of them, the silence stretching wide and comfortable. Like standing at the edge of something new, but not uncertain, familiar.

Yoongi’s eyes drifted across the room.

They found you instantly.

You weren’t even trying to hide, just leaning against the mirror with arms crossed lightly over your chest, watching him like you always did. With that quiet kind of pride that didn’t shout. The kind that just saw him.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

He smiled, just for you. Just a flicker. A promise.

Then Jungkook shouted his name and Yoongi was pulled back into the huddle, laughter erupting again as someone tried to smear frosting on his face.

You stayed where you were.

Watching as he laughed. Watching as he stood surrounded by his brothers. Whole and healed and home.

And when he looked back at you one last time over someone’s shoulder, you nodded.

Go on.

This was always where he was meant to be.

masterlist

dividers courtesy of @uzmacchiato

[cumironi]

DO I EVER GET A CHANCE TO BLOSSOM? : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

being a mother is a dream for almost every woman. the thought of carrying a child inside them and bringing them into the world is also something you want for a moment, but . . just a second the dream shattered right between your feet.

warning. established relationship au, husbands! gojo geto, angst.

the room feels more like a prison than a place of healing, with its cold white walls, sterile smell, and the incessant, mechanical beeping of machines. everything here is sickeningly clean, stripped of warmth and life, as if joy itself would be too fragile to survive in these surroundings. the sterile, metallic tang of medicine hangs in the air, heavy and unforgiving, mixed with the faint, unsettling clink of instruments being shuffled somewhere beyond the door. each sound, each scent digs into you, weighing down every breath, every thought.

your husbands are by your side, their presence grounding you in the middle of this surreal nightmare. on your right, geto’s hand wraps around yours, firm and steady, his thumb brushing soft, comforting circles against your skin. he hasn’t said a word since the doctor’s visit, but he doesn’t need to; his touch alone speaks volumes. you can feel his silent strength radiating through his hand, an unspoken promise that he’s here, that he’ll be here through all of this.

on your left, gojo’s hand is just as tight around yours, though his grip trembles ever so slightly. for someone who usually seems so invincible, so in control, it’s almost unsettling to feel his fingers shaking against yours. he’s normally the one with a mischievous smirk and an easy confidence, but right now, all of that bravado has fallen away, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable version of him you rarely see. his face is tense, hidden behind his signature sunglasses, but you can sense the turmoil in him, even if he tries to hide it.

you look down at your lap, trying to process everything. you’ve been married for nearly five years now, years that have been filled with laughter, adventure, and a deep, unwavering love. despite their busy lives, constantly being called away on missions and responsibilities, they’ve always made time for you, always come home to you. and together, you’ve built a life filled with happiness, support, and dreams. one of those dreams, the most precious of all, has been to start a family—a child to raise, to love, to share all the joy and strength you have with two people you adore.

for years, you’d imagined what it would be like. late-night talks about what they’d be like as parents, joking about whose traits your child might inherit, wondering if they’d have geto’s calm intelligence or gojo’s playful spirit. you imagined tiny hands reaching for yours, little footsteps running through the halls, shared laughter filling your home. every vision of the future had included this—a family with them by your side, watching as the life you’d nurtured together grew.

but now, sitting in this cold, sterile room, you’re faced with a harsh reality. the doctor’s words replay over and over in your mind, each syllable a weight pressing harder onto your chest.

“your heart condition… the risks are severe. pregnancy could strain your body too much. it could put your life in danger.”

the words echo, and they feel like a physical blow, tearing at the vision you’d held onto for so long. you’d always known you wanted kids, always thought it was something that would happen one day. but now, it feels as if that dream is slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the clinical air of this hospital room.

a deep silence settles between the three of you, thick and heavy with unspoken fears. your hands tighten involuntarily around theirs, desperate to hold onto something, to anchor yourself in this moment. a tear slips down your cheek, and you’re only barely aware of it until you feel geto’s thumb brush against your cheek, wiping it away gently. he leans closer, his face soft yet unreadable, his eyes full of a quiet intensity.

you feel the words catch in your throat, your chest tight with a weight so heavy it’s suffocating. your gaze drops to the cold linoleum floor, but the desperate flicker of hope—however faint—pushes you to look up. swallowing hard, you turn your eyes back to the doctor, your voice barely a whisper, cracked and fragile as you speak.

“there has to be something…” your words come out haltingly, breaking over each syllable. “some treatment, anything that could make it safer… is there any possibility?”

the doctor’s expression softens, but it’s a look of sympathy that does little to ease the ache in your heart. they sigh gently, gathering their words with care, and you feel both of your husbands tense beside you, their grips tightening as they hang on the answer just as much as you do.

“there are options,” the doctor replies, and for a moment, hope flickers—a small, fragile spark in the sea of uncertainty. “but they’re limited, and none of them can entirely eliminate the risks.”

you listen intently, clinging to every word, as if each syllable might hold the key to your dream. the doctor goes on, explaining possible procedures, medications, treatments to strengthen your heart… each one sounds like a glimmer of hope, but as they continue, the reality sinks in. no option guarantees your safety, each one carrying its own set of risks and compromises.

“even with these precautions,” they continue, their tone gentle but firm, “pregnancy would still place significant strain on your body. there’s no way to completely avoid the risk, especially given your specific condition.”

a fresh wave of tears wells up, slipping down your cheeks despite your efforts to hold them back. it feels as though your heart is splintering, piece by piece, each fragment a shard of a dream you’d cherished, now scattering away beyond your reach.

you feel geto’s hand tighten around yours, grounding you, pulling you back from the despair threatening to swallow you whole. you turn slightly, meeting his gaze, his eyes filled with an intensity that’s somehow both gentle and unbreakable. his other hand comes up to cup your face, thumb wiping away the tears that keep slipping out, his touch warm against your skin.

gojo watches your face intently, his gaze following as your eyes drop to your lap. he looks down as well, his focus landing on the interwoven fingers of his, yours, and geto’s, the wedding band glinting softly around your finger.

a single tear slips from your cheek, landing on his skin. the sight alone twists something painfully deep inside him, and he feels a wave of nausea at the harsh reality you’re facing. instinctively, he squeezes your hand, offering silent comfort, before turning his attention back to the doctor as they continue explaining your condition.

the doctor adjusts their glasses and sighs, shifting slightly before beginning to explain the complexities of your condition. there’s a gravity to their tone, an unspoken understanding that the words they’re about to deliver aren’t easy to hear.

“your heart,” they start carefully, “has a condition called cardiomyopathy. it's a disease that affects the heart muscle, making it harder for your heart to pump blood effectively. over time, this can lead to weakness, and during times of physical stress, it puts an increased strain on your heart.”

they pause for a moment, glancing at you and your husbands, gauging your reactions. though both of them remain stoic, you feel their hands tighten around yours, their steady grips trying to brace you. you’re nodding, but the doctor’s words feel like they’re sinking deep into your bones, the full weight of them settling heavily.

“pregnancy,” they continue, their tone clinical yet compassionate, “is one of the most physically demanding experiences the body can undergo. it requires the heart to pump a larger volume of blood to support the baby, often up to fifty percent more than normal. for a healthy heart, this additional workload can be managed… but with cardiomyopathy, this level of strain could be life-threatening.”

you swallow hard, feeling the words settle like lead. the room feels even colder now, and you shiver despite the warmth of your husbands’ hands. “what… what exactly would happen if we tried?” you ask, voice trembling.

the doctor’s expression softens as they consider their words. “there’s a high risk that your heart could struggle to keep up with the demands of pregnancy. symptoms of heart failure—like severe fatigue, shortness of breath, and fluid retention—could appear early. if untreated, these symptoms could escalate, leading to dangerous complications for both you and the baby.”

they hesitate, but continue, knowing it’s important you understand. “in the later stages of pregnancy, the strain on your heart could increase to a point where the risk of heart failure or sudden cardiac events becomes very real.”

the words hang in the air, cold and final. the possibilities—the dreams you’d held close, the life you’d envisioned—feel fragile in the face of these realities.

“are there any options?” gojo asks, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. “anything that would make it possible without risking her life?”

the doctor nods slowly. “we could look into treatments to help strengthen the heart muscle, medications to manage symptoms, and closely monitored care. there may also be assisted options like surrogacy, though i understand that may be a different direction than you’d hoped.” the weight of the decision settles between you, a choice that’s neither simple nor fair.

geto’s throat tightens as the doctor outlines the dangers your heart disease posed to a potential pregnancy. he knew this disease was serious, but the stark reality of what it might mean for your future—and your dreams together—hits him like a punch to the gut.

he glances down at your hand, the ring he’d given you gleaming softly on your finger, and a flicker of guilt worms its way into his heart. he should have known, should have seen the signs sooner��� should have taken better care of you.

his mind races with thoughts, each one a barb of worry and anxiety. the idea of you undergoing all that risk, all that pain, to bring a child into the world is almost too much to bear. but he’s torn, caught between the love he has for you and the knowledge that this might not be the life you’d wanted.

he squeezes your hand tighter, anchoring himself to you as the doctor mentions assisted options like surrogacy. the suggestion is bitter to his ears, a reminder of what might have been.

the doctor’s words continue, listing potential options and solutions—treatments, medications, the possibility of surrogacy. each one feels both hopeful and disheartening—a life preserver offered to someone drowning, while simultaneously being reminded that nothing can completely erase the danger your condition poses.

gojo’s question is direct and desperate, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his emotions. “how likely is it that the treatments would be enough?”

the doctor sighs, their expression sympathetic. “even with these treatments, there’s no way to guarantee a safe pregnancy. the risk might be reduced, but it’ll still be considerable. and even if you do get through the pregnancy, the risks of delivering a child and recovering afterwards would be enormous.”

the words hang heavily in the air, the reality of what they’re saying slowly sinking in. even with everything they could do, there were no guarantees—only a series of risks and unknowns. the room feels even colder now, the fluorescent lights above bathing everything in a sterile, harsh glow.

geto guides you gently to sit on the cold metal bench outside the doctor’s office, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he kneels down in front of you. he studies your tear-streaked face, watching how your eyes remain unfocused, fixed on a spot on the floor as if it might anchor you to something stable. your expression is empty, yet tears still trace silent paths down your cheeks, leaving faint stains on your skin.

a pang of deep hurt stirs in his chest as he looks at you. he takes a slow, steadying breath, wanting nothing more than to take away your pain, to shoulder it himself if he could. after a moment, he reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently, his voice soft as he murmurs, “just wait here for a moment, okay? we’ll talk to the doctor.”

he doesn’t want you to hear any more—he’ll take whatever they have to say himself if it means sparing you even an ounce of further heartache. in his own quiet, determined way, he’s protecting you, doing what he can to shield you from any more painful words about your condition.

you don’t respond, too lost in the overwhelming weight of it all, the sterile walls and the lingering smell of antiseptic, the doctor’s words still echoing in your mind. everything feels distant, muted, like you’re drifting somewhere far away.

geto’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and gentle as he calls your name. “hey… hey, look at me,” he murmurs, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze, coaxing you back, pulling you toward him with a quiet patience. “please... just look at me.”

but you’re still trapped in the fog, staring somewhere past him, your thoughts spiraling, unable to reach him. he calls your name again, this time a little firmer, his tone threaded with worry but steady. “come back to me, please,” he says softly, repeating, “look at me, please. i’m right here.”

after a long, silent beat, you finally look up, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. all you can manage is a faint nod, a small, wordless acknowledgment, barely enough to convey all that’s swimming inside you. but for geto, it’s enough. he watches you with a soft, understanding gaze, gently squeezing your hand as if to anchor you, grounding you in the only way he knows how before he slowly raise on his feet and walk back inside the room where gojo is waiting, already talking to the doctor.

gojo is pacing around the office, running a hand through his white hair in agitation, the other curled into a tight fist at his side. his usual carefree demeanor has been replaced by a tense energy, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing self.

the doctor is standing by the window, looking weary and slightly uncomfortable. they’re not used to dealing with such emotional situations, and the distress of both men in the room is clear. geto enters quietly and closes the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room.

gojo spins around as geto enters, his expression tight with worry and frustration. he turns to the doctor, his voice clipped. “what are the risks, really? how high is the risk?” he asked, desperate for the change of the answer. hoping this might be one of your stupid pranks you and the doctor pull.

the doctor sighs, clearly bracing themselves to explain once more. “the risks are significant. even with the treatments we’ve discussed, the risk of complications for both the mother and the child would remain very high. the possibility of heart failure or sudden cardiac events is a serious concern.”

gojo’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. “there has to be something more—something we can do to make it safer, even just a bit.”

the doctor adjusts their glasses, their expression empathetic but firm. “we’ve discussed all the options. we could look into assisted reproduction, but even that poses a risk. there’s no easy way around it… this condition makes pregnancy unusually dangerous.”

outside the doctor’s office, you sit alone, the cool metal bench beneath you somehow grounding and yet painfully cold, like the sterile walls around you. everything feels distant, muted, and your mind is heavy with a sorrow that seems too vast to fully understand. you mourn the vision you’ve held onto for so long—the idea of becoming a mother, of holding a child in your arms, of sharing that love with your husbands. the dreams you’d nurtured so carefully seem to dissolve with every painful echo of the doctor’s words, and no matter how hard you try to grasp them, they slip further away.

tears trace slow, hesitant paths down your cheeks, each one carrying a fragment of that hope you’ve clung to. lost in this aching silence, you feel as though the world around you has faded into a blur, leaving only the heaviness of your thoughts and the quiet sound of your own breathing.

you’re so wrapped up in your grief, so deeply entangled in your own thoughts, that you don’t notice at first when someone settles onto the bench beside you. a faint rustling sound reaches your ears, but you dismiss it, assuming it’s just one of your husbands come to sit quietly by your side, respecting the storm of emotions you’re lost in.

but then you hear it—a soft, unfamiliar coo, followed by a tiny, muffled whimper. you freeze, your heart stuttering as the unexpected sound registers in your mind, cutting through the haze of sorrow. it’s the unmistakable cry of a baby.

your head lifts slowly, almost as if in a trance, and you turn to see a young woman sitting next to you. she’s cradling a small, red-faced infant who’s squirming and fussing in her arms, his tiny fists clenched as he lets out a series of hiccuping cries. the woman looks up and meets your gaze, a sheepish, apologetic smile crossing her lips. her eyes are tired, but kind, and she looks as though she hasn’t had a moment of rest in days.

“oh—i’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, tinged with an embarrassed laugh. “he’s usually calm, but I think he’s a little hungry, and... well, it’s been a long day.”

she adjusts the baby carefully in her arms, trying to soothe him with a soft shushing noise, her hand gently patting his back in an effort to ease his discomfort. but even as she rocks him back and forth, his cries continue, a tiny, plaintive sound that tugs at something deep within you.

for a moment, you’re speechless, just watching them, taking in every detail—the delicate roundness of the baby’s cheeks, the way his little fists flail in the air, the soft, downy hair on his head. there’s a warmth in the mother’s eyes as she looks at her child, a look filled with an overwhelming, unconditional love that seems to radiate from her every movement.

you feel a strange pang in your chest as you watch them, a bittersweet ache that brings fresh tears to your eyes. the woman notices, her smile softening as she gazes at you, her expression filled with gentle understanding, as if she can sense the sorrow you’re carrying.

the woman shifts on the bench, adjusting the baby in her arms as he finally begins to settle, his tiny whimpers fading to soft hiccups. her gaze falls to the ground, her fingers idly tracing small patterns on the blanket wrapped around her child. she lets out a sigh, one that’s heavy with exhaustion and frustration, and then, almost hesitantly, she begins to speak.

“it’s been… a rough time,” she says softly, her words laced with a bitterness she can’t entirely hide. “my husband… he’s so insistent on having more kids, even though we’re already struggling with the two we have. he just… doesn’t seem to understand how much it takes to raise them, not just money, but time, energy, patience… it feels like i’m the only one holding everything together sometimes.”

she lets out a weak, humorless laugh, shaking her head as if to brush away the heaviness of her own words. her fingers tighten around the blanket, and she glances away, as though ashamed to admit her struggles. “and now,” she continues, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, “now i just found out i’m pregnant again… with twins.”

her eyes close for a moment, and you can see the strain etched into her face, the faint lines of worry and fatigue that seem to weigh her down. her shoulders sag under the weight of it all, and her voice trembles slightly as she confesses, “i don’t know how i’m going to manage it. i’m barely making it as it is.”

you sit silently beside her, listening as she pours out her frustrations, her fears, her anger. the bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, each word filled with a quiet resentment, a simmering resentment towards the husband who doesn’t see, doesn’t understand, doesn’t help. she speaks as though she’s been holding these feelings inside for far too long, and now they’re spilling out, raw and unfiltered.

as you listen, a strange feeling settles in your chest—a deep, gnawing sense of unfairness, one that cuts through your own sorrow like a knife. here she is, a woman who already has two children, who’s now expecting two more, and yet… she feels trapped, overwhelmed by the life she’s been dealt. and here you are, with a loving family, a stable life, and yet, the one thing you want most in the world—to have a child of your own—is slipping further and further from reach.

the contrast feels almost cruel, a painful reminder of the injustice woven into life. she has the thing you yearn for, and yet she struggles beneath its weight, feeling burdened rather than blessed. your heart aches with a confusing mix of empathy and envy, a bitter sorrow that deepens with each of her words. the air between you grows heavy, charged with unspoken emotions, as you both sit there, each lost in your own worlds of struggle and longing.

your chest tightens as you listen to the woman next to you, her tales of exhaustion and frustration cutting deep into your already raw emotions. it’s a stark reminder of the very thing you yearn for, yet a cruel twist of fate keeps it from your grasp.

the unfairness of it all weighs heavily on you, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. she has the very thing you want so badly, the very thing you feel you’ve been denied, and she’s drowning in it, struggling to keep her head above water.

the woman turns to you, her eyes filled with a desperate, weary sort of hope. “would you mind… holding him for just a moment?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid of imposing. but before you can respond, she carefully places the baby into your arms, murmuring her thanks as she hurries off toward the restroom.

for a moment, you freeze, unsure, feeling the soft weight settle in your lap. the baby blinks up at you, his cries stopping as he takes in your face, his wide, curious eyes locking onto yours as though studying this new, unfamiliar person holding him. a soft coo escapes his lips, and he reaches one tiny hand toward your face, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. you can feel his warmth, his small body alive and pulsing with the innocent, unburdened spirit of someone just beginning life.

gently, you tighten your hold around him, cradling him close. his skin is soft and delicate, his little body curling instinctively against yours, as if already trusting you completely. the warmth of him spreads through you, soothing some of the ache in your heart. he babbles softly, his small sounds breaking the silence that has weighed so heavily on you.

slowly, you let yourself smile, just a little. it’s a fragile, bittersweet smile as you watch him. your finger brushes over the downy hair on his head, his tiny fingers wrapping around one of yours in an instinctive, trusting grip. the simplicity of it tugs at something deep within you, a feeling of tenderness you can’t quite put into words.

for a fleeting moment, holding him in your arms, it’s easy to imagine what it might be like—to have a child of your own, to hold them just like this, to watch as they grow, to care for them with all the love you have.

as the door to the doctor’s office opens, your husbands step out, their eyes scanning the hallway, but they don’t see you anywhere. a flicker of worry immediately crosses their faces, an unease that tightens with each passing second of not finding you. but before they can start searching, a woman catches their eye, standing nearby, looking distressed and on the verge of tears.

she notices them and hesitantly approaches, wringing her hands, her voice trembling with anxiety. ’excuse me… have you seen a girl?” she asks, describing your features in detail—the features they know all too well. the woman’s words bring a sense of familiarity to them, but her next sentence makes their hearts race.

“she’s… holding my baby,” she adds, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes filling with fear. the words seem to echo between them, and both their expressions shift, alarm flashing across their faces.

gojo’s mouth parts slightly, and he instinctively reaches for geto’s arm, a tight squeeze that mirrors the sudden worry gnawing at them. a thousand thoughts fill their minds at once—where could you have gone, why hadn’t you told them, and how on earth did you end up holding a stranger’s child?

without a moment’s hesitation, both husbands exchange a look of mutual understanding, and, their expressions serious and determined, they begin to search, the woman trailing after them as they walk down the hall, their hearts pounding in fear and urgency to find you safe and sound.

gojo and geto navigate their way through the hallway, their gazes sweeping the area with a growing sense of unease. they had expected to find you sitting quietly in the waiting room, perhaps even in the same exam room, but your absence is concerning and unsettling.

the woman’s description of you holding a baby sparks a moment of recognition, and their worry escalates into genuine fear. the thought of you being alone with a stranger's child and the possibility of something happening to you is suddenly very real.

you look down at the baby in your arms, and a soft smile spreads across your face as he coos again, his tiny voice bubbling up with sounds that melt away the weight of your earlier despair. he looks at you with wide, innocent eyes, filled with curiosity, studying you in his own baby-like way. you can’t help but let out a small laugh, the sound barely a whisper as you brush your knuckles gently over his plump cheek, marveling at how impossibly soft and warm his skin feels against yours.

“my baby,” you murmur, almost unconsciously, as though saying the words makes this moment a little more real, as if he really were yours, even if only for a heartbeat. The simple phrase stirs something deep within you, a fierce, protective warmth that spreads through your chest, and you lean down to press a tender kiss to his forehead. His skin is so warm beneath your lips, carrying a sweetness and purity that makes your heart clench.

you pull him a little closer to your chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing as he settles against you, his tiny head resting comfortably in the crook of your arm. It’s like he fits perfectly, as though he were made to be here, to be held by you. one of his hands reaches out, gripping at your shirt in his tiny, determined fist, and the sight of it—the smallness, the trust—makes your breath hitch.

you run a gentle hand over his soft hair, stroking the fine strands that feel as delicate as silk, and he gazes up at you with those wide eyes, his tiny mouth parting as if he’s trying to form words. “you’re so precious,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion as you continue to hold him close, like he’s the most delicate treasure in the world.

he makes another small sound, an innocent gurgle that draws a smile from you, and you find yourself instinctively swaying, rocking him gently, as though your body knows exactly how to comfort him. you lean your cheek against his head, inhaling the pure, powdery scent of him, that soft, warm fragrance unique to babies. for a moment, you let yourself dream, holding him tightly, letting yourself imagine what it might be like if he were truly yours, if this precious warmth in your arms was something you could come home to every day.

you tighten your embrace around him, as if you could somehow keep him a little longer, savoring every heartbeat, every small sound.

gojo’s hand moves to your head, his touch tender as he gently pats you, his fingers threading through your hair in a comforting gesture. his voice is soft, almost a whisper, as he leans close. “love,” he murmurs, his tone filled with both sorrow and understanding, “this… isn’t your baby.”

the words come slowly, each one heavier than the last, and you can hear the strain in his voice, feel the weight of what he’s saying. it hurts him to say it, to shatter the fragile happiness he saw on your face just moments ago. his fingers linger on your head, gentle and reassuring, as if he’s trying to soften the blow, to hold you together even as he reminds you of the reality.

you look at him, eyes wide, lost, the pang of realization settling in. it feels like a harsh slap, one that pulls you abruptly from the small world you’d slipped into—the one where, for just a moment, you let yourself imagine holding your own child. your gaze shifts back to the baby, held protectively in the your arms, and the ache in your heart swells.

“i know it’s hard,” gojo continues, his voice barely above a whisper, each word wrapped in the tenderness he reserves only for you. “but… taking someone else’s baby… that’s not what you want. we’ll… we’ll figure this out, alright?” he tries to offer you something, anything to cling to in this moment, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple, hoping his presence can ground you.

your lips tremble, a soft, almost inaudible “no...” slipping from your mouth as your whole body shakes. you instinctively tighten your arms around the baby, pulling him closer to your chest as if protecting him from the world, as if he truly belongs to you. the warmth of the baby against you feels like the only thing real in this moment, the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s suddenly come crashing down around you.

you shake your head, eyes wide with panic and desperation, as though refusing to accept the truth. the baby’s tiny, innocent face is a sharp contrast to the turmoil you feel inside, and it’s all too much to comprehend. the joy, the love, the ache in your heart—it all blurs together, overwhelming you. you can feel the weight of his small body, so delicate, so perfect, and for a brief moment, in your arms, you allow yourself to believe that he’s yours.

as you tighten your hold on the child, gojo's heart aches at the sight. your refusal to let go, your desperate attempt to keep the baby as close as possible, speaks volumes more than any words could. he watches you, seeing the pain and confusion, the longing and the pain, all painted across your face, reflected in the tears that shimmer in your eyes. he knows, more than anyone, how deeply you yearn for this, how painful it is to be reminded of what you don’t have.

he leans in closer, his hand still caressing your head, trying to soothe you. “baby..”

he leans in closer, his hand continuing to stroke your hair, trying to soothe you. “baby,” he murmurs, his voice tender but firm. “i know how much you want a baby… believe me, i do. but… this child, he’s not ours. it’s not right to take him like this.”

gojo’s words hang heavy in the air, each one a painful but necessary truth. his eyes gaze at your face, filled with a deep understanding, but also the weight of a reality you both must face.

before you can even react, the baby is suddenly lifted from your arms. startled, you instinctively reach out, panic flashing across your face. turning around, gojo sees geto standing beside the baby’s mother, who’s holding her child tightly to her chest, her expression a mixture of fear and anger. her eyes narrow as she looks at you, her gaze searing, resentment clear as she holds her baby protectively.

you stand up, the panic rising in your chest as you take a step forward, almost pleading, “it’s my baby…” the words escape your lips, raw and broken, a desperate echo of the fragile dream you were just holding in your arms.

the woman’s face hardens, her glare cutting through you. “how dare you,” she snaps, her voice laced with fury. “how could you just take him? you… you had the nerve to call him yours?” her hands clutch her child even tighter, shielding him as if to ward you off.

you feel the words pierce you, shame and sorrow mixing painfully in your chest. your hands tremble as you lower them, your heart racing, still caught between the desperate, fading hope of a future and the cold reality in front of you. gojo steps closer to you, his hand finding your shoulder, his presence grounding you as you struggle to catch your breath, feeling a sharp ache in the hollow space where the baby had just been.

gojo’s touch on your shoulder is a lifeline, anchoring you to the present while your heart is still clinging to a dream. he stands beside you, his presence a shield against the woman’s anger, his grip on your shoulder steady and firm, as if silently telling you that he’s there for you, that he understands.

he watches as the woman holds her baby away from you, protective and fierce, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and fear. the baby’s cry pierces the air, adding to the painful truth of the moment.

gojo’s touch on your shoulder is like a lifeline, grounding you in a moment where everything feels like it's slipping away. his hand rests gently yet firmly, a silent promise that he's there for you, even as everything inside you screams to hold on to what’s slipping through your fingers. you’re trembling under the weight of your own feelings, but his presence is a small comfort, the only thing that makes you feel like you’re not entirely lost.

you glance at the woman, her eyes blazing with anger and protectiveness, clutching her baby away from you. the baby’s cries are sharp, filling the air with an undeniable reminder of the painful truth. it’s hers. not yours. the desperate ache in your chest intensifies, and you can't help but look at the tiny life in her arms, wishing, hoping, that somehow, it could be yours.

geto, standing beside gojo, looks at you with the same heavy expression that mirrors his, his gaze filled with a sorrow that matches the pain you're feeling. his eyes soften as they meet yours, but there's nothing he can say to ease the ache in your heart. he feels it, too—the agony of watching you break, and it pulls at his soul.

you look at the baby now, tears falling freely as you watch the little one’s cries intensify in the mother’s arms. you can’t help but whisper, “he’s crying because he doesn’t want her...” the words come out like a plea, a desperate attempt to make sense of everything, to try and convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, the baby wants you instead. your voice shakes, raw with emotion, but before you can take a step closer, geto’s hand wraps gently around your arm, stopping you.

his grip is firm, but his eyes are soft as he looks down at you, silently asking you to stop. you try to pull away, but he moves to your other side, standing between you and the woman, as though to shield you from the unbearable truth.

your eyes lock with geto’s, and for a moment, your world narrows to just him, the one person who has always been there for you. you silently beg with him, your expression pleading, but his face remains unreadable. you turn your gaze back to the baby, the ache in your chest deepening.

“please...” you whisper, the words a broken cry as you speak to the woman. “give me the baby... you’re struggling with money, and you have two children already... my husbands and I, we could give him a good life. we could provide for him. please.”

your voice cracks as you continue, your heart breaking more with every word. you sound pathetic. desperate. it’s not a side of yourself you’ve ever shown, but the unbearable weight of this moment has shattered everything inside of you. you know, deep down, that you’re asking for something impossible, but the dream of having a child, of raising a family, drowns out everything else.

you feel small in the moment, exposed, vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. and even though you know you’re not supposed to be doing this—taking another woman’s child—you can’t stop yourself. the desperation is consuming, the longing for what you can’t have swallowing everything else around you.

gojo’s heart shatters as he hears the pain in your voice, the raw plea for something you want so badly, but can’t have. he can feel the weight of your despair, the aching desire for a life that seems just out of reach. he wants nothing more than to take away your pain but there’s nothing he can say, nothing he can do in this moment to make it right.

the woman’s face is set in a hard, unmoving expression, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt, and the baby’s cries only serve to intensify the tension.

the woman’s eyes narrow with fury, her grip tightening around the baby as her emotions boil over. her voice cracks, sharp and furious as she screams at you, her words slicing through the tension in the air. “how dare you?!” she spits, her voice thick with anger, as she glares at you with pure disdain. “how dare you ask a mother to give up her child?! even if i’m struggling, he’s still my son! no one is taking him from me!”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the world feels like it stops spinning. the rage in her voice is palpable, her protective instincts flaring as she stands her ground. your heart aches, but you can’t look away. you feel the sting of her accusation, the weight of her anger pressing down on you, and despite the deep sorrow inside, there’s a small, quiet voice that tells you she’s right.

you can’t take someone’s child, no matter the reason. the reality of what you've done, of what you’re asking for, sinks in, making you feel smaller, more insignificant than ever. her words echo in your mind as you stand there, trembling under the weight of your own mistake. you want to explain, to tell her that you didn’t mean it like that, that you only wanted to help, but the words die in your throat.

the baby in her arms continues to cry, and you instinctively want to comfort him, but you know now that it’s not your place. not your baby. and even though the longing still burns in your chest, the reality is clear now. you can’t force something that wasn’t meant to be.

you stand there, your words tumbling out in a frantic rush, a desperate attempt to salvage some semblance of control over the chaos swirling inside of you. “i’ll give you money,” you say, your voice trembling. “every month. for compensation. i can help you, just—just give me the baby.”

you look at geto, searching his face for something, anything, to support the madness spilling from your lips. “right, suguru?” you ask, your voice pleading as you turn to him, desperate for him to agree, to somehow make it all okay.

but the moment the words leave your mouth, you realize how irrational, how out of touch with reality they sound. your husbands exchange a glance, and the look in their eyes is enough to break your heart all over again.

geto’s face tightens, his jaw clenched as he watches you. the pain in his eyes is overwhelming, like a weight pressing down on him. he doesn’t respond immediately, as if trying to process what you’ve said, what you’re asking. his silence speaks louder than anything he could say.

gojo, standing beside you, looks just as torn. his usual calm demeanor shattered, replaced with a raw, vulnerable expression. his hand grips your shoulder, not in comfort, but in a desperate attempt to bring you back, to snap you out of this madness.

but it’s clear to them both that you’ve lost yourself in this haze of grief and longing. nothing makes sense. the reality of your situation has overwhelmed you so completely that the words you speak are the frantic pleas of someone who feels like they’re losing everything.

both of them are hurting. deeply. watching the woman holding the baby, and seeing the desperate, disoriented look in your eyes, they feel the weight of your pain, but also the crushing responsibility of your actions. they can’t support you in this. not this. they both want to hold you, to make the pain go away, but even they know they can’t fix everything, no matter how much they wish they could.

as you turn to geto, your pleading eyes searching for validation in your words, the heavy weight of your request hanging in the air, he can feel his own heart breaking. the words you’re speaking, the desperate plea, are like a daggerpiercing his chest. he can’t help but wish he could say yes, that he could fix this situation, that he could make you happy. but the truth is crushing, and he can only shake his head, the words trapped in his throat as he tries to find a way to reply.

but it’s gojo who speaks first, his voice soft but firm. gojo's hand tightens on your shoulder, his voice strained as he speaks, “love...” he begins, his tone quiet and heavy. “you... you know we can’t do that.”

each word feels like a blow, and he can see the pain in your eyes as you listen, as his words sink in. “you know we can’t take someone else’s child,” he continues, each word a lance to your heart. “we can’t just... we can’t just ask her to give up her baby, love. that’s not right.”

you look at gojo, your expression lost and pleading, as if none of this makes sense to you. “but… why not?” your voice is barely above a whisper, thick with desperation. you sound so genuinely confused, like your mind is struggling to grasp a reality that feels so wrong, so unfair.

“she’s struggling, satoru,” you say, gesturing weakly toward the woman. “she doesn’t even have money. she can’t give him the life we can, the life he deserves.” your words are raw, your gaze flicking between the baby nestled in her arms and gojo, searching his face for some understanding.

“she’s having twins. twins. what harm could it be to… to just give us one?” your voice breaks, the plea in your tone aching and vulnerable. “we’d be helping her, making things easier for her. why can’t you see that?”

gojo looks at you with an ache that mirrors your own, his eyes red-rimmed, struggling to hold back tears. his grip on your shoulder is firm, grounding, but his silence cuts deeper than anything. he wants to make this okay for you, to take away the hurt.

gojo’s heart breaks at the pleading tones of your voice, the desperation that seems to cloud your judgment. he wants more than anything to fix this, to make the world right for you again, but the truth is unbearable. the reality is that taking another person’s child is wrong on every level and no amount of pleading, no amount of convincing, can change that.

“love,” he whispers, his voice strangled. “it’s not about how much we can give him, or how much she can. this child is hers, and we have no right to take him.”

he can see the anguish in your eyes before meeting geto’s for a second and back to you, the way you’re struggling to make sense of a world that’s suddenly become so unfair. but the fact remains— this isn’t about what’s easier for the woman or what’s better for the child. it’s about doing the right thing, and the right thing is to leave that child with his mother.

gojo’s hand reaches up, his fingers gently tracing your face, wiping a tear from your cheek. the look in his eyes is filled with pain and sorrow, but more importantly, it’s filled with understanding.

“i know...” he says, his voice strained. “i know how much you want a family. i know how badly you want a child. but love, this... taking someone else’s child isn’t the way...”

you ignore gojo’s words entirely, your heart and mind spiraling as you drop to your knees in front of the woman, desperation pouring out of you. your hands tremble as they reach out, clasping her knees, and you look up at her, your face streaked with tears, eyes wide with a raw, unfiltered plea.

“please,” you whisper, voice breaking. “please… if you can’t… if it’s too much for you, give him to me.” your words tumble out, nearly incoherent in their urgency. “or… or sell him to me,” you add, the words slipping past your lips without thought, your desperation clouding everything else.

the woman stares down at you, her expression shifting from shock to anger, but you don’t stop. you press the top of your head against her knees, bending forward as you sob, shoulders shaking with each breath. “i can’t—i can’t get pregnant,” you manage, voice choked. “i’ll never… i’ll never be a mother. please… please, just… please let me have him.”

the room seems to close in around you, all sounds muted except for your own quiet, desperate cries. your husbands stand nearby, their faces etched with pain and helplessness as they watch you, seeing the extent of your suffering laid bare.

gojo’s hand hovers over your shoulder, uncertain, as if afraid to break the fragile shell of your sorrow, while geto’s gaze is fixed on you, his face drawn with grief. they feel every ounce of your pain, yet are bound by the truth they can’t alter—no matter how deeply they wish they could take this agony away.

gojo steps forward, his face tight with remorse as he looks at the woman, who clutches her baby protectively to her chest. “i’m so sorry,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “please… just go. thank you for your patience.”

the woman stares back, her expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but she nods slightly before turning and hurrying away, the baby’s soft cries fading as she disappears down the hall.

as the door clicks shut, geto moves immediately, sinking down beside you, his arms reaching around your trembling form. he pulls you close, wrapping you in a firm embrace, one hand cradling the back of your head as you press against him. he holds you tightly, his touch a gentle anchor amid the storm inside you, grounding you even as you break down, sobs spilling from your chest in waves.

gojo watches as the woman and the baby disappear down the hallway, his heart aching in his chest. the silence that follows is heavy and oppressive, the atmosphere thick with sorrow and disappointment. he feels a pang of guilt, realizing that his words, despite being true, couldn’t soothe your pain, couldn’t change your reality.

he sees geto pull you against him, the way you cling to him, your body trembling with sobs. gojo stands there, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he struggles with the feeling of helplessness that washes over him.

seeing you like this, so vulnerable and broken. seeing you so shattered, so utterly broken by something he can’t fix, is like a dagger to his heart. he wants to fix it, to make it all better, but he can’t. and that realization, the feeling of being powerless to bring you the happiness he knows you deserve, is eating him alive.

geto’s gaze drifts up to meet gojo’s, and for a moment, they share a look—one filled with a profound helplessness neither of them is used to feeling. gojo’s jaw tightens, his hand resting on your shoulder as he murmurs softly, “let’s get her home. she don’t need to be here anymore.”

geto nods, his expression heavy with sorrow as he carefully slides his arms beneath you, lifting you into his embrace with gentle strength. you curl into his chest, clinging to his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. he cradles you close, his grip secure, yet tender, as though he fears you might shatter any moment.

gojo walks ahead, clearing a quiet path as they make their way through the sterile hospital corridors and out into the fresh air. every step is quiet, purposeful, the weight of the moment hanging between them. they reach the parking lot, the cool breeze offering a slight comfort as they move toward the car. gojo opens the door, waiting as geto settles you gently in the backseat, tucking a blanket they always keep in the car around you as if it might shield you from the ache of reality.

both men share another look—one that speaks of the hurt they’re carrying for you, the unspoken promise that they’ll stay by your side through it all, no matter how heavy it gets.

geto sits beside you in the backseat, his hand gently combing through your hair, his touch a silent reassurance. gojo starts the car, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to check on you, his heart clenching at the sight of you, bundled in the blanket, your eyes empty and vacant, your body still trembling lightly.

the car ride is silent, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you. gojo keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his thoughts a turmoil of worry and despair.

“she’s asleep..” gojo notices you’ve fallen asleep in the backseat, the exhaustion of everything you’ve been through evident in your closed eyes and the deep breaths coming from your lips. he looks back a few times, his heart constricting each time he sees your weary form.

he glances over at geto beside you, who’s watching silently as well. the two men exchange a look, a thousand wordless thoughts and emotions passing between them in that instant, before gojo diverts his attention back to the road.

geto keeps his gaze on you, his hand still gently stroking your hair, his fingers tracing soft, slow circles against your scalp, as if hoping the rhythmic motion might offer some comfort in your sleep.

the rest of the car ride passes in a silent, heavy tension. neither gojo nor geto speak, the depth of their worry and despair is too great for words. they both feel as though they’ve failed you, even though they know they’ve done everything they can.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, they pull into their driveway. gojo cuts the engine, the sudden quiet only adding to the heavy atmosphere. he looks over his shoulder at you, your face still and peaceful in sleep, the pain and sorrow gone for the moment.

gojo steps out of the car first, moving around to open the door for geto as he carefully lift you from the backseat, working in tenderness to carry you inside, his hands and arms gentle and protective against your body.

once inside, he leads the way down the hall, heading straight for your shared room and gently laying you on the bed. he pulls off your shoes and slides you further up the bed, pulling the sheets over you as you continue to sleep. geto looks down at you, concern etched into his features, his heart aching in his chest. he sits beside you on the edge of the bed, watching as your chest rises and falls with each breath.

gojo stands in the doorway, his face drawn and weary, his eyes tracing over your sleeping form with a mixture of pain and heartache. seeing you like this, so vulnerable and broken, is tearing him apart, the knowledge that he’s powerless to ease your suffering gnawing at his heart.

“she’ll be okay…” he whispers, more to himself than to geto, a silent hope that speaking the words might make them true. geto doesn’t respond, his eyes glued to you, his hand resting atop the blankets that cover your form. he’s just as worried as gojo, just as hopeless. he knows better than anyone that time is the only healer in situations like this, and time can be a brutal remedy.

gojo steps outside the room, letting the door open, his movements mechanical, stiff—as if keeping himself together is all he can manage, leans back against the wall, the cool surface grounding him as he shoves his hands into his pockets, fingers curling into fists. he tries to steady his breathing, tries to force himself to be strong for you, for geto. but the weight of everything finally breaks through, and the tears begin to slip silently down his cheeks. he doesn’t wipe them away, just stands there, letting the grief settle in his chest, heavy and unrelenting.

inside, geto still sits on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked on your hand resting atop his lap. he swallows thickly, feeling the tightness in his throat as he lets himself tear up, his vision blurring as he studies your wedding ring—the small, delicate circle that symbolizes the promises they made to you, promises they feel helpless to fulfill. his thumb gently brushes over the ring, and he bites down hard on his lip, the pain a small distraction from the ache in his heart.

for a long moment, geto just sits there, his hand never leaving yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch. he wants to say something, to offer you comfort, but he knows words would fall short. so he simply stays, his silent tears falling as he holds your hand, hoping that maybe, somehow, his presence can bring you even a small measure of solace.

gojo stands just outside the room, his shoulders slumped, the weight of his grief and helplessness evident in every line of his body. he watches as geto’s shoulder trembles slightly, the quiet sobs that geto tries to suppress as he sits beside you on the bed. gojo feels his heart break further each time he sees geto struggling to hold it together, knowing he can’t ease his own or geto’s pain right now.

he wants to step forward, to offer comfort, a hand on a shoulder, a word of reassurance, anything. but he can’t move, a part of him afraid that the moment he steps into the room, the dam holding back his own tears will break for good. instead, he just stands there, the sound of geto’s soft weeping echoing in his ears, a silent testament to a pain that refuses to stay hidden.

it had been days since that painful incident, and each one weighed heavily on you. you’d barely left the bed, consumed by a deep, silent grief that kept you withdrawn, the hurt sinking deeper with every passing hour. you barely ate, barely spoke. you’d turned away from your responsibilities, from jujutsu high, from the life you’d built with such dedication. instead, you lay in bed, letting exhaustion take you each night as tears ran dry against your pillow.

tonight, though, the weight of your sorrow pulled you from bed in the middle of the night. in a daze, you found yourself drifting to the walk-in closet, your only escape from the endless loop of sorrow. sitting on the carpeted floor, you pressed your back and head against the shelf, drawing some comfort from its solidity as you sat there, letting soft murmurs slip from your lips—whispers of thoughts you barely registered yourself.

in the dark bedroom, geto stirred, reaching out instinctively for you, only to find the sheets cool and empty. he blinked, the room settling around him as he sat up, trying to piece together where you could be. beside him, gojo still lay asleep, his face etched with lines of exhaustion and worry, even in sleep.

then geto saw it—the faint glow of light spilling out from the closet, and he heard your soft voice drifting from within, quiet, like a sorrowful melody he couldn’t quite make out. with a sigh, he slipped from bed and moved toward the closet, the sound of his bare feet soft on the floor.

as he reached the doorway, he found you there, sitting alone on the carpet, your figure almost blending into the shadows, shoulders slouched, your head leaning back as you stared blankly ahead. slowly, you turned your head toward him, your expression so exhausted, so worn, yet somehow you mustered a weak, fleeting smile—one that tugged painfully at his heart.

“hey,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender, laced with the worry he felt deep within.

“hey,” you murmured back, your voice barely audible, like the faintest crack of light through a closed window.

geto lowered himself onto the floor beside you, his eyes gentle as they took you in. he reached out, his hand finding yours while the other arm wrap around your shoulder. his thumb tracing delicate circles over your knuckles, grounding you both. for a moment, neither of you spoke. there was nothing to say that hadn’t been said already, no comfort that could ease the ache you both felt. but his presence, solid and steady, brought a small glimmer of warmth to the cold grief wrapped around you.

gojo slowly blinked open his eyes, the absence of your warmth on the sheets drawing him from sleep. confusion clouded his vision when he found the bed empty beside him, and for a moment, he simply lay there, the lingering remnants of sleep still holding onto his mind.

then, the low murmurs of a quiet voice drifted through the silent room, pulling him completely into wakefulness. his eyes focused in the darkness, and in the faint glow spilling from the crack in the walk-in closet doorway.

he sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his waist as he listened to the familiar cadence of your voice, the strain in your tone a harsh contrast to its usual smoothness and strength.

he could pick up snippets of your quiet, almost broken-sounding whispers, but the words were indistinct in his ears, lost in the haze of sleep and worry. the only thing that was clear was the sorrow, the despair that seemed to linger around each syllable.

gojo threw off the covers. the floor was cold beneath his feet, the hardwood offering no comfort against the icy chill that seemed to settle in the absence of your presence in the bed.

the cool night air hit gojo’s bare legs as he threw off the covers, the warmth of sleep vanishing with every step toward the closet. each step on the hardwood felt like a jolt to his heart, the icy chill settling not just in his feet, but in the aching place where you should’ve been beside him.

he found himself pausing at the doorway, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of you and geto on the floor, hunched together in the glow of the closet light. geto’s hand was gently intertwined with yours, his other arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders as if he could somehow shield you from the sorrow that weighed you down.

gojo forced a small smile, leaning casually against the door frame, as if to lighten the mood. “having a party without me, huh? i see how it is,” he joked, trying to inject a little warmth into the quiet room. “the invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

you looked up, and for a moment, that familiar sparkle flickered in your eyes, even if just for a second. your lips lifted in a sad, faint smile as he crossed the small space and sat down beside you, pressing his shoulder against yours with a gentle nudge.

“oh, satoru,” you murmured softly, holding up the tiny, delicate baby clothes in your hands. “i… i bought these without thinking.” your fingers ran over the soft fabric, as if the touch itself was soothing, but your gaze was distant, lost somewhere else, somewhere softer, somewhere that felt far away from this pain. “they were so cute. i couldn’t help myself.”

you managed a laugh, but it was hollow, filled with sorrow. “i… i thought, maybe… one day, you know?” your voice cracked, and gojo’s heart clenched as he saw the tear slipping down your cheek. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you gently against him, while geto’s hand tightened around yours.

you looked at the tiny clothes again, a fresh wave of grief in your gaze. “i was just about to throw these out,” you whispered, barely meeting their eyes. “they’re just… they’re just a reminder now.”

gojo’s throat tightened, the sight of the baby clothes clutched in your hands, a painful reminder of what might’ve been. his arm tightened around you, pulling you snugly against his side as geto’s grip on you tightened too, the three of you creating a silent bubble of comfort in the dim light of the closet.

“you don’t have to throw them away if you don’t want to,” gojo said quietly, his voice soft as he took in the delicate fabric, the innocent symbolism of a future that was so suddenly snatched away.

your fingers traced over the fabric, trembling as they glided across each tiny fold and seam. the baby clothes were soft, achingly so, and it was like holding a piece of a dream that had slipped through your fingers. your lips quivered, a quiet murmur escaping as you whispered, “it’s... so soft.” the words fell from your mouth, barely more than a breath, but they carried the weight of everything you’d hoped, everything you’d imagined.

your hand lingered, stroking the fabric as if comforting yourself through the gentle touch. tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, and you couldn’t look up at gojo or geto—couldn’t face the pity, the sorrow that mirrored your own pain. instead, you kept your gaze on the tiny clothes in your hands, clutching them as if they were a lifeline, a piece of the child you’d longed for.

“i thought... i thought one day...” you choked on the words, a tear slipping down your cheek, dampening the fabric. “i thought one day they’d be filled. they’d... they’d be his. or hers.” your voice was a trembling whisper, barely holding together under the weight of your grief.

gojo’s heart ached with each word, each broken confession that echoed in the quiet of the closet. the weight of your sorrow, the quiet pain in your voice, it was all too much. he swallowed past the lump in his throat, his grip on you tightening—a silent, wordless offering of comfort.

“you can keep them.” gojo said, his voice quiet but firm. he leaned closer, his arm around you pulling you a little closer, his fingers tracing small circles on your shoulder, “if... if it helps. you don’t have to let go.”

geto, his fingers still intertwined with yours, listened silently, his eyes on you, watching the mixture of pain and longing that played across your face. he could almost feel the weight of your sorrow, the ache in his heart matching yours.

he gently squeezed your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he spoke, his voice a low, comforting murmur. “you don’t have to do anything right now,” geto said, echoing gojo’s sentiment. “we’re here. we’re right here with you.”

your voice was barely a whisper, the words thick with the weight of everything you’d been carrying for days. you rested your head on gojo’s shoulder, your body trembling with the sobs you tried to suppress but couldn’t hold back any longer. “i’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice shaky and fragile. “i’ve been so... so sad all these days, and... i just... i can’t help it.”

your hands gripped the soft baby clothes tighter, as if holding onto something—anything—that might make the pain just a little more bearable. you could feel their presence around you, the warmth of both of them, and yet the emptiness inside felt overwhelming.

gojo pulled you even closer, his face burying into the top of your hair as he held you tight, his arms strong and comforting around you. “don’t be sorry,” he said fiercely, his tone brooking no argument. “don’t you dare apologize. you’ve been through something unbearable. you don’t have to pretend to be okay. we’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

geto moved in closer too, his knee bumping against yours as he shifted, his voice firm and reassuring, “you’ve done nothing wrong. you can feel whatever you need to feel, we’re here for you,” he echoed gojo’s words, his hand holding yours, the warm, tangible contact a lifeline in the sea of grief that surrounded you. he moved slightly, his free hand gently brushing the dampness from your cheeks, his touch tender and soothing. “you don’t have to hold back. not with us. you don’t have to be strong. not right now.”

tears welled up again, threatening to spill over, and you couldn’t stop the overwhelming flood of emotions. “i don’t want to keep hurting you both,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “you’ve been so patient, so kind, and i just feel like i’m breaking apart... and i don’t want to drag you down with me.”

but even as the words left your lips, the warmth of their embrace told you everything you needed to know. gojo’s hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, while geto’s fingers gently brushed through your hair, both of them offering their quiet support, their unspoken understanding.

“you’re not breaking us,” gojo murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, his breath stirring the fine strands of your hair. “you could never break us,” he said, his voice strong and sure. “we’re here for you. through the good, through the bad. we’re not just going to abandon you because you’re hurting.”

geto’s hand slid to your cheek, his fingers gently tracing along your jawline, his gaze filled with pain and love, “you’re our wife,” he said quietly. “our soul. our everything.”

your head lifted slowly from gojo’s shoulder, your eyes searching his face with a flicker of something new—something more hopeful. for the first time in days, there was a spark of determination, an ember igniting in the midst of your grief. your fingers trembled slightly as they reached up, brushing through gojo’s hair, as you locked eyes with him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“maybe...” you started, your voice shaky but gaining strength as you went on. “maybe we should try. maybe the doctor was wrong.”

you could feel your heart race at the words, a mix of vulnerability and hope swirling inside you. you wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. that maybe, just maybe, things could work out—despite everything that had happened. despite the crushing weight of loss you still carried. maybe you weren’t as broken as you thought.

“what if we give it a shot?” you whispered, eyes darting between your two husbands, your gaze now full of hope. “maybe there’s a chance. maybe... we could try again.”

“no,” geto’s voice is quiet, answering without hesitate, the gentle steadiness in his tone somehow making the words sting even more. “i know how much you’ve dreamed about having a family, raising a child together.”

his words are comforting yet heartbreaking, an acknowledgment of the unspoken fears you both share. you feel a tightness building in your throat as you fight to hold back tears, feeling the weight of his hand grounding you. but it’s gojo’s voice that breaks the silence next, and it’s strained in a way that cuts right through you.

“but… we can’t lose you.” his words come out in a whisper, barely above a breath, and there’s a tremor to it you rarely hear. he looks down, his head hanging low as he grips your hand, his knuckles white with the intensity of his hold. “i don’t… i can’t imagine… if something happened to you.”

gojo’s grip on your hand tightens, the thought of losing you, his lifeline, too much even to speak of. geto's hand on your cheek feels like an anchor, keeping you grounded, even as your heart races in anticipation of gojo’s next words.

“not at the risk of losing you. never.” he continues, his voice firm despite the strain. “i can’t… i’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.” he lifts his gaze from the floor, his eyes meeting yours, a mix of love and fear swimming in the blue depths. “i would give up everything, give up the idea of family, if it meant keeping you safe. losing you would be an emptiness… a pain… that i wouldn’t survive.”

gojo’s gaze shifts up again, from geto before meeting yours, the depths of his love and worry so achingly clear in his eyes. “i can’t lose you,” he repeats, the words catching slightly in his throat. “i can’t risk it. i’m not willing to gamble with your life. you’re too precious to us. too precious to me.”

geto’s hand moves to your chin, gently guiding your gaze towards him. his expression is gentle, filled with care, and yet there is an almost unbearable sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes. “please understand,” he says softly, “we value your life above everything else.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but geto’s soft, steady voice stopped you before you could speak any further. his hand on your chin held you gently, but firmly, as if trying to ground you in the moment, to make sure you understood his words clearly.

“no buts,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, a quiet plea in his eyes. “this isn’t about what you want, love. it’s about your life. and we’re not willing to risk it. not for anything, not for anyone.”

his words hit like a cold wave, each syllable piercing through the haze of desperation you’d been holding onto. you felt your heart falter, the overwhelming urge to fight back, to keep grasping for that sliver of hope, but deep down you knew the truth in his voice. the painful truth that your husbands loved you far too much to let you endanger yourself again, no matter how much you wanted to try.

“you mean everything to us,” gojo added softly, his voice barely a whisper, as if he too was struggling to keep the weight of it all from breaking him. “we can’t lose you. not like this.”

geto’s thumb gently brushed your cheek, his expression softening, even as sorrow shadowed his gaze. “we would do anything to see you happy, but we can’t let you sacrifice yourself for a dream. your health, your life... that’s what matters most to us. not the baby, not anything else. just you.”

the words wrapped around you like a vise, heavy and final. it felt as though the very thing you clung to—the hope of motherhood, the thought of a family—was slipping through your fingers. the ache in your chest deepened, but as you looked into the eyes of both your husbands, you saw only love, only the raw, painful care they had for you.

you swallowed hard, the tears that had been on the edge of falling finally breaking free. you didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to let go of the dream, but you knew—they were right. the risk was too great, and they were asking you to protect yourself, even if it meant letting go of a piece of your heart.

“i understand,” you whispered through the sobs, your voice small, fragile.

gojo’s arm pulled you closer, wrapping tightly around your shoulders, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back and his face burying into your hair. his body trembles slightly, fighting back his own tears as he holds you fiercely.

“we love you,” he whispers hoarsely. “so much. please, understand that this... this isn’t about not wanting a family with you. it’s about keeping you safe.”

geto’s hand moved from your chin, his fingers tracing down your neck, the touch gentle, as he stepped closer, his own eyes glossy with unfallen tears. “we want a future with you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with love, “a long, long... safe and happy future. and we won’t take any risks with that.”

he gently pulls you to his chest, holding you close, his arms wrapping around your frame as he cradles your body. his heart is hammering against yours, the rhythm a quick, nervous staccato that speaks of the fear they’re both feeling.

“please, please understand,” gojo’s voice is a quiet, desperate plea, “it’s not that we don’t want kids with you. it’s that we want you to be safe. we want to keep you safe. we both do.”

geto’s hand is stroking your hair, his lips pressed softly against the top of your head as he holds you closer. the pain in his voice is evident as he adds, “we want you to be healthy, happy… with us… for a long time.”

you nod slowly, pressing your face against geto’s chest as a defeated “okay” slips from your lips, barely more than a whisper. your voice trembles with the weight of the word, laden with acceptance and heartache all at once. the surrender in your tone brings a wave of relief mingled with sorrow to both your husbands, who tighten their embrace around you as if shielding you from the pain of letting go.

geto’s hand gently strokes your hair, his lips brushing your temple in silent reassurance. his hold is steady, strong, grounding you as you lean into him. gojo’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours after he wraps his arms from behind, squeezing gently, offering a quiet reminder that he’s here, that they’re both here.

gojo's head rests on yours, his forehead against your hair, his breathing soft and steady against your neck. his body is a warm, solid presence behind you, a shield against the emptiness, a constant that you can rely on.

geto leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “we're here. we'll always be here.”

the room is silent, the quiet interrupted only by the shared, steadying rhythm of your breaths. in the comfort of their embrace, there is a heartbreaking beauty to the moment, a quiet strength in the simple act of being together.

gojo’s hand gently releases yours, his fingers tracing up your arm in a slow, careful path. it comes to rest on your waist, the thumb tracing soothing, repetitive circles against your hip. a silent, gentle touch, an attempt to soothe your aching heart as he continues to lean into you, his body curved around yours.

geto’s hand in your hair is now a gentle, almost massaging motion, his fingers slowly sliding through the strands, his touch both comforting and intimate. they hold you—not as if you’re fragile or broken, but as if you’re precious, valuable, worth every

breath and second of their time. gojo and geto’s silence speaks louder than words—the steadiness of their presence, the tenderness of their touch, the quiet strength in their hold. they love you, they love you so desperately, and you can feel it with every beat of their hearts, every soft exhale as they hold you.

in the quiet of the car, geto’s fingers tap rhythmically on the steering wheel as he stares at gojo, both of them caught in the tension of their unspoken thoughts. they glance into the backseat, where two small, confused faces peer back at them. the boy with pink hair and brown eyes clutches the sleeve of the other boy with jet black hair and striking blue eyes, looking to him for reassurance, even in their silence.

geto sighs, voice low and uncertain. “i don’t know how she’ll react. bringing two strangers—two kids—into the house... especially when she’s going through so much.”

gojo shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “i know,” he says, his tone hesitant. “but we can’t just… leave them. we found them because they were being hurt—abused by the villagers just because they have jujutsu. we can’t turn our backs on them now.” his words are resolute, but his expression falters. behind his cool, stoic front, there’s a softness, an unwillingness to abandon these two boys who have already been through so much.

geto looks away, taking a moment to weigh their choices. he knows gojo’s right, knows he doesn’t have it in him to just leave these kids to fend for themselves. not after what they’ve seen, and not when they have a home to offer, even if things are complicated. but he also knows you, and he knows how fragile things are right now.

the pink-haired boy shifts, sensing the tension, and tightens his hold on his friend’s arm. the boy with blue eyes stares back at the two men, his gaze unwavering, as if waiting for them to make a decision, as if he’s already used to uncertainty and the discomfort of being unwanted.

geto glances at gojo, reading the determination in his face, the concern for the boys, and sighs. he can feel a sense of responsibility for them too, the same feeling that has him glancing at the boys’ faces in the mirror, their wide eyes silently pleading.

he turns back to gojo, his own expression torn, “you don’t think she’ll… react badly?” he asks softly, his voice filled with worry. “after… everything that’s happened, i don’t want to overwhelm her.”

geto’s words hang in the air, the weight of their implications obvious—the fear of further straining the delicate balance of your current state, the worry of adding to the emotional burden you’re already carrying.

gojo’s gaze flickers to the boys in the backseat again, their innocent faces watching them, waiting. he can feel the tension in his own chest, the conflict of wanting to help these kids and protecting you from further sorrow.

gojo lets out a quiet, resigned sigh, his hand running through his hair one last time before he nods toward geto. “let’s just… see how she reacts. if it’s too much… if it hurts her more, we’ll figure something out.” his voice carries a tone of forced steadiness, but geto can see the conflict still etched in his eyes. he’s trying to reassure himself as much as he’s trying to reassure his friend.

with that, gojo pushes open the car door and steps out, the night air feeling heavier than usual. he circles to the backseat, pausing as he looks at the two boys through the glass, their small faces gazing up at him with a mix of uncertainty and trust. he softens his stance, letting his usual intimidating presence melt away, and carefully opens the door.

kneeling down to their eye level, he offers a gentle smile, his voice as soothing as he can manage. “hey… you’re safe now, alright? no one’s going to hurt you here.” his hand extends, and the pink-haired boy looks at his friend before they both reach out to gojo, taking comfort in his calm demeanor.

“come on out,” he says softly, his hand light on their backs as he guides them out of the car. “we’re going to take you inside. there’s someone very special to us who lives here too, and she’s… she’s going through a tough time, so we’ll need to be gentle with her. but i promise, you’re safe.”

the boys nod quietly, their small frames pressing closer to gojo as he stands, keeping them close as they walk toward the house with geto following behind. his heart aches, knowing they’re stepping into something complicated, but he feels a flicker of hope as they near the front door.

gojo can hear the quiet, anxious breaths of the boys standing next to him, their hands gripping his shirt. their wide eyes are fixed on the door, filled with both fear and anticipation. he glances at geto, their unspoken understanding of the situation heavy between them.

he gently pats the boys’ heads, hoping to soothe their uneasiness. “don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “everything’s going to be alright.” he reaches out, his hand wrapping around the cold, brass doorknob, and with a soft inhale, he pushes the door open.

the soft creak of the hinges seems unusually loud in the quiet night, a prelude to the quiet of the house and the unknown that awaits inside. gojo feels the boys’ grip on his shirt tighten slightly, their small bodies tensing with nerves.

he leads them quietly inside, their footsteps muted against the smooth wooden floor. the house is still, as if holding its breath, the only sound coming from the boys’ soft breathing and the slight creak of the old floorboards beneath their feet.

geto places a steady hand on gojo's shoulder, a silent agreement passing between them as he asks him to stay with the boys in the living room. gojo nods, a gentle understanding in his eyes as he watches geto head outside.

in the backyard, you sit quietly on the bench, your face softly illuminated by the last light of the day. the glow of the sunset dances across your features, casting a gentle warmth over you. at the sound of approaching footsteps, you slowly open your eyes, turning to see geto’s familiar figure walking toward you.

he gives you a soft smile, the kind that holds a thousand unspoken words, and sits beside you, close enough that you can feel his presence in every quiet beat between you.

“hey…” he whispers, his hand reaching out to brush a few strands of hair from your face. he lets his fingers linger for a moment, tracing gentle circles, a small comfort as he gathers his words.

“i need to talk to you about something,” he says, his tone tender, careful. you can see something in his eyes—an unspoken depth, a mixture of love and worry. he holds your gaze, waiting for you to take in the moment, as if he knows how much you’ve been through and wants to ease you into whatever’s coming next.

under geto’s touch, your heart stutters, the familiarity of his gesture settling something deep within your chest. you lean your head into his hand, relishing the small comfort it offers, but you can feel something in the air, a tension that he’s trying to hide behind his soft smile.

you listen as he speaks, your eyes never leaving his. you can tell he’s carefully choosing his words, threading a delicate needle between what he needs to say and your current fragile state.

geto’s voice is soft, almost tentative, as he begins, “love… there’s something i need to tell you.” his hand remains a reassuring presence on your shoulder, grounding you as he carefully chooses his words. “gojo and i… we brought home some kids.”

you blink, a flicker of surprise crossing your face, and he takes a breath before continuing. “during our mission, we found these two boys. they were… kept in a cage, treated like they were less than human, all because of their cursed energy.”

he watches your expression closely, as if bracing himself for your reaction, hoping he’s not overloading you. there’s a slight sadness in his eyes as he speaks, feeling the weight of what he’s just shared.

“we… we couldn’t just leave them,” he adds, voice laced with quiet conviction. “i talked to gojo, and we both agreed—they don’t have anyone else. they were being hurt for something they can’t control, something they were born with. we… we couldn’t just turn away from that.”

he pauses, waiting, his hand gently tracing soothing patterns on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving your face as he lets the gravity of his words settle between you.

before you can even form a response, geto’s words rush out, almost in a tumble, “just for a night or two, love,” he assures quickly, his tone soft but slightly anxious. “we’re… we’re not trying to make this more difficult for you. it’s just temporary, okay? just until we figure something else out.”

he gives you a small, hopeful smile, his hand still on your shoulder, trying to soothe any worries that might be surfacing in you. “we don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. i know things have been… heavy lately. we’ll handle everything, i promise. you don’t even have to see them if you’re not up for it.”

he’s watching you with a gentle, pleading look, his gaze searching your eyes, hoping that his words are enough to ease any anxiety. it’s clear he’s trying to make this as easy as possible, fully aware of all that you’ve been carrying.

his voice is gentle, yet it’s clear that he’s worried about how you’ll react. he gauges your expression as he speaks, watching for any sign of distress or discomfort, all while maintaining a soothing rhythm with his hand on your shoulder.

his words rush out, trying to provide reassurance while also pleading for your understanding. his anxiety is evident, the weight of the situation heavy in his voice. despite all of this, there’s a hint of hope in his eyes, a hope that you will understand, that you will accept the temporary situation for what it is.

“what about their parents?” your quiet question hangs in the air, and geto’s expression falters, a brief flicker of sadness crossing his face. he sighs, his gaze dropping to his hands before looking back up at you. “they… they don’t have any,” he says softly, his voice laced with a quiet grief. “the villagers… they saw them as a curse, something to be feared. they were going to leave them to fend for themselves.”

he pauses, taking a deep breath, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “we couldn’t just walk away,” he adds gently. “not after everything we saw… and knowing what could happen to them.”

he glances back toward the house, where gojo is no doubt keeping the boys company. “they’ve been through so much already. we thought… maybe we could give them a little safety, even if just for a short while.”

you nod, your lips forming a soft, understanding smile as you look up at geto. “okay,” you whisper, a gentle acceptance in your voice that makes the tension in his shoulders ease. he lets out a quiet sigh, his hand moving to rest over yours, squeezing it in silent gratitude.

geto’s expression softens as he looks at you. your quiet acceptance seems to ease some of the tension in his shoulders, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips. he reaches out, his hand covering yours, giving it a gentle squeeze of gratitude.

he continues to watch you for a moment, the weight of the situation still hanging in the air. but there’s a sense of peace between you now, a quiet understanding that you’ve both come to an agreement, albeit a difficult one.

“thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle. “i know it’s a lot to ask, but…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your joined hands, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles over your skin. he looks up at you again, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

and it’s been two days since the boys came into your home, and your husbands can already see the change in you. they watch from the kitchen as you sit in the living room with the two boys, your laughter echoing softly through the house. after weeks of grieving the news that you couldn’t have children, they see a lightness returning to your face—a spark they’ve missed more than they could say.

geto leans against the counter, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. “she’s really taken to them,” he murmurs, his voice low but warm.

gojo nods, eyes glued to the scene before him. you’re talking to the boys, both of them wearing oversized shirts from your wardrobe—the smallest clothes in the house, yet still comically large on their tiny frames. the boys look up at you, wide-eyed and smiling, completely enraptured by your presence.

“look at her,” gojo says softly, unable to hide the fondness in his voice. “i don’t think i’ve seen her smile like that in… a long time.”

geto’s gaze softens, the sight of you laughing and at ease bringing a sense of peace he didn’t realize he’d been longing for. “maybe,” he begins cautiously, glancing at gojo, “maybe they’re what she needs right now. maybe… this is good for her. for all of us.”

gojo looks over at him, a faint smile forming. “yeah,” he agrees, the hope in his voice barely contained. “maybe it is.”

you step into the kitchen with a soft, purposeful stride, moving toward the fridge without a word. your husbands watch you carefully, their attention fixed on your every movement. it’s become a familiar pattern over the past few days—when you’re about to say something, your movements always slow down, like you’re gathering your thoughts before speaking, even if you haven’t fully decided what to say.

the fridge door clicks open, the cool light inside casting a gentle glow on your face. you reach for the soy sauce bottle without thinking, your fingers brushing over its smooth surface. the motion is casual, almost instinctive, yet your husbands notice the slight pause in your movements as you close the fridge door behind you.

they exchange a brief glance, both noticing something subtle but significant in your expression—the way your lips are pursed just slightly, the furrow between your brows. it’s a look they’ve come to recognize all too well; a mix of hesitation and contemplation. your thoughts are racing, but you haven’t yet found the words to match the emotion brewing inside.

gojo is the first to break the silence, his voice soft but steady, knowing that his wife often speaks in ways more subtle than words. "what is it?" he asks gently, his gaze never leaving your face. his eyes are understanding, attuned to the nuances of your silence.

his question hangs in the air, his tone comforting but expectant, waiting for you to share whatever’s on your mind. gojo can tell that it’s something important, something he knows you want to express but haven’t quite found the courage to. he doesn’t push, but his eyes are full of quiet concern, urging you to open up, to let him in.

geto, standing beside gojo, also watches you closely, his expression softening as he notices the way you clutch the soy sauce bottle a little tighter than necessary, your fingers wrapped around it almost protectively. his gaze meets yours, waiting for a response, his usual calm demeanor barely masking the worry in his eyes.

the kitchen feels suddenly small, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

the silence in the kitchen is almost deafening, the only sound coming from the steady, comforting breaths of your husbands. you can feel their eyes on you, their gazes unwavering as they wait patiently for you to speak.

gojo’s question hangs in the air, his voice soft but firm, his eyes searching yours. geto stands beside him, his body taut with anticipation, his eyes fixed on your face, waiting for you to give them any hint of what’s going through your mind.

you look up at them, your gaze soft, almost tentative, as if afraid of what their reaction might be. you hesitate, your fingers still gripping the bottle of soy sauce, though it feels almost distant now, like you’re holding it just to keep yourself grounded. you take a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper, “have you figured out what you're going to do with the kids yet?”

the question hangs in the air, fragile and uncertain, your words quiet, as if testing the waters, as if you don’t want to bring up something that might undo the small comfort you’ve started to find in the chaos of it all.

your husbands exchange a brief glance before turning their attention back to you, the weight of the question settling between the three of you. the truth is, they haven’t figured it out, not yet. they haven’t really wanted to talk about it, not after seeing how much the boys have seemed to brighten your spirits. since they arrived, you’ve been lighter, more like yourself again—laughing more, talking more, playing with the kids. the last few days have felt like a breath of fresh air, a small but much-needed respite from the heavy grief that had been hanging over you.

but now, standing in the kitchen, the reality of the situation is unavoidable.

geto lets out a long, soft sigh, his eyes flickering to the floor for a moment as he rubs the back of his neck, thinking over his words carefully. he then looks up at you, his expression soft but weary. “no,” he says quietly, his voice almost regretful, “we haven’t figured it out yet.”

the silence that follows is thick, uncomfortable, the words unspoken between you three hanging like a shadow. geto’s gaze never leaves yours, as if he’s trying to read the very depths of your thoughts, hoping to understand what’s going on in your mind.

gojo steps closer, his usual confident demeanor softened as he looks at you with a gentle understanding. he places a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding but also filled with reassurance. “we didn’t want to bring it up,” he admits, his tone low, “not when we see how happy the boys have made you. not when you’ve seemed… better.”

you can feel the hesitation in their words, the fear of adding more weight to your already heavy heart. they’ve seen how much the boys have meant to you, how much joy they’ve brought back into your life. it’s hard to bring up the reality of the situation when it feels like the kids are part of the healing you’ve started to experience.

the air between the three of you is filled with unspoken emotions, a quiet understanding passing between you.

in that moment, the glimmer of hope in your eyes is unmistakable. you gently place the soy sauce bottle down on the counter, the weight of the decision momentarily forgotten as you step closer to them. your hands tremble slightly as you reach for both of their hands, your fingers curling around theirs with a quiet desperation. your gaze locks onto theirs, and for a moment, it’s like the world narrows down to just the three of you.

“maybe… maybe the kids can stay here,” you say softly, your voice thick with hope, a plea more than a suggestion. “maybe we can make it work. they don’t have anyone else, and I—I don’t want to see them hurt. not when they’ve already been through so much.”

your voice falters, but the sincerity in your words remains. you search their faces, waiting for any sign of understanding, any indication that they might agree with you. the thought of the kids leaving, the idea of them going back into the world where they were mistreated, tears at your heart in ways you can’t quite explain.

the more you think about it, the more the idea of them staying with you feels like the right choice. your heart aches with the thought of giving them a home, a family, the safety they so desperately need.

you squeeze their hands, your voice more pleading now, “i know it’s a lot, but maybe... just maybe, we can make this work. they deserve a chance, don’t they?” your words are soft, but the conviction behind them is undeniable. “please..”

the look of hope in your eyes is like a knife through their hearts, a mix of desperation and longing that neither of them can deny. your words hang in the air, almost pleading, your voice shaky as you ask them to let the kids stay. your grip on their hands is strong, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you silently urge them to understand. you’re terrified of losing the sense of comfort and fulfillment you’ve found in them, and the thought of sending them back into the world that has hurt them so much is unbearable.

geto can feel his heart breaking as he listens to your words, your pleading, geto’s hands cradle your face with gentle tenderness, his touch so soft, yet firm enough to ground you. his expression is a careful balance of guilt and love, his eyes soft as he searches yours, trying to understand every layer of your emotions. he sees the hope, the hesitation, and the underlying fear that lingers in your gaze—the same fear he carries in his heart.

“okay,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, a soft promise wrapped in the usual warmth and love he always offers. his words are gentle but resolute, as if this one word, this one decision, is all that matters in the world right now. “we’ll make it work. we’ll take care of them.”

the silence between them is thick as they share a lingering stare. geto’s gaze holds steady, a silent challenge in his eyes, but there’s no anger—just resolve. after a long beat, geto turns his attention back to you, his smile softening as he sees the light returning to your face. he reaches out, his hand slipping behind your neck to gently pull you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “okay, baby,” he murmurs, the words filled with tenderness.

and when he pulls back, his eyes meet gojo’s once more, the tension between them palpable, unspoken. his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. you rest your head on his chest, feeling the weight of the moment settle. gojo’s gaze is still full of disapproval, but there’s a deeper understanding in it now, a recognition of the weight of geto’s decision. he doesn’t agree, but in the end, he knows this is something that can’t be undone.

before you can respond, a heavy silence hangs between you, filled only by the weight of what’s about to come. from behind you, gojo’s voice slices through the air, sharp with disapproval. “suguru,” he warns, his eyes narrowed and cold, a storm brewing behind those intense blue orbs. the tension in the room thickens, like a wire pulled taut.

geto doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break his gaze. he’s made up his mind, and there’s no going back now. he knows what he’s risking, knows the weight of his choice, but he also knows this is what you need. “i’m doing this for her,” he says quietly, but his words ring with finality. “if giving them a chance, if keeping them here with us, makes her smile again, if it gives her some peace—then i’ll take the risk.”

there’s no anger in his voice, only the raw honesty of someone who’s willing to do whatever it takes to see the woman he loves happy again—even if it means defying the man beside him.

gojo can feel his jaw clenching, the muscles taut with frustration as he watches you lean into geto’s chest, your head resting against his shoulder. a wave of protective anger runs through him, but beneath it, he can feel the beginnings of understanding—the slow but gradual realization that geto is serious, that this isn’t just a fleeting decision made in a moment of rashness. his eyes dart from you to geto, his expression a mixture of anger and regret.

gojo’s jaw clenches tighter, the muscles in his face twitching as a storm of emotions swirls within him—anger, frustration, and the gnawing ache of helplessness. he watches you, nestled in geto's arms, the gentle curve of your body fitting so perfectly against him. his protective instincts flare up, but there's something deeper, more reluctant, stirring within him too: the creeping recognition that geto’s decision is not a momentary whim. this is something serious, something geto believes in with all his heart.

gojo’s gaze flickers from you to geto, his eyes narrowing in conflict. he sees the quiet certainty in geto’s expression, the way he’s holding you, the way you’ve allowed yourself to lean into him, to trust him with your vulnerability. and there’s no denying it—geto’s commitment to this, to you, to this family, is real.

then his eyes move to the two boys, laughing and playing, oblivious to the tension in the room. gojo watches them for a moment, their innocent joy a stark contrast to the complicated emotions running through him. he feels a wave of guilt mixed with frustration—it’s not just about what’s best for you anymore. it’s about the kids too, the responsibility, the choices they’re all going to have to face.

with a defeated sigh, gojo pulls his gaze away from the children and looks at geto once again. his expression softens just slightly, a resigned acceptance beginning to seep in as he meets geto’s knowing smile. there’s no more fight left in him—not now. it’s clear that geto’s made up his mind, and somehow, gojo knows this isn’t a battle he can win.

“alright,” gojo mutters, his voice low but tinged with finality, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a moment. it’s a silent promise, an acknowledgment of your pain, your grief, and the decision he’s now forced to accept. his heart aches as he straightens up, but there’s a flicker of something else there too—maybe it’s love, maybe it’s just the weight of the situation, but gojo knows this is the path they’ve chosen now.

he turns his attention back to geto, his eyes locking onto his husband’s with a mix of weary fondness and reluctant understanding. “don’t make me regret this,” he warns softly, giving the man a kiss on his forehead, his voice carrying an edge despite his acceptance.

geto’s expression softens, his eyes filled with an understanding that can only be gained through years of being together, through the trials and tribulations that they’ve faced together. he knows what gojo is going through, the inner struggle of weighing risks and the weight of responsibility. “i won’t,” he replies quietly, his words carrying a promise and a plea, a reassurance that he has thought this through, that he has considered every angle, every possible outcome.

geto’s eyes flick to you, still resting against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin. he rubs your back gently, his touch firm yet gentle, a comforting gesture filled with love and reassurance. he sighs quietly, his chin resting on the top of your head, watching you both with a mix of love and concern.

gojo can feel the mix of emotions swirling within him, a maelstrom of feelings, each one pulling him in a different direction. there’s anger, frustration, a deep-seated protectiveness, and a lingering sense of helplessness. but as he looks at geto, as he hears his husband’s gentle reassurance, he can also feel a strange sense of acceptance, a reluctant surrender.

sighing, he concedes, “i know you won’t.”

gojo expression softens, the tension draining from his shoulders as he lets out another soft sigh—a sigh of acceptance, a sigh of resignation to this new reality. “just... just make sure we don’t end up with more kids here than we can handle,” he murmurs with a hint of sarcasm as he give you another kiss on your head, a small attempt at humor to ease the tension.

geto chuckles quietly, a dry laugh that holds a hint of agreement. he looks down at you, his hands holding you gently, and smiles. “don't worry,” he replies, his tone a mix of certainty and sarcasm, “the last thing i want is to see you two get even more gray hairs from the stress of looking after a bunch of little brats.”

a soft laugh escapes you, amusement bubbling up as geto’s dry humor cuts through the tension. you lift your head from his chest, meeting his gaze, and there’s something warm and unspoken in his eyes—a mixture of love, understanding, and that hint of playful sarcasm that always lightens the heaviest moments.

with a grin, you rise on your toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling the way his expression softens in response. then you turn to gojo, who’s still watching the two of you with a mix of reluctant acceptance and warmth in his gaze. without missing a beat, you place a kiss on his cheek too, feeling his arm instinctively come around you, grounding you between them.

“thank you,” you murmur, your smile sincere, gratitude shining in your eyes as you look between the two of them. they’ve given up a lot for you, bent themselves around your happiness, and this choice feels like a gift—a promise that you won’t have to face the heartache alone.

“so,” you add, glancing back at the two boys in the living room as they continue to play, “should we go shopping?” your tone is light, but there’s a spark of excitement there too, the promise of a new beginning. “y’know, for the kids..” you added, fingertips touching gojo’s collar playfully.

gojo rolls his eyes at your words but his lips curve into a small smile, still wrapped around you. “shopping, huh?” he murmurs, his hands settling on your hips, his fingers tracing absent circles there. “you just like spending my money, don’t you?” he teases, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

geto’s arm wraps around you from the back, his chin resting on your shoulder. “don’t worry,” he adds, his voice tinged with an amused fondness, “i’m sure we’ll find plenty of things the kids need,” he laughs quietly, his breath warm against your skin, “and maybe a few things that we adults can…” his words trail off, the implication clear, his lips brushing your neck softly.

you chuckle, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you look up at gojo, giving him a small, playful pout. “the kids need clothes, hubby,” you say with a soft huff, feigning indignation, being mischievous with the hubby word. “and, y’know, probably everything else, and for us, ‘adult’ too.”

his fingers continue tracing those gentle circles on your hips, and you can feel the warmth of his hands anchoring you. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused as he watches you try to hold your pout, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

gojo laughs quietly, his hands moving down to give your hips a gentle squeeze, his fingers warm and firm against your skin. “and just what kind of ‘adult’ things do you have in mind?” he asks, his voice a low murmur, a hint of playfulness in his tone. “because if my memory serves me right, we’ve got plenty of those at home already.”

geto laughs too from behind you, his chin still resting on your shoulder, his hands wrapped around your waist, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your neck again.

you hum softly, a knowing smile curving your lips as you let your gaze flick between the two men. but instead of answering, you slip out of their hold, leaving them standing there, anticipation sparking in their eyes. with an easy, confident stride, you head toward the living room, throwing a casual wave over your shoulder.

“yuuji, megumi,” you call, your voice light and inviting as the two little boys perk up, their eyes wide and curious as they look at you. “let’s go spend my husbands’ money.”

their faces light up with excitement, and they quickly scramble to their feet, hurrying toward you with delighted grins. behind you, you hear the surprised chuckles of gojo and geto from the kitchen.

the two men stand there for a moment, their gazes fixated on you and the two boys. gojo looks bewildered, a hint of amusement playing on his face, while geto has a mixture of shock and humor in his expression. “spending our money, huh?” gojo mutters, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock indignation.

geto laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “oh, this is going to cost us a fortune…” he muses, a smile tugging at his lips.

the boys rush over, their little bodies bumping into you, their hands reaching up to grab onto yours. you can feel their excitement as they giggle and chatter with each other, their voices high with anticipation.

“where are we going?” yuuji asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

megumi, on the other hand, is quieter but just as curious. “shopping?” he asks, his small fingers gripping your hand firmly.

you hum with excitement, giving each boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze as you answer, “that’s right! we’re going to get you two everything you need.” yuuji’s eyes sparkle with glee, and even megumi lets a small smile slip as he squeezes your hand back, his quiet curiosity bringing a warmth to your heart.

turning around, you glance over your shoulder at your husbands, a radiant smile lighting up your face—a look they haven’t seen in too long. your eyes glint with happiness, a genuine joy that makes you look like yourself again, the shadows of recent weeks nowhere to be found.

for a moment, gojo and geto just stand there, captivated by the sight of you, your laughter mingling with the boys’ giggles. neither of them can do anything but follow, exchanging a quiet look that says more than words ever could. they know they’re in for an adventure today, but neither would trade it for anything.

as they fall into step behind you, a sense of peace settles over them. maybe this wasn’t the life they’d planned, and maybe things hadn’t gone as expected. but seeing you happy, seeing you whole again as you lead these two bright-eyed boys out the door—it’s worth every risk.

[evamame]

anon request for kita / post marriage life in your new tiny country house

you’re in the kitchen, a place that’s still a bit bare and lacking decorations, mixing together a side salad for dinner in the only bowl you could find. from the small window above the stove you watch kita out in the field, finishing his work of tending to the rice paddy for the evening. the sun’s just begun to set, hues of pinkish orange and yellow decorating the sky. you slide open the tiny window, creating a slot for you to yell your voice out into the vast space beyond the walls of your new home. “kita, dinner’s ready!” in the distance, you see his small figure stand up straight from its crouched position and give you a glove covered thumbs up. you leave the window open to ventilate the house, letting the breeze nick your skin and the cicadas become background music.

he returns to the house quickly, going to the bathroom to wash up as you set the table. your real dining table hasn’t came in yet—everything takes longer to arrive far out in the countryside—so you sit on the carpet in the living room where the low coffee table resides. kita returns from the bathroom, throwing his towel on the arm of the couch before taking his spot on the floor across from you.

“how’s the rice going?” you ask. you don’t know much about being a rice farmer, but you act invested in his work nonetheless. kita never fails to listen intently to everything you say no matter how mundane, so it’s only right you return the favor.

“it’s goin’ well. now that it’s the summer season, i have to work on managing the fertilizer and the water,” he tells you as he picks up his chopsticks.

as he scarfs down his food, worn out and hungry as he should be from a whole day of hard labor, you look around your new living space. the area is decorated by empty shelves yet to be filled, boxes piled high that still need to be unpacked, and dim evening lighting surrounding the two of you created by the only light source not still in the moving truck—the overhead light. lines of gold stream in through the windows, fully uninterrupted without any curtains put up. your plates are mismatched, and kita sips out of ice water from a coffee mug as you use chopsticks of different lengths. your socks are just as uncoordinated, since you’ve deemed it impossible to find a matching pair in the mountain of clothes that were rearranged in turbulence on the road.

“i can’t believe we really have our own house,” you say in between bites of pork belly and lettuce.

kita smiles in agreement. “it’s kinda surreal, isn’t it? sometimes i still forget we’re even married.” his wedding ring, a sleek silver band on his ring finger, shimmers as he moves to grab a side dish. you look down at your own, a perfect match to his. his last name, now your’s too, is inscribed along the curve. you feel a weird swell deep inside your chest as you look it over. not one that’s fluttering, not a fleet of love like you felt when you two were still teenagers crushing over each other. rather you feel something more permanent, something you know will be there forever as long as you two keep the rings on your fingers. a warm and comforting feeling—home.

your new home, the paperwork for it written under your shared last name, isn’t necessarily big. there’s nothing more than cozy cottages within the walls of the countryside. all the room has been saved for large expanses of fields filled with beautifully colored flowers and rice farms overflowing with fertility and growing life. you hadn’t expected you’d ever find yourself in a place like this, but kita brought you here and so you can’t bring yourself to mind it. even through simple things like these, sitting in a comfortable silence over a small meal in a tiny and empty home, everything feels right. like it’s all you’ve ever wanted and all anything was ever meant to be. maybe that’s because, and you realize this as you watch him sit across from you, that the man you’ve become newly weds with is the only part of your life you need to feel fulfilled. as long as he’s there, the time spent lousing around on the wooden front porch doing nothing and taking slow walks across long quiet roads is all worth it. and you can’t wait for every evening to come where it’s just him and you, in the solitude of your sanctuary, tending to rice fields and spinning salads under the sunset lights.

masterlist | taglist | tags: @scoupsworld @nanasrkives @mires765 @amaliaaliena @frozen-waffle

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[buryhny]

One Night Stand ; 49 final !

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n → contains smut, fluff and angst → Chapter fourty nine ; wc 9.8k

primarily on Wattpad

index .....

"Who's at the door this time?" Jungkook questions as he glances at the clock that reads 9 o'clock; the doorbell never rings past 5 pm, so it takes the man by surprise. "It's Hoseok! He's finally free from all the work you'd been throwing on his back." This makes Jungkook roll his eyes; obviously, you're going to side with your 'best friend', but truly, Hoseok's been doing an impeccable job; he deserves more work on his hands when he can handle it so well.

True though, as a CEO he'd been tiring his workers too much but he's glad that its all over how, the big project has finally sailed and its just in time for celebration with Misoo turning 5 months! "look at your mommy, she's all decked up for her best friend!" he speaks to her in his baby language as he adjusts the straps of her little dress.

"It's time for Misoo to meet Hobi uncle!!! come on, soo!" Jungkook pouted when you carry her in your arms, making her wave at him. "maybe you should carefully place your ego on the desk, hopefully then you'll come downstairs...mmm?" you say sarcastically, you love teasing him with Hoseok, Jungkook always seems to get infuriated at that.

Although it's all for fun, there's no harm, it's such a funny game to play...though sometimes you might want to drop it off and not...make things too bad, but you both know your limits, so it's all cool. "Jokes apart, Jungkook, come down? Please?" you ask genuinely, and he sighs.

"I will, I will. It's just...so weird in this setting..you get me right?" "I know..I know he's just your employee, but come on now, you're a big boy, you'll handle it." You murmur while caressing Misoo's hair. "Take your time," you whisper before walking out of the room.

You frown when you see another man seated beside Hoseok, You walk down the stairs with Misoo wrapped in your arms, confused about who the unknown man is. his hair colored in an orange tangerine shade, he sits still though his head moves around, scanning the place until his eyes meet yours.

"Hi Hobi." you murmur, making the man swiftly move to look at you. "y/n!!" he squeaks and get on his feet, his beaming smile reaches his eyes as he excitedly watches the little one who looks at him with round innocent eyes, she oversees him...Hoseok extends his arms in attempt to carry the baby but she doesn't move, she's still 5 months and has no idea how to jump into arms yet so she looks at the cheery man whose eyes shine in joy like he's never seen a baby before.

"Come to Hobi!!! Hobi uncle!!!" he mutters. Surely the baby is surprised at how energetic this guy in front of her is. You make eye contact with the orange-headed man and smile; he smiles back, too, though it's short-lived, and he's soon back to having a very straight face.

He speaks no word, waiting till you three have your moment before he...possibly ruins it. But he's not here to do any harm or fight, all he wants is peace and acceptance from his younger brother, who now has a lovely family. "y/n, she's so cute! i cant believe how much she looks like Mr Jeon, it's insane.

"Hoseok tries to make her laugh by making funny faces, he puts out his tongue, his hands on his ears, wiggling his fingers and he succeeds...any one would, Hoseok is great at making people smile and laugh. "i know you wanna carry her, here.."he tightens his lips, trying to tell you that he's scared.

"You'll be fine! She's a big girl now. He wipes his hands on his jacket before opening his arms to carry the little one, who sits just fine! "There, she likes you!" you say when Misoo looks up at him and smiles. "Oh my god, hello Misoo baby! ayyyy!!!!" he screams whenever she smiles, then he laughs loudly, filling the house with joyful sounds.

When Hoseok walks around the hall, talking to Misoo, you turn to the man seated quietly. "Hello, I'm y/n, did you want to meet Jungkook?" he gets on his feet and nods. "It seems like Jungkook hasn't mentioned who I am," he chuckles.

You can tell he's stoic, concealing his sadness with his masking smile and rapid blinking. You can't seem to figure out who he is, but he feels...so close, someone you know, even though you've never met him before. "May I know your name?" you ask. "You're beautiful.." he whispers, but that's not what you wanna hear from him, you're appreciative of his compliment, but that's not what you asked.

He doesn't make eye contact...like ever and its unusual because you want people to look at you when they speak, feels like he's hiding something but you cant tell. "yes?" you say and he heaves a sigh before he speaks. "Yoongi." it hit you like a truck then. Is this man Yoongi? The one who left abandoned Jungkook when he needed him the most.

You froze when he said his name, he could tell that you knew him just by the way your eyes began blinking rapidly, as if you were trying to process his name, connecting him to the past that Jungkook had told you. Why is he here? Why is he back after..god knows how many years? "I-i know what you're thinking, but things have changed-" "Does Jungkook know that you're here?" you ask, and he gets quiet.

You exhale a deep breath, your eyes search Hoseok, who gives you a reassuring nod. he knows you were worried for the little one, but she's safe in her uncle's arms. You look back at Yoongi, who looks restless, he knows he doesn't belong here, but he doesn't want to leave that chapter incomplete, he wants to...make things alright, if only Jungkook gives him one last chance.

"I'm no one to ask but...Jungkook is everything to me and he's finally healing..I just-" you stutter. "I just want to don't want him to "y/n?" The volume of his voice is loud as he calls your name out as he stands by the stairs. You tilt your head to look at him, and you already see the tension in his face.

The way his eyebrows pull together and the clenching of his jaw prove the depth of his anger, surprise, maybe. Of course, he never expected him to be here. The bunch of text messages and calls ended long ago, so why is he here without any notice? Jungkook walks down the stairs, each step he takes echoes through the house, even with all the furniture and curtains absorbing the sounds.

Yoongi doesn't move, he doesn't swallow the saliva that builds up either, because he's not afraid like he was, he knows his motive, and he's fulfilling them with clear intentions. Jungkook stands beside you. he glances at your face, and you look at him with pleading eyes, to take this easy because you see the frustration building in his eyes.

He nods, accepting the signals you telepathically send to him. You move, but you stay in the zone. Whatever happens, you're gonna be here. "Listen, Ju-" "why are you here? you didn't have to come to my house when you could've done it in the office- heck, didn't we finish it already?!" you were taken back by his words, surprise crosses your face.

'They'd met before?' "kook i thought we made peace-" "we did, its exactly why i don't understand why you're here! and- why did you come to one of my employees-" Jungkook mutters when he sees Hoseok peering intently even though he knows this doesn't concern him. "its not his fault, i- i asked him to bring me here." Yoongi says as he takes a deep breath before looking up at the younger one.

"it's not peace unless you actually...make peace and this-" he moves his finger gesturing him and Jungkook. "this isn't peace, especially not with your sour face of seeing me here-" "i-i just don't understand- " "everything is so fucking clear kook!" the tone of Yoongi's voice rises as he speaks now, clearly done with Jungkook's attitude.

He gets closer to the younger one, making your heart race. "You are pushing me away, and I know! I know I hurt you, but I miss you so much and il do anything you be your brother again!" he presses his index finger on Jungkook's chest as he says every word with all his heart.

Jungkook exhales deeply, he knows he's pushing Yoongi now and it had nothing to do with their past, he's a better person now, he's handled himself and....he truly wants to be Yoongi's brother too. "you promise me you wont fucking leave me! no matter what!" Jungkook mutters, the veins on his neck bulge as he hisses through his teeth. a warning that this is the last time, and if this promise is broken, it's over.

His hands grip Yoongi's collar as he looks into his eyes, waiting for an answer. both of them stare into each other's souls, meeting with their younger selves as they glare. "i fucking wont! god, dammit!" Yoongi pushes Jungkook hard with his hands, almost stumbling him, before he pulls him into the tightest hug he could ever give.

Jungkook breaks down, then the tears flow through his cheeks, falling on the black shirt Yoongi wears. The sight of two brothers reuniting has to be the most emotional yet the most beautiful moment to witness with one's eyes. You couldn't have been happier for both of them!

Jungkook has spent all his life wanting a family, and when the one he found left him, ran away from him...it broke his heart into several pieces that to date he hasn't found all of them yet. the pieces of his heart. But after he found you, got his child, he'd mended many bits, glued them, and sealed them.

But somehow you can never fix a broken mirror, the little fragments will always be missed even if you fix the big shards, but today...he might've found them, the mirror will most definitely not look the same again with its cracked pieces but...at least he can now see his face in one frame. The grasp Yoongi has on Jungkook is so tight.

Jungkook had always envisioned a scene like this, when his loved ones finally come together, but in his wildest dreams, he never thought they would hug him like there's no tomorrow. He'd always imagined a scenario where he hugs them with all his heart, but... seems like Yoongi missed him...so...so much. And it feels good, it feels..complete.

The orange-headed man chuckles as he pulls away and holds the younger ones' hands. It's quiet, there's comfort in this silence. until you pull your nose, then the two of them turn to look at you. Jungkook walks to you and hugs you sideways, his palm clutches your shoulder as he places a kiss on your head. "Yoongi hyung.."The sound of that name allows the older to heave a sigh of relief and accomplishment.

He'd been dying to hear that for a long...long time. "This is  y/n... she's-" Jungkook glances at you with a smile. "She's your everything, you've told me," he completes it, and you chuckle, making Jungkook embarrassed. "Yeah... oh-wait." Hoseok stands awkwardly with Misoo in his arms as he watches the scene. Jungkook gestures for him to come, and he does. "Mr. Je-" "just j=Jungkook," he says and smiles.

"Misoo is good with you." "oh definitely, she's a lovely little girl!!" he says as he places a kiss on her temple and she looks up at him with wide eyes. "may i have her-" "don't ask!" Jungkook takes his little girl into his arms and walks towards Yoongi while Hoseok on the other hand stays beside you, giving your shoulder a nudge. "meet my daughter, Misoo..." Yoongi watches the baby...she's beautiful he thinks.

He can't believe his younger brother is now a father to this princess but there's no doubt that she's his. "she looks just like you!" he whispers as he caresses her head and smiles his gummy smile. "she's the prettiest child i've ever seen." Jungkook giggles at that. "have her!" Yoongi shakes his head, afraid of carrying the tiny soul but Jungkook insists so he carefully takes her.

His arms freeze, and chills run down his spine. He's never held a baby since he's had the fear of dropping them, she's fragile but not too much since she's quite big, almost half her time to reach one. She peeks innocently at Yoongi and smiles at him when he shows his. filling his heart with love. "Oh, she's such an angel!"

:

Time flies, but the time didn't just fly; it gave you so many memories to cherish. You bonded much well with your parents, it seems like your father had knocked some sense into your mother, which you are very thankful of, however you may...have distance yourself from her a bit, which Jungkook hated but you had to explain it to him that you can't always be nice when she's literally on a mission to make you both quarrel, and about what?? Marriage? That isn't even a part of your discussions yet; your baby is too little to focus on anything else.

Jungkook can't keep his hands off you recently, and it's testing you. you both have no that any sex since...the day of his birthday and that's because Jungkook wants to give you a break but that does not mean you two don't do shit, lord no.. things are as messy as always, sometimes messier than sex but its amazing, its still fire and keeps the flame burning.

Until...today.. Misoo had turned 7 months, and by now, you've trained her for bottle feeding and rusks too. which she has without any fuss, she is not...the biggest fan of mashed fruits, but that's okay! It takes time, and thank god!!! Your parents have settled into your apartment for a bit.

Jungkook insisted that they stay over at his place, but they said they'll stay at the apartment for the time being and sell all the furniture off so they can give it for rent or rather sell it since you don't need it anymore. which again Jungkook told him he could do it all in a few hours, but they insisted on doing it themselves. Your mother may... be a little difficult with you, but with Misoo, she's everything else.

She's a lovely grandma, and for that, you can't disagree; she loves her little jellybean or whatever she calls Misoo. Jungkook has been losing his mind lately, and he can't tell this to you because you've been busy shifting Misoo to her nursery and he just wants to forget you both have a baby for a while and take his time to appreciate you and so..he decided to let Misoo spend a night with her grandparents.

They were over the moon to have the little one and...you would love some alone time with your man too, so you agreed. Both of you agreed just for one night because you both can't stay long without your baby too. "have fun my bunny!!!" Jungkook places a kiss on Misoo's cheek as he waves at her and your parents.

"Dad please call us for anything okay!" you say for the 100th time of the day, concerned cause its the first time you'll be away from your bunny wunny. "of course darling, we heard you. now shoo away and let jellybean have her sleepover with us!" he laughs while your mom talks to Misoo.

"Say bye papa and mommy!!!" she attempts to make Misoo wave at you two which she does not but she giggles when her grandma tickles her. "go kids, have fun!" with that you two walk down to his car. there's silence between you two as you both sigh. "god i miss her already." you say, "fuck...me too." he says as you both lean on your seats.

"But...we cant be late." Jungkook says and you frown. "late for?" he smiles as he drives back home. "i want you to dress up, backless? strapless? short length? Knee length? whatever the fuck you wanna, i want you to dress up for me- no heck. for yourself! Okay?" he says, and you blink twice. "Ooookayyy..." you say nervously and chuckle as you both enjoy the music while he drives back home.

You walk upstairs, straight to your closet to choose a dress. You don't know what you wanna wear, but something about Jungkook's description gave out that this surprise might not be some fancy dinner but something casual and fun so when you browse by your closet, your eyes fall right on the burgundy dress that's got a lace look to it, covering up your arms and stopping below the knee with a high lace neck, you knew this was the one.

So you freshen up and slip into the dress, putting on a smoky makeup look while Jungkook takes a shower. He walks out, wearing a white tank top with a leather jacket and wide denim, you almost wanna pass out. he looks different, he's not the CEO Jeon.

Right now, he looks like a playboy who would walk in your direction, pass a wink, and gesture for you to meet him upstairs. He's dressed up for a club, and you see it. Jungkook's eyes fall on your back...that's open and stops a little over your ass. You're leaning over your vanity as you put on some lip gloss, and what a sight. Jungkook walks towards you, stopping right behind your body, he positions his hips right at your bent ass.

He looks down at it, the sight of your curve which is so much juicier than it ever used to be, right in front of his dick. its a sight to treasure. "what the fuck are you doing jeon?" "fuck you look so hot like this- i cant move, cant take my eyes off you-" he says as a grunt leaves his lips as his palms caresses the curve of your ass, your dress so short, all he wants to do is slip his hand right in.

"Can't fuck, we've got to go." "baby, let's make it quic-" "no Jungkook! lets go!!!" you pull him downstairs even though you so badly wanna fuck him, bend yourself on the couch and let him take over. but you cant, you're not gonna ruin his surprise, despite the fact that him ruining you sounds more tempting than anything else right now.

You were right, this is casual and fun. It's the club. But a much better one, fancier even, unlike the other clubs you've been to, this one's more sophisticated, a lot of the men wore fine clothing, and the women too. Jungkook's hand stays at your back as he walks in beside you, his eyes don't leave you, the backless is distracting him and even if he tries to look around the club, enjoy the view since he's got the opportunity to, he can't.

He fucking can't. 

"what would you like sir and ma'am?" the bartender asks as he walks towards you both. "ill have a pinot noir." you say. "campari." he mumbles at which you raise your eyebrow with a smirk. That was the wine you had when you first met him, that strong, bitter, citrusy flavour which you hated.

Although it tasted fantastic when you flavoured the drink with your tongue. You both grab your drinks and walk to the couch. He specifically chose the one at the corner just so you both could have some space, but also be closer to the dance floor. You lean against his chest as he places his hand on your stomach.

You both sit together, hands all over each other. Occasionally, he would place a kiss on your head and lips and smile at your sight. You take a sip of your red wine, you squint a bit at first, totally forgetting the taste of the grapes, since it's been over a year since you last had wine. He looks at you and chuckles.

"You drink expensive wine," he says, which makes you turn your head away from the people. "I don't actually, but since my friend at that time paid for this. I liked the berry flavour in this. I would never buy this back then with my own money," you laughed. Jungkook looked closely at you, his eyes softened as you tasted the earthiness of the liquid.

"You can have all you want now, baby, just...not too much." You nod. Of course, you're not gonna get crazy drunk, you're a responsible mom now, but you've been given the night to loosen up, so you're gonna take it. You're glad that you've pumped enough milk for Misoo, so she's gonna be okay for the night. Both of you enjoy the silence, sipping on each other's choices of wine.

Jungkook's quite fast at downing his drinks; he'd had around 3 glasses already, and it surprises you because you're still on your first. He had stopped drinking, too. Some weekends, he would have a shot, but he's much better than he ever used to be. Maybe he missed the feeling of liquor, or it could be the place.

Jungkook wouldn't tell, but he just wants to control himself around you. All he can think of is having on his hips and to stop himself from getting hard and focusing on those thoughts, he downs his drinks as fast as he can.  Jungkook glances at you from time to time, he can't believe he's at the club with his woman.

Now he doesn't have to leave with a random stranger anymore, he's gonna leave this club with his girl. Jungkook's intrigued, though, when he notices you looking at the men and women around. His eyes are on you all the time, they move when yours do, so he knows exactly who you're looking at.

He observes how others look at you, the men nod at you as they pass by, some give you a wink, and some smirk. Jungkook can't say anything, of course, you're hot, and anyone would want you. he understands how them, men must be feeling when they see you all touchy with another man when they want you for themselves but fuck off losers, Jungkook thinks.

He's got you all for himself, no sharing. but he's got crazy ideas and the more he thinks about it the more exciting he becomes. he truly wants to just play around but he also wants to know your reaction so he might as well give it a try. "baby.." he calls you as he rubs your stomach in up and down motions. "mmm?" you hum while your eyes are still at the bar. "you wanna dance?" "Of course I do-" " come on then"

he pulls you up from the table, after he downs his last glass. "wait up!" you soon drink the rest of your wine before rushing after him. Jungkook dances to the song immediately, he signals you to dance along and you laugh. you've totally forgotten how to dance anymore, especially at the club. it's been ages you last moved your hips to a sensual song. "come on." 

he holds your palms and moves his hips, pushing you towards his chest as your back bumps to him. you giggle at how excited he is. his eyes look down at your ass and it turns him on already. it's worse when you rock your hips in circles. "fuck..." he whines as he tries to ignore it and dance with you. "come on, why did you slow down?!!" you ask, you're doing this intentionally anyway. you're grinding on his hips on purpose, you want him to feel your body. 

it excites you how he holds your hips and tries to move you an inch away. he chuckles as he places a kiss on your ear. "nothing baby." he whispers, making you smirk. his voice is so whiny. he trembles at your moves, your neck is too inviting and he can't seem to stand still. you notice him getting slower as time passes and it's confusing because the songs are just getting better and loud. he gives his all to stop thinking from his dick and think form his mind but he can't. not when you both have barely had any sex for a while, it's been ages he last saw you in a fucking dress that barely covers you at all. "come on, pass the lady over. give us a chance." 

a man speaks through the music, he's drunk as hell but he's tired of the lady he'd been dancing with all night. he wants to have a chance with everyone here and the only one left is you. Jungkook frowns and holds you by the waist possessively, pushing you closer to him. "she's mine." he mutters, his teeth grinding with each word. "yeah yeah, she's everyone's. pass her over, let's take turns." the drunk man speaks, making Jungkook's veins bulge. he puffs his chest out and lifts his chin. "she's not a fucking toy! she's my girlfriend, fuck off!!" 

he pushes the guy away and moves to the corner. you caress his arms and calm him down. "hey, hey relax. he was drunk." "son of a bitch," he cusses as he breathes with his hands resting on his hip. you giggle and kiss his ear. "she's mine huh." you repeat his words and it makes his eyes roll. fuck why does he feel kinda embarrassed? "stop." he murmurs, you use this opportunity to kiss his jaw while your hands slowly work down his pants, he gasps when he feels your touch. 

you're a tease. 

he tries to stop you but you don't so Jungkook's hand grips your arm as he's taking you the corner of the building where people barely are.

"Jungk-" "i can't do this! you're a fucking tease." he mutters, his voice hoarse as the alcohol and anger had taken his honey voice away. You tried to hide your smile; but you can't. somehow his jealousy was too hot to handle. you had to tease him, just a little bit. his hands stay on your arms; he doesn't hold you tight, his grip is light, his consciousness is still awake, and he would never hurt you.

"but i want to dance..." "the fuck you want to-" Jungkook attacks your lips with his, pushing you against the wall as he makes out with you.

He'd forgotten that you applied maroon lip gloss on, its gonna bleed around your mouth, ruining the beautiful lip liner along with it but he didn't care, he's gonna clean you up, no one will know that your glossed lips were ruined, everyone will look at the clean gloss he'd given you on your natural rosy lips.

Jungkook can't keep himself still; he needs you so much. much more after how possessive he'd gotten from the whole dance he'd had. thank fuck for the noisy music, cause the sounds you two make right now are so lewd. It's dirty, loud, and sloppy. The moans you make that he tries to swallow, though he lets out his grunts.

The two of you fight for dominance while the drool slides down each of your mouths. It's messy, raw yet so so good. Jungkook's hands reach down between your thighs, he feels the heat just by touching your cold thighs. You push your leg up, telling him to touch you, opening up for him, and he does. His hands crawl into your insides. realising you have nothing but a thong on. this surprises him, it leaves his legs wobbly, he can't fucking stand no more.

"F-fuck" he curses under his breath as he continues to kiss you. neither of you can leave each others mouths, its like oxygen to you two, you need him and he needs you. "for me? just for me?" he whispers as his fingers reach your heat, there was barley anything covering you up and it excited him too much, his fingers slipped right in, letting a loud moan leave your lips.

"So wet..." he whispers as he plays shapes inside you. "we need...to leave." you mumble and he nods. pulling his fingers off you, which you hiss at, missing the feeling of wrapping up. Jungkook placed a couple of bills on the bar, he barely bothered to count.

Definitely, there was much more than he had to pay, but he didn't care, right now the only motive is to reach home as fast as he can...he does not want to waste any more time. Jungkook had an idea of all this, which was why he didn't drive tonight. sitting at the back seat of a cab was far more difficult, he couldn't do shit because the driver mentioned "no kissing or sex in my backseat" right when he saw you two at the street as he pulled up. You both giggled at this. you two looked fucked out.

The drive was a tease. you two couldn't do shit when you're so so close, it was funny too especially when the guy keeps looking at the rear mirror so you two don't do some sneaky shit and ruin his just polished seats.

Jungkook and you rushed into the house, he didn't even make it to the room you both shared, he'd already begun at the entrance. he just...could not keep his hands to himself when you look like this. and to be fair you cant too, not when he dressed up like a young boy who smokes at the clubs and fucks every girl he sees.

Something about Jungkook's speed makes things hotter, he isn't slow like he usually is, he's fast and needy, which only makes you want him more. you both feel like you're reliving that night, the lust and desire in the air are suffocating and if you both don't fuck right now, you just know you're gonna die.

"Fuck.. I need you like right fucking now-" you speak in between kisses, his lips make their way to your jaw and neck but dammit it's a high neck and your bare skin is beneath the lace. "yeah?" he murmurs and you nod, eyes rolling at how his teeth nips at your skin. "now Jungkook, fucking now."

He smirks when he feels your hands clenching the collar of his jacket. he holds your palm and rushes up the stairs, not wasting any more time. he pushes you against the wall, his foot closing the door even though their no one at home and you both can do all the shit you want without any worry.

His fingers tremble as he attempts to find where the zip or buttons are, he hastily runs his fingers on your bare back, his lips don't leave yours. "where the fuck- is the zip-" he grunts, he can't wait anymore, he feels the temper, he's irritated by your stupid zip. You push him away, both of you getting some air.

Finally. "It's a button, Jungkook!" you mutter, removing that one little button behind your neck; nothing else holds this dress, just the little transparent circle. He groans, feeling foolish, which makes you chuckle. One flick and the whole dress just...falls off your chest. Jungkook is left...dumb. He was completely speechless.

Your breasts are free, they don't have a single piece of shit on them, around them or whatever. you had fucking nothing under that dress?! Jungkook's eyes don't blink, he can't. not when...not when you're divine, a ...muse. he always knew you were beautiful but fuck...this sight is...too much for him.

How much can a man take?? You push the dress down your thighs and wosh..they pile around your ankle. leaving you completely...naked. You smirk, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You can see that he...stunned, and that just takes your ego to a whole other level. Jungkook can. not physically move.

He can't blink his eyes, nor can he close his lips. In this moment, in this tension, when a woman looks like this. what can a poor man do? "are you gonna do anything about this?" you whisper, battering your eyes, trying to look all innocent when your mind is filled with nothing but sins. "fuck yes." he jumps on you, pressing his lips harder than ever, his palms cup your face hard, his grip is tight.

He does not want to leave you for a second. He's hungry for you, it's been months since you both indulged in sex, fingering and hand  jobs were too boring at some point even though they helped, you both are so horny right now that you don't know what to do, where to start and how to. You both need everything, anything, and...it feels like the night isn't enough.

Jungkook goes down your neck and leaves a couple of bruises down there. He remembers how that dimpled guy almost left a mark, and it frustrates him. "no drunk man is getting this- no man ever except me" he mutters while you moan at the nip of his teeth. He wishes to mark your whole neck and fill this empty canvas with his paintings, but he knows he can't, he can't fill it up, he can only draw a few.

"Then do it yourself," you reply, and he smirks. his tongue rolls at your sweet spot, teeth sucking on them while you hold onto him and push him down for more. Jungkook grabs your thighs and picks you up as he continues to suckle you. he places you carefully on the bed and immediately removes his clothes, throwing them away to just.. get naked as fast as possible.

You place your elbows and watch him, he's hard. like fucking hard already. he doesn't give you time to admire him, he's already hovering over you and kissing your chest, tasting the milk that only belongs to you. he moans at it, has never felt this way before. His hands reach down to push inside of you, preparing you for the stretch. he's not waiting any longer, he needs to be inside of you right now.

"Fuck- your so wet baby," "Please.. please I want you-" "I know I know.. I just-" he grunts as he pushes his head between your chest. "I just need to stretch y-" "Just put it in! I can take it!!" you insist, and ...he can't take it anymore, he wants to be in you too! So he places himself right into you, and in seconds, he slips I, causing you both to let out loud moans.

His head falls on your shoulder while your hands scratch his back. Though it's been a little over 5 months since you both had sex, it feels like an eternity, and it feels mind-blowing. he was always good at sex, but right now, after a long wait, it was nothing like you'd imagined it to be. Jungkook feels like he's in heaven right now.

He thrusts slowly and steadily, taking in the tightness. You tap on his arm to go faster, and he does. The room is filled with lustful sounds and music to hear. Jungkook does all he can, giving you hickeys, making out with you, and feeling your breasts. He's into this! and has never been more energetic before. "fuck baby-" Jungkook cries when you clench around him, you're so good at this, it makes him crazy.

"I'm so close-" you whisper, you feel your second orgasm on its way. "I'm gonna cum-" he grunts, his thrust getting sloppy and much faster. "me too-" you whimper. your palms wrap around his hair, pulling it with each thrust. "im- fucking-" he pulls out in seconds, letting it drip on your chest.

He gets off you, rushing to grab a towel, but you make your way to the washroom to shower. "I stink!" you scream and jump inside the cubicle, turning on the hot water. Yeahh? So I stink?" "I mean...." you chuckle, which makes him giggle, joining you inside. he helps you ash your back, so do you.

You jump on the bed after he cleans the sheets, and the soft bedding instantly soothes you. You melt into the bed and wait for him to join you. "Jungkook, what's taking you ages?" you mutter, he walks out of the washroom and hands you a pill. "take this." you look at it and raise your eyebrow. "thanks." you swallow it with the glass of water that sits n your bedside.

"Well... I have a question," you say, as he prepares his pillow to sit beside you. he opens his arms and invites you to be closer. You press your back to his chest as he drapes his arm around your stomach and places a kiss on your bare shoulder. Jungkook draws circles on your stomach, caressing it from time to time. "Now ask me anything?" he says. "What if... I drank the pill that night and... I never got pregnant?" you ask him while your fingers play with his.

He stills for a second when you ask him that, and you feel his hand grip you tighter momentarily but you don't say anything about it. "i... don't know." he whispers. he genuinely has no idea what would've happened. It's crazy... the butterfly effect. Jungkook's life has changed so much, and that's all.

Just one night. one! If you'd taken the pill, then there wouldn't have been any reason for him to have you, and if he didn't have you, he wouldn't have found family, love, and happiness. He's... thankful that you didn't take any pills, and glad that the condom tore. "I can never imagine what life would be like if I didn't have you.

I'd probably just die alone," you chuckled. "I can't imagine either...." The silence after that is comforting. You both enjoy each other's company, and with everything you've been through together, through the chaos and laughs, somehow you managed to stick together and be in love.

You both reflect on the past in the quiet, dark room. The cold air sends chills down your spine, which he notices. he pulls up the blanket to cover you up and hugs you tighter, trapping you in his warmth. he places a kiss on your head with a smile. "I love you," he whispers. "I love you more, babe." "I hope Bunny's okay." Jungkook says, as he picks up the phone to call your father, but he gasps at the time, which reads 2 am.

"She's okay, I'm sure. I miss her...." you mumble with a pout, it's the first time you've been away from your little one. "Me too, we'll pick her up right after breakfast," he says, and you nod.You both speak about what needs to be done this week, and eventually, you both fall asleep in each other's arms, after a little silly make out session, of course.

:

The morning is a rush, Jungkook had forgotten that he had a meeting at 11 am, and you both had been busy with your parents and Misoo. She's been showing her new tricks, how she can now slowly roll over, and how she can play with her spit, it's too cute and always is a successful trick to make everyone laugh.

Jungkook panicked when he got a phone call from his secretary. he had to leave soon, and the issue was that your parents had their flight too and were just done with their arrangement to leave for the airport. Jungkook didn't have the heart to leave Misoo and you by the doorstep, so he decided to take you both with him.

You were hesitant about it, but he told you not to worry. "Everyone knows who you are, there's nothing to hide anymore. I'm sure the staff will be happy to see Misoo and you," he mumbles as he makes a U-turn to the office.

You sighed, hoping they actually would be happy and not bitter that a mere employee like you had the chance with the CEO and is now a mother to his child. Surely the female workers were not happy with your presence anyway. Jungkook could see your uneasiness and how you kept looking back at the car seat to make sure Misoo was okay, which she was, you were just restless.

He placed a hand on your thigh and gave you a little rub before he nodded, reassuring you. As you both walk inside, immediately, the people around you can see you. You feel very...very anxious as you keep walking beside Jungkook, the staff knows you, you were the new graphic designer who stole the extraordinary Mr. Position, which he held due to his envy.

It has been months since you last saw this place, and it reminds you of all the silly taunts and bitter arguments you had with Jungkook. He sees you holding onto Misoo tightly, clearly, you're nervous, and he understands. The rumors were bad, and now that the truth is out, it's much more uncomfortable to be around the people who recognize you.

So he reaches his hand out for you, holding yours with all his heart, as he takes the elevator. "calm down darling, no one hates you here." you exhale a deep breath. "you don't know that Jungkook, I was just an employee back then, who had zero chances with you and there were so many staff members who wanted you!

And I'm here, back as your girlfriend and a mother to your child? That's just infuriating for the women who wanted y-" he places a kiss on your lips, shutting you up. "shhhh. everything alright. Who cares about them anyway?" You roll your eyes, and you stand in front of him now, wiping the peach lip gloss off his lips.

"Don't do this here, you're gonna walk into a meeting with gloss." "And?" he places another kiss, this time, testing your patience. "Jungkook, stop!" You wipe the gloss again, surely you've got nothing on your lips anymore. Right when your fingers wipe the edges of his mouth, he very confidently decides to take your finger into his mouth, but then the elevator door opens, and his secretary gasps.

"I'm sorry-" You push Jungkook away, walking out the door while he chuckles. The woman can't process what she just saw, there was no way you! were doing this with him when all that she ever dreamt of was having CEO Jeon under his spell.

"Fuck!" she stomps as she walks inside, unable to think how you got him when she thinks she's way sexier than you ever were. But inside, she's jealous, jealous because she knows that her revealing white shirt can't seduce Jeon; you never wear anything revealing, but you have everything in you that a man needs.

You didn't even try. Jeon was under your spell the very first day his eyes met yours. "I fucking hate you!!" you whisper under your breath, "Ah ah, no cussing when my bunny is here." he reminds you. "I'm not dressed in an office-appropriate outfit!" "What? A tight shirt and baggy jeans look good.

Damn good at an office wanna bend you over my d-" "Sir Jeon!" Hoseok calls out. His eyes widen when he sees you, his face bursts into color, and his white teeth beam when he smiles. "y/n!!" he gasps. "Good timing, Mr Jung, take Y/n with you, I'm sure you all would like to have her here." "Oh!!! Rose is gonna pass out when she sees the little one and you." You giggle and nod.

You look at Jungkook and smile as he gives you a recurring nod. "all the best." he giggles and caresses your face. "have fun, but don't be too loud!!" he murmurs as you leave. "how come?" Hoseok asks and you laugh. "he forgoes he had a meeting and was like, come with me. didn't want to drop me by the doorstep." Hoseok smiles and thinks Jungkook is a good man, you deserve a man like him.

"hows she, aww she just gets cuter every time I see her," he pouts when he sees Misoo sucking on her teet, looking at him with her doe eyes. "let's surprise them." he puts a finger on his mouth and walks inside slowly. "guys... are you busy?" "We are, we are." Rose replies with a sigh.

"Then look up your stupid screens..." "Surprise!!!" Hosoek and you scream, making the entire room gasp. "y/n!!!!!" Rose squeaks as she runs to you. She can't control the large smile, and she feels her cheeks hurt when she sees the little girl in your arms.

"Oh my god!!! y/n???" You nod and laugh. "She's my baby.." She pouts and feels tears in the corners of her eyes. "She's so beautiful, oh my god." The other staff members, who were good colleagues with you, walked up to you. They are all in awe when they see your daughter.

The crowd is getting bigger, and so is the laughter and baby voices. everyone surrounds you, asking you question after question. of them want to take Misoo in their arms, but Hoseok denies it and makes up a lie that she's afraid to be carried by a stranger when in fact Misoo is always ready for a walk.

You appreciate Hoseok's attempts at keeping Misoo safe; it's not that you don't trust the people, but you know Misoo is safer when she's in her mother's arms. You promise to let Rose have a little walk with Misoo, though she's your friend, unlike the other colleagues.

You have a great time with the people around, they are kind and very accepting too, unlike the few ladies who gave you eye rolls as they continued to type on their desktops. You know they aren't happy to see you here. Misoo enjoys company, she loves the attention, and she couldn't stop giggling when her colleagues made silly faces.

Misoo was a very outgoing child already. "Mr. Jeon's daughter looks so much like him, isn't it crazy?" "It is! She's got these eyes!!!" they speak, making you smile. "You look gorgeous after pregnancy, y/n!" "Yeah, look at her glow." The compliments you received made you blush, too; it was not what you were expecting today.

After some time, you're left with Rose and Hoseok, who talk about how all this happened. how? How did Jungkook and you even happen? You didn't tell them because it was too personal, and they understood, but they were really over the moon. Misooo was interacting well with Rose, and she was enjoying every bit of her time.You didn't notice a man walking towards you until he cleared his throat.

Park Jimin.

His eyes look around the room, nervously. You raise your eyebrows at him and smile. "Hi park." he tips his head up, acknowledging your hi instead of saying it back. He looks down and sees Misoo looking up at him. he can't look at this child, she too... too cute for him. She's got a little coconut tree in the center of her head because she barely has any hair.

Her teeny weeny tree has a pink bow clip while her hair is beautifully combed on the sides. She wears a bunny jumpsuit and socks with Peter Rabbit and a carrot. She has to be the cutest child Jimin's ever seen, especially since Korea has very few children around.

"still mad at me even though you got the position you desired?" you ask and he shakes his head. "not mad, just...got an ego." you smirk. "wanna let go of that ego and say hi to Misoo?" he thinks about it and...he can't put up with his egoistic image when he's a sucker for kids, he tries to be the main character around here but.. inside he's a softie and it's choking him when he sees miso looking up at him.

He pulls up a chair and sits in front of Misoo, rose moves aside, giving him more space. He smiles...for the very first time you see him genuinely smile. His smile was beautiful, and you wished he would smile more often.

His smile made you smile. Hii! Boo-boo! Hi baby Misoo!" he speaks in his angelic voice. Jimin doesn't have to use a high-pitched voice when his few words have already brought a huge smile to the baby girl's face. His eyes disappear when he smiles widely, taking Misoo's hands in his as he plays with her. Misoo giggles when he tickles her softly.

"you've got some nice tickles in your tummy, don't you?" Misoo smiles more when Jimin speaks to her with expressive actions and emotions. "damn insane how much she looks like Mr Jeon, there's no need of DNA test." you chuckle.

"DNA test? why would he need that?" you ask. "not him but the world, this office hates you way more than I do and it hurts me when I'm supposed to be your no 1 hater." he whispers, rolling his eyes before smiling back at Misoo, pouting his already duck lips. "doesn't matter to me, CEO Jeon is wrapped in my fingers not theirs." you murmur, making rose, Hoseok and Jimin laugh.

"she's so precious, isn't she?" Hoseok asks. "she is!!!" Rose cries, she can't take her eyes off you both. "the more I look at her, I see your resemblance." you deadpan at Jimin's words. "no shit Jimin, she's my daughter too." "I know, I know, but she just...a copy of her father, I see very little of you." You four laugh at his words.

The conversation drags as time passes, and now you are at the office cafe, sipping some coffee. "Here is your cheese and onion croissant," Hoseok mumbles, passing you the brown paper bag as he sits beside you. You giggle at the look of it. "You remember." "How could I ever forget?" he says. "Even though we barely spent a week, it was fun, wasn't it?" he nods while munching, thinking about it.

"It was, I miss it," he says, making your pout. "I'm happy, though, that we're friends... You are a good friend," he mutters, and it clenches your heart. "I do want to confess something, though," he whispers, his eyes don't meet yours, and somehow the suspense kills you. "Yeah?" you ask, your eyes glancing at Misoo and Jimin for a second before looking back at Hoseok.

He looks nervous, fidgeting with the paper bag as he tries to find his words. "Go on.." you say, feeling anxious too now. "I...liked you," he whispers, and it makes you pause. You couldn't grasp what he just said, and it...made you laugh. "No way." his cheeks flushed with the red of embarrassment.

"Okay, I'm done." he tries to push you away when you keep bugging him. Both of you laugh at his unexpected confession. "Hobi, you did not!!!!" "I did now forget it. I just wanted to get rid of it from my chest." "Get rid of what?" Jungkook asks as he walks closer to you and pulls a chair beside you. You look at him and smile.

Jungkook glances at Hoseok and you, raising his eyebrows in question. Hoseok shakes his head, warning you to shut up, but you don't. You can't. "So... Hobi..." you begin. "y/n, no." he attempts to keep you quiet. Jungkook nods, waiting for you to continue. "he liked me." "Oh my god, no!" Hoseok almost screams and soon quietens down when he realizes the employees are around.

He feels his toes curling in the intense shame. Jungkook sighs and cracks his neck. "and you think I didn't know?" you frown at that. Hoseok gulps too. "what?" "Wasn't it obvious?" he asks, and you blink fast, was it? "I'm...getting out of here." Hoseok tries to run away but you stop him. "wait..how? was it obvious?" Jungkook laughs.

"the way he looked at you, called you names, handmade pastries for you, took you baby shopping, texted you every single day... it was all there." he lists and it makes sense now. The man you both are talking about is dreading his life right now, he wants to choke on his croissant.

"it doesn't matter, I was mad but not anymore because...I know you love me." Jungkook very intentionally says. "y/n, Misoo wants you, I guess." Jimin carefully places Misoo on your lap as she cuddles around your neck. He smiles and greets Jungkook. "il leave now, it was nice meeting Misoo and you, y/n." he murmurs, making you smile. 'you to Jimin." you turn back to Jungkook and Hoseok.

They're surprised by the words Jimin exchanged with you. "What?" "That's...not Jimin," Hoseok says. Jungkook nods in agreement. "That's something else." "Don't be rude! Misoo just...changed him." "Yeah, we see that." "You both are fucking rude!!" You all laugh quietly as Misoo sleeps peacefully in your arms, worn out from a day full of love and attention.

:

Everything feels right now. There's no more tension between anyone, even between you and Jimin, which still feels surreal, but you both found a way to make peace. Jungkook and Yoongi are back to being like brothers, and you and Hoseok are enjoying life as the best of friends.

Misoo loves spending time with her uncles, too. It feels like you, Jungkook, and Misoo have formed a little family, built on love, trust, and respect. Through all the ups and downs, you and Jungkook have stuck together, and Misoo is growing up in a home full of love and happiness.

A healthy home that Jungkook and you strive to protect and mend, so she gets the best of the best, which you both lacked. The three of you complete one another perfectly.

And just like that, what began as a one-night stand finds its beautiful ending .... right here.

.

min's notes, and that's a wrap! Thank you so much for loving my story, you have been a part of this beautiful journey and I'm so thankful for all of you. Thank you for 485K reads and all the love and support you have given One Night Stand, I'm sure Jungkook and y/n will miss you all! This book may have come to an end but not my writing journey, so don't worry there's so much more to look forward to. Love, Min~

one night stand's taglist is officially closed.

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[dilfartist]

Comfort

Pairing; Yandere Leon Kennedy x Therapist Reader

Synopsis; After persuasion from a coworker, Leon begrudgingly signs up for therapy which leads to an unhealthy obsession with his therapist.

Word count; 1300

TW; Yandere behavior, Unhealthy thoughts, OOC Leon Kennedy, I don't know a lot about therapists, Yandere themes, dark actions.

Notes; {Sorry for not posting a lot guys. I recently just got out of the mental hospital so. Anyways, enjoy this mediocre fanfic I came up with.}

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!

Profread/Not Profread

Reader's description; Female/Gn

Leon wasn’t one to go to others to solve his problems. Yet, he was in your therapy office looking out the windows at the grey skies as rain drizzled.

He only came to see you. Not the therapy. If anything, being with you was the therapy.

At first, Leon did attend therapy for its purpose. Not really by choice. Apparently, his problems (alcoholism and mental issues) were getting in the way of a couple of jobs, and a coworker suggested him therapy. Well, suggested isn’t really the word- More like bugged. Otherwise, Leon wouldn’t have come.

After Ada, Leon never thought he’d fall for anyone else. Sure, Leon would flirt from time to time with a lady at a bar if he was tipsy enough or with Hunnigan during the aftermath of a successful mission. But it never went any further. Leon had no intentions of anything further. Hell, Leon was bitter about developing a crush on you in the first place.

Leon couldn’t help himself. You were just so sweet and willing to help. Something Leon hadn’t had much of since Raccoon City. Nowadays, Leon is surrounded by the greedy, selfish, ugly parts of society. The parts he despised. Being around you was like a rehab of sorts. A reminder that there was still good in the cruel world that had swallowed him whole.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” you graced Leon with that sweet smile he grew to adore. You sat in your thick leather rolling chair, laptop in your lap as you powered it on. “I haven’t seen you since four months ago.”

“Work got in the way,” Leon says on the couch across you. “Long business trip,” he added.

Leon had given a specious answer when you had questioned his occupation. Instead of a U.S. agent who protected the world from biohazard monsters or a man who had saved the president's daughter, you had known him to be a hardworking office worker who frequently went on business trips.

“Where to?” “Spain.” “That sounds fun.” you smiled.

Leon shrugged his shoulders. “It was okay: Could have been better. I didn’t get to explore the country much.”

“So, how have you been? Anything new?” you put your laptop to the side, giving Leon your full attention. Leon liked that.

Leon shifted in his seat, “I saw an old friend recently during my work trip. I haven’t seen her since…” Leon trailed off. He hadn’t told you about Raccoon City despite the heavy effect it had on him. One of the main reasons he was in your office in the first place. When Leon pushed himself to talk about it, the words always died on his tongue. How could you understand? You’d see him as crazy. The world wasn’t informed about Raccoon City, so Leon wouldn’t attempt to see if you knew of the incident. “Six years ago.”

“How’d it go?”

Leon grew quiet for a moment. Being vulnerable wasn’t his thing. Funny enough. “…Strange. Felt like a dream. Never thought I’d see her again.” Leon could feel your gaze. For once, Leon didn’t like it. And with the lump that formed in his throat, he felt uncomfortable. “I thought she had died. For years, I was sure she had died and It was my fault. Then she just shows up,” he trailed off “…it felt surreal.”

You nod. “This must have been upsetting in some way. Did you get upset?” you pulled your laptop back into your lap.

“Not really. I mean, for a moment I was. When we were saying goodbye.”

“And did you visit the bar at all after?”

Ah, yes. One of the main problems you’ve been guiding to get rid of was his alcoholism. Leon never realized the extent of his intemperance until you pointed it out. Listing going to bars as one of his few hobbies did seem concerning to him nowadays.

Leon shook his head, a surge of pride blooming when he saw your eyes light up. “What did you do instead?” you asked. “I caught up on some TV shows after work and had takeout.” You happily typed something into your computer. “Good job, Leon! I knew you could do it.”

There was warmness growing on his cheeks. Leon could barely contain the small smile incoming. Instead, he rested his lips on his knuckles with his arm resting on the armrest.

He loved that. The way you treated him. Your words were genuine, and you barely knew him. Leon had known his colleagues for years, doing above and beyond on missions for them, only to get a pat on the back in return or a simple ‘Well done, Agent Kennedy.’ as they focused on their notes or computer.

The session went on for another 30 minutes. You talked about Leon’s mental health and how his coping skills were helping him turn away from drinking. Leon didn’t listen to your words, opting to memorize your voice. You’d recap the session anyway, so there was no need to tune in. Perusual.

The once soft blue city scene from the outside altered as the minutes passed into darkness due to the winter month.

“It seems our time is up,” you noted, taking a glimpse at your watch. “It was nice seeing you again, Leon. I hope to see you more often.”

“Right,” Leon said awkwardly in response. However, he felt flattered.

You stood from your chair to approach Leon, who followed your lead by standing up. Then, you escorted him to the door. “Remember, if you feel like visiting a bar or having a drink, use your coping skills: go for a walk, play a video game, or watch TV. Convert those negative feelings into positive ones!”

The trip to the parking garage is quiet, leaving Leon to his thoughts: Thoughts he'd rather not have.

Leon thought of himself as morally correct compared to his coworkers. Instead of joining the agency to fulfill greed or status, Leon joined for a selfless reason: to keep others safe. Leon didn't need money, he didn't need power, nor did he need reassurance of his character, and he felt prideful in that.

Yet, meeting you had changed his perspective of himself. All the negative traits he often critiqued rose to the surface and filled his head.

Would it be wrong to keep you to himself? Leon knew he wouldn't stay in the place he currently inhabited, work would force him to move sometime soon, which meant leaving your side. He couldn't have that. What if he took you from your home? That wouldn't be so bad. He could offer you so much more than the lousy job you had.

Leon couldn't lose you. Nothing gave him pleasure in life. The only thing that lessened his dismay was the booze he'd drown in during the late hours and dawns. Seeing you naturally put a smile on his face, and that wasn't an easy task.

Leon needed you. He deserved happiness after all the bullshit he went through on the regular. It was only fair-

"Watch it asshole!"

Leon stood in the middle of the garage, clutching his keys harshly as he stared into the blaring lights of the truck in front of him. The honking had brought him back into reality. "Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to make yourself useful and move out of the way?" The owner of the car barked, peeking his head from the rolled window. Not answering, Leon simply walked ahead, approaching his car slowly. The man retreats into his truck and speeds off.

Leon was just as bad as the others wasn't he?

It was a harsh reality Leon didn't want to acknowledge. Then again, realizing there was a problem was healthier than ignoring it.

"I need a drink" Leon whispered, staring blankly at his steering wheel. Despite the need to chug down the remedy for his confusing emotions, Leon knew he wouldn't. If his sobriety meant your happiness, then he'd never look at another bottle.

For now, he'd live right for you.

[freyaphoria]

hey luv!! not sure how much are you into 'spanking' but, I was wondering if you would make a reaction of Yan!Matz, Seonghwa catching you escape while Hj is not at home so Hwa spanks you/punishes you?👉👈

I know that Hwa would probably tell Hj but I would really like to see how Seonghwa would punish her😭

(btw i'm in love with ur stories, keep going and take some time to rest🖤)

a/n: When you sent me this request at night, I screamed and started writing at 4 a.m. This request may have opened up my writer's block thank you soooo much♡

Dark Side (partI)

tw: spanking, restriction with ropes, dragging, failed escape attempt, yandere!Seonghwa, hair pulling, kinda force feeding, hurt-comfort, punishment and aftercare, crying

wc: 3.7k

taglist: @aim-blossom @bambisd0ll @oddracha @peqchplvto

part 2 ->

Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you grasped the handle of the back door, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. How could they have been so careless as to leave it unlocked? The realization dawned on you as the cold air rushed in, caressing your face with its crisp touch. You stood there, frozen in disbelief, as the door swung open, revealing the vast expanse of the backyard and the towering pine trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. This moment felt surreal, as if you were standing on the precipice of a new reality.

This was the first moment you found yourself so close to freedom. For the first time, you felt that escape was truly within reach, especially with Hongjoong away from the house. In a normal situation, you would have been settled on the couch watching TV while Seonghwa busied himself in the kitchen preparing dinner. But your mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of escaping.

You thought about telling Seonghwa and escaping together. But what he told you yesterday showed that he was gradually deteriorating psychologically, that his admiration for Hongjoong had escalated to a concerning level, one that left you feeling uneasy about his willingness to escape alongside you. Convincing him to leave in that moment felt impossible. Maybe, in a few weeks, you could plant the seeds of doubt in his mind, but right now, it just wasn’t feasible. You simply could not let this opportunity slip away when it was right in front of you. When you came back with the police, you were going to save Seonghwa and put the evil in jail.

With each silent step towards the door, the possibility of freedom made your heart race even faster.Could you truly manage to escape? You had lost track of how long you had been trapped here, and you questioned your ability to readjust to the outside world after such a prolonged period of isolation. All these thoughts filled your veins with more adrenaline, and you could hear your heart beating.

You found yourself standing at the threshold, that thin line separating captivity from liberty. Instinctively, you glanced back, scanning for any sign that Seonghwa might have noticed your absence. You imagined the scenario if he had caught you: his gentle voice calling out, "Angel, come here," followed by report to Hongjoong. But to your relief, there was no sign of him. You were alone, unobserved, with the path to freedom clear before you.

Your foot made contact with the small marble stone at the entrance of the garden, its cold surface sending a shiver through your body, it was a sensation both foreign and familiar. You started to walk quickly and felt that soft grass beneath your feet that you hadn't felt in weeks, maybe months. You moved quickly through the garden, the taste of freedom already filling your spirit. The ability to move without fear, without the looming threat of Hongjoong, was intoxicating. But there was something you missed: The kitchen window looked out onto the backyard.

When Seonghwa saw you speeding through the backyard, he muttered a curse under his breath and quickly left the kitchen. The back door hung wide open, a reminder that he had forgotten to close it when he stepped out earlier to tend to the flowers. Seonghwa was shocked to see you walking past the edge of the yard and heading towards the thick forest nearby. He knew he was in big trouble. The thought of Hongjoong returning home in this moment made his stomach drop; if he found both of you outside, he would kill both of you. Seonghwa knew he had to go after you. Hongjoong had told him to do whatever it took to keep you here while he was gone.

He didn't call out to you, thinking that if he called out to you, you would panic and start running faster. Instead, he ran towards you silently but quickly, his footsteps muffled by the soft grass beneath. Your heart raced in your chest, and your breaths came in quick bursts, anxiety coursing through your veins. In an instant, Seonghwa was upon you. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around your waist, and with a forceful motion, he threw you down onto the soft grass. The air was knocked from your lungs as you hit the ground, and confusion set in.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Seonghwa's voice was sharp and raw with emotion as he positioned himself over you, pinning your arms to the sides, using his body weight to keep you down. His eyes, normally warm and inviting, now showed both anger and distress, with his messy hair falling over his forehead from the effort of chasing you. The sudden aggression from the usually calm Seonghwa caught you off guard, causing you to instinctively lash out. Your legs flailed wildly as you attempted to kick him off, your mind momentarily confusing him with Hongjoong in your panicked state. "Are you out of your mind?! Did you think you could escape that easily?!" Seonghwa's grip tightened as he shouted, one of his hands released your arm, only to grasp your face roughly, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "Seonghwa, what are you doing?! You’re the one who’s out of your mind!" you cried out, struggling against his iron grip. "Let me go! Your voice grew higher with panic. Seonghwa, out of breath, kept holding you down and grew frustrated trying to make you understand the seriousness of the situation. Your pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"Let you go?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "What do you mean by let you go?" His hand released your face, only to seize your arm once more as he began to forcibly drag you back towards the house. "Don't you understand? You belong to me just as much as you do to Hongjoong. Did you think I’d just let you escape from us?!”

His words hit you like a jolt. You had never witnessed this side of Seonghwa before—so unyielding and forceful—but amidst the chaos, fear for your safety was absent. You thought you still had time before Hongjoong arrived to learn your escape attempt and avoid the fallout, and that Seonghwa would save you from Hongjoong's ruthless punishment. But in that moment, you couldn't have been more wrong.

Your arm throbbed with pain as you struggled against Seonghwa's iron grip, his strength far beyond what you had imagined. "Seonghwa! Please, it hurts!" you cried out, your voice laced with desperation. As he forcefully dragged you across the ground, your clothes caught on the rough terrain, tearing and collecting smears of grass and dirt. "Shut up, you asked for this!" he barked back, his tone sharp and harsh, devoid of any hint of sympathy or concern, as if he were completely indifferent to your suffering.

The journey home was too quick, and you realized you couldn’t get very far. As soon as you reached home, he threw you to the ground, knocking the air out of your lungs. Seonghwa then slammed the door with a force that echoed through the house. You winced, rubbing your sore arm from his tight grip. "I can't believe you," Seonghwa's voice cut through the air, harsh and devoid of its usual warmth. It was as if the gentle Seonghwa you knew had vanished, replaced by a doppelganger channeling Hongjoong's ruthlessness. "I thought I could trust you. I thought I didn't need to watch you 24/7." He closed the distance between you and knelt down, his hand gripping your hair, pulling your head up to meet his gaze. "But I was wrong," he said, his voice heavy with rage. Fear crept into your spine as he hovered over you, in this moment, he seemed even more terrifying than Hongjoong. While Hongjoong's actions were often predictable in their cruelty, Seonghwa now resembled a ticking time bomb, leaving you uncertain of when or how he might explode.

"Seonghwa, why are you so angry—" you began, but he cut you off. “You ran,” he said, tightening his grip on your hair until it became painful. You squirmed, desperate for the agony to cease. “I'm sorry!” you cried out, your hands fumbling to loosen his grip. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking sorry,” he retorted, his tone deeper, more menacing than you had ever heard. Fear began to course through your veins, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Seonghwa was thinking about what he would do to you; he stared at you with a stern expression, his mind racing with worries about what could happen next. If he told Hongjoong about your attempt to escape, he would face serious consequences, especially since the escape happened because of his own mistake. He might even risk damaging his relationship with Hongjoong. After a moment of thought, Seonghwa decided it was best to deal with the situation on his own and not inform Hongjoong.

His jaw tightened as he watched you tremble more and more with fear. "Get up," he commanded, finally releasing his grip on your hair. "Hwa-" you started to protest, but he cut you off sharply. "Get up and go to the basement." Your eyes widened in disbelief and fear. The basement? Seonghwa had never before demanded such a thing from you. "What are you saying-" you stammered, only to be interrupted once more. "If you want to keep this from reaching Hongjoong, you'll go to the basement. Now!" he snapped, urgency dripping from his words.

You began a slow, hesitant walk towards the stairs, but Seonghwa's patience had evidently worn thin; he forcefully shoved you down, your feet stumbling to maintain balance as he flung open the heavy metal door. The chill of the basement air hit you like a wall, and the darkness felt heavy.

You dared not speak; his demeanor had changed to someone frightening and dominant, similar to Hongjoong when he's stern. Seonghwa closed the door behind you, the sound echoing loudly, and then grabbed your arm, pulling you toward an old couch in the dimly lit room. With Hongjoong still hours away from returning home, you realized how vulnerable you were. Seonghwa had the power to do whatever he wanted with you during this time, without anyone to stop him or even make a peep about it, sent a shiver down your spine. The basement suddenly felt more stifling than ever, closing in around you as you faced the unknown intentions of this new, frightening version of Seonghwa.

He settled into the couch, an aura of dominance radiating from him. Just as you were about to ask him what he was going to do, he yanked you onto his lap, positioning you face down with his knees pressing into your stomach. "Seonghwa! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Panic filled your voice, but he was unfazed. In a swift motion, he tore off your already tattered shorts, fabric ripping as though it were paper. The moment you opened your mouth to protest further, he silenced you by crumpling your shorts and stuffing part of them into your mouth. You were taken aback, the fabric blocking your protest. Your hands instinctively went to remove the makeshift gag, but before you could, he seized both of your arms and bound them tightly behind your back with a rope you couldn’t even begin to fathom where he had found it. Now, you found yourself in a vulnerable position—sitting on his lap, face down, your backside fully exposed while your shorts muffled any cries for help. With your arms securely tied, you could do nothing but wait in confusion and dread for whatever he had planned next. The rush of blood to your cheeks was overwhelming as you squirmed, trying to regain some semblance of control, but he had you pinned, and the ropes tightened with every movement you made.

“Let’s get this over with before Hongjoong shows up,” he murmured with a hint of urgency, “I can’t have him finding out it was my fault the door was left open.” With that, he grasped the sides of your panties, adjusting them with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers down your spine, fully revealing your exposed skin. You wriggled slightly, desperation creeping in, but his grip was unyielding, and he quickly absorbed your resistance. His warm hand glided across your backside, gently at first, before suddenly delivering a sharp slap that echoed off the walls of the room. A muffled scream escaped your mouth as the pain shot through you—both a shock and a burn that lingered. He began to rub the spot he had just slapped, the gentle caress contrasting harshly with the sting. Each time you attempted to shift away, he would pull you back down into position, maintaining control over you.

“Hongjoong won't know about your little escape attempt or that I’m punishing you. Do you understand?" His words were firm, filled with a mix of warning and authority. The heat of embarrassment surged up your neck and across your face as you tried to understand what was happening. It was all too much. When the next slap landed, intensifying the throbbing pain in your ass cheek, you flinched involuntarily, mixing fear and humiliation. “Understood?” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. You nodded frantically. “Good girl. Now be a good little girl and accept your punishment.” Each blow that followed wasn’t just a physical hit but a toll on your spirit, the redness spreading across your skin becoming unbearable as tears threatened to spill.

"How many steps did you take outside? Fifteen? Twenty?" His grip didn’t loosen as he began to cup and rub your sore skin, contrasting sharply with the pain he had just caused. When he finally removed the fabric from your mouth, you coughed and struggled to catch your breath. His hands were soon back on your skin, delivering another loud slap, the echo causing your heart to race. “I asked you a question!” The authority mixed with anger in his voice had you trembling; you felt completely vulnerable and utterly at his mercy. “I-I don’t know!” you stammered, desperation clawing at your insides as the pain continued to radiate. “Give me a number or I’ll treat you as if you took a hundred steps and punish you accordingly.”

It all clicked into focus—he intended to deliver a spanking for every step you confessed to taking outside. Panic washed over you as you scrambled for a response, understanding that each number corresponded to another blow. “Maybe… eight? Nine? Hwa, I’m so sorry! I promise it won’t happen again!” You winced as another strike landed hard, pain surging through your entire body. A shrill scream burst from your lips, tears streaming down your face as you felt utterly broken. “You can’t even make it to the basement door in eight steps! You definitely took at least twenty.” The realization of how many more strikes you would have to endure set in, fear gripping you tightly. “Seonghwa, please! It hurts!” You could feel the ropes digging into your wrists as you writhed in discomfort, helpless under his control. “Count!” His voice was steady but filled with a tone that no longer held any traces of affection. There was now a different Seonghwa standing before you, far removed from the person you once knew. The Seonghwa that Hongjoong had molded through his rigorous training and relentless expectations had emerged, bearing the marks of his newfound identity. Park Seonghwa, with his warmth and kindness, was a ghost of the past, replaced entirely by Kim Seonghwa, terrifying and merciless, with traces of Hongjoong in his personality.

"I'll take it as four so far. Count from here. But if you miss, you start over."

You were lying down with a cold compress pressed against your swollen eyes, a result of the tears that had flowed so freely just moments before. Your eyes were puffy and red, and the ice was meant to numb the sting and reduce the swelling and since you couldn’t sit down, you were lying down and eating the fruits that Seonghwa had prepared for you to comfort you and apologize in his own way, which he forced into your mouth even though you shook your head as no. Your favorite show flickered on the TV screen, providing a backdrop to the tense atmosphere. Your head rested in Seonghwa's lap, his hands multitasking - one soothingly rubbing your back while the other continued to offer forkfuls of juicy peach to your lips. The silence between you was palpable; you hadn't uttered a word since the punishment, your last spoken syllable being the final count of "twenty."

There was about an hour until Hongjoong arrived and in that hour, you both had to put everything back to how it was and act like nothing had happened. You could find an excuse for crying, but you didn't know what excuse to come up with for not being able to sit at the dinner table. After Seonghwa finished shoving the last remaining slice of peach in your mouth, the taste still lingering, he tenderly caressed your hair, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on your head. “I need to get back to making dinner before he arrives. Can you manage to stay by yourself for a bit?” You didn’t respond; silence enveloped the space between you, your gaze fixed on the TV screen, your mind hardly registering anything at all. The sharp, burning sensation in your lower body remained, a reminder of everything.

"Angel, please say something. You're making me worry," Seonghwa said, his voice filled with concern. You looked at him and saw his worried eyes and guilt. You reminded yourself that Seonghwa was just following orders and his feelings were shaped by manipulation. He was just doing his job and wasn’t to blame for this situation; he was a victim of Hongjoong's manipulation too. You knew running away would lead to punishment, and you had indeed been punished harshly. Your feelings towards Seonghwa were complicated; you weren’t really angry with him, more so upset by the dynamics that had forced you both into this situation. Yet, the tension was thick in the air. If only he had chosen to overlook your escape, perhaps downplaying it with a simple warning 'not to do it again'. However, that wasn’t Seonghwa’s way. His sense of duty drove him to enforce the rules. The thought of what Hongjoong might do if he discovered your escape hung over you like a dark cloud. Past punishments had left scars—physical and emotional—and the fear of more severe consequences loomed large over you.

“Seonghwa?” you finally broke the silence, your gaze still intensely focused on him. “You won’t tell Hongjoong, right?” Fear crept into your voice as the thought of another punishment sent chills through your spine. Your body was still recovering, aching from the last punishment, and the thought of enduring more pain was unbearable. "As long as you don't make it obvious, I won't have to tell him," Seonghwa assured you. You understood the implication - if Hongjoong sensed anything amiss, there would be no stopping him from digging deeper, and Seonghwa, unable to bear the weight of it all, would be compelled to share everything that had happened. You found yourself desperate to maintain a façade, aware that any hint of suspicion could unravel everything. Despite the persistent pain, you knew you had to summon the strength to act as though nothing was amiss - to sit through dinner and participate in whatever activities Hongjoong might propose afterward.

Seonghwa gently took your hands, examining your wrists and massaging them softly. "There are no visible marks here," he observed, placing a kiss on each wrist before carefully returning them to your sides. "You should rest now. If dinner isn't ready when he arrives, he'll grow suspicious." With careful precision, he lifted your head from his lap, placing a pillow beneath it before kissing your forehead once more. “If you need anything at all, just call out, and I’ll be right there,” he promised, his tone filled with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the icy fear that gripped your heart. If only Hongjoong could show just a fraction of that care. Even when he punished you, if he could take the time to heal the wounds he inflicted and offer a shred of comfort, perhaps you wouldn’t harbor such deep-seated resentment towards him.

This was the first time you saw Seonghwa’s dark side and the first time you witnessed Seonghwa's darker nature, and it filled you with a deep sense of fear that you had never felt before. Up until this moment, you had held onto the belief that he might be an ally in your desperate situation, someone who could empathize with you. After all, Seonghwa himself had been a victim of that crazy bastard, just like you. You once thought that if a chance arose for escape, he would be the person to help you, or at the very least, he would choose to ignore your attempts to flee. However, that hopeful perspective began to shatter before your eyes.When he caught you trying to escape and forcefully pulled you back into the house, you still clung to the flicker of hope that perhaps he would guide you to safety. Maybe he would suggest taking the front entrance. But after telling you to go to the basement and punishing you for almost an hour - because you forgot what number you were at halfway through and started over - you realized that Seonghwa was actually just like Hongjoong, only more merciful. And as your idea of running away with him was completely ruined. The realization that you had to tread carefully around Seonghwa was a harsh lesson learned, leaving you feeling more trapped than ever in this nightmarish reality.

Part 2 ->

[moonlightwritingf1]

Holiday Movie Marathon | LN4

❄️‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡❄️ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N attends a spontaneous movie night at Lando’s, where their usual banter deepens into a confession of feelings. Lando reveals he feels the same, and they share a kiss. 

❄️‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡❄️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❄️‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡❄️ word count ━━━━━━━ 1.7k

The streets of London were aglow with twinkling fairy lights, the holiday season blanketing the city in a warm, magical glow. Y/N stepped out of her office building, wrapping her coat tightly around her as the December chill bit at her cheeks. It was just another evening in her life—a quiet one, predictable even. But tonight held the promise of something different.

A soft chime from her phone pulled her from her thoughts. Pulling her gloves off, she fished it out of her pocket. The message was from Max, the mutual friend who had introduced her to Lando Norris a few months ago.

Max: "Change of plans—movie night at Lando’s instead of mine. You in?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. She did. But spending the evening at Lando’s flat felt… significant in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. Still, before she could overthink it, she typed a quick response.

Y/N: "Sure. What time?"

By the time Y/N arrived at Lando’s flat, it was a little after 7 PM. The air was crisp, her breath visible as she exhaled. Standing at his door, she adjusted her scarf nervously. It wasn’t the first time she’d been here, but it still felt surreal. Lando’s world—his high-profile lifestyle, his effortless charm—always felt a little removed from her own quiet, 9-to-5 existence.

The door opened before she could knock, revealing Lando with a tray of drinks in his hands. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Y/N!" he said warmly, stepping back to let her in.

"Hey," she replied, her voice soft. She shrugged off her coat, her sweater clinging to her frame as she smoothed it nervously.

"I’m glad you made it," he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table in the living room. His grin turned a little sheepish. "Max bailed last minute, so it’s just us tonight."

Her stomach flipped. "Oh. Um… I can leave if you—"

"Don’t even think about it," he cut her off, his grin widening as he turned to her. "You’re not leaving me to watch Love Actually alone."

Y/N laughed, a sound that was light but genuine. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"Exactly," he said, handing her a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. "Now, come on. Couch is ready. Snacks are ready. All we need is you."

The two of them settled into the large sectional sofa, blankets draped over their laps and snacks within arm’s reach. The first movie played in the background, though neither of them paid much attention to it at first. Their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by Lando’s teasing remarks.

"So, do you always root for the bad guys in movies?" he asked, his eyebrows raised as she defended yet another movie villain.

"Only when they make sense," Y/N shot back, her cheeks warming under his amused gaze.

"You’re dangerous, you know that?" he said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"I make no promises," she replied, her voice bolder than she expected.

Lando chuckled, his laughter rich and warm, and Y/N felt her chest tighten. Being around him was like standing in the sun—bright and intoxicating, but overwhelming if she stayed too long.

Somewhere between the second and third movie, the teasing faded, replaced by a comfortable silence. It wasn’t until Y/N shifted slightly that she realized how close they’d become. Lando’s head had found its way to her shoulder, his body leaning into hers as his breathing slowed.

Her heart raced as she glanced down at him. He looked peaceful, his long lashes resting against his cheeks, his usual playful expression softened in sleep.

She allowed herself a moment to take him in, her thoughts drifting. Over the months since they’d met, Lando had become more than just a mutual friend. Despite his glamorous life, he had a way of making her feel seen, like she was the only person in the room when he looked at her. He was warm and thoughtful, funny in a way that disarmed her.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to admit how she felt.

Thinking he was fully asleep, Y/N let the words slip out in a whisper. "I really wish you knew how much I like you."

She froze as his eyes fluttered open, locking onto hers.

"How much of that did you think I didn’t hear?" he asked, his voice husky from sleep, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips.

Her face turned crimson. "I—I thought you were asleep!"

"Clearly not," he murmured, sitting up slightly but still leaning into her space. "So… how much do you like me?"

"Lando…" she started, but the words caught in her throat.

"No, no," he said gently, his smirk softening into a sincere smile. "Don’t back out now. I want to hear it."

She looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. "I… I like you. A lot. Probably more than I should."

"Why 'should'?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

"Because… you’re you. And I’m just me," she admitted quietly.

His frown deepened at that. He reached out, tilting her chin so she’d face him. "What’s that supposed to mean? Y/N, you’re amazing. You’re smart, funny, and you make me feel like just a normal guy when I’m around you. I like that. I like you."

She blinked at him, her mind struggling to process his words. "You… like me?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" he teased, though there was an edge of vulnerability in his voice.

"I mean, yeah," she admitted with a nervous laugh.

"Well, believe it," he said firmly, his eyes holding hers. "And just so you know, I don’t fall asleep during movie nights with people I don’t care about."

A soft laugh escaped her, her chest feeling impossibly light. "So this is your version of a compliment?"

"Pretty much," he said, his grin returning. "But if you need more convincing…"

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was both soft and certain.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of quiet laughter, shared glances, and stolen kisses. By the time the final movie ended, Y/N was curled up against Lando, his arm draped over her shoulders as though it had always belonged there. The warmth of his presence made the room feel smaller, cozier—like their own little world.

But as the credits rolled, the reality of the time set in. Y/N stretched slightly, reluctant to move, but knowing she had to.

"I should probably get going," she murmured, glancing at the clock.

Lando tightened his arm around her for a moment, his reluctance to let her go clear. "You sure? You could stay a little longer. Maybe one more movie?"

Y/N chuckled softly. "It’s past midnight, Lando. If I stay any longer, I might as well sleep here."

His lips curved into a teasing smirk. "I wouldn’t mind that."

Her cheeks warmed at the suggestion, though she shook her head. "Nice try."

Sighing dramatically, he stood up, offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. "Alright, but I’m not just letting you take the train this late. I’ll drive you home."

"Lando, you don’t have to—"

"Y/N," he interrupted, already grabbing his jacket. "I want to."

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she saw the firm set of his jaw. There was no point in arguing; he’d already made up his mind.

The streets of London were quieter now, the usual hum of the city softened by the late hour. Lando’s car cut through the cool night, the soft sound of music filling the space between them.

Y/N glanced out the window, her head leaning lightly against the seat. The night had been surreal—what had started as a casual movie night had shifted into something so much more.

"Quiet over there," Lando said, glancing at her briefly before returning his focus to the road. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She hesitated for a moment before turning to him. "Just… thinking about tonight. About you."

His lips tugged into a small smile. "Good things, I hope."

"Mostly," she teased, her lips curving into a faint smile.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Careful, Y/N. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you enjoy giving me a hard time."

"Someone has to keep you humble," she replied, the playful banter easing her nerves.

When they pulled up outside her flat, the quiet between them grew heavy—not uncomfortable, but charged with unspoken emotions. Lando turned off the engine and shifted to face her.

"Thanks for driving me," Y/N said softly, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her bag.

"Anytime," he replied, his tone sincere. "I meant what I said earlier, by the way."

She looked at him, her brows furrowing slightly. "About what?"

"About this being a tradition," he said, his gaze steady on hers. "And about wanting to keep you around for a long time."

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words settling over her. She searched his face, finding nothing but honesty in his expression.

"I’d like that," she finally whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s smile softened, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Good."

Without giving herself time to overthink, Y/N leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was tender and lingering. When they pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him.

"You should go in before I find another excuse to keep you here," he murmured, though his hand lingered on hers.

Y/N laughed softly, her heart impossibly full. "Goodnight, Lando."

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replied, watching as she stepped out of the car and made her way to her door.

He waited until she was safely inside before driving off, a small smile still playing on his lips. As he navigated the quiet streets back to his place, one thought kept circling in his mind: this was just the beginning of something far better than he ever could have imagined.

[velaenam]

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫– you go home after he stands you up for the 3rd time. he wants to make it up to you. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 ; NSFW (18+)!!! SEX. RAW. maybe slightly dubcon if you squint? note: im ngl i havent wrote in a while. but im so down bad for caleb. this is gonna be short. not proofread. apologies

‘caleb. ive been waiting for 30 minutes.’

‘caleb????’ 

‘????????’

you huff. undeniably upset. its only been the third time he has either shown up late, or haven’t shown up at all. so uncharacteristic of him. but he still did it. you were mad, rightfully so. you just looked like an idiot to the server who waited alongside you, asking you if you were ready multiple times.

you were ready to slip into something more comfortable. you fish for your keys, failing to push it into the keyhole a couple times before you successfully ram into your living room. immediate red flags go off as you smell food being cooked, and you go to grab your gun.

as you step towards the kitchen you notice a tall man, and it dawns to you that it was him. oh the absolute nerve. you glance at the counter. it was the spare key that you had given him. somehow that angered you a tad bit more.

“you really have some nerve to be in my house.” you plainly say, putting your belongings on the counter, walking towards him. caleb hums, turning the stove off as he turns to face you. his pleasant smile lighting the room up.

“cmon pips, my phone was dead. i forgot to charge it. i was closer to your place than at the restaurant, so i figured why not make something for you to make it up to you?” 

“caleb i would believe you but its the.. i dont know… third time?!” 

although you wanted to take your anger out on him you couldn’t help but fall victim to that smell. braised chicken. your favorite.

“annnd the other reasons were just as valid as this one. cmon pips, you know i don’t mean to.” as you were distracted by the stove he took the opportunity to snake his arms around you, and leans down, his face buried in your neck, lips clashing with your skin.

“y’look soo good… and mmmm.. smell … so good..” hes lost in your scent, his arms caressing your side. you couldn’t help but groan. you bit your lip. as you go to speak you feel yourself be picked up, which elicited a squeak from your lips. now you were staring at caleb, his eyes tinted with ardor.  “caleb…” you breathlessly say, as he starts his way to your bedroom.

he lays you down, hungry, and ready to devour you. you look down. he was already so hard. that made your mouth water, but you shook your head, eyes penetrating his next action. “ill make it up to you…” he says, slowly undoing his shirt, his necklace making a soft sound as he gets down to your level, crawling towards you.

the hunger in his eyes seem insatiable. this was a new, different caleb. you wanted to be upset, be mad, but the way your pussy felt… well that was a different story.

“f..fine..i…” as you start to speak, calebs lips connect with yours, his fingers making its way towards the indent of your back, and effortlessly pulling you towards him. you let out a whimper and he takes his opportunity to enter your mouth with his tongue. he dances in your mouth as you felt his free hands start with your clothes. 

as he pulls away you notice that you were completely naked. did he use his evol to rip your clothes off and you didn’t feel it?? you stared at him, dumbfounded and he just chuckles, gripping your waist as he straddles you. with a free hand, he lazily holds his dick. you took a peek, and notice him dripping with precum already. this further flared your senses. you felt like a whore. but it was so surreal. it excited you that you could elicit such sweet reactions from this man.

“lemme make it up to you pipsqueak.” he mumbles, pressing skin to skin. with little effort, he grips your waist up, as if you were a ragdoll. your thighs squeeze his side, earning a chuckle from caleb. as he stares at you he lines the tip to your entrance. 

as you go to speak he rubs the tip on your already swollen clit. he was so eager to pleasure you. he missed you so fucking much.

“c-caleb!” you exclaimed, taken aback from such a quick process. “mmm.. whats the matter?” he points it down to your entrance and starts to do the same motion, his lips occupying your neck. “mmm i cant help myself.. you’re s’good..ffuck.. i havent even put it in yet…mmm” he mumbles, barely just above a whisper. 

“caleb …aahh.. please put it in..” you mumble back, eyes shut, enjoying this euphoric exchange. as if a switch was turned, you feel his big dick slide almost effortlessly inside you. you whimper-shout. your pussy coiling around him like a snake. “aaahhh.. fuck, pips..- y-you’re so.. fucking… -tight..” sloppy thrusts connect with your skin, “you’re taking me so well.. all of me..” from the tip to the base, you mewl, nails scratching his back as he starts to ram inside you, albeit still sloppy. but that’s what made it so much hotter. how lazy he felt, how inexperienced he seemed. 

but you were milking him, he couldn’t admit how hard hes holding back not to cum inside you. “god.. you feel so..s’good” he slurs. you were screaming, screaming his sweet name, begging him to keep going. your honeyed tongue begging him, “just like that caleb.. ahhh. you feel so good inside me..” you mewl, and his thrusting suddenly picking up the pace. you arched your back towards him. you felt yourself getting close, but he was closer, “mm fuck i’m going to come.. t-tell me if–” he couldn’t continue that sentence as he lets out a desperate groan. you go to speak, but only moans come out of your mouth. he peeks at you, his thrusting unwavering. “i have to keep going.. i want you to cum.” he mutters, his nut leaking out of you with each thrust. you cried out, tears spilling.

you could feel your leg shaking as he continues, “c-caleb..!! slow– down!!” you cry out once more, until you couldn’t scream anymore. you felt liquid going down your back.  a mixture of yours and his as he had you inclined. your legs shake violently, but he doesn’t stop. you look at him, begging him, eyes pleading, but he stretches you out, ignoring you. you loved this. his animalistic instinct was your carnal desire. his rough fucking was your antidote. you rode the wave of euphoria, as he cums again a second time. his hand gripping your thick thighs, and his other hand gripping your hair. 

he dips down, and presses his lips against yours. his kiss was a complete 180 from how rough he just was. it was tender, and full of melodic love. your lips dance with his until he pulls away, rubbing his cheeks with yours, “i love you pips.” he says in between breaths, hazy, still inside you.

[twobitsblade]

toxic!dallas and sweetheart!reader head to the local carnival

you and dallas had gotten back together for the second time this month, and once again he said the exact same things — "i'll change," "i'll be better for you," "i'm different." and yet, still, you believed him. how couldn’t you? it was either question him and live alone, or agree with him and experience love — being desired, even if only for however long he wanted you.

he walked you to the local carnival, hosted by the local high school’s freshman class. dallas understood your limits, how far he could push until you’d snap, and in order to heal the wounds he’d caused, he decided to take you to the fair.

you walked there hand in hand, the humid summer heat combined with the gentle hum of nat king cole’s “those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer” making the whole situation feel almost surreal. when dallas noticed you weren’t paying attention, he lightly pinched your side, whistling, “hey, you good?” smirking and shaking his head like you were some sort of irrational child. or maybe you were just tired and irritable — who knows.

“all good, dally, just tired, y’know.” “you’re the only chick who can be tired when 'round me.” you let out a little laugh, and now it was your turn to shake your head. “idiot,” you mutter. “your idiot.”

you two eventually arrive at the carnival, and you run around trying to find the fun rides. you do a little makeshift one where you throw beanbags into holes to win “prizes,” which were measly 30-cent candies. but you didn’t do it for the prize — you did it for fun.

while you were doing that, he was off somewhere else — most likely flirting with other girls or getting told off by the school staff for smoking in 13-year-olds’ faces... or so you thought.

when you finish your game, winning exactly $1.50 worth of candies, you saw something almost heartwarming — your boyfriend, the tall, intimidating, messy brunette-haired greaser who reeked of cigarettes, cologne, and liquor, was standing there holding a tiny, bright pink stuffed bear with a heart on its stomach. an almost boyish grin on his face as he turned to you, beckoning you over.

“oh my god, dallas, that’s adorable! how’d you get it?” in response, he playfully put his fists up, imitating a fight. “oh yeah, sure, dal.” you chuckled, shaking your head as he took you in — not for a hug, but a rough clap on the back, which made you wince. you’d never get used to it.

“you happy now? you ain’t gonna whine or bitch?” he drawled, a cigarette appearing in his mouth like magic, blowing smoke into your face.

you sighed. “i won’t whine or, um... bitch.”

“right... now it’s time to get home. ’m tired and i wanna spend some quality time with my girl.”

you nod shyly, biting your lip, accompanying him as he walks you back to what you thought would be your home — but it ended up being buck merrill’s bar. and you knew what that meant. he wanted you.

was that the only reason he wanted to hang out? the only reason he got you the bear?

you didn’t have much time to think before you both entered buck merrill’s bar — the loud music and flashing lights already disorienting you worse than any vodka or liquor.

he walked you up the stairs, his hand resting on the curve of your butt. he opened his “bedroom” door and brought you inside, slowly slipping off his shirt and playfully throwing the bear at you. you grunted as it landed right on your stomach.

“ey, look out!” he shouted, laughing.

but that didn’t cause as much discomfort as the grin on his face.

you were already always tense around him — but now, you were tense and weary, even before it had all begun.

he crawled onto the bed, pushing you back slowly — almost tenderly — and somehow, despite yourself, you melted into his touch.

he sighed, placing hot, wet, sloppy kisses first on your forehead, then your nose and cheeks, then your jawline, then your neck, and finally the curve of your breasts, which led you to squirm, face burning up.

“just relax, alright? m’baby, y’know i never mean to hurt you.”

he was lying. you knew it. but in this moment, you didn’t care.

[spikedfearn]

You Keep on Sayin’ You in Love Tho, So Tell Me, Are You Really Down? (Yeah)

One-shot

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: you and Bjorn shotgun during your ascent in the hauler—and then some.

a/n: 📣 100 follower special 📣 I've been wanting to write a shotgunning fic since I first saw bjorn smoke that spliff in one toke, it was ridiculously hot and I just had to be totally normal about it in the theater. this is a reimagining of the escape from jackson's star so the character dialogue/actions will not be movie accurate. title from the song "self-care" by mac miller.

warnings: established relationship, recreational drug use, shotgunning, PDA, making out, dry humping, oral (receiving) possessive behavior, you're that couple

wc: 3.1k

The low rumble of the metal grate beneath your feet as the Corbelan ascends leaves you feeling momentarily weightless, like you're floating before gravity pulls you down, feeling heavier than usual.

You’re strapped in, anchored by a sturdy crossed seatbelt that comes down over your shoulders and buckles in next to the opposite hip, white knuckling the lip of the seat on either side of your thighs, eyes closed tight as you hold your breath.

It feels surreal, your heart thumping hard against your rib cage, knowing you all just pulled off the biggest heist in Jackson Star’s history, stealing highly-regulated equipment to leave behind a shitty life of indentured servitude.

It's something you've all discussed at length for months, Tyler being the one to initially suggest the idea while you were all drinking late one night, mapping out an escape route in yours and Bjorn's shared trailer, sitting on his lap with his legs spread wide, arms loosely circled around your waist.

Still—you can't believe it actually worked, breaking into the hauler and getting it up off the ground without any hiccups, half expecting sirens to soon blare throughout the endlessly dark sky or for the engine to stall, it just feels easy. Too easy.

You feel Bjorn’s hand on your leg then, taking notice of your growing anxiety, always able to pick up on any shifts in your mood, no matter how subtle, not when it comes to you.

Running his thumb along the inseam of your dark-washed jeans, he squeezes your thigh afterwards out of reassurance. It helps, even if only just a little, your palm finding its way into his, weaving your fingers together between you, a fair bit calmer now that you're holding your boyfriend's hand, roughed up and calloused from mining.

He's always been able to read you, ever since you were little, knowing exactly what you needed when you needed it, sometimes even before you did, causing your progressively growing affection for him to flourish into something else entirely, something beautiful, until you were crushing hard and just couldn't bury it anymore, no matter how hard you tried.

Luckily the feeling was mutual because after your drunk little confession, the only two still awake and drinking, sitting in the cramped living room of his trailer away from where the others were passed out, you hooked up on his futon, sweating out years of romantic and sexual tension that had built and built and built between you until it finally came to a head.

Everyone was happy for you both as soon as they woke the next morning to you wearing Bjorn's loose tee from the night before and a pair of clean boxers, arms linked and swinging down between your bodies, going shy when Navarro sighed, “fuck—finally,” and Tyler coming up to squeeze Bjorn’s shoulders from behind, telling him, “see? Told ya’ she wuz’ just as inta ya,’ mate.”

That was three years ago and you've been dating ever since, completely mad for each other as Bjorn liked to put it, which you think sums it up quite nicely.

You complimented one another, able to make up for whatever deficiency the other was lacking in. You were the only one that could truly calm him, talk him down from the proverbial edge when his anger started to boil over in response to whatever bullshit life threw at him. Reminding him that you were in this together for the long haul, which always did the trick, watching the way he'd soften in your hold and silently nod, looking just as vulnerable on the outside as he felt on the inside.

And he was the only one that could truly get you to relax when you were stressed out, like a hydraulic press trying to crush you under the weight of your own problems. Reminding you not be so serious all the time, to enjoy the little things, like right at that moment, when he'd be spooning you in bed at the end of every night, drawing miscellaneous patterns over your midriff with one hand while he combs his fingers on the other through your hair, still damp with sweat after a passionate round or two.

It wasn't perfect but it was yours, and that was enough for both of you.

The hauler Navarro’s piloting hits a rough patch of turbulence as it cuts up through the polluted cloud cover, Bjorn withdrawing his hand from yours to unbuckle himself and stand, unsteady on his feet, forcing him to hold onto one of the steel bars to ground himself there.

He plucks a rolled up joint from the front pocket of his dark gray drop shoulder hoodie and lights it with one of his shitty zippo's, the confined oxygen combined with the freighter's acceleration causing the flame to shoot up high and wide, nearly singeing his eyebrows off. The others laugh at his accidental little joint trick, including you, watching him proudly nod his head around at everyone when he manages to keep all his hair.

It smokes fast, faster than he was expecting, his eyes rounding in surprise as the paper burns all the way down to the roach in just seconds, cheeks swollen with a sudden mouthful of smoke, thin milky tendrils slipping past the seam of his lips.

Then Bjorn leans down and cradles your face between his hands before capturing your lips with his without hesitation, not that you mind, permission never requested and approval never needed anytime it comes to kissing between you two, parting your mouth when he parts his, letting him exhale smoke into it.

It inflates your lungs almost instantly, like two blistering hot air balloons butting up against your ribcage, getting you super stoned off the rip. You feel the muscles in your body relax all at once, tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him in impossibly closer, working your tongue into his mouth.

There’s just something about shotgunning with Bjorn that gets you so worked up every time you partake in it, maybe it’s the intimacy of it, so close you can see Bjorn’s pupils dilate from the drugs and the desire, but you always find it ridiculously sexy whenever he does it.

You hear the quiet click of your seatbelt as Bjorn unbuckles it for you, pulling it up and off you before tugging on your wrist to get you to stand with him, pulling you into him, one arm circling your upper back to spread his fingers over your shoulder blades while the other grabs a handful of your ass, not once breaking the kiss.

It’s hot and heavy from the outset, it always is with Bjorn, likes to skip the teasing and jump head first into the deep end with you in tow. The slick sound of your tongues meeting is mostly drowned out by the pulsing engine and Navarro announcing the position of the gearshift when she changes direction, everyone pointedly ignoring the free show you’re giving them, already used to it by now, Bjorn never one to shy away from PDA.

However unlike him it took you awhile to warm up to it, always going a little pink-cheeked and embarrassed whenever he'd lick into your mouth or pinch your ass in front of everyone, but you learned to like it, love it even, looking forward to it every time he does it, which is all the time.

He places one knee between your legs and grinds his hard on up against your thigh, a low buzz humming between your ears like static from a television, swallowing the noises the other is making, grinding back against his thigh, your underwear getting increasingly wet as a result.

The friction between you is delicious—downright addicting, whining every time the denim of his jeans roughly catches your clit, dry humping his thigh that much harder, feeling pleasure quickly mounting inside of you, spurring on the frenetic roll of your hips. God does Bjorn know how to get you going, until you're needy and pliant and begging for him to fuck you.

“Such a naughty little minx ya’ are,” Bjorn exhales into your ear, a breathy groan that has you shuddering in his hold, “gonna make ya' come all over ma’ face while I go down on ya,’ would ya’ like tha’ princess? Me splittin’ ya’ wide open with jus’ ma’ tongue?”

Before you have a chance to respond, the others collectively groan in disgust, Tyler cutting in to voice everyone else's thoughts, “christ, can ya' take this somewhere else? Cousins really shouldn't hafta’ hear their cousins say shit like tha’ yanno!”

Bjorn smirks, lazily rolling his head in the direction of his cousin, running his tongue flat over the curve of his top teeth, “awe, jealous you ain't gettin' any action cuz?”

Tyler glares, no actual malice in his eyes, always willing to put up with Bjorn's ridiculous antics even when he clearly doesn't want to, “no, not at all, I jus’ feel like I need a shower now s’all. Ma’ brain hates ma’ ears fo’ even havin’ ta’ hear tha.’”

“Yeah, a cold one amirite?” Bjorn cracks as he walks away, leading you with his arm around your shoulders down the Corbelan’s corridor towards the back where the bunks are, tucked into his side while he playfully squeezes your bicep. He leans in close to nip at your throat just above the worn scoop neck collar, prone to leave marks, both of you liking the visual reminder that you belong to him.

There are two bunk rooms, the one Kay is lying in to help combat some of her morning sickness during takeoff, and the room adjacent to it, the empty one, is the one Bjorn pulls you into, crowding you up against the ladder as soon as you're through the open doorway, feeling metal rungs bite into your back through the loose fitting t-shirt you're wearing—Bjorn's shirt.

“Less get these rags off ya’ sweetheart, wanna taste tha’ pretty pussy of urs before we get inta’ space,” he rasps, grabbing the hem of the ratty fabric to pull it up and off your head, his hand easily finding the clasp on your bra to unhook it.

He licks his thumb and index finger to gently roll your nipple between them, eliciting a moan, high and needy in pitch, your head falling back against the platform the uppermost mattress is sitting on with a quiet ‘thunk’ because of it.

Bjorn chuckles watching your reaction, an arrogant smile on his face, always so smug with how quickly he's able to get you falling apart, always so receptive in his hands, more than familiar with every sensitive spot and erogenous zone located on your body, replacing his fingers with the wet suction of his mouth.

He doesn't take his time like he normally does, loves toying with your chest until they're red and raw and littered with purpling hickeys of various sizes until you're a whimpering, quivering puddle beneath him but tonight he's on a mission, having thought it out long before he filled you in back in the cockpit.

“I'd love ta’ suckle on ‘em titties a little longa’ but I got a betta' way ta’ use ma’ mouth, don'tcha agree princess?” He whispers, warm breath ghosting over your face, tickling your heated skin, causing the hairs there to stand at attention.

“Mmmmm,” you hum, short on breath, whining in response to him pinching the side of your heaving tit, knowing what he wants before he even voices it.

“Words babe, use ‘em,” he orders, circling his thumbs counterclockwise over your hard nipples like the joysticks on the console he plays when he's not playing with you. Your back arches into his heated touch, moaning, “I—yes. Please Bjorn—baby, want you to eat me out, want you to split me wide open with your tongue and come on your face like you promised you would. Please.”

“Well, since ya’ asked so nicely,” he grins, satisfied with your answer, getting you to lie down on the bottom bunk sideways so your legs are dangling off the edge of the thin bed.

It's a tight fit, definitely not big enough for him to crawl in after and fuck you in, regardless of the position you'd attempt to do it, but that's not his endgame right now anyway so it doesn't really matter to either of at you the moment. You'll figure that out later, when you're officially on course for the nine year journey to Yvaga III. The others are all gonna fucking hate you both by the end of it.

Kneeling on the ground between your legs he grips either knee and spreads them wide open, instructing you to lift your hips a little so he can shed your jeans, leaving you in nothing but your damp cotton panties.

You watch as he licks over his lips, slow and deliberate, like he’s eying his favorite meal, a new wave of wetness gushing out of you, reflexively trying to close your legs so you don't soak through the mattress but Bjorn's hands stop you from doing so.

“Don't get all shy on me now princess,” Bjorn smirks, thumbs brushing over the crease of your pelvis, flirting along the edge of your underwear, “s'not like I haven't seen it all before or nothing.”

Then he’s closing the distance, taking a big whiff between your thighs, the rapid flutter of his lashes and the growl that rumbles through his chest inciting a needy whine out of you, “always smells so fuckin’ good, so wet ‘n ready fo’ me like tha’ naughty little slut ya’ are. Gonna fuckin’ devour ya.’”

He blows cool air over your warm, wet core, causing you to shiver, trying to grind down on his face, his hands on your hips stopping you, punctuating the air between you, “patience sweetheart, we’ll get there, probably don't’ have much time left ‘nyway.”

Bjorn finally, finally rips your underwear down and off, throwing the bend of your knees over his shoulders before burying his face in between your thighs, licking between your dripping folds from the base of your throbbing core up to your clit, tongue circling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Bjorn,” you whimper, electricity circulating through you like your veins are made of live wires, feeling high off the weed and arousal and adrenaline as your boyfriend eats you out, ankles locking behind the scruff of his neck to keep him there.

“Thas’ right baby, say ma’ name, is tha’ only one ur eva’ gonna moan cuz this pussy belongs ta’ me n’ me only,” he growls, giving your thigh a possessive little squeeze as he spells the letters of his name out on your clit to really drive the point home.

And the thing is—Bjorn's absolutely right, his name is the only one you're ever gonna moan, the only one you ever want to, because Bjorn doesn't just own what's between your legs he owns what's inside your chest too.

It’s the crude way Bjorn spits on your entrance that has you closing your legs around his head, moaning his name like a prayer, like you aren’t already wet enough, distantly aware it's just another way for him to stake his claim over you.

He probes the tip of his tongue against your opening, throbbing in anticipation, clamping down on the warm wet muscle as soon as he wiggles it inside, first an inch, then two, groaning as the taste spreads over his tongue.

It always drives you absolutely crazy how vocal Bjorn is when he's going down on you, like he's getting off on it more than you are, the noises he's making causing tremors of pleasure to undulate through you, blindly fucking back onto his tongue as a result.

He increases his persistence, steadily fucking his tongue in and out of you, one of the arms he has loosely circled around your thighs letting go to rub circles into your clit instead, applying just the right amount of pace and pressure to have you trembling in his grasp.

You continue to roll your hips down, growing frenetic with your rapidly approaching climax, cervical muscles contracting like wires being wound up tight, clenching around your boyfriend’s thick tongue while you grind up into his thumb, wet from his spit and your fluids.

Moans are freely spilling out of you know, oscillating between breathy little whimpers and needy whines of Bjorn’s name and phrases like, “baby—fuck,” and, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” orgasming just as the quiet boom of the Corbelan breaks through the surface tension of the exosphere and enters orbit, sunlight pouring through the window of the hauler and bathing you both.

Bjorn’s face is wet with your release, licking up your thighs and between your folds to clean you up, licking you into hypersensitivity, pulling your hips away when it starts to hurt. He kisses down your leg, gentle as he helps swing your legs in so you’re lying on the mattress correctly, crawling in to join you.

While it might not be big enough for you to fuck in its just right for cuddling, his arm going around your waist to reel you in close, groaning when you lean your head back against his shoulder to lick some of your juices off of him. He’s still fully clothed, hips pressed up to your naked ass, tracing over the dice tattoo on the back of his hand.

“Want me to return the favor?” You ask, fucked out and spent in his arms, feeling your eyelids grow heavy with sleep. Still, you’d power through the exhaustion if he wanted you to, just for him.

“No need princess,” Bjorn smiles, soft and affectionate, kissing behind your ear, “already gone limp. Gonna hafta’ change my boxers when I got tha’ energy. Tha’ pretty little sounds ya’ make really gets me goin.’”

You feel heat pool low in your core at the idea of Bjorn getting off on just your moans alone, meeting his eyes over your shoulder, dazzling in the sun. He kisses you then, full of love and passion, cradling your jaw to keep it turned towards him, thumb sweeping across your cheekbone, from the bridge of your nose back to your ear.

“Jus’ as breathtaking in tha’ light princess,” he whispers, eyes roving over your face, the same look he always gives you when he’s being incredibly sweet, like he’s been staring at the sun long before he saw the real thing.

A warmth spreads through you because of it, warmer than anything else in the universe, even the sun.

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 17: christmas vacation with lottie matthews

— summary: lottie invites you to go on vacation with her and her family.

— warnings: secret relationship. gn!reader. literally just fluff. these were supposed to be only hcs at first.

the first invitation comes out of nowhere, catching you off guard one december afternoon. lottie leans against your locker, twirling a strand of her hair as she speaks to you;

“it’ll just be us, my parents, and the insane amount of christmas decor they insist on putting up,” she says, though there is a slight nervous edge to her voice. she fiddles absentmindedly with the hem of her sweater, her gaze flicking to yours as if searching for a reaction. the truth is, she’s been hoping for this; hoping to spend more time with you, to have you by her side. usually, it’s just her and her parents during the holidays, the house too quiet beneath all the flashing lights and over-the-top decorations. this year could finally be different. this year, you could be there with her. if you agree to come along that is.

“it’s no big deal! we’re just going to my family’s cabin in the mountains. you’ll love it! it’s peaceful up there,” she continues.

you agree, partly because the thought of spending christmas eve with her is too tempting to resist, and partly because you can never quite say no to lottie matthews.

it’s not until you’re actually boarding the plane -her family having insisted on paying for “one of charlotte’s friends”- that you realize her idea of “no big deal” is wildly different from yours.

the flight itself is surreal already. you’re used to crowded commercial planes with tiny, cramped seats, so the first-class cabin the lottie’s family booked is the complete opposite of any flying experience you’ve ever had.

lottie notices, of course. she always does.

she tilts her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “are you okay?”

you nod. “i just…wasn’t expecting all of this” you lower your voice. “you said it was no big deal”

lottie laughs lightly. “it’s just a plane!” she says. then, after a beat, she adds: “but, uhm, thanks for coming with me. it’ll be nice to have someone there”

when you land and step out into the frosty mountain air, you’re struck yet again by how absolutely not “no big deal” this is: the cabin isn’t a ‘cabin’ at all: it’s a sprawling, three-story masterpiece nestled against the snowy mountainside, its floor-to-ceiling windows glowing warmly in the evening light. you honest to god thought these kind of places only exist in winter magazines or on postcards.

lottie watches your reaction from the corner of your eye as the car pulls up to the front. “bigger than you expected?” she teases, but there’s an audible nervousness in her voice, like she’s worried you’ll find it too much.

“way bigger,” you admit as you take it all in. she huffs a small laugh, brushing her fingers against your leg in the backseat when no one is looking.

much like the exterior, the inside of the “cabin” could be straight out of some holiday movie: sleek yet warm, with high ceilings and wide-open spaces that still manage to feel cozy. there’s a stone fireplace, and tasteful christmas decorations that look like they’ve been arranged by a professional (they might as well have been).

you step inside first, breath catching slightly, and lottie lingers behind you. as she steps over the threshold, her gloved hand finds the small of your back.

“that’s-“ you begin, at a loss of words. “you weren’t kidding about the decor”

lights twinkle softly against the pine garlands wound around the staircase railing, and a towering tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room.

lottie’s parents make a brief appearance, sweeping through the front hall as they already talk about some last-minute errands and plans to catch up with old friends in town, their tone polite but distant. exactly as you expected. they offer smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes and a few murmured pleasantries before they’re out the door again.

the sound of the car pulling away lingers for a moment before lottie lets out a long sigh. she unwinds her scarf and tosses it onto a nearby chair.

“is it always like this?” you ask gently.

“what do you think?”

you don’t have an answer, so instead, you step closer, closing the distance between you. gently, you reach up and brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. your touch lingers when you tell her: “well now you have me here”

“yeah. now i have you.”

the days that follow are a mix of quiet intimacy and subtle luxury.

festive bliss.

mornings are slow and peaceful, with lottie insisting on being the one to make coffee, shooing you back toward the couch when you try to help. “i’ve got it,” she murmurs as she tugs the blanket tighter around your shoulders before padding off to the kitchen.

from your spot on the couch, you watch her move through the kitchen, the sound of coffee brewing filling the quiet air. lottie is dressed in an oversized sweater that falls just past her hips, sleeves bunched up as she works, her thick socks muffling the soft shuffle of her feet.

when she returns, two cups in hand, she settles beside you and hands you yours. “see? perfect,” she says.

you laugh softly, pressing closer to her as the two of you sip your drinks in comfortable silence. lottie tucks her feet beneath the blanket and leans her head against your shoulder, her body warm against yours.

“we don’t have to do anything today,” she reminds you every morning. “no schedules, just us!”

you could spend hours like that, curled up by the fire or watching the snow drift lazily outside the massive windows.

afterward, the two of you bundle up in layers and step outside. the air is cold, your breath visible in short puffs. lottie insists on taking a short walk around the property each day, claiming it helps her clear her mind. hand in hand, you navigate the snowy trails, laughing as you each slip and slide on spots where ice glistens beneath a thin blanket of powder.

at night, the cabin feels even cozier. the christmas tree lights cast a warm glow across the room, and lottie always gravitates toward you, pulling you onto the couch with her to cuddle “come on,” she’ll say, her voice insistent as she pulls you closer.

like that, lottie curls up against your side, her head resting comfortably on your shoulder as you flip through old photo albums she’s dug out from one of the bookshelves.

“that’s me!” she points out, tapping her index against one of the photographs and you can’t help but smile at the sight of a much younger lottie: small and grinning, her hair pulled back in two pigtails. “look how tiny i was!”

by the time her parents return in the evenings, you’re both so settled into your little bubble of warmth that their presence feels almost like an intrusion. they always seem too busy to notice much, though, and for that, lottie is grateful this once. the sound of them bustling through the front door or calling out vague greetings hardly registers; neither of you move from where you’re curled up together, limbs tangled in a way that’s just a bit too close to be purely platonic.

if her parents notice the proximity at all, the way lottie’s hand lingers on your arm or how your fingers absently trace patterns against her back, they don’t say anything. they’re too preoccupied with their own evening routines to look closely, anyway.

there are enough rooms in the house that you’re offered a spare guest room. without knowing what else to say, you accept. but each night, after her parents announce they’re going to bed, their footsteps fading down the hall, you wait. you listen for the house to settle, the sounds of distant doors closing, and then, once you’re sure that they’re in bed, you slip back out into the hallway.

by the time you reach lottie’s door, it’s already cracked open. she’s waiting for you, knowing you’d come and now perched against the pillows. “there you are!”

you grin as you pad across the room and slide beneath the covers with her. lottie immediately pulls you close, her arms slipping around your waist as you get comfortable as her little spoon. she presses her face into your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin. “it’s too cold in here without you,” she mumbles.

you laugh quietly, trying not to wake her parents down the hall.

neither of you says much after that, the silence between you comfortable. when you finally drift off, the sound of her soft breathing at your back is the last thing you hear.

on christmas eve, lottie’s parents insist on a formal dinner, the table set with fine china and candles that flicker gently. it’s the most you’ve heard them talk all throughout your stay; her mother is asking you polite questions about school, your plans for the new year, and occasionally prying into your family traditions. her father cracks dry jokes that make lottie roll her eyes but don’t seem to faze him in the slightest.

even with the slightly tense tone of the evening, there’s something surprisingly cozy about it. lottie keeps sneaking glances at you across the table, her lips curling into small smiles when your eyes meet and every now and then, her hand brushes yours under the table.

after dinner, they exchange presents already. her parents’ gifts to her are expensive, if a little impersonal: a new sweater, a pair of new leather boots….lottie thanks them politely, but it’s when she opens the small box from you that her expression truly softens.

it’s a simple bracelet, something you picked out because it reminded you of her. lottie’s cheeks flush as she fastens it around her wrist, her fingers lingering over the clasp. “it’s perfect,” she murmurs “thank you” it’s then that you want to kiss her desperately. if her parents weren’t there, watching and marveling about ‘how thoughtful your friend is, charlotte’ you would.

later, when her parents retire to bed with wishes of “merry christmas,” you and lottie settle onto the couch by the tree. the cabin is quieter now. lottie leans against you, her head resting on your chest as she fidgets with her new bracelet absentmindedly.

she lets out a soft sigh, her voice barely above a whisper. “you know…i think this is the happiest i’ve ever been on christmas,” she says, tilting her head up to look at you.

“me too,” you whisper back. you’re kissing her before you even fully realize it, your lips pressing to lottie’s. your hand slips beneath the blanket, fingers weaving into hers, the warmth of her touch grounding you as everything else fades away.

[mikkies]

「 EVEN IF I'M FARAWAY, I'LL HOLD YOU IN MY ARMS AND SING OUR SECRET SONG. 」

Guest 1337 x GN! Reader x Daisy

warnings: none!

notes: ngl, I was racking my brain on how Guest gets back, but when I took a break to play COD: Modern Warfare, I really liked the idea of Military Helicopters. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations🙇‍♀️

THE WARM GLOW of the afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows in the living room. Daisy and [Name] sat side by side on the couch, their phones resting between them as a breaking news alert flashed across the screen. The headline was surreal:

"MISSING ROBLOXIANS FOUND AFTER YEARS OF DISAPPEARANCE: LEGENDARY GUEST 1337 AMONG THE SURVIVORS."

The newscaster’s voice carried a blend of excitement and solemnity. "In an extraordinary turn of events, a group of individuals who had mysteriously vanished years ago has been found alive. Among them is the renowned Guest 1337, whose disappearance sparked widespread speculation and countless efforts to locate him. Though the details of their return remain classified, officials have confirmed that all survivors endured unimaginable circumstances during their time away."

The video cut to a live feed of an airfield, where a crowd had gathered to greet the returning survivors. Guest 1337’s distinctive silhouette emerged from the aircraft, his spiky blue hair unmistakable even from a distance. The camera zoomed in on his face, capturing the raw emotion as he stepped back onto familiar ground.

"It’s him," Daisy whispered, her fingers trembling as she paused the video. "He’s… really alive."

You placed a hand over hers, your own eyes glistening. "We’ll see him soon. The report said he’s being brought back to town today."

The hours that followed passed in a haze of anxious anticipation. Memories of Guest 1337—his laughter, his courage, his fierce loyalty—flooded back in vivid detail. Neither Daisy nor you could sit still, your emotions vacillating between hope and apprehension.

When the doorbell finally rang, it was as if the entire world held its breath. Daisy reached the door first, her heart hammering in her chest. She paused, her hand hovering over the handle, before finally pulling it open.

There he stood.

Guest 1337’s tall frame filled the doorway, his spiky blue hair slightly disheveled but unmistakable. His camouflage shirt and tan vest were faded and worn, a testament to the horrors he’d endured. His stark white skin seemed even paler than before, but his eyes—those piercing, determined eyes—still held the warmth of the man you both knew.

For a moment, no one moved. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Then, Daisy surged forward, her arms wrapping tightly around him. Her face buried into his chest as the tears came, hot and unrelenting.

"You idiot!" she sobbed, her voice muffled against his vest. "Do you have any idea what you put us through?"

You were right behind her, your arms encircling both of them in a protective embrace. "How could you just disappear like that?" your voice cracked, the words a mix of relief and frustration. "Do you even know how much we’ve missed you?"

Guest 1337 didn’t say a word. His head dipped, his shoulders shaking as silent tears slid down his cheeks. He held you both tightly, his hands gripping Daisy’s sweatshirt and your sleeve like lifelines. He had faced unimaginable challenges during his disappearance, but nothing had prepared him for this—the overwhelming love and anguish of the people he cared about most.

"I’m sorry," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "I’m so sorry."

Daisy pulled back just enough to look up at him, her tear-streaked face a mix of anger and relief. "You better be," she said, her voice wavering as she lightly punched his chest. "Don’t you ever do that to us again."

You followed suit, delivering a soft punch to his shoulder. "You had us thinking the worst. You have no idea how many nights we… we thought you were gone for good."

Guest 1337 gave a watery chuckle, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile for the first time in what felt like forever. "I missed you too. Both of you. More than you’ll ever know."

The three of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, your tears mingling as you shared the weight of your emotions. It was a reunion filled with pain, love, and the unspoken promise that you would never let go again.

Eventually, Daisy wiped her eyes and smiled up at him, her usual cheerfulness starting to shine through. "Welcome home, Guest. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do."

You nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Yeah. And don’t think for a second that we’re letting you out of our sight anytime soon."

Guest 1337 smiled, his heart full despite the lingering scars of his ordeal. For the first time in years, he felt truly alive.

"I’m not going anywhere," he promised, his voice steady. "Not ever again."

[pmpmyread]

Forty Winks

Nanami Kento x f!reader, fluff.

It was a rainy mid-autumn afternoon when you first discovered this side of Nanami.

There was an urgent lightness to your steps as you ventured down the corridor lined by the classrooms that separated your office from Nanami’s. Thanks to a convoluted mission whose report took an inordinate amount of time to fill, you were late, or at least later than usual.

Usual.

What had started off as unscheduled, undefined engagements had now found a rather regular cadence; usually on Wednesday afternoons when both of your schedules tended to be less busy, usually towards the end limit of what could still count as being lunchtime, usually coordinated via a quick text on the morning of to confirm availabilities on both of your ends.

Serially impromptu was how you’d cautiously qualified these meetings in your mind, as you’d caught yourself subconsciously putting more effort than normal into applying your makeup on the Wednesday morning of your third meetup of the kind. 

Colleagues sharing good reads, the phrase you repeated to yourself, one that took on the weight of a mantra as you stood before your humble bookshelf a few days ago, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of the next novel you’d meticulously picked out for Nanami from your favorites.

The very same paperback you were clutching at this moment as you brought up your right knuckle to meet the wooden door with three knocks, only realizing that it wasn’t closed shut once your movement caused it to slide ajar.

You took a deep breath, ready to be confronted with the likely scenarios; perhaps you’d find Nanami diligently filling out a report from an earlier mission, with his jacket draped over his desk chair, his sleeves pulled back revealing his sinewy arms and his brows furrowed in concentration, or maybe he would be at his desktop computer reviewing someone else’s training plan, eyes fixed onto his screen with that steady gaze of his, his jaw clenched and his forehead wrinkled in focus.

Neither of which prepared you for what you found instead.

It took you a few seconds to spot him, seeing as he was assuming a rather unusual position in his reclined office chair, but there he was.

Nanami Kento, fast asleep.

In hindsight, not much thought had gone into crossing the threshold into the office, and quietly bringing the door to a close with a soft click. If any vestiges of hesitation remained, they were promptly shed as you got closer to Nanami and the details of his rare form became increasingly clear, like mist fading on a dull day.

His glasses were off, long since discarded on his desk. His hair was lightly tousled out of its place, his tie was slightly loosened at the knot, and the first button of his shirt was unfastened. Long fingers interlocked just over his abdomen where his hands were folded. His chair was angled back and facing his window.

His disposition was the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. A light, rhythmic snore was just barely audible over the sound of drizzle drumming against the glass panes. The lines of tension that normally tightened his face, the ones you’d seen soften only during the rare occasions he’d allowed his filter to momentarily slip, were now notably faded.

As you took in the surreal sight before your eyes, your mesmerization transfigured into wonder.

Did he slip into slumber while waiting for you?

Had he dozed off while gazing out as huge raindrops slipped and fell off the fiery scarlet maples?

He looked so tired lately, was he getting enough sleep?

Suddenly, the sleeping sorcerer lightly rustled in his chair, his eyebrows flexing into a slight frown, his lips twitching into a minute twist and his eyelids fluttering softly, hinting at a mystifying world of dreams behind his closed eyes. Only once he’d settled back into his rhythmic breathing did you slowly exhale the breath you did not realize you’d been holding.

This momentary dread jolted you back to reality; you truly had no business being in here, certainly not for as long as you were. You hesitated for a moment, deliberating the fate of what would be the damning evidence of your breach, the intimation that you had in fact witnessed him in this state.

Ultimately, boldness blotted out enough of the doubt that lingered in your mind and you opted to place the book in prominence between his screen and keyboard, in the exact spot you’d watched him place the previous volume you’d lent him a few weeks prior. As you turned around and retraced your steps back towards the door, you recited every prayer you knew, hoping to avoid the inevitably awkward encounter that would arise should he wake up before you had the chance to slink away. An encounter you’d now only delayed.

Only once you were back out in the safety of the hall and well on your way back to your office, did you allow your mind wander back to your contemplation, fuelled by the curiosity that underpinned your interactions with the 7:3 sorcerer, by the same interest which guided your careful selection of the books you lent him, and from which emerged yet another question.

What does Nanami Kento dream about?

Weaved between the shared moments that transformed serially impromptu into regularly scheduled, shared reads into shared meals and that saw colleagues slip into the fledging permissiveness of close friends, bridges were being built.

One of said bridges came in the form of a TV series, an adaptation of a book you’d both enjoyed. You’d started watching it on one of your not-so-impromptu shared lunch breaks, during which you’d admittedly spent more time squinting at your tablet in an attempt to focus your attention on the scenes playing out on the screen rather than the distracting warm presence of the man who’d innocuously scooted closer to get a better view of the screen.

An effort that proved to be futile; you ended up having to rewatch the entire episode at a later, less distracting time.

If convenience was the guise under which you’d first found yourself catching the next few episodes at Nanami’s apartment after an early shift bookended by a mission you’d cleared in an area within the proximity of his place, then a force of habit is what kept this practice going over the next few weeks, and reciprocity was what finally found you together in your home for the first time, on this snowy Saturday afternoon, primed to binge the remaining three episodes of the season.

A small habit, much like the one he was enacting right now, a few minutes into the next episode you were watching, one that you’d seen him engage in on your several past TV-watching sessions.

It would begin subtly, a slight adjustment of his posture, discernible only to your now-trained eye. He’d shift himself to the perfect angle to maintain both a line of sight with the screen and his face away from you.

You'd called him out for dozing off, once, something he had evasively denied. But the slight upward curve of his lips, when you picked up the show the next time, as he’d rewound back to the closing scenes of the previous episode, citing the “need for a refresher”, told you everything you needed to know.

So you watched him in amusement now, shaking your head as you observed him make his gradual, calculated moves. Unlike the previous occasions, he was now in the foreign territory that was your small living room. You had two sofas at an L-shape right angle facing the TV. Nanami sat slightly reclined lengthwise on the longer one and you sat upright on the two-seater which was positioned slightly behind. In fact, he’d have an easier time setting himself up in this layout.

Good, you thought, it would make it that much easier to catch him.

You would have paused to admire him in this rare, relaxed, and unguarded form if you weren’t so busy attempting to catch him in the act.

Slowly, in a subtle, controlled movement, Nanami repositioned himself just low enough that his face was obscured from your sight. You watched, and you waited. After several minutes spent observing him, the now regularized rise and fall of the remote resting on his abdomen as he breathed gave you the assurance you needed to make your move.

You carefully leaned forward, your weight shifting towards the sofa’s arm, as you reached for the remote, a delicate balance maintained as you slowly descended your hand, poised like a claw machine, ready to grab the prize. Almost there, you thought as your fingers brushed against the familiar raised buttons of the remote.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips before you could mentally register the hand that had darted up and the fingers that clamped around your wrist to halt your movement. Nanami’s gentle but firm grasp was now the only thing keeping you from falling completely as you stumbled awkwardly, half-lunging, half-standing.

“Are we not watching anymore?” he inquired in his characteristic uninflected tone.

“I…weren’t you just asleep?” you answered his question with your own, your words both breathy and strained as you focused on maintaining your balance in your newfound awkward position.

“I wasn’t,” he said simply.

You scoffed. “I somehow doubt that…” You tried to get him to face you, but Nanami’s eyes remained trained on the screen. “Tell me then, what was the very last thing that happened?”

He described a sequence in detail, down to the specific lines of dialogue that were exchanged between the characters. Only then did he finally angle his face upwards to meet your gaze in an unreadable expression as he awaited your feedback.

You averted your eyes for a moment, turning your attention to the screen in an attempt to reorient yourself in the story, squinting at it much like you’d done with your tablet screen all those weeks ago, as the realization slowly dawned on you; that you couldn’t for the life of you confirm nor deny his recounting of the plot, that amidst your mad preoccupation with pinching Nanami in his slumberous endeavors, you had completely missed out on whatever narrative development that had just occurred throughout this episode.

When your gaze tentatively returned to his, you found a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Only now did you realize how close you were to him, your eyes drawn to the subtle imprints of his glasses on his nose, where a few freckles clustered like tiny specks of dust.

The nervousness inflicted by this sudden proximity did you no favors as you faltered in your balance, your extended leg beginning to tire. You moved to shift your balance back to your back leg to pull away, but Nanami acted before you did, picking up the remote and clasping it between the hand that he still held, brushing his fingers lightly against yours as he did, perhaps deliberately, before finally letting go.

“I was restfully attentive,” he casually said, as if to answer an unspoken question.

“Restfully attentive?” You could only repeat his oblique response, as you bewilderedly found your seat again, thrown off by just how swiftly your little plan had gone awry. “Really, Nanami… I—I’m just going to rewind it a bit, for good measure. I’m pretty sure you’re missing a few details,” you quickly added, not wanting to dwell on the details of the question you’d raised, but could not answer yourself.

“Oh am I, now?” He quipped, clearly unconvinced by your act, and you suddenly felt the burden of proof shifting to you in a turn of events you definitely did not see coming, a conundrum that was soon discarded to the back of your mind once you heard the soft sound of a chuckle emanating from him. You watched as his laughter rippled through his frame, rising like a melody and traveling to your warming ears.

And there it was again, a rare glimpse at Nanami’s unmasked side, the kind that triggered this now familiar warmth to course through you, warmer than the miso soup you’d downed after the sushi takeout you’d just shared, warmer than the golden rays of sunshine that pierced through the frosty air and filtered through your living room patio door.

As you rewound your show back a few scenes, your hand trembled ever so slightly at the indelible sensation of your contact. You distracted yourself by sorting through your theories, wondering whether Nanami was a light sleeper, or had truly been awake; pondering the predictability of the series’ story and the probability that he’d simply made some incredibly accurate, educated guesses.

Or maybe this was just something to take as is; another layer uncovered, another quirk you’d grow accustomed to, a funny bonding joke that would settle between you — that your sweet Nanami had a spontaneous napping habit, and that very few things could come between him and his forty winks.

You’d never been much of a napper yourself, convinced it would disrupt your already delicate sleep schedule. Today would mark the exception that highlighted this rule.

Kento and you were on a trip together, a short couple’s weekend getaway in a neighboring city. Unlike the first time you’d randomly found yourselves in this area for a mission, this time you were armed with a thorough plan to visit as many of the local gems as possible; a cafe, a specialized museum, an open-air market, another cafe. To say that you were determined would be an understatement.

So when you began feeling a hint of the fatigue you’d accumulated over the last few weeks of arduous work beginning to rear its ugly head only halfway through day one, you pushed it at bay, staunchly resisting the idea that perhaps your itinerary was more ambitious than what you’d anticipated.

Nanami had accustomed to your habits as much as you did to his, enough to take notice of the increased sluggishness of your movements, of the subtle drop in your energy levels, and of the heaviness in your eyes; enough to know that you were too stubborn and feel too guilty to entertain the idea of slowing down, much less to settle for anything close to resting unless he’d was the one to suggest it.

So it was only once he proposed spending the afternoon in, citing the fancy rooftop pool at the hotel you were staying at to be an adequate alternative location to spend the bulk of the afternoon, that you gave in to the latent need for rest.

The combination of a late spring breeze on a lightly cloudy day and of luxurious chaise lounges at an altitude that saw the city noisiness reduced to a faint city bustle several floors below would have ordinarily made for perfect conditions for Nanami to slip into a comfortable midday slumber. And yet, today, he wouldn’t catch a wink.

Another exception to another rule.

The book he’d brought with him remained open on his lap, on the same page it had been over the past twenty minutes, a testament to the fact that his attention had very much not been on it, but on your sleeping form on the chair next to him instead.

He’d watched you sleep on countless occasions before; in his bed, in yours, on nights when he resisted the pull of his own somnolence as he sought to anchor himself in a moment of wakeful contemplation that bookended a passionate encounter, on placid mornings when he woke a few minutes before his alarm as he often did, on that one occasion when you’d succumbed to slumber in the infirmary in the aftermath of a strenuous mission that left you only a little less than exhausted and Nanami more than perturbed.

But this was different.

It wasn’t the now familiar comfort brought on by the gentle rise and fall of your breath, nor your slightly parted lips, nor the way by which the afternoon sunshine highlighted the golden radiance of your skin, but the juxtaposition of your sleeping face against one particular high-rise building visible in the distance behind you that captured his mind into a contemplation that melded into memory:

Months prior, you were both enjoying some teas together as you sat on a park bench facing, among other things, a building that was still under what was seemingly interminable construction, one of many new developments in the metropolitan area. You’d spent the afternoon engaged in a conversation without fences, one of the many you’d come to have, speaking freely about everything and nothing.

A loud thud emanating from the construction site, drawing both your attentions to its source.

“I feel like this thing has been under construction since forever,” you’d remarked.

“It’s been far too long. Especially for what it looks like,” Nanami replied impassively.

“Not a fan of eccentric-looking buildings, Kento?” you said teasingly, referring to the unorthodox convex facade that formed the structure’s south side.

“I’m a fan of projects that are run efficiently, that don’t block out pedestrian access for six months longer than initially announced, and whose noises don’t scare off all the birds in the area.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at the deadpan acerbity embodied by his tone, one you’d come to adore.

“Hey, on the bright side, it sounds like the municipality won its case. I read that they’re imposing at least half of these units to be residential. So hopefully that should maintain some of the area’s charm, while still being a net positive for the urbanization efforts.”

Your remark was met by a non-committal hum from Nanami, followed by a pause before his response.

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to tolerate this accumulation of small despairs for a while longer.”

A sardonic sigh punctuated what you now recognized to be a refrain of his.

It was your turn to release a contemplative hum.

You had half a mind to let your commentary go. You couldn’t tell whether it was the combined sentiments of openness and closeness that had reigned over you that evening, or the sensation of Nanami’s curious gaze on you as he patiently afforded you the space to complete your thought, or something deeper and unnamed that compelled you to speak from the heart.

“Don’t you think it’s an accumulation of small moments as well?” You cleared your throat before continuing. “In six months, the build will be complete. Or at least, hopefully. After which workers will commute to it and run out countless dreary work days and celebrate wins within it. Others will move into the residential section, in which they will build their homes, and live their lives and express their love…”

You trailed off as your eyes were drawn to the very top of the structure, where a couple of roofers had made a sudden appearance. You felt Nanami’s head tilt upwards to follow your gaze, and you continued.

“And we’ll all have forgotten about those guys up there, about the blocked street, about the construction noises, about every little thing that went into creating this. The messy middle, the inconveniences, the points at which the project doesn’t seem to make much sense. One day, it will just be there, existing, in its ultimate form, this impressive, self-evident thing.”

The words had spilled from you so freely, and it was only in the silence that followed that it occurred to you that just how much you’d spoken, that perhaps you’d rambled too much. Once you finally worked up the courage to turn to face Kento, it was, unbeknownst to you, just in time to miss him tearing his contemplative gaze away from you and returning his attention to the building.

You got another hum from him, one which you couldn’t help but mimic this time, in your own playful tone.

“Hmm. Or am I being too rose-colored for Mr. Nanami Kento?” you asked only half-jokingly, poking at the side of his arm affectionately to bring levity to the moment.

“No, you aren’t,” would come Nanami’s reply after a moment of insight.

It came again now, as the memory of the deep words you’d uttered so lightheartedly echoed through Nanami’s mind, and as his eyes flicked from the now completed high-rise standing in the distance as sure as the snoozing woman in the forefront.

One day, it will just be there…

He was slowly pulled back to reality by the sudden movement of your stirring. Your eyes fluttered open and met his as you both emerged from your own hazy states between dreams and consciousness. Your beatific smile mirrored his, forming the anchor that would bring you both back to reality.

“Well… I see why you enjoy these siestas so much. I really needed that,” you said, breaking the silence.

Nanami watched you intently, captivated by your movements as you stretched and as your head tilted at the perfect angle to catch and hold the sunlight in your left eye, transforming it into a shimmering pool of amber.

… this impressive, self-evident thing.

“I hope you got to rest a bit as well?” you added, verbalizing the hint of curious concern betrayed by your eyes, one that did not go unnoticed by him.

He quietly nodded. A half-truth, one he would stick to as he remembered that yours was a nap you had only allowed yourself to take as long as he would do the same.

It was difficult for Nanami to imagine a time when your union wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

It was difficult for you to do the same, and yet, after all this time, you still couldn’t quite shake the familiar anxious flutter that traversed you whenever his gaze lingered on you with the intensity it carried right now, with tempered vulnerability, as if to telegraph sentiments in words unsaid.

You ripped your eyes from his only for the brief moment it took to glance at your smartwatch.

“I think we still have time to stroll by the port before it gets swarmed by the evening crowd, if you’re up for it?” you ventured, your tone coming through with more timidity than you’d intended.

“Let’s do it,” he replied, speaking for the first time since you woke.

“Okay. I’ll go freshen up and we can get going?”

You rose from the chair, placing your hand on Nanami’s shoulder as you leaned down towards him in a swift movement to give him a quick peck.

He had other intentions.

He brought up his fingers to trace the line of your jaw, holding your chin gently yet firmly in place as he extended the brush of your lips into a slow, reverent kiss. The languid and unhurried caress of his tongue against yours pulled you out of the hastiness you’d almost reverted back to, like a wave breaking its crest, anchoring you to the easy tenderness of the moment.

“You’re so wonderfully affectionate after your naps, Kento,” you murmured as he finally pulled away, “and I think I now see why they put you in such a good mood.”

To this, Nanami smiled but said nothing, choosing to let you relish in the idea that his lifted mood was owed not to the cumulation of the small moments that led to the one you were having, but to the refreshing effect of a single midday nap.