#ok now they are a matching set :)

[catskullery]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[arcanegifs]

Here are some Season 2 Arcane GIF comparisons before and after I color and sharpen them! | Season 1 Comparison GIFs

[sealrock]

til further notice.

[eriecanal]

now why is andrey's match scheduled for 4:15am...

[i-hate-venti]

”wow, I can’t wait to add dahlia to my team, he should definitely be a big help-“

…

[fatescattered]

@apaise

normally, genya would much prefer to keep her socializing with strangers to the parties held every so often in town. she wouldn't consider herself a loner by any means. she loved people - there just wasn't anyone she was particularly close with, regrettably. so she indulges when there's a ball or a celebration, flashing smiles and offering playful, flirtatious words.

that was all she had intented for the other night. emboldened by the lively music and the pretty faces surrounding her, she chatted and danced until she couldn't breathe or think. when she stepped aside to regain her energy, she noticed an unfamiliar presence in the crowd. the stranger had her honey-colored locks in an updo, her dress modest in comparison to most of the other guests. she also looked decidedly uncomfortable, her expression making it obvious she'd rather be anywhere else.

genya thought some kind words might cheer her up, help her loosen up a little - but the woman turned out to be nothing if uptight, not giving genya the smallest bit of wiggle room. perhaps she would've managed to win her over in the end, if only genya hadn't spoken so carelessly of two of the guests - mia and avery higgins, giggling like schoolgirls as they not-so-subtly eyed the most attractive and popular attendees.

she had no idea willa was their cousin.

suddenly, any trace of meekness or pleasantry were gone from her demeanor. willa's expression was hardened now, chiding genya for her careless remarks. she'd tried apologizing, but the other was already on her heels, rushing over to her cousins and guiding them to the other side of the room, away from judging eyes.

genya had felt terrible. she told herself to leave it, that seeking out willa to apologize would only make matters worse -- but she couldn't simply go on knowing she had caused the girl so much grief. she wanted to at least explain it was all a well-intentioned but ultimately ridiculous attempt to break the ice in hopes of getting to know her better.

some asking around a few days later led her to the park on the edge of town; apparently, willa liked going there during the day to read. cornering her didn't sound like a great plan, but it was surely better than showing up at the higgins house, where she'd have to dole out more apologies to the poor girls she mocked.

the snow clings to her boots as she walks, making for every step an uncomfortable endeavor. genya would hate to show up looking like anything less than her very best, but she reminds herself that her looks didn't do her good at the party either.

she spots willa sitting on a bench with a book in hand, seemingly unaware of her presence - or perhaps just ignoring her. with a deep breath to ready herself, genya slowly makes her way to willa's side.

"is there room for one more? i promise not to speak ill of any of your relatives this time." she offers her most polite smile when willa finally meets her eyes. "i come bearing only apologies."

[arolesbianism]

I love drawing Aris as sif so much she's so cutsies. It almost makes up for the horrors of having to draw her as sif. Almost.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Ok so i saw a tweet that made me feral, so here i am with a request

It was based on a still from Thunderbolts* with Bucky in the kitchen wearing the tank top, the person said he looked like a dad waiting for the baby bottles to sterilise,,,, so true

I was thinking about #that bucky joining reader in the kitchen after dinner and doing it for the first time after having their baby 😵‍💫

so sorry it’s taken me way longer to get to than planned. thanks for requesting 💌

EIGHT WEEKS. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader

wc. 1407 warnings. 18+ only! quickie in the kitchen, pinv (but not much smut, my apologies. ive written so much porn lately i fear my brain may explode) mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

For the last near eight weeks, shitty diapers, vomit and fatigue had been all you and Bucky had known. The excessively late nights and nipple pain all being traced back to the sweet, beautiful tyrant of a daughter that you recently welcomed into the world.

And while you were both worse for wear and stretched incredibly thin with the new change of dynamics in the household, you wouldn’t have it any other way — motherhood a great look on you and fatherhood just as good a look on your lover. 

Like anything, it all took some getting used to: the stress, running on minimal sleep, intense blinding irritation, but it was all made easier with the great support system you call a husband. All of his attention and time being divided between his two girls. And with time, you began to feel like your old self again.

By now, it was late and it was like you were each too tired to sleep, each of you barely functioning as you work through the household jobs. 

Bucky’s at the kitchen counter, his time split between bottle sterilisation and the dishes, while you’re at the sofa’s, organising and piling the excessive amounts of baby grows and other laundry. Each of you doing jobs to lighten the giant load.

You stack the clean laundry in the basket and set it on your hip, using your free hand to drag the laundry hamper with you as you walk. You set it in your shared bedroom and meet Bucky back in the kitchen.

You stand beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, eyes closing as if to soak up the calm quiet. He presses a kiss to your temple and lays the side of his head atop yours, giving you a moment of attention while he focuses on the tasks at hand: carefully attaching bottles with lids so as not to contaminate the sterile vessel.

You wrap your arm around his back, snuggling into his side as you watch him. Whoever would have thought that the hands that were made for death and destruction could now be preparing bottles for your baby in a few rooms over. 

“Good news about the doctors today, huh?” 

He pauses and lifts his head from yours. So you turn and see his expression confused, brows furrowing.

“What news?” he asks, utterly perplexed.

“I texted you this morning,” you match his befuddled tone and reach into your robe pocket for your phone. “The doctor gave me the all clear. I told you about it as soon as I found out…” you mindlessly reiterate, eyes then beginning to narrow as you look at your screen. “Oh my god,” you whisper, and shake your head. “I never send it.”

“Is it bad news?” he questions, eyes softening slightly as they meet yours.

“God no, well… depends how you look at it,” you smile and turn your phone, showing him the screen.

He stills as he reads your unsent text, brows continuing to furrow. “What is that? Is that an eggplant?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why is it there?”

“It’s supposed to be sexy,” you playfully frown.

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pointing to the emoji beside the eggplant one. “See, the peach.”

“I don’t understand,” his head shakes, eyes flickering between you and your phone.

You inhale and close your eyes. “Okay, alright,” you focus on him. “I saw my doctor today, and she gave me the all clear…” you pause, watching the connections slowly being made in his tired blue eyes.

“So we can have sex?”

“So we can have sex,” you repeat, mirroring his tone and expression. 

Part of you questioned whether you should wait until the weekend, wait until you’ve dropped your daughter off with your family. It had been a long time since you’ve been properly fulfilled by your husband, everything but full penetrative sex to suffice during your weeks of healing. 

So this was quite the confliction.

You give it a moment's thought and meet his eyes again.  “Are you tired?” you ask.

“Are you?” he deflects and returns the question, wanting to hear what you have to say before he answers for himself.

“I mean…” you shrug your shoulders. “Yeah, very. But… a quickie can’t hurt, right?”

“Who doesn’t love a quickie?” 

“Exactly,” you smile and turn so your back is against the counter. You lift yourself up onto it, sitting on the edge with your feet dangling down.

He moves to stand between your knees and settles his hands beside yours. “And then this weekend…” he pauses and itches forward, lips ghosting yours briefly. “I can take you up to the lake…” he presses a slow lengthy kiss to your lips.

“Yeah…” you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again. “What else?”

He pretends to give it some thought but the plan was already extensively created in his head. “I can make us some dinner,” he begins to list and reaches for the bow of your robe, tugging on it gently. “We can go for a walk around the woods, maybe collect some firewood. Sit on the deck and watch the sun go down.”

You drop your hands from around his neck and move to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, fingers mindlessly slipping into the top. You reach down the front and begin palming over his cock, eyes focused on his as you listen.

“Mhm-hm,” you prompt, eager to hear more.

“Well,” he pauses and reaches into the elastic of your underwear. “We can sit in the cabin, maybe have some wine by the fire…” he starts, voice drawing to a whisper, speech halting when he leans in to kiss you again. But he doesn’t continue on with his plan. Instead he grows quiet, quite like he was wanting to reserve the more intimate moments for a surprise. 

And so he slips your underwear down your thighs, the lifting of your ass from the counter aiding the removal. He watches the fabric drag across your skin, the material grazing flesh until it gets caught between your knees. You feel the resistance and lift a knee, letting the underwear fall from one leg and down the length of the other.

The hand you had tucked down the front of his boxers moves back up to the waistband, fingers resuming their prior finnicking into the elastic. You drop your hand from around his neck and join the one at the top of his pyjama bottoms — both of them hastily yanking on the fabric. 

Bucky helps, moving his hands from your underwear to his own. He gives both garments a heavy tug, each catching around the swell of his thighs — revealing just enough of himself as required.

He spits into his palm and smears it messily over his dick. You both watch the lewd display between you, eyes transfixed on the slight twitching of him, cock growing hard under his touch. 

Guiding himself closer he smacks his head against your cunt. The little slaps an attempt to speeden up his erection. 

He holds himself within his left, metal hand and spits once again into the palm of his other, only this time he smears it over your pussy — a makeshift lube saving you both a trip to the bedroom. 

Lining up with you, he teases at your entrance briefly, quite like he was refamiliarising you with the contact of his cock and himself with your cunt once again. He sinks into you slowly and both of your faces contort, the feeling of sheer, unadulterated, lustrous bliss growing with each passing inch.

Your arms wrap around him as if you’re in dire need of his touch, your hands squeezing tightly around his bank. And with the close contact, his forehead falls to press against yours, bodies close as you both delve into the bliss of what got you your daughter in the first place. 

Although this brief, fatigued session was about to reopen a massive can of worms for your sex life, it was clear that this time it may have to be cut short — the long awaited sensations could not quite be replicated by one to the other meant things tonight were bound to end prematurely. 

And so this little session might just have to serve as an appetiser, a taster for the weekend to come when you both finally get around to rekindling things properly in the bedroom.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[kooklovee]

Married for 7 days - JJK

Matching rings and a joke—your boyfriend says you're married. What he didn’t expect is for you to play along the whole trip... And the more you pretend...the less it feels like a game.

Pairing - bf!Jungkook x gf!Reader

Genre - mostly fluff, established relationship au, smut (18+) MDNI

Oneshot - 7.8k words

Warnings - fluffff, sunshine energy gf, Jungkook being effortlessly bf/husband material🤭💘, Explicit smut - unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, little handjob, creampie, marking

a/n - a quick backstory for this plot inspiration - my friend's friend went on a trip with her bf where they got matching rings n had a joke that they were married. AND EXCUSE ME?? this made such a good plot that I just couldn't resist not writing😭😭 n yeah wrote about Greece solely coz of the aesthetics (never been there tho) also also I wrote around 90% of this only listening to Blue by Yung Kai n it perfectly matches the vibe!!😭💗 ps- I feel angst writing is more of my thing bt I've tried writing fluff (a lot) for this sooo lmk if it's acceptable?🫠 n yup early update coz I cancelled out 2,3 more scenes I had in mind 🤷‍♀️ ok byeeee examss upcominggg

Masterlist kofi☕

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

Your fingers grip Jungkook’s sleeve, barely able to contain your excitement as you glance out the plane window. Blue. Endless blue. The vast stretch of the sea sparkles below, tiny white houses dotting the cliffs in the distance.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, voice full of wonder. “Look at that.”

He chuckles, his gaze soft and amused, “Baby, we’re still on the plane.”

“I know,” you sigh dramatically, turning back to him. “But still. Greece! Our first trip together! Just you and me for seven whole days.”

Jungkook smirks, teasing, “What if I'm gonna get sick of you?”

You scoff, nudging his shoulder. “You’re stuck with me now, Jeon.”

He exhales, grinning like he wouldn’t have it any other way. The past four years had been beautiful, but between work schedules, deadlines, and life, you barely got time to just be together.

But this time? it’s just you and him. Jungkook hums, fingers lazily tracing circles over your thigh. “I think I could get used to this.”

------------------ Day 1

The moment you step inside, your eyes take in the breathtaking suite. White-washed walls, soft linen curtains swaying from the sea breeze, a private infinity pool overlooking the ocean. Jungkook watches you, arms crossed, fondness written all over his face.

“This is so nice,” you gush, spinning to face him. “I don’t think I’ll ever wanna leave.”

Jungkook sets the luggage down, smirking. “Well, we have a week.”

Your smile grows. Something in your chest feels so warm. You turn to him, eyes gleaming. “What should we do first?”

Jungkook steps closer, voice low and playful. “Hmm. I can think of a few things.”

You shove his chest, laughing, “Yah Jeon, behave.” He chuckles, arms wrapping lazily around your waist, pulling you in. “No promises, baby.”

----

You practically bounce on your feet as you slip on your sandals, the soft sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of your hotel room. “Okay, okay, I’m ready!” you chirp, spinning to face Jungkook, who is still leaning against the doorframe, watching you with pure amusement.

His arms are crossed, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been ‘ready’ for the last fifteen minutes.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag. “I am! Let’s goo”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Instead, he reaches out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into him, his nose brushing against yours.

His voice drops, teasing. “You’re really just trusting me with everything, huh?”

You nod immediately. “Of course. You’re the planner, I’m just here to have fun.” Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, his fingers trailing lazily up your arm.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss against your lips. It’s warm. Sweet. Dangerously distracting.

You blink up at him, refusing to fall for it. “Jeon Jungkook, if you don’t take me outside in the next ten seconds, I’m leaving you here.”

He laughs before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

“Alright, alright,” dropping a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s go.”

And with his fingers laced through yours, he leads you out, the two of you finally stepping into your first day in Greece.

The scent of fresh-baked bread, sweet honey pastries filling the air as you and Jungkook wander through the bustling market. Your fingers brush against the beautifully painted souvenirs, woven baskets, your eyes wide with excitement.

“Jungkook, look at these!” you gasp, holding up a tiny, hand-carved olive wood frog.

He chuckles, watching you with pure amusement. “You don’t even like frogs.”

You scowl. “Yeah, but look at his little face.”

Jungkook shakes his head, ruffling your hair before grabbing the frog figurine and paying for it without a second thought.

You blink. “I wasn’t actually gonna—”

“Too late,” he smirks, handing it to you. “Now it’s yours.”

Before you can respond, the scent of something sweet and buttery hits your nose, making you immediately turn toward a food stall.

You grin. “We have to try those.”

The vendor hands over a small plate, and before you can even grab a piece, Jungkook picks one up and holds it to your lips.

Your eyes narrow. “You’re feeding me now?”

“Open.”

You roll your eyes but let him feed you, the sweet layers melting on your tongue. A small hum of satisfaction escapes you before you glance at Jungkook.

“Good, huh?” he smirks.

Instead of answering, you take another piece, holding it up like you’re about to feed him.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in. “See? You like it when I—”

But before he can finish, you smirk and pop the piece into your own mouth instead. You burst out laughing, wiping a crumb from your lip. “Tastes good.”

Jungkook gapes at you, half-glaring, half-amused. “You little—”

Before he can finish, you grab his wrist and drag him toward the next stall, giggling.

“We have so much more to eat,” you sing-song.

Jungkook lets you pull him away, shaking his head with amusement.

The market fades behind you as you and Jungkook wander through the winding streets, hand in hand.

The air is warm, salt-kissed from the ocean breeze, and the soft sound of distant waves crashes below the cliffs. White-washed buildings, blue domes line the path, vibrant bougainvillea flowers spilling over terraces.

Jungkook squeezes your hand lightly. “Still trusting my planning skills?”

You grin. “So far, you’re doing great, boyfriend.”

He chuckles, his dimple peeking out, and just when you turn to admire the view—Click.

You blink. “Did you just take my picture?”

Jungkook doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s holding up his phone, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Yup.”

You narrow your eyes, stepping closer. “Lemme see.”

“Nope.” He smirks, slipping the phone into his pocket.

You gasp. “Jungkook!”

He laughs, stepping back just as you lunge for his phone.

“Oh, baby, don’t even try,” he teases, holding it high above his head, his other hand wrapping around your waist.

You huff, glaring up at him. “What if I looked bad?”

Jungkook stands confident. So annoyingly sure of himself.

“You looked perfect.”He says it so easily, like a fact, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. For a second, you forget what you were even mad about.

Jungkook grins, clearly noticing your reaction. “What? No comeback?”

You snap out of it and quickly grab your phone, flipping the camera. “Okay, if you’re gonna take pictures of me, I’m getting yours too.”

Jungkook doesn’t protest as you start clicking away, a mix of stolen shots and silly ones.

“Okay, now pose,” you instruct, biting your lip to stop your smile.

Jungkook scoffs but obeys, shoving his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly, looking effortlessly model-like.

You pause. “That’s unfair.”

“What?”

“You just naturally look good in every picture.”

He laughs, stepping closer. “Says you?”

Before you can argue, he pulls you in, flipping the camera to selfie mode. “Let’s take some together,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you spend the next ten minutes giggling, making faces, taking videos. Jungkook kisses your cheek in one, in another, he makes you laugh so hard your eyes disappear.

The pictures—some blurry, some too close, some candid. but when you look at them later, you realize they’re perfect in every way that matters.

----

The sun is lower in the sky now, everything's in warm shades of gold as you and Jungkook walk along the soft, white sand. Your sandals dangle from your fingers, the ocean breeze cooling your skin.

Jungkook is beside you, his hand lazily intertwined with yours, his other tucked into his pocket as he watches the tide roll in.

“Okay,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. “This might be the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook hums, glancing at you instead of the view. “Yeah. It really is.”

You turn to look at him—only to find him already looking at you.

Before you can overthink it, something catches your eye—a small wooden stall set up just a little ahead, tucked beneath the shade of a few palm trees.

“What’s that?” You tug on Jungkook’s hand, pulling him toward it.

The stall is lined with handmade jewelry, delicate silver and gold pieces glinting in the fading sunlight. Small sea-glass pendants, braided anklets, thin rings on display.

“Ohh, these are cute,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bands.

Jungkook watches as you casually slip one onto your finger, admiring how it looks before turning to him with a grin.

“Should we get matching ones?” you joke, wiggling your fingers.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Matching rings?”

“Yeah, why not?” you tease. “It’ll be like a little vacation memory.”

Jungkook hums, studying the rings for a moment before wordlessly picking one up. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, slipping it onto your finger himself.

Your breath catches. You glance at him, expecting a smirk, some teasing remark, but he’s quiet. Focused.

The ring fits perfectly.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up to meet yours, and for a second, neither of you say anything.

“Guess we’re married now,” he quips, breaking the silence with a cheeky grin.

You snort, shoving his shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”

But just as you’re about to make another joke, you pause. because Jungkook is still looking at the rings.

And before you can ask, he casually grabs another one—the exact same design and slips it onto his own finger.

He lifts his hand beside yours, comparing them. “Now we match,” he hums, completely unbothered, making your heart stumble.

----

You collapse onto the bed, sighing dramatically.

Jungkook chuckles, setting his phone down before joining you, his body warm and solid beside yours.

Jungkook lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers, the ring glinting under the dim lights.

“So,” he muses, voice low and playful. “How does it feel to be my wife for seven days?"

You snort, rolling over to face him. “Delusional.”

Jungkook laughs, eyes crinkling, before pulling you into his chest. “You love it.”

You hum, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Maybe.”

His hand finds yours, fingers absentmindedly tracing over the band on your finger.

Neither of you take the rings off.

Neither of you even think about it.

------------------- Day 2

The warm afternoon sun bathes the streets as you and Jungkook browse a small outdoor market. Small shops, displays filled with handcrafted goods and souvenirs.

You stop at a small stall, admiring intricately painted ceramic plates. An older woman, the vendor, smiles at you.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she says, her accent thick with warmth.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes! My husband and I are visiting for the first time.”

Jungkook chokes on his water.

You hear him cough violently beside you, his hand gripping the bottle like it betrayed him.

The vendor laughs. “Ah, newlyweds?”

“Oh, yes,” you continue smoothly, holding Jungkook’s arm. “We’re having the best time. He planned everything so perfectly.”

You feel him staring at you—his entire existence malfunctioning in real-time.

The woman smiles warmly at Jungkook. “A good husband always takes care of his wife.”

Jungkook clears his throat.

“Oh—uh, yeah,” he mutters. “That’s… me.”

You beam, squeezing his arm. “He’s really amazing. Very thoughtful.”

Jungkook’s ears turn pink.

Once the woman turns away to wrap up your purchase, he leans down, voice low.

“Do you hear yourself?” he mutters.

You grin, still holding onto his arm “What? I’m just staying in character. You said we're married soo...we'll be a happy married couple throughout this trip.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, shaking his head but smiling.

“Oh my god.”

----

Jungkook immediately drops onto the bed, groaning as he stretches his arms above his head.

You plop down beside him, nudging his side. “Tired, husband?”

He groans louder, covering his face with his hands. “If you call me that one more time…”

You grin, rolling onto your stomach to face him. “What? That’s what you are.”

Jungkook peeks at you through his fingers, eyes narrowing. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

You hum, twisting your ring on your finger absentmindedly. “You should too. I mean, you’re already wearing the ring. You might as well act the part.”

Jungkook lifts his hand, inspecting the matching band on his finger. He’s silent for a moment, before—

“I should start calling you ‘wifey’ then, huh?”

Your eyes snap to his face, and—yup. He’s smirking.

“Don't you dare,” you mutter, sitting up immediately.

Jungkook grins wider, propping himself up on his elbows. “Wifey, can you get me some water?”

“I will pour it on your face.”

He laughs, absolutely loving this. “Wifey, should we get couple bathrobes too?”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it.

Jungkook wheezes, rolling away from your attack before bolting up from the bed.

“Okay, okay! I’m going for a swim,” he calls out, grabbing a towel.

You glare at him, crossing your arms. “You’re banned from speaking for the next hour.”

Jungkook grins. “That’s okay.”

With zero shame, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing every defined muscle and tattoo.

Jungkook walks out to the pool. Leaving you sitting there, absolutely speechless.

----

The water is cool against your skin, the evening air warm, as you float lazily in the pool. The view of the twinkling lights stretches out beyond the infinity edge.

Jungkook is across from you, leaning against the pool’s edge, his arms resting on the surface, watching you with that look.

The same one from earlier. like he’s amused. Maybe a little dangerous.

You try to ignore it, focusing on the soft ripples in the water.

A small wave splashes against your stomach. Your eyes snap up. Jungkook is still there, expression unreadable. But his fingers, barely submerged, are moving.

You narrow your eyes splashing a wave back without hesitation.

Jungkook gasps, dramatically wiping his face. “Oh, you wanna play?”

Before you can react, he swiftly moves, strong, closing the space between you in seconds.

Your breath catches as his hands find your waist, pulling you against him in the water.

“You’re really pushing your luck, wifey,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

Your hands find his shoulders, fingers pressing into firm, wet skin. “And what are you gonna do about it, husband?”

Jungkook grins, kissing you.

The water ripples around you as he pulls you even closer, one hand firm on your hip, the other tracing up your spine. His lips move slow, consuming, his breath mixing with yours.

You let out a small gasp, fingers curling in his hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours, making you feel lightheaded.

He lifts you. Just enough for your legs to wrap around his waist, water dripping between you as his lips trail down your throat.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, heat pooling low, desire crashing into you like the waves beyond.

“Jungkook—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice rough, pressed against your skin. “Let me take care of my wife.”

-------------------- Day 3

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You stir slightly, but before you can move, a strong arm tightens around your waist.

A deep grumble vibrates against your back. “Where are you going?”

You smile sleepily. “Nowhere.”

Jungkook nuzzles into your neck, his voice raspy with sleep. “Good. Stay.”

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare skin, warm, possessive. You hum, relaxing into his touch, “Why are you so tired?

Jungkook grunts. “Because my wife wore me out last night.”

Your face heats instantly. “Oh my god—”

He chuckles, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. “Mmm. You liked it.”

You turn to glare at him, but he’s already smirking.

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love it,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, his lips brushing your temple.

You pretend to protest, but honestly?

You could stay like this forever.

-------

The climb isn’t too long, but the slight incline has you huffing just a little.

“Jungkook, are we almost there?” you ask, pushing back a strand of hair as the warm breeze kisses your skin.

Jungkook, walking ahead effortlessly, doesn’t even look winded. He glances back at you with a smirk. “Tired already, wife?”

You narrow your eyes. “You dragged me up here. I should’ve just—”

You stop mid-sentence, sighing dramatically. Jungkook chuckles. Without another word, he crouches down in front of you, patting his back.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

He tilts his head. “What does it look like? Get on.”

Your lips twitch. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly—”

Jungkook turns slightly, raising a brow. “Did I stutter?”

You giggle, placing your hands on his shoulders before hopping onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Jungkook adjusts his grip on your thighs, lifting you with ease.

And just like that he carries you up the trail like you weigh nothing.

You press your cheek against his, grinning. “You’re really strong, huh?”

Jungkook hums. “You’re really lucky, huh?”

Laughing, you pepper soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, his temple.

Jungkook exhales sharply. “Y/n.”

You blink innocently. “What?”

He grins, shaking his head. “You’re distracting me.”

You laugh against his skin. “What, can’t handle a few kisses?”

Jungkook’s grip on you tightens slightly, his voice dropping just a little lower.

“Keep testing me, wifey.”

You don’t get a chance to respond because before you know it, you’ve reached the top.

And when Jungkook finally sets you down, he doesn’t let go immediately.

Instead, he lifts his phone, angling the camera before pulling you close against his side.

“Say wifeyyy.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

You still say it. and when you peek at the screen—the view behind you is breathtaking. But the way Jungkook is looking at you in the frame?

His gaze holding something deep. Like he’s seeing something even more beautiful than the world around him.

---------------------- Day 4

Jungkook walks beside you, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on, looking effortlessly cool until you drag him straight into a clothing store.

“You’re making me shop?” he groans.

You grin, already browsing. “Of course.”

Jungkook exhales, resigned. “Fine. But if I’m suffering, I get to rate your choices.”

And just like that, he ends up sitting on one of those plush chairs outside the fitting room, watching you like this is some kind of mission. You try on a few outfits, twirling in front of him.

Jungkook’s commentary is pure chaos.

“Too frilly.” “Too serious.”

“That one makes you look like a cute little menace—get it.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Eventually, you pick out two dresses, and a jacket for your boyfriend.

No.

Husband.

At the counter, you pull out your card, ready to pay—only for Jungkook to casually slide his in before you can react.

“Jungkook—”

“Got it.” He says it so effortlessly, like it’s nothing.

You stare at him. “I was paying.”

Jungkook shrugs, grabbing the bags. “Not when I’m here.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can—

The cashier smiles warmly. “You have a very thoughtful boyfriend.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”

The cashier’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”

You smile sweetly. “He’s my husband.”

The cashier relaxes, “Ohh! You two make a lovely couple.”

You squeeze Jungkook’s arm, pressing close. “Thank you! He’s the sweetest hubby, really.”

Jungkook just stands there. Blinking.

The cashier laughs. “You’re a lucky woman.”

You beam, looking up at Jungkook. “I know.”

The moment you step outside, he leans down, murmuring lowly.

“You did that on purpose.”

You grin. “And?”

Jungkook shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

Your arms are full of shopping bags, and Jungkook is carrying even more.

“You have a problem,” he groans, adjusting the bags on his arms.

You grin, unfazed. “Correction: we have a problem.”

Jungkook exhales dramatically. “I need a refund on this marriage.”

You gasp, clutching your chest. “How dare you? After all we’ve been through?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. “Come on, let’s find food before you convince me to adopt a souvenir shop.”

----

The night market buzzes with life. Fairy lights and lanterns glow overhead, casting a golden hue as soft music drifts through the lively streets.

You and Jungkook wander through the crowd, sharing bites of food, laughing as he tries to steal yours.

You pause by a musician playing a soft acoustic song, his voice melting into the warm night.

You turn to Jungkook immediately.

His eyes narrow. “No.”

You bat your lashes, pouting. “Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Jungkook,” you whine, nudging him relentlessly.

“No.”

Puppy eyes.

Jungkook groans, running a hand down his face. “Oh my god, stop looking at me like that.”

He swears under his breath before finally stepping forward. “You owe me,” he mutters.

The musician grins, strumming the guitar as Jungkook casually leans in and starts singing.

His voice melts into the night, smooth and effortless, blending perfectly with the melody. Conversations quiet, heads turn, people pause to listen.

You watch in awe, your heart tripping over itself.

Jungkook, who claimed he didn’t want to sing, looks completely in his element.

By the time the song ends, the small crowd cheers and claps. Jungkook glances at you, shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, but he’s smiling.

You beam, grabbing his hand. “And you’re amazing.”

Jungkook lets you pull him away, fingers intertwined, the warmth of the night wrapping around you both.

------------------- Day 5

The small cooking studio is bright and welcoming, filled with the scent of fresh, warm bread.

Jungkook snickers as you struggle with your apron. “Are you already losing?”

You glare. “Shut up.”

He grins, effortlessly tying his own. “You sure you don’t want to just let me cook?”

“Nope,” you're determined.

Jungkook just laughs, clearly amused.

The class begins, and predictably—you’re a disaster.

Your dough refuses to knead properly, your vegetables are questionably chopped.

Jungkook, of course, is thriving.

“I can’t believe I’m married to this,” he sighs dramatically, shaking his head.

You elbow him. “EXCUSE ME?”

He smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry, wifey. I’ll make sure we don’t starve.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips a little at the way he says it.

Midway through the class, Jungkook’s phone vibrates.

“Work,” he mutters, frowning. “I’ll be quick. Don’t burn the place down.”

You wave him off. “Go, go.”

With Jungkook distracted, Jay—the instructor, steps over your station to help.

“How’s it going over here?”

You laugh sheepishly, “Terrible. I think I’ve offended the cooking gods.”

Jay laughs. “You’re not that bad.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah, this is pretty bad,” he grins.

“Try using less force,” he suggests, guiding your hands gently.

You try again, still failing miserably.

“Okay, maybe a little more force than that.”

You groan in frustration, but it only makes him grin.

“At least you’re enjoying yourself,” he says.

You laugh, shaking your head.

Jungkook returns just in time to see you laughing easily, comfortably with the instructor.

He steps back beside you, sliding an arm around your waist effortlessly.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks.

You blink up at him. Sweetheart?

Jay nods. “We were just fixing the dough.”

Jungkook hums, but his hand stays on you.

For the rest of the lesson, he’s suddenly way too attentive. Helping you, adjusting your apron, calling you ‘wife’ three times in five minutes.

Oh, you know exactly what’s happening.

And honestly? You love it.

----

The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. The evening air carrying the salty scent of the ocean. Jungkook walks ahead, leading you toward a parked motorbike.

“Wait. You—”

Jungkook swings his leg over the seat effortlessly, grinning as he pats the space behind him. “Get on.”

Your eyes widen. “Jungkook. Where did you even get this?”

He smirks. “Rented it.”

You stare. “When?”

He shrugs, slipping his sunglasses on. “Had some free time.”

You cross your arms. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Jungkook chuckles, reaching for your wrist and pulling you closer. “It’s a surprise, baby. Now, come on.”

Jungkook pats the seat again, smirking. “Scared?”

You narrow your eyes. “Not even a little.”

Swinging your leg over, you settle behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Jungkook hums in approval, his hands resting on yours.

“Hold on tight.”

The bike roars to life, wheels kicking up dust as he speeds down the open road.

Wind rushes through your hair, the world blurring around you in a mixture of colors and motion.

You gasp, laughing as you tighten your hold on him. “Jungkook—!”

He laughs too, a sound so free, so full of joy, that it makes your chest tighten.

“Like it?” he shouts over the wind.

You press your cheek against his back, grinning against the fabric of his shirt. “I love it!”

Jungkook grins too. And then—he speeds up.

You squeal, tightening your grip. “Jungkook, slow down!”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I thought you weren’t scared?”

You huff, smacking his stomach lightly.

Jungkook laughs, slowing just a little.

He rides for a while, taking you through winding coastal roads, past cliffs overlooking the sea, the salty air mixing with the scent of his cologne.

He leads you both to a secluded viewpoint overlooking the ocean.

The view is breathtaking. Endless ocean stretching toward the horizon, the sun dipping lower, turning the water into molten gold.

You don’t even realize you’re still holding onto him.

Jungkook turns slightly, his voice lower now. “You can let go, you know.”

You nuzzle against his shoulder. “Don’t want to.”

His fingers gently brush against yours.

Then, a whisper, almost lost in the sound of the waves.

“Then don’t.”

------------------- Day 6

You wake up expecting another fun day of exploring, but something feels different. Jungkook is way too calm. No teasing smirks. No cryptic questions.

Just casual, relaxed Jungkook, who kisses your forehead and says, “Let’s just take it easy today.”

Huh?

You squint at him. This man has been planning every second of this trip and now he suddenly wants to ‘take it easy’?

But okay, fine.

You two spend the day strolling around, checking out small shops. and every time you try to read his expression, he just smiles.

Like he knows something you don’t.

By late afternoon, you can’t take it anymore. You stop in your tracks and grab his arm. “Jungkook, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, pretending to be clueless.

“You’re… too normal?”

He snorts. “And that’s suspicious?”

“VERY.”

Jungkook just laughs and pulls you into a hug. “Baby, relax. Just enjoy the day, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious as ever, but decide to let it go.

As you head back to the hotel, Jungkook casually says, “Oh, by the way, be ready by 7.”

Oh. Okay??

So here you are standing in front of the mirror, holding up two dresses.

Jungkook’s lack of details has you overthinking. What exactly are you dressing for? Something fancy? Something casual?

With a sigh, you call out, “Jungkook, help me pick.”

He walks over, eyes flicking between the two options. “Try them on.”

You huff. “Can’t you just choose?”

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Nope. I wanna see.”

Rolling your eyes, you slip into the first dress—a soft, elegant choice. Pretty, but… safe.

You step out, twirling slightly. “This?”

Jungkook hums, tilting his head. “It’s nice.”

Nice?

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He bites back a grin. “Try the other one.”

You sigh but change into the second dress—a sleeveless, ankle-length beauty. fitted at the top, flowing softly down your waist, hugging you in all the right places.

You step out, smoothing the fabric "This one?”

His eyes drag over you, slower this time. His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Jungkook swallows, his voice lower. “Yeah. That one.”

You smirk, turning back to the mirror. “Thought so.”

----

Jungkook leads you outside, where a sleek, black car is already waiting.

You blink, surprised. “Wait… you booked a private car?”

Jungkook grins, opening the door for you. “Of course. Only the best for my wife.”

You roll your eyes, getting in, biting back a small smile.

As the car glides through the city, Jungkook’s hand finds yours, thumb tracing small circles.

You glance at him. “Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You huff dramatically. “I hate you.”

Jungkook just smirks, leaning closer. “No, you don’t.”

It doesn't take long when the car pulls up to the venue. He opens the door for you.

“We’re here,” he murmurs, squeezing your fingers.

You step out, and your breath catches instantly. The place is breathtaking. Not extravagant, not overwhelming. Just perfect.

The entrance is lined with soft, golden lights. Delicate floral arrangements fill the space, their scent carried by the evening breeze. The tables are set with warm candlelight, elegant yet cozy decor, the entire atmosphere radiating love.

It’s exactly what you’d love.

You turn to him, eyes wide with awe. “Jungkook…”

He watches you, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

“You like it?” he asks softly.

Your chest tightens. “Like it? It’s.. beautiful.”

Jungkook grins, leading you inside.

But as you take it all in, you speak softly, “You shouldn’t have spent so much..”

Jungkook stops, turning to you. His brows furrow slightly, as if he doesn’t understand. With a small chuckle, he leans in, his voice gentle.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Do you really think I wouldn’t give you the world if I could?”

Your heart stumbles. A small smile making to your face.

Jungkook pulls out your chair, helping you settle before taking his seat across from you. The soft candlelight flickers between you, casting a golden glow over his features.

And the way he’s looking at you? Like you’re the most beautiful thing in the room.

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “You’re staring.”

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah.”

Your heart stumbles.

The conversation flows easily—laughter, teasing, deep moments that make your chest tighten. And just when you think the night couldn’t get any more romantic, Jungkook stands, offering his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Here?”

He nods toward the open space, where soft music plays in the background. “Why not?”

You hesitate for half a second before slipping your hand into his. Jungkook guides you effortlessly, his touch firm yet gentle. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, swaying to the soft melody.

Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, your cheek pressing against his chest.

“I love you,” Jungkook murmurs.

Your heart melts.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. “I love you, too.”

Jungkook’s smile softens before he leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips.

Everything else fades.

It’s just you, him, and the feeling of being completely and utterly loved.

----

The ride back to the hotel is comfortable, with Jungkook’s fingers lazily tracing patterns on your palm as he holds your hand.

Once inside the room, you kick off your heels, sighing dramatically.

Jungkook chuckles. “Tired?”

You turn to him, smirking. “Emotionally, yes. My husband was incredibly romantic tonight. It was overwhelming.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn pink. “Shut up.”

You gasp. “Oh my god, are you blushing?”

He groans, grabbing your waist and pulling you into bed with him.

You yelp, laughing as you land against his chest.

His arms lock around you, holding you close. “Stop talking.”

You grin against his skin. “Never.”

Jungkook sighs dramatically, but his grip tightens.

You shift slightly, tilting your head up to look at him softly, “Seriously, though… tonight was perfect. Thank you.”

His gaze softens. “Anything for you, baby.”

Your heart melts as you snuggle deeper into his warmth.

Jungkook presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

------------------- Day 7

From the moment you wake up, there’s a heaviness in your chest.

It’s the last day of your trip.

Tomorrow morning, you’ll be on a flight back home, and this dream-like escape with Jungkook will be just… a memory.

You sigh, leaning into his warmth. “I don’t want this to end.”

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We still have the whole day, baby.”

You both decide to just walk..with no specific destination in mind, hand in hand, strolling through the streets, weaving through flower stalls, sharing street food, laughing at nothing. The weather is perfect—bright, breezy, the sky painted in soft blues and wisps of white clouds.

Everywhere you turn, there are vibrant flowers in bloom, colors bursting against the golden buildings.

Jungkook squeezes your hand. “Happy?”

You look up at him, feeling the sun, the wind, the warmth of his palm against yours.

“Very.”

You don’t know how long you walk. Until, you turn a corner—

An open, breathtaking garden.

Sprawling fields of flowers in every shade imaginable. The gentle breeze carries their scent, petals dancing in the wind.

And the sunset—oh, the sunset. Burning gold, soft pinks, and deep purples, stretching endlessly into the horizon.

“...Wow.”

You step forward instinctively, tugging Jungkook’s hand, drawn to the beauty before you.

Your fingers graze the petals of a flower, eyes wide with childlike wonder.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

Jungkook doesn’t respond.

Because he’s not looking at the flowers. He’s looking at you. The way your hair moves with the wind, strands catching the golden light. The way your lips part slightly in awe, the way your eyes shine with pure happiness.

His chest tightens, something deep and unshakable settling in his heart.

He clicks his camera. Capturing you. this moment, this feeling. The shutter sound makes you turn around, still grinning.

“Kook, this place is amazing, isn’t it?”

Jungkook steps forward, silently plucking a small flower from a nearby bush and gently tucking it behind your ear.

You laugh lightly at the gesture until you notice his expression.

He’s just… watching you.

So much love in his eyes, so much depth, like he’s seeing something more than just this moment. The laughter fades. He leans in without a word.

A soft kiss. Slow. So full of emotion that your heart aches. When he pulls away, you whisper against his lips, breathless. "What was that for?”

Jungkook’s gaze holds yours. He smiles, voice barely above a whisper.

“Just like that.”

----

As the sun lowers into the horizon you're back to the beach, golden hues, the waves lapping gently at the shore.

You and Jungkook sit side by side on the sand, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns in it.

His arm rests behind you, his presence warm and comforting. Neither of you speak much, there’s no need to. The silence is peaceful, filled only by the sound of the waves and the distant laughter of kids playing nearby.

Jungkook glances at you, softly smiling. “Feeling better?”

You hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Today was perfect.”

He presses a kiss to your hair. “Good.”

You both sit there, soaking in the moment, something you never want to forget.

Your attention shifts to the group of kids laughing a little ways down the beach.

Something about their pure, carefree joy makes you smile.

You’re standing up, dusting the sand off your dress.

“I’ll be back.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Where are you—”

But you’re already walking toward the kids.

Jungkook stays seated, watching as you crouch down to talk to them, as they giggle, as you laugh with them.

Watching as your eyes shine with excitement, your hair catching the evening light, your smile so full of warmth it makes something deep inside him ache.

His chest feels… tight, full. Happy in a way that words can’t describe.

You fully immerse yourself in the game they’re playing, running around, helping them build something in the sand, laughing like a child yourself.

Jungkook can’t take his eyes off you.

After a while, you lean down, whispering something to one of the kids.

The said kid rushes toward him, stopping right in front of him with big, excited eyes.

“Your wife wants to know if you want to play with us!”

Jungkook blinks. And then chuckles, shaking his head, completely endeared.

“Wife, huh?” he muses, standing up and dusting off his pants.

The boy nods eagerly. “She said you have to say yes.”

Jungkook sighs dramatically. “Of course she did.”

But he’s already walking toward you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Didn’t even spare the kids, huh?” he teases, wrapping an arm around your waist playfully.

You grin up at him. “Nope.”

Jungkook shakes his head, but he’s smiling—smiling so, so much.

For the next hour, the two of you run through the sand, playing, laughing, losing yourselves in the moment.

Jungkook picks up a kid, spins them around, their giggles echoing through the air. You chase another, only to get caught yourself, falling onto the sand in a fit of laughter. And through it all, Jungkook watches you. His heart aching with love, with something deeper, something infinite.

Because this?

This is what happiness feels like.

The walk back to the hotel is quiet, peaceful, your hearts still full from the evening.

As soon as you step inside, you both head to the bathroom, washing off the sand. Jungkook runs a towel through his damp hair, watching as you step out first.

You make your way to the mirror, fingers reaching up to remove your earrings. Jungkook wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Your eyes fall to his hand- the matching ring on his finger. Then to yours. You chuckle softly, turning in his embrace.

"Our fake marriage ends tonight,” you tease, holding up your hand.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker, something unreadable passing through them.

He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, lifting your hand to his lips. “We still have a few hours left.”

His voice is low, filled with something that makes your breath catch.

He kisses you, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you feel, the way this moment exists.

Jungkook’s hands trail down your back, feather-light, deliberate.

You feel the slow unzip of your dress. You shudder, anticipation curling in your stomach, making your breath hitch.

His lips stay on yours, teasing, soft, even as his fingers push the fabric off your shoulders. The silk slides down your arms, skimming your skin before pooling at your feet.

Jungkook leans back slightly, his darkened gaze sweeping over you. His tongue flicks over his lips, jaw tightening.

You feel warmth creep up your neck. “Jungkook…”

A small smirk tugs at his lips. “You’re shy?”

“Shut up,” you breathe.

He chuckles, shaking his head, but his hands are already lifting you effortlessly. You gasp softly as he carries you to the bed, his grip firm, steady.

Jungkook lays you down gently, hovering above you, his fingers gliding over your skin. His lips follow, trailing soft kisses from your collarbone, across your chest, moving lower. Jungkook takes his time. His mouth brushes against your skin, reverent.

His hands map every curve, every dip, every part of you that he wants to claim. You writhe beneath him, warmth spreading through your body, your fingers threading through his hair.

He looks up, his gaze locking with yours, something intense flickering in his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky, thick with emotion.

Heat coils in your stomach, your heart hammering.

Jungkook smirks softly. “Still shy?”

You bite your lip, refusing to answer, but he just chuckles. Jungkook’s fingers trail down your spine, teasing.

His lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking lightly as his hands slide to your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease.

The fabric falls away, and his hot mouth lashes onto your breast, tongue swirling, sucking, teasing.

A gasp escapes you, your back arching into him. His hand already trailing lower, over your stomach, between your thighs. His fingers press over your soaked panties, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Your hips lift slightly, desperate for more. Jungkook smirks against your skin, pushing your panties aside before slipping his fingers through your folds.

His touch is gentle but firm, working you open, drawing soft, breathless moans from your lips.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging. “-kook…” His name falls from your lips, breathy, desperate.

That seems to snap something in him. He pulls his fingers out slowly, making you whimper at the loss. You reach for his t-shirt, tugging at it impatiently.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He pulls it over his head, revealing golden skin, hard muscles, the sculpted lines of his chest.

Your hands immediately roam over his torso, feeling every ridge, every flex beneath your touch.

He kisses you again, claiming. As his lips move against yours, you lower your hand, palming him through his pants. Jungkook groans against your mouth, his hips twitching at your touch. Tugging at his waistband, you push his pants down, and he helps, kicking them off.

Your fingers wrap around his thick, heavy length, stroking slowly. Jungkook shudders, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. His hand moves between your legs again, teasing your entrance, feeling just how ready you are.

You grab him, lining him up at your entrance. Jungkook’s gaze meets yours, dark, burning. Your body stretches, molding to fit him perfectly as he pushes in.

A moan rips from your throat, but Jungkook swallows it, his lips pressing against yours. He moves slow, savoring every second, letting you feel everything.

One hand strokes your cheek, his thumb caressing your lower lip. You part your lips, taking his thumb into your mouth, sucking softly.

Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly, his jaw tightening. His pace quickens, thrusts deep and deliberate, every movement pushing you closer to the edge.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving marks that he welcomes.

“I—I'm close,” you whimper, body trembling beneath him.

Jungkook’s breath is ragged, his forehead pressed to yours. “Hold it,” he rasps, his voice raw.

Your body trembles beneath him, every nerve overwhelmed as Jungkook keeps his slow, deep thrusts steady. His breath is hot against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

Your fingers clutch his back, nails dragging over his skin, and he groans, hips stuttering for a moment. “Jungkook-,” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist.

You whimper, toes curling, mind blurring.

Jungkook leans down, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss, swallowing your moans. His thumb trails between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

You arch into him, body tightening.

“Now,” he breathes, voice low, commanding. “Come with me, baby.”

He thrusts deep, hitting exactly where you need him. Your body shatters, waves of pleasure crashing over you, moans spilling from your lips as you fall apart beneath him.

Jungkook groans deeply, burying his face in your neck as his release follows, hips jerking, his body shaking with the force of it.

He holds you so tight, as if trying to keep this moment frozen in time. Both of you pant heavily, bodies tangled together, skin sticky with sweat.

Jungkook stays inside you, his weight warm, loving.

His arms wrap snugly around your waist, pressing slow, lazy kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach.

Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, trailing softly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Your heart is still racing. After a moment, he lifts his head, his dark eyes finding yours, heavy with something deep, something endless.

You smile, tired but content. “What?”

Jungkook just stares, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers trace soft, absentminded patterns over your skin, the other still intertwined with yours.

He speaks, softer than a whisper, almost like an afterthought, “Do you want to marry me again after this trip?”

A soft, breathless laugh escapes you. “What?”

Jungkook doesn’t waver. His hold tightens slightly, thumb brushing against your knuckles. A little more hesitant, but still so full of love,

“Do you want to marry me, Y/N?”

The weight of his words settles over you overwhelming and all-consuming.

Your lips part slightly, heart stuttering.

But then you realize something.

You stare at him for a moment, and then, to his surprise, a soft chuckle slips past your lips.

Jungkook’s brows furrow slightly, confused.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, biting your lip, eyes twinkling. “Did you really just propose to me in this situation?”

His ears turn red instantly. A soft groan escapes him as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Just answer,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

Your chest tightens filled with warmth, so full of love you can barely contain it.

Cupping his face, you bite back a bigger smile, your voice soft-

“Don’t you already know the answer?”

Jungkook’s breath catches. He murmurs, softer this time.

“I want to hear it.”

You pull him down, your lips brushing against his as you whisper,

“Yes. I’ll marry you again, husband.”

His breath shudders—something raw, something so full of love it nearly breaks you.

He's kissing you.

Slow. Endless.

Like a promise, like a vow, like something unbreakable. His hands tighten around yours, fingers lacing together.

Your matching rings glinting under the dim light.

Blending together.

Like fate. Like love.

Like something that was meant to be all along.

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

[reilemon]

Powdered Gold

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: When you invited Caleb to stay at your place in hopes of rekindling your friendship, you didn’t realize you’d be inviting the feelings you shunned years ago. You both changed, but what you feel for each other hasn’t—and maybe, this time, you’ll be brave enough to reach for it.

♡︎ pairing: Caleb x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, angst, smut, Caleb calls you pipsqueak (and always will in my fics), Caleb is a virgin, but reader isn't, oral (both of them giving and receiving), creampie as always

♡︎ word count: 10.3k

♡︎ a/n: this is my first time writing Caleb, so pls be nice to me ok??

♡︎ this is not beta read but i'm still giving a shout-out to my bestie ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @/anitalenia

Caleb’s voice echoes from the bathroom, breaking you out of your thoughts. “How many body lotions does one person need?”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond immediately. Instead, you smooth the fabric of his shirt between your fingers before placing it on a hanger in your closet. Then you go to the bathroom.

You lean on the doorway, crossing your arms, “You’re not being a very pleasant house guest with comments like that.”

He’s standing in the shower, placing his travel size toiletries in one corner, his back turned to you. “And you’re not bein’ a very nice host for making your guest sleep on the sofa.”

You roll your eyes again.

This was your idea. That’s what you remind yourself as you watch Caleb settle into your space like he’s always belonged there. You were the one who matched your vacation days with his, and invited him to stay here instead of a hotel.

It made sense. You hadn’t seen much of each other since he came back, just a few meetups here and there, a handful of nights at his place. But now, for the first time in what felt like years, neither of you had somewhere else to be.

The sight of him here, snooping around your bathroom after setting down the toiletries you know he’ll use up in a day before inevitably stealing half of yours, warms your heart. When you’re like this - so close to him, grabbing his wrist to drag him out of the bathroom because ‘why are you inspecting every corner, you’re so weird!’  - and when he lets out that impish chuckle as he says ‘but I need to get acquainted with my vacation place.’ - it feels like nothing has changed.

Like there are no threats in the shadows. Like both of you haven’t lost a little light in your eyes.

But you have.   

And now, watching him here, so effortlessly at home in your space, you’re not sure if it’s comforting or bittersweet.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Time quickly passed while helping him unpack and putting away his stuff, and now it’s already dinnertime and you’ve worked up an appetite. You glance, from where you’re sitting on the sofa, at Caleb who’s rolling up his sleeves before opening your fridge. Before he can ask you anything, you stand up and start walking towards the coat rack.

“Since I am such a gracious host,” you begin, earning Caleb’s attention and he turns to you, “I’ve decided to spare you of your cooking duties on your first day – “

“It’s dinnertime.” Caleb intercepts, with a mock offence in his voice.

You ignore him. “We’re going to one of my favorite places to eat.”

He closes the fridge and turns to you, crossing his arms. “That is too vague. Do I need to change and wear something fancy? Is it your treat?”

“Do you want to come or not?”

“Sure!”

You toss him his jacket and when you reach for your purse you remember something. “Oh, wait – I got you something.”

You dig into your purse and pull out a brand-new lip balm, holding it up with a triumphant look. Caleb eyes it, then sighs.

“You’re so thoughtful. Thanks.” His flat tone as he accepts it makes you grin.

“It’s extra moisturizing so I don’t have to keep looking at your dry lips.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh? Why do you want to keep staring at my lips?”

Heat spreads across your face instantly. You immediately look away, mumbling, “I’m not staring.”

He hums, unscrewing the cap as he tilts his head. “What was that, pipsqueak?”

You exhale sharply, ignoring him. But the moment he swipes the balm across his lips, with orange glow of sunset spilling over his face, you can’t help but steal a glance. And you just know he catches it. But, for once, he doesn’t tease. He just smirks knowingly.

You grab your jacket a little too quickly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t say anything, just follows, still smirking as he tucks the lip balm into his pocket.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

By the time the two of you return to your apartment, you feel sleep already overtaking you. The dinner turned into wandering around some shops, then you had smoothies, then Caleb insisted walking around more to burn off calories. Usually, an evening like that wouldn’t be so tiring if you didn’t spend the whole day cleaning and tidying up, and then picking him up at the train station. And there were these waves of butterflies in your stomach, that would appear whenever you thought of him. It was draining, and frustrating.

But not confusing.

You thought those feelings had disappeared. You really did. But as the years passed and you started a new life here—new city, new people, new experiences—you told yourself you’d moved on. You had to.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you fluff up his pillow after slipping it inside a fresh and clean pillowcase. You already took a shower, stole one of his baggy shirts and paired them with pajama shorts and fuzzy socks. While he’s in the bathroom, you decided to set up the bedding on the sofa, since you’re sure he must be tired as well, even if he’s not showing it. As always.

Though your body feels like velvet, heavy with exhaustion, you still accept Caleb’s suggestion to watch a movie before bed.

"We don’t have to watch it tonight." Caleb lingers in the doorway, eyes flicking over your sleep-heavy expression.

"I’m fine!" You try to sound convincing, but you’re already tugging the duvet over yourself. "I just need to lie down."

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watches you nestle deeper into the cushions, head resting on the pillow meant for him.

"It’s so nice and cozy in here," you murmur, voice already thick with drowsiness. The crisp, freshly washed bedding cocoons you, pulling you under.

He chuckles, stepping closer and tapping your legs, silently telling you to move. "You’re just trying to convince me that this is comfortable for me."

Before you can protest, he takes your legs and settles them over his lap.

Your body stiffens at the contact. This is normal. It should be normal. It’s not the first time he’s had your legs in his lap. You inhale deeply, telling yourself to relax, to stop overthinking. You’re just getting used to his presence again.

Though, suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy anymore.

The movie plays on the TV, filling the space with voices and background noise. Comfortable silence settles between you both, broken only by occasional remarks—mostly Caleb critiquing the acting. Of course he can’t keep quiet even during a movie. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but the annoyance fades the moment his hands slide under the covers, grazing over your shins.

He glances at you, voice low. "You seem a little tense. Was the walk too exhausting?"

Your breath catches for a second before you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. His fingers press against the tight muscles in your calves, kneading gently.

"Maybe a little." you murmur, your voice softer than intended.

He murmurs a small apology, letting his hands make it up to you. He presses and kneads with just the right amount of pressure, his thumbs digging into spots that unravel you far too easily.

Heat blooms deep inside you, catching you off guard.

He works his way down, his palms smoothing over your ankles, rolling slow circles there before moving to your feet. The added texture of your socks only makes it worse—the friction, the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the way his thumbs press into the soles of your feet, it makes it so much harder to focus on the movie.

You bite your lip, pulse thrumming. A small sound threatens to escape your throat, and you swallow it back before lifting your legs off his lap. You murmur a small “thank you” and curl up on your side, your gaze now glued to the screen.

Caleb teases you, saying you look like you’re about to pass out. And even though you mumble a half-hearted protest, swearing you’re still awake, your eyes flutter closed before the movie is over.

His presence might be the source of your simmering frustration, of all the feelings you’re trying to ignore—but it’s also the most comforting one you’ve ever known.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes open, it’s already morning. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your room. You’re warm, nestled beneath the comforter, a plushie tucked securely in your arms. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips as you nuzzle against it. You don’t remember how you got to bed, but you don’t need to think too hard about it. Caleb must have carried you here last night, just like he always used to, slipping back into old habits as if no time had passed at all.

The scent of something familiar drifts in from the kitchen, rich and savory. He’s up, moving around the kitchen, already making breakfast.

You stretch lazily before dragging yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine. After freshening up and changing into more presentable loungewear, you step into the living room.

"Look who’s awake!" Caleb’s voice greets you the moment you enter. His back is turned as he works at the counter, only glancing over his shoulder briefly before returning to whatever he’s preparing.

You groan, voice still laced with sleep. “I don’t want to hear the usual ‘by the time you got up I already jogged’ and blah blah blah!” Caleb laughs at your mocking tone, shaking his head as he grabs a pair of plates from the cabinet. He starts setting the table, saying something in response, but his words blur in the background when your eyes catch on something unexpected.

A pillowcase. His pillowcase.

It’s hanging on the drying rack by the window, the fabric swaying slightly from the morning breeze. Your brows knit together.

"When did—why did you wash this?" You gesture toward it, confusion clear in your voice. "It was completely clean."

Caleb barely falters. "It was, but I drooled on it last night," he says easily, still arranging the table. "Didn’t want to make too much noise, so I hand-washed it."

You huff a small laugh, tempted to tease him for drooling, but for some reason, you don’t. Maybe he was exhausted. Or maybe your scent bothered him. Your stomach tugs uncomfortably at the thought, but you brush it off before it can settle. Don’t be ridiculous.

Instead, you take a seat across from him, scanning the breakfast spread. He made everything you like in the morning—even bought coffee from one of your favorite coffee shops. The warmth in your chest is immediate, dangerously soft, dangerously familiar.

“You should quit the colonel position,” you look up from the bowls and plates, meeting his gaze properly since you walked in – he’s already watching you, a hint of amusement in his eyes, “A – and be my personal chef.”

Damn it.

Heat creeps up your neck at the stumble in your voice.

He shakes his head with a small chuckle, setting a glass of water in front of you. "I wouldn’t mind that."

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The room is bathed in the dim, flickering light of the television, casting soft shadows across the coffee table cluttered with half-eaten snacks. The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air, warm and familiar, mixing with the faint traces of Caleb’s cologne. He sits comfortably beside you, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed, his focus on the screen in front of him.

You should be watching too. After all, you’re the one who recommended it, but Caleb wanted to wait, saying he’d rather watch it for the first time with you instead of on his own.  And now, here you are, barely paying attention at all.

Your eyes are glued to the phone screen, and every so often, a quiet giggle escapes you, fingers tapping swiftly against the glass as you reply to messages. You don’t notice the way Caleb’s gaze flickers to you from the corner of his eye. You don’t register the barely-there tightening of his jaw as you keep getting distracted, your smile aimed at a screen instead of him.

At first, he says nothing. He lets the minutes pass, lets you have your moment, but with every small laugh, every glance downward, his patience begins to fray at the edges.

Who the hell is so funny?

He shifts beside you, stretching slightly, making himself known, a silent reminder that he’s still here. But you don’t even glance up.

Fine.

The movement is swift—before you can react, Caleb reaches over and snatches your phone out of your hands.

“Caleb!” You protest in disbelief.

He leans back against the sofa, holding your phone just out of reach, with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

"I thought we were watchin’ this together?"

You blink at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity, before a scoff escapes you. "Did you seriously just take my phone?"

He shrugs, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it, like he has every right to.

Your eyes narrow. "That is a violation of privacy."

His smirk widens slightly, thumb hovering just over the screen. "So what were you laughin’ at?"

You sigh in defeat. Time to change the tactic.

You lunge for your phone without hesitation, but he’s faster—his arm lifts easily, keeping it just out of reach, and he leans away, making you chase after it.

"Caleb—!"

The next few seconds is a blur of limbs, the glowing screen of your phone, and breathless laughter.

You scramble onto your knees, grappling at his wrist, stretching upward, trying to reach the device, but he moves effortlessly, dodging you like this is nothing. You nearly lose your balance in the process, your hands bracing against his chest—

Fuck, those muscles are strong.

Caleb chuckles at your failed attempt, his grip on your phone still firm, completely unbothered by your struggling.

You’re not giving up that easily.

With renewed determination, you grab at his wrist again, pushing against him with your full weight, throwing him slightly off balance. Your bodies end up in a tangled mess of limbs as both of you topple on your side onto the cushions. His body is so close, his warmth suddenly everywhere. Your breath catches, but you don’t have time to dwell on it, because you notice a slight flinch when your fingers brush against his ribs.

You blink up at him as realization dawns, slow and sweet and far too tempting.

Caleb’s expression shifts instantly. "Don’t."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across your lips.

You dig your fingers into his side, and he twists in protest, his muscles flexing as he tries to escape you. His laugher is light and carefree - and it is the most unfairly attractive sound you’ve always loved.

You falter for a second too long.

Caleb doesn’t waste the opportunity. Before you can react, he grips your wrist, and with ridiculous ease, he flips you onto your back. By the time you catch your breath, he’s already caging you in, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

Everything stills for a moment. His breathing is heavier now. Yours is too. The TV hums softly in the background, but neither of you are listening. Your phone has slipped onto the carpet, forgotten. His grip isn’t tight, isn’t restricting, but it keeps you in place. Caleb’s gaze lingers on you, no trace of teasing left in his expression. And something about that - the way he’s looking at you, about the weight of his body pressing against yours, how his chest rises and falls above you—sends a slow, unbearable warmth curling through you.

But then, just as easily as he pinned you down, he lets go. You sit up quickly, forcing a small laugh, brushing off the moment like it was nothing. Caleb leans back against the sofa, running a hand through his hair before reaching down and lazily tossing your phone back to you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop stealin’ your stuff. For now.”

You roll your eyes, unlocking the screen, but you hesitate for a second before speaking. “I know it was rude to text during the movie,” you admit, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I was just talking to my friends about tomorrow.”

Caleb doesn’t react at first. He’s stretching out his legs, seemingly unfazed, “Yeah?” his voice is too neutral. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I already made plans to go out with them.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, something quickly buried, masked with indifference. He exhales through his nose, nodding, like he’s completely unbothered.

“Cool.”

"I won’t be out late," you say quickly, feeling a pang of guilt. “Just a couple of drinks, maybe some dancing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, eyes flicking back to the screen, but his jaw is tighter now.

You hesitate, studying him for a moment, before offering a small smile. "If it makes you feel better, you can come pick me up.”

That makes him glance at you, his eyes softer now. “Yeah. Alright.” Then he takes the TV remote to pause the movie, and now his full focus is on you. “So, what are you gonna to wear?”

The question makes you flustered, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I don’t know.” You admit quietly. It is the truth, which is why you’ve been texting your friends during the movie. But he hasn’t seen you in anything revealing before—not really. Not outside of tiny glimpses in summers past, when you’d lounge around in shorts and tank tops, never once thinking about how his eyes followed you.

And it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so unbearably attracted to him.

You spent too much time getting ready this morning. From the cozy loungewear you’d picked out before breakfast, to the outfit you chose for your day out with him, to the subtle refresh of your makeup before settling down for the movie—it had all been intentional. Every choice, every small detail, designed to make you look effortlessly good.

“Why don’t you show me the outfits you had in mind?” He asks, leaning back against the sofa, “Maybe I can help you.”

You force yourself to exhale, keep your tone light. "Fine. But don’t be annoying about it."

Caleb smirks, tilting his head slightly. “No promises.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You disappear into your room, trying to shake off the ridiculous way your body reacted to that simple suggestion. You shouldn’t care. It’s Caleb. He’s seen you barefaced and half-asleep, wrapped in blankets, wearing mismatched pajamas. He’s been around you long enough to know every version of you.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress. It’s soft beneath your fingertips, sleek and form-fitting, hugging the shape of you in a way that suddenly feels too revealing. You refuse to dwell on it.

You smooth your hands over the fabric before stepping out, ignoring the way your pulse picks up the moment you re-enter the living room.

And the moment you do, Caleb stills.

He doesn’t shift, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t offer some offhanded remark the way you expect him to. He just watches, his gaze moving over you. Then, his brows pull together slightly, his head tilting as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

"Hm. I don’t know."

You gasp, almost appalled at the comment. “What do you mean you don’t know?” You’re trying your best to sound normal, and not like your cheeks are burning under his gaze. He looks effortlessly handsome, sprawled across the sofa with his arms draped over the backrest, legs spread in a way that makes him seem both completely at ease and utterly in control of the space around him.

His eyes lift to yours. "Turn around for me."

The request is effortless, spoken with the same ease as everything else he says. But something about it—the quiet authority in his voice, the way his gaze stays locked onto yours, unblinking—makes your skin prickle.

You try to shake off the thought, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Turn around? What, am I on a runway?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Exactly. Indulge me.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You try on another dress, stepping out with a little more confidence this time, expecting at least some approval. But Caleb only exhales, tilting his head slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Not my favorite."

You huff, retreating into your room once again, determined to find something he can’t find an issue with. But it becomes a pattern. No matter what you put on, Caleb always has something to say.

"That one’s not very practical."

"You’ll be freezing in that."

"It’s fine, I guess."

But you’re not stupid. The pattern is glaringly obvious—the more revealing the dress, the less he seems to like it.

After one final unimpressed hum from him, you let out an exasperated breath. There’s a pile of clothes on your bed and your muscles are aching from the endless zip-twirl-sigh routine. “Okay,” you snap, sharper than intended, “you’re officially no help.”

Caleb smirks, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. “Just bein’ honest.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your phone on the coffee table. "Whatever. I’ll just ask my friends."

You barely hear whatever excuse he’s offering now, his voice a low murmur in the background as you tap out a message. Then, an idea pops up in your head. You glance up from your screen, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You should go out as well.”

Caleb stops, his gaze flicking to yours, just for a second. Then, he shakes his head, exhaling lightly. “Clubs aren’t really my scene.”

You nod, finishing your message and sending it off before locking your phone. You lean your shoulder against the wall, the cool surface pressing against your heated skin.

"Well, who knows—" your tone is casual, "you might meet a cute girl."

His laugh is hollow. “Doubt that’s happening.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly, feigning innocence. “You have someone back home?”

The room stills.

You notice Caleb’s jaw shifting just slightly before his frown deepens. It’s not irritation—not exactly.

"I don’t." His voice is steady. Then, his gaze sharpens, latching onto yours, his expression more serious than before. "I would’ve told you, like I promised."

A breath catches in your throat.

"Like we promised."

Caleb’s words linger. I would’ve told you. Like we promised. You stare at him, throat tightening as his gaze sharpens—he’s studying you, dissecting the guilt spreading across your face.

“You never told me,” he says, voice deceptively casual, “if you ever liked someone.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand, but you barely register it. You don’t want to answer this question. You swallow, but your throat feels dry. "We weren’t talking as much." The words come out quieter than you intend, "It didn’t seem relevant."

“Relevant.” He repeats.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even as something in your chest tightens. "You can’t deny we grew apart, Caleb." The words claw their way up, bitter and ugly, “And you're the one to talk - as someone who decided to go no-contact for months.” and the second they leave your mouth, you regret them.

You watch his face shift from stunned to something that looks an awful lot like hurt.

Before he can speak, you sink onto the sofa beside him, your scarred knee bumping his. “I’m sorry.” you curl your fingers into the fabric of your dress to keep from reaching for him. “I didn’t mean that.”

His eyes soften and a sigh leaves his lips. Then, the faint pressure of his palm settles on your head, the familiar gesture offering comfort. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says, voice low.

You lean into his touch, eyes burning. “But I am sorry.”

“I know.” His hand stills, heavy and warm. “So am I.”

The admission is so quiet you almost miss it. You glance up, but he’s already looking away, jaw clenched against whatever else wants to spill out. So am I for leaving. So am I for coming back broken. So am I for loving you like a man who was never meant to fly—reaching for the only light that ever felt like home, even knowing that if I get too close, you’ll be the one who burns.

You don’t press. Instead, you let your shoulder bump his. He exhales, tension seeping out of him as his hand slips down to cradle the nape of your neck. "Come on, pips." His voice is quieter now, lighter. "We should get some sleep."

The argument dissolves, but the ache remains—a bruise you’ll both keep pressing, to remind yourselves it’s real.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Even though it was late, you had insisted on finishing the rest of the movie, clinging to the familiar comfort. You slipped back into the playful banter – you had whined about the pile of clothes still sitting on your bed, blaming him for it. Caleb, ever unbothered, had only smirked and offered to neatly put them away tomorrow.

While he was in the shower, you took the time to make up the sofa, tucking the sheets with more care than necessary. When he stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin warm from the heat of the water, you didn’t comment on the familiar citrus scent clinging to him—the scent of your body lotion.

You’d exchanged a quiet goodnight before retreating to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Grabbing the pile of discarded clothes, you stacked them onto the armchair in the corner, ignoring the mess for now. You had planned on wearing your usual pajama tank top, but Caleb had insisted you wear one of his shirts again, claiming it was more comfortable.

You’re here now - lying beneath the comforter, pajama shorts brushing against soft sheets, the soft fabric of his shirt enveloping you, and yet still— you’re completely awake. Your eyes remain wide open, staring into the darkness, as if sleep might find you if you just keep pretending you’re not thinking about him.

You shift beneath the comforter, rolling onto your side, then onto your back, only to flip your pillow to the cooler side and press your cheek against it. The softness offers no relief.

A deep sigh slips past your lips, but the weight in your chest remains.

I should have told him.

You should’ve told him about the men you’ve dated. You should’ve kept your promise. That’s what he did. But you tell yourself, keep comforting yourself, that at some point your lives drifted apart. When time and distance made him feel more like a memory, you thought it didn’t matter anymore.

Except it did. It mattered to Caleb.

He’d said it plainly —I would’ve told you—as if keeping that promise was as simple as breathing. No loopholes. No expiration dates.

Your breath hitches slightly, something twisting in your chest. You roll onto your side again, eyes drifting toward the empty space beside you.

The dull ache in your lower back pulls at your attention, a stiffness lingering in your shoulder. You shift slightly, frowning at the discomfort— a souvenir from last night when you’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He had carried you to bed, made sure you were comfortable. And now, he’s the one out there, sleeping on the same sofa, crammed into a space too small for him.

The guilt creeps back in.

Finally, with a sigh of surrender, you throw off the covers and rise from your bed. You move carefully through the dark, the wooden floor cool beneath your bare feet as you make your way toward the living room.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The apartment is silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows, and as you reach the doorway, you pause, peering inside. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but you can already make out the shape of him—Caleb, stretched out on the sofa, one arm draped over his stomach, his breathing steady. For a second, you think he’s asleep -

"Can’t sleep?" His voice is quiet, but in the stillness of the apartment, it still makes you flinch.

You step closer, your gaze meeting his, even in the dark. “You should sleep in my bed tonight.”

There’s silence for a moment. You can’t make out his expression, but you can feel the hesitation in the way he exhales slowly.

Then you hear a soft chuckle. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

You narrow your eyes, irritation mixing with your exhaustion. Of course, he’s being stubborn. Any other night, you might have tried to coax him with teasing, maybe thrown in a snarky remark or the fact that he’d be doing the same thing for you if the roles were reversed.

But it’s late, and you don’t have the patience for an argument you know you’re going to win anyway.

So instead, you move without warning.

With one swift motion, you snatch the duvet right off his body, yanking the pillow from beneath his head before he can even react. A startled breath escapes him, but you don’t wait for a protest.

You’re already retreating toward your bedroom, grumbling under your breath, "I’m trying to be nice here."

Behind you, Caleb exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He doesn’t argue this time, just watches for a moment before finally pushing himself up from the sofa and following.

By the time he steps inside, you’re already back beneath your comforter, curled on your side. The mattress shifts slightly as he settles in beside you, his presence familiar yet suddenly overwhelming.

“Goodnight,” you say, too stiffly.

“Night.” His reply is softer.

You close your eyes, and the fact that he is sleeping in a comfortable bed eases your mind long enough to let you drift off to sleep.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes blink open, the darkness feels denser, heavier. The digital glow of your nightstand clock blinks 3:07 AM. You're not sure if you ever truly slept or if your mind simply hovered somewhere between dream and wakefulness.

The room is silent, save for the distant murmur of the city and the steady rhythm of Caleb’s breathing behind you—deep, even, grounding. You listen for a moment, letting the sound soothe you, lulling your nerves the same way it always used to. From the sound of it, he managed to fall asleep.

Slowly, carefully, you shift onto your other side, moving as if the smallest rustle might wake him. Your body rolls toward him, your eyes adjusting to the dark until his silhouette takes shape in front of you. He’s asleep, facing you. The moonlight spills in through the slit in the curtains, illuminating his face with delicate silver light. His brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, and one cheek is gently squished against the pillow.

Seeing him like this makes you smile, faint and bitter-sweet. He looks like a memory. Like all those nights you used to crawl into his bed after a nightmare, when he’d shift just enough to let you under the covers, barely awake but always aware of you, always there.

But the warmth of that memory fades almost as quickly as it came. Guilt rises like bile, acrid and insistent.

I don’t blame you.

You should have said that. You wish you had. When you apologized earlier, when you sat beside him trying to make up for your comment, you should’ve said that too. Because it’s true. You don’t.

You understand why he disappeared. You understand why he didn’t call, why he let you think he was gone—you know that he did it to protect you.

But the girl who slept with his necklace clutched in her fist for months, who scrubbed explosion residue from her hair until her scalp bled—she blames him. A splinter of her still does, lodged too deep to dig out.

Your eyes sting, but you blink quickly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

You focus on the rhythm of his breathing, his lashes that cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the slight sheen on his lips. He is right here.

So close you could reach out and touch him. So close you can feel the warmth coming off his body.

And yet, so impossibly far.

But wasn’t he always?

Hadn’t he always felt just beyond reach, even when you shared the same space, the same roof, the same memories?

You had spent so many years convincing yourself he didn’t see you that way—that his devotion was born out of duty, not desire. That he was bound to you by shared history, not longing. You told yourself that he saw you as something fragile, something to protect—not something to love.

But there were glances. Touches that lingered longer than they should have. But he never crossed the line. Never let himself want aloud.

So you told yourself he didn’t want to. That he couldn’t. That you weren’t something he was allowed to reach for.

And that’s why you found distractions. That’s why you chased comfort in other people. Because if you couldn’t have him, you had to have something.

But now, lying here beside him, in the quiet of your own bed, there are no distractions. No excuses. No distance left to hide behind. And suddenly, you wonder—

What if he wanted more?

What if he was always waiting for me?

You could wake him now. Could trace your fingertips over his eyelids, could say the words that have lived in the marrow of your bones since before you knew their name. I loved you then. I love you now.

But your lips won’t move. Your hand won’t reach out. Instead, all that comes is the memory of the aching regret that followed you around when you grieved him, whispering your sins in the dark - You should have told him. You should have been brave.

But now—he’s alive. He’s here. He’s right beside you.

But nothing is the same.

And even if you let yourself reach for him, even if you handed over every buried feeling and begged him to take it—the world around you hasn’t changed.

The people who tried to destroy you once are still out there, still watching, still hunting. There are still shadows at your back, and Caleb has always been the one who walks toward them first.

And if you lost him again—really lost him—

You don’t know if you’d survive it.

Because if regret was unbearable before, the devastation of another goodbye—this time after knowing what it’s like to have him— would split you open, would leave you hollow as the day you buried an empty casket.

You don’t realize the tears have started to fall until your vision blurs, until a soft sniffle betrays you. Caleb stirs - he takes a slow inhale, then a deeper one. You still, but it’s too late. His eyes open—drowsy with sleep—but the moment they land on you, on the shimmer on your lashes, they sharpen with clarity.

"What’s wrong?" He whispers softly, concern clear in his voice.

You swipe hastily at your cheeks, the salt sting lingering on your skin. “Nothing,” you lie, offering a trembling smile. “Just a nightmare.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t search your face for more or press for the truth he knows you’re not giving. He just reaches out. His hand finds yours first, then the warmth of his palm presses against your side, gentle as it invites you closer.

You hesitate, just for a moment. But then your body moves on instinct, pulled to him like it always is, like it always has been. He shifts onto his back, making room for you, letting you tuck yourself against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

You let yourself melt into him. Let yourself take comfort in the solid warmth of his body, in the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing against your cheek. Your tears dry slowly, absorbed by the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers trace the chain around his neck, finding the pendants, the metal warm from his skin.

And you listen to the heartbeat beneath your ear.

Strong. Steady. Real.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s yours, if you want him.

The fear is still there. The shadows haven’t disappeared. The world is still dangerous, still cruel, still capable of breaking him again.

But here, in the cradle of his arms, with his heartbeat syncing to yours, you finally understand: bravery isn’t the absence of fear.

So, maybe…

If that’s what sits at the end of this—if tears and heartache is what awaits you—then let it be. Let the hurt come. Let it hollow you. At least the emptiness will echo how fiercely you loved him.

You lift your head from the steady rhythm of his chest, propping yourself on your elbow, your face hovering just above his. Your eyes find his in the moonlight—half-lidded, warm, still laced with sleep, but softened by the sight of you. A small, barely-there smile touches his lips, a quiet relief. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, calloused and warm, and you lean into his touch, your lashes fluttering shut. Then you feel the press of his lips against your forehead, featherlight and lingering.

When your eyes open again, he’s still watching you. Your faces are close now, close enough that your breaths mingle, close enough that the brush of your nose against his sends a soft shiver down your spine. You glance down at his lips, drawn to the place you’ve denied yourself for too long.

His fingers still on your cheek.

And when your gaze returns to his, you see it - the look you’ve spent years misreading. The one you chalked up to pity or duty, something you’ve caught glimpses of over the years and turned away from. Something you didn’t recognize at first. Then later, refused to acknowledge out of fear.

But now, there’s no more running.

You shift closer slowly, cautiously, as if giving him time to stop you if this isn’t what he wants. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart to your lips, just once, but it’s enough.

In that stillness, you close the distance.

The kiss is soft. His lips are warmer than you imagined, but still a little chapped. He goes utterly still, as if fearing the slightest movement might dissolve this moment. But when you press closer, his hand slides to the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him.

And when you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming.” he murmurs.

You smile softly, and press a delicate kiss to his eyelid.

“You’re not dreaming, Caleb.” you whisper.

His lashes flutter open. His gaze searches your face like he’s still trying to understand how this happened. His hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with aching gentleness. And then he moves. This time, he closes the distance. His mouth moves over yours, his breaths shaky against your skin. There’s no practiced skill, no calculated seduction—just raw, aching want, tempered by the fear of wanting too much.

Your hands slide from his chest to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the silken, messy hair. He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as his tongue brushes hesitantly against yours. It’s clumsy, earnest, his nose bumping yours, his teeth catching your lip by accident.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but you laugh—a soft, breathless sound—and pull him closer.

“Don’t be.”

You lean into it, guiding him with soft sighs and quiet hums.

His hands hold you tighter now—one on your back, the other slipping down, splayed at your waist like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’s started.

And when your lips break apart for breath, you don’t pull away. You rest your forehead against his, and you whisper, barely audible, "I don’t want to stop."

He exhales, "Me neither."

Your fingers tremble slightly as they wander from his hair, along the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing lower. Over the column of his throat, skimming the pulse beneath his skin, before drifting lower—over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. You feel the way he shivers beneath your hand, how his muscles tense slightly.

His breath hitches when you tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling there, his gaze locking onto yours.

He doesn’t need you to say it.

Without a word, he sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist as he yanks the shirt over his head. The fabric falls to the floor, and for a moment, you just stare—you’ve seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never yours.

You gently press against his shoulder, coaxing him to lie back down, and he does so, collapsing against the pillows. You swing one leg over, your thighs bracketing his hips, but you hover just above him—close enough to feel his heat, yet far enough to let him breathe. You lean down to reclaim his mouth, your hands framing his face. The kiss deepens, and you tilt your head to better taste him, to feel more of him. He gasps into your mouth, one hand slipping to your lower back, the other lowering—slow, unsure—to brush against your bare thigh, the contact making you shiver.

And still, his hand doesn’t wander, doesn’t explore. It lingers like he’s afraid of being told to stop.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your breaths mingling between kisses. Your hand covers his where it rests against your leg, and you guide it higher, to your hip, where your skin is warmer.

You hold his gaze.  “You can touch me, Caleb.” Your voice is soft, “Wherever you want.”

His eyes widen slightly, color blooming high on his cheeks. His fingers flex against your skin, then he speaks, “I don’t… I’ve never—” He swallows hard, and you see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, not at you, but at himself, at his own nerves.

“I know,” you whisper, your hand slipping up to cradle his jaw, your lips brushing just beneath his ear. “It’s okay.”

Then, slowly, you lower yourself until your hips meet his, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against you. His head falls back with a groan, eyes squeezing shut. Heat blooms through your belly at the contact, and your hips rock forward just enough to make him shudder.

His hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still. “Wait—wait.”

You freeze, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he says, eyes snapping open. “Just… let me—” He swallows, his voice dropping to a plea. “Let me do this right.”

You smile, and brush his hair away from his eyes. “There’s no right, Caleb. Just us.”

He exhales, nodding, and then his hips roll upward tentatively, the friction drawing a gasp from both of you. His thumbs press into the soft curve of your hips as they continue to move against him in a slow, rolling rhythm. The thin barrier of fabric between you—his sweatpants, your pajama shorts—only amplifies the heat, the friction of every roll of your hips against his. His breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed, as you grind down again, your own shorts riding up, the seam catching just right. He curses under his breath, hips jerking up to meet yours, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

You want to feel all of him, nothing between. And the way his hands start to roam, still cautious, still learning, tells you he’s thinking the same thing.

You shift slowly, rising from his lap with a final roll of your hips that leaves him gasping, lips parted, brows knit. His hands fall away reluctantly, his eyes flickering with confusion and curiosity. Your hands trail down his chest, over the taut planes of his stomach. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers graze the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” His hand covers yours, trembling. “You don’t have to—”

You lift his palm to your lips, “I want to.” Your gaze holds his. “Let me show you how much.”

He swallows hard, but nods.

You hook your fingers into the fabric, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, letting you peel the layers away, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finally see him, all of him – hard, heavy, straining for you, you feel a fresh heat rise in your chest, in your belly, deeper.

When your eyes meet his again, you find him watching you just as intently—like he’s searching your face for any flicker of doubt. But there’s none. At first, his body tenses—thighs taut beneath your touch, hands clenching the sheets under him. He tries to hold still, tries to be polite, tries to hide the way his hips twitch when your lips press to the sensitive skin just below his navel.

“Breathe.” you whisper against his skin, and you feel it when he does - shoulders softening, jaw loosening, a low groan slipping past his lips as you finally take him into your mouth. You take your time, learning what makes his body melt under your touch. You relish the way his hips stutter when you swirl your tongue, the broken whimper he tries to smother with his fist, the devotion in his voice when he rasps your name.

Gradually, his iron grip on the sheets loosens, one hand resting on the back of your head, and his hips finally start to move to the rhythm you set.

His breath starts to come faster. You feel the change in his body—the way his thighs tense, how his fingers flex and twist in the sheets. “Wait—” His voice is rough. “If you keep going, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You slow, just for a moment, lifting your eyes to his flushed face. You reach for him, one hand sliding up his stomach, calming. “It’s okay,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the sharp cut of his hipbone. “Let me take care of you.”

He groans at that, head turning into the pillow. He doesn’t speak again, but his muscles start to twitch, his legs falling wider, hips stuttering as your mouth picks up the pace. His moans become deeper, more raw, and then your name spills from his lips again.

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

You hum in acknowledgment, not letting up, your hands gripping his hips as he shudders beneath you, and then—he falls apart. You taste him on your tongue, feel every desperate pulse of release as his thighs tremble beneath your hands, coming undone in your mouth—helpless and wholly yours.

You don’t pull away. You stay with him through it, coaxing him through the final tremors. You only ease off when he makes the faintest sound of overstimulation, brushing your lips one last time to the hollow of his hip before sitting up.

Caleb is panting, eyes closed, arm thrown over his face.

But when you crawl back up his body, he opens his arms instinctively, pulling you into his chest, where you hear his heart is thundering under your ear. And after a long pause, his hand cups your cheek and kisses you softly, tasting himself on your lips.

His breath is still uneven, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. But he sits up, and for a second his eyes search yours again—asking permission without words. You nod once, and his fingers curl around the hem of his shirt you’re wearing.

He pulls it up slowly, his eyes tracking the reveal of your stomach, the curve of your breast, watching the way your chest rises and falls a little faster under his gaze. His hands tremble, just slightly, and you can see it - that mixture of reverence and disbelief in his eyes. He bends to kiss you again, before his mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, the flutter of your pulse.

He guides you onto your back, and shifts to follow, half-hovering over you. His lips trail kisses along your neck, your breasts. You arch into him, a gasp escaping as his tongue flicks over your nipple, and he hums in response, the vibration rippling through you.

His hands move lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pajama shorts. He pauses, “Is this okay?”

You nod, your voice failing you, and lift your hips. He slides the shorts down, his knuckles grazing your thighs, his breath hitching when you’re finally bare. For a moment, he just stares. Fading moonlight spills across your body, catching the sheen of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale escapes him as he drags a single finger across the wetness, his touch featherlight.

But before he goes further, before his mouth finds its way to where you’re already pulsing for him, something else catches his eye. The faint scar across your knee. Fading now, but still there. His thumb brushes gently along the uneven line, before he leans forward and presses a kiss to it, the silent apology making your heart flutter.

Then his mouth drifts lower, lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. The first flick of his tongue on your folds is so startlingly gentle you flinch. A soft laugh escapes you, breathless and giddy, goosebumps blooming on your skin.

Caleb stills, lifting his head, brows creased in confusion.

“You’re tickling me,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair in reassurance.

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “Got it,” he murmurs. His mouth presses more firmly, his hands holding your hips as his tongue parts your folds and he groans at the first taste. Your back arches off the bed, a moan slipping out, and it spurs him on. One hand stays braced on your thigh, the other moves to gently trace one fingertip around your entrance, testing. You whisper yes, please, and that’s all it takes. He sinks a finger in, his eyes flicking up to watch the way your face shifts—lips parted, brows gently pulled, the rise and fall of your chest now uneven.

His mouth finds your clit, more confident now. The heat of his tongue, the wet pressure of his lips - it’s clumsy but it’s honest, driven by need and the desire to learn what makes you tremble. Then his finger finds that spot inside you, the one that makes you fist your hand in his hair, the one that makes your toes curl. You whisper yes, yes, yes, and you swear you feel him smile.

His free hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers against your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasps, and you force your eyes open, “Want to see you.”

Your body is starting to unravel beneath him, soft moans spilling from your lips, your thighs trembling.

“Another,” you pant, and he obeys instantly, adding a second finger. His rhythm stutters at first, but you guide him with whispered pleas, your hips rolling against his hand. His tongue flicks faster, his fingers pumping in a deep, steady curl, and you’re suddenly so close to the edge. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, and he growls against you, as if your climax is his own.

And when you fall apart with his name on your lips and your hands tangled with his, Caleb doesn’t stop. He holds you through it, lets you ride it out, his fingers easing only when your thighs start to shake, when your hips twitch with overstimulation. He pulls back, resting his forehead against your inner thigh, his breaths ragged. His erection strains against the sheets, but his focus still on you, always on you, even as his hand trembles where it grips yours.

You pull him up, his body collapsing over yours, and kiss him slow and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips grind reflexively against your thigh, a broken noise escaping him, but he doesn’t push. Just holds you, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, your hands cradling his damp hair.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breath and skin and the quietness of the morning twilight.

His fingertips trace along the curve of your side, not teasing, just feeling. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

Then he murmurs—soft, regretful, honest:

“I should’ve been your first.”

The words make your heart skip a beat. Still, the way he says it isn’t bitter. There’s no accusation in his voice. Only ache.

You draw back just enough to meet his eyes, your palm resting flat on his chest, right over his heartbeat. “Then be my last.” You whisper.

His breath hitches, eyes widening for a split second. He presses a kiss to your temple, before he meets your eyes again.

“Do you… have anything?” A pause, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Protection?”

You pause for a moment. Then you nod, brushing your fingers over his jaw.

“Left drawer,” you whisper.

He hesitates, his thumb circling your hipbone. “We don’t have to—”

“I know.” You press a kiss to his furrowed brow. “But I want this.”

He shifts to reach for it, but you catch his wrist. “Wait.”

His eyes snap to yours, brows furrowed.

You trace the skin with your thumb, suddenly too sheepish to meet his gaze. “We don’t need it.”

He stills at your tone. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You finally meet his gaze, “If it’s you… I don’t want anything between us.”

He exhales, shakily, the tension in his shoulders softening as his arms wrap around you again.

When your legs shift, parting around his hips, you feel the hard length of him press against your entrance, and it pulls a soft gasp from you both.

Caleb stills. One hand rests by your head, the other cradling your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, threading your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

He exhales slowly, trembling slightly as he reaches between you, lining himself up. The head of him nudges your entrance, already wet and aching for him. You feel the pressure first, a stretch that makes your breath catch. He sinks in just a little—then stops immediately when you tense.

“Too much?” he breathes.

You shake your head, running a hand down his back. “No… keep going.”

Inch by inch, his body presses into yours, your warmth pulling him in, taking him deeper. His jaw clenches, a guttural sound caught in his throat as your walls flutter around him, as your hand curls over his bicep for something. His restraint is palpable, sweat beading at his temples as he presses deeper, his hips rolling in shallow strokes until he’s sheathed fully inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His necklace rests warm against your collarbone, the metal shifting slightly as his chest heaves above yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his lips grazing your temple.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I will.”

His thrusts start slow, each one sinking deeper than the last, his eyes locked on yours as if searching for permission with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” he grits out suddenly, halting his movements with a trembling inhale. His entire body shudders as he lowers his forehead to your shoulder, nose brushing your throat, lips finding your pulse.

“I need a second…” His voice is breathless. “I don’t want this to end yet.”

You cradle his jaw, lifting his face up so you can look at him. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper, your thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Just be here. With me.”

His gaze falters, then finds yours again. He draws back just enough to move again, slow at first, like he’s trying to find a rhythm that won’t break him.

One of his hands tangles with yours, fingers lacing tightly together as he presses it into the pillow above your head. The other slips between your bodies until his thumb finds you, pressing a gentle, slow circle over your clit—and it draws a gasp from you, your thighs tensing around his hips.

“Like that?” His voice is hoarse.

“Yes,” you breathe, hips chasing the movement of his hand. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he leans in to kiss you again—messy now, all teeth and parted mouths. He keeps moving inside you, each thrust dragging along your sweet spots, and the rhythm of his thumb against your clit grows more confident, bolder with every breathless moan you give him. He watches you with blown pupils, flicking between your face and the place where your bodies meet, as if committing every detail of your pleasure to memory.

His forehead drops to yours, the weight of his body pressing deliciously down as his thumb circles faster, more intently, chasing the way your thighs begin to tremble, the way your grip on his hand tightens.

Then his hips shift—just a little, but enough for a sharp discomfort to shoot through you. You suck in a breath through your teeth, a soft, involuntary “ah—” escaping your throat.

He stops immediately. Every muscle in his body locks, his expression flashing from concentration to concern in an instant. “Shit—did I hurt you?” he asks, breath still ragged.

You shake your head quickly, already reaching for his face, your palm cradling his cheek. “No, no,” you whisper. “Just... not like that.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heels pressing against the small of his back, gently urging him into a better angle. “Here,” you guide, your voice low and coaxing. “A little lower. Like that.”

He swallows hard, still frozen in place, but the panic softens as he watches you, sees that you still want this. He nods, his throat working with the effort to calm himself.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “I promise.”

He exhales on the word promise, and then he moves again. His brows draw together, not in worry now, but in focus, lips brushing your cheek as he resumes the rhythm that had your body unraveling.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as he grinds deeper, the angle just there, the friction so exquisite your vision blurs.

“Caleb—” you gasp, voice cracking as the pleasure rises sharp and fast inside you.

“I know, I know.” he rasps. His hips snap harder, deeper, the slap of skin echoing as you spiral closer. “That’s it,” he grits out, his thumb pressing harder. “Let go. Let go for me.”

When your thighs lock around his waist, when your walls clench around him in a sudden, overwhelming spasm, your release rips through you - deep, intense, every nerve alight. Your back arches off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as you pulse around him, your fingers clawing into the sweat-slick skin of his back.

“Fuck—” His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic. With a shattered groan, he buries himself to the hilt, his hips jerking as he spills into you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath a ragged pant against your lips.

For a heartbeat, you’re both still, just a tangle of sweat and shared breath, his necklace resting between your breasts, now warm from the heat of your skin. Then he collapses against you, his weight comforting and grounding, his lips brushing your collarbone. His arms curl tightly around you, one hand tracing slow, mindless patterns over your hip, and the other splayed beneath your shoulder. You exhale slowly, your fingers sliding through his damp hair.

You’re not sure how long you lie there like that, tangled and breathless, your hearts gradually slowing from their frantic rhythm. The first sliver of sunlight filters through your curtains, golden and gentle. You tilt your chin to study him, how sunlight looks like powdered gold over his lashes.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

“You’re beautiful,” you say, because it’s true, and because you know it’ll fluster him.

His nose scrunches, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Men aren’t beautiful.”

“You are.” You brush the hair from his temple. “Like a pouty Renaissance angel.”

He only chuckles, burying his face against your chest.

You tilt your head to kiss his temple, your voice a soft murmur against his skin. “Come on. Let’s wash up.”

He groans. “Or we could stay like this forever.”

“You’re sweating all over me.” you protest, already nudging at his side.

He lifts his head just enough to squint at you. “You liked it when I was sweating five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off with a laugh as you both untangle from the bed. The sheets are a mess, still warm with everything that happened, and your thighs ache, making you bite your lip as you stand. You grab a towel and toss one at him too. He catches it, looking far too smug for someone who was blushing just an hour ago.

As you step under the warm spray, Caleb holding your hand for stability, something crosses your mind.

“Hey… did you really drool on the pillow?”

[nerdieforpedro]

This is beautiful 🥰🥰🥰

A handsome man starts coming to your pottery studio regularly. It isn’t long before you’re accepting Dieter’s invite for coffee— obviously to try out his freshly fired coffee mugs

[imstillalexcomic]

I was planning on writing a long post about all this, but even though coming out as trans has been a 24 year process and there's been ample time to work on what to say, I'm having trouble finding the right words.

While I knew there was something going on with me since I was about 12 or 13, it took time to realize what it was.

It then took more time to get over my denial.

Then even more time to come out to my best friend in 2017.

Then *even* more time to finally decide to start hormone replacement therapy this year.

Since starting HRT, I've been reaching out to folks from all stages in my life to tell them in person. It's been a lovely experience so far and everyone has been so kind and accepting and understanding and I'm truly fortunate and honored that I've somehow managed to have been surrounded by so many wonderful people.

There are many more that I wanted to reach out to, but I'm finally ready to come out publicly, so I'm ripping the bandaid off now.

Naturally, I'm going to be silly about it and do it with a comic.

I haven't really been drawing since Corpse Run ended, but I've had the itch to get back into it and now that I have a new topic to explore I think I finally have the passion to match the desire.

No set schedule like Corpse Run had, but there's going to be some trans comics from time to time, general life stuff... maybe some video games too because why not.

Given current events, I think visibility is more important than ever. Being seen and potentially giving other folks who might be closeted as I was an opportunity to explore their own relationship with themselves has value and I'm excited to make this next chapter of my life something worthwhile beyond my own happiness.

Being trans is ok. Not being trans is ok. Being whatever it is you were born as is ok.

The circumstances of your birth are nothing to be ashamed of, you are valid and always will be.

I guess I found some words after all. I hope they're the right ones.

[dracimexidae]

GRIGORINOOOOOOOOOOOO 🙌👏❤️‍🔥

[twstfanblog]

Heya can I get a Housewarden reacting to a male! reader that hides whatever injury he got form them when they overbloted but shrugged it off once they found out " hey worth it!"

Boys React to Injured Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

A/N: I know the ask said male!reader but nothing really shows it to lean male or female aside from two uses of male pronouns.

Riddle

You got some pretty bad gashes on your arms from rose bushes being thrown at you going mach 4. They are decently heavy and though they didn't look it, had some pretty nasty thorns on them.

After Riddle's overblot, you had your arms wrapped up for a good few weeks afterwards from how deep they were. He wouldn't notice them since the uniform is long sleeved. But if you modify your uniform to be shorter, they'd be easier to notice.

Once he does notice them, he asks what you, Ace, Deuce, and Grim got into that left you so injured. Then he feels AWFUL when you tell him the gashes were from his overblot.

He's babbling out apologies, insisting that he takes you to an actual doctor to get properly healed and checked for infections. You live in an abandoned building and you have open wounds for the sake of the Seven.

Gets so quiet when you manage to tell him you don't mind the gashes. Yeah, they're annoying, doing anything has become a chore because of them. But, they're like a trophy for helping save him.

Becomes so aware of your arms now, manages to get some advanced medical potions to decrease chances of scarring. Also, would you...maybe join him in the garden? For tea? Alone?

Leona

All of that sand whipping around was not good for anyone, and it definitely wasn't good for you. It managed to burst a blood vessel in your eyes, which isn't so bad. What was bad was that your cornea was scratched.

It was pretty easy to notice you were hurt in the aftermath, with everyone being in the infirmary when you woke up. Leona asked what the eyepatch was for, seeing how you've never worn one before.

The sigh he does once you explain that it was from sand whipping around during his overblot. Wants to see the damage even when you tell him it was really minor and set to be healed within the week.

Everyone kinda freaks out seeing your eye. It's very much still a mess even after the first dose of treatments to make sure you don't get an infection. But even with it being such a mess, you're all smiles because it doesn't mean anything to you. Leona is safe and sound and that's all that matters to you in the end.

Plus, if you did go blind or something, wouldn't it be kind of cool? You and Leona can have matching eye injuries!

Leona doesn't think that's funny and tells you as much. But for the next week, he's suddenly always around when you need to put your drops in. He'll do it for you since he claims you're squeamish and doing it wrong.

Azul

Azul is very strong in his mer form, he also has a lot of arms for grabbing people he was planning on maiming. He only had a grasp on you for a few moments, but it was enough focused pressure to crack a rib.

You only took notice once you went back to the Coral Sea Museum. The change in pressure makes your ribs ache even more than they were before. Azul took notice and tried to find the cause of your pain. But in the end he and the group made way to an underwater clinic to get you professionally checked.

The guilt he feels hearing your rib was cracked is enough to make him want to go back into his pot. Once back on land, you go straight to the infirmary until further notice.

He won't come visit for a while, sending the twins in his place to deliver you food from the lounge and to help with your breathing exercises. They're the ones who tease him about how you want to see him, to check up on him.

Jade all coy saying 'He was quite concerned about your well-being.' Floyd chimed in 'Lil Shrimpy says his messed up ribs are a good trade if it means you're ok~.'

Azul starts to show up instead of the twins at the tail end of your healing period. He's made you a study guide and gifted you his past notes to help you catch up on the classes you've missed. He also doesn't want to this to be...something that he owes you for. So maybe, once you're all healed, you can come to the lounge office to have a private meal with him. On the house.

Jamil

Your arm had a hairline fracture once you landed in the sand. Nothing too bad, adrenaline was pumping and you barely even felt it. After Jamil's overblot, it felt more sore than anything so you ignored it again.

But when Ace and Deuce show up, Deuce gives you a too strong of a high-five and suddenly, your arm is completely snapped. The party screeched to a halt while Jamil and Kalim quickly check you over.

Jamil is confused on how your arm is broken. Everyone else is completely fine and he doubts Deuce is that strong to break your bone through a high-five. Then Azul points out that you possibly landed on it wrong in the fall from...being flung across an entire desert.

Congrats, you are now an honorary Scarabia member! Because neither Kalim nor Jamil are letting you just go back to Ramshackle with a broken arm. Jamil's running himself even more ragged tending to the Kalim, the dorm, and now you.

You stop him, reminding him you broke an arm, not a leg. If he thinks this is a debt thing, you're not mad, or expecting him to pay you back for being the reason you broke your arm. You're just happy he's ok.

Jamil stops appearing around you for a while, well after your arm is healed. But you keep getting Tupperwares of dinner from Kalim. He states 'Jamil made too much'. Which we all know is a big fat lie.

Vil

(Gonna just pretend Idia doesn't kidnap them like a day later)

Magical smug had to have some type of ill effect other than the poisoning, and it did. The others were able to deal with the after-effects of Vil's overblot via magic immune systems, you are not so lucky.

What started off as a simple cough slowly progressed into hacking and shortness of breath. You had avoided Vil because you just thought it was a simple illness, and the last thing the starlet needed was getting ill. Only for him to be the one to find you on your knees, coughing and struggling to breathe.

Carried you to the infirmary where you're diagnosed with a form of magic-based pneumonia. Blot-based mucus was wreaking havoc in your lungs and it was only going to get worse without proper treatment.

Vil stayed by your side until you fell asleep that first night, then you didn't see him for a week. There'd be little gifts on your nightstand from him; throat-soothing candies, sinfully soft luxury brand tissues. So he was visiting but only when you were asleep.

You see him again when it's the middle of the night and he wakes you up to take a potion he's spent the past week crafting with Crewel's help. He hasn't been sleeping and it's noticeable. Scolds you when you state you're worried about him. Barely lets you semi-confess and is instead force-feeding you the potion. You can declare your admiration once you're well.

Idia

It shouldn't have happened the way it did. Appendicitis normally takes longer than what it took for you to be curled over in pain. Luckily, you were a top-grade science facility surrounded by geniuses. They put you in a full body scanner and quickly saw you had an infection in your stomach.

Even with everything that just happened, you were prepped for surgery in a matter of minutes. They barely got the confirmation from you that the little organ wasn't a necessary part of your digestion system. So it was coming out before it got any worse.

After the surgery, you're able to tell the doctors that an appendix can become infected and burst, but you were completely fine beforehand, so you're not entirely sure what happened. It was revealed your appendix was already infected before you entered STYX and the mild exposure to the Gates sped it up to the point it was ready to burst.

Idia is about to cringe so hard that he travels dimensions. He wants to fling himself off the edge into the Gates like Vil did. This is his fault because he can't just go to fucking therapy like a normie. No, he had to try to do global genocide.

You calm him down, stating it's not as bad as he's making it out to be. And if anything it kind of helped? your ailment was still bound to happen and instead of it happening on campus with no one really able to help, it happened at a cutting-edge science facility. Plus, he's still there with you, that's what's important.

So Mama Shroud has already added you to the family registry, you get a monthly allowance of 10k, and added to the Shuroud family weekly video calls to check up. Idia can still barely look you in the eyes because what do you MEAN being together is what's important? what kind of fucking friends to lovers ass dialogue choice was that? That was so cringe, you should be embarrassed. He says as he fumbles his words now every time he sees you.

Malleus

All you knew was that something was wrong. Dealing with all of the other's dream shenanigans, you could feel in the back of your mind, your body was trying to alert you to something. You only realize when everything is over and everyone is waking up

You are barely able to open your eyes, your head is pounding and it feels like you have water in your ears. Everyone is concerned, Lilia manages to get them all away so he can look you over himself. Checking behind your head only to feel blood and that your ears are leaking a clear type of fluid. When Malleus put everyone to sleep, you fell and literally bounced your head off of the stone floor of Diasomnia.

He was already embarrassed and ashamed of himself, one for overblotting and now for hurting his dear friend. He pays for you to be taken to a hospital and tended to properly. Visits every day while you sleep and just watches you. Leaves you blessed fruits for a speedy recovery.

Is so relieved once you're on the better side of healed, you look much less corpse-ish and have more pep in your voice again. Apologizes, offers a life debt, swears if you wish it he'll never show his face around you again. His actions nearly got you killed and the longer his overblot lasted the more likely it would have been too late no matter what happened.

Actually starts crying when you tell him the injury doesn't matter to you. That fact your 'dear friend' Tsunotaro is ok is all you need to feel well and at peace. Now there's a dragon in the bed with you, no the doctors can not get him to move. They can work around him.

[snoopyracing]

grapes and good fortune — ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader word count: 4.7k warnings: swearing and alcohol use includes: friends to lovers, mutual pining, and fluff summary: when your plan to find love on new year's eve doesn't work a certain someone may just fix those plans.

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s not the end of the world to be single. You’ve gone your whole life technically being single– each guy you’ve had a thing with never resulted in a full fledged relationship. It never really seemed to bother you that much, you’d learned to be more independent and learned that your time is in fact more valuable than men think. Though, as the years passed and your friends started to get into serious relationships you couldn’t help but feel a little left behind.

You knew everyone’s time would come and seriously you were in your early to mid twenties – you still had a whole lifetime ahead of you. But the third wheeling you seemed to be a professional at by now was starting to get embarrassing. Also, holidays just really seemed to suck while being single. You knew there was more to life than being in a relationship, but god dammit you’re a human. You crave love and affection and no matter how independent you are– you still want to love and be loved. 

Your friend group had unsuccessfully tried setting you up with more guys than you could count. Each one you really did try and give a chance, but there was nothing there. You didn’t think you had high standards by any means, but if you didn’t feel anything with these guys then why waste your time? 

“You went on how many dates this month and none of them piqued your interest?” Your friend grills you as the two of you are sitting on the balcony of your apartment. You’d come back from another unsuccessful date and decided to drown your sorrows with a bottle of wine and a yapping session. 

“Genuinely think there might be something wrong with me at this point.” You complain as you sip the sweet wine in your glass. 

“There isn’t anything wrong with you.” The two dates a week for the past month say different, but you weren’t going to actually disclose that number to her. “Maybe your heart has already laid claim to someone else?” 

“I think I would know if I was in love with someone.” She doesn’t say anything, but the way she inconspicuously sips her wine is telling you what she’s wanting to say. “Not this again.” 

She puts her hands up in defense all while having a shit eating grin on her face. “I didn’t even say anything, but you immediately assuming that’s who I’m talking about says it all.” 

“I’m not in love with Lando.” 

Yes you were. 

“I mean he’s one of my closest friends and it would just make things weird. He also for sure does not look at me in any way other than platonic. He’s got models flocking to him and literally thousands of other girls– I couldn’t compete.” Your friend remains silent once again as she sips her wine and watches the scene in front of her unfold. “Ok– just because I drunkenly admitted last year that I might possibly have a little tiny miniscule amount of feelings towards him does not mean I’m in love with him.” 

“Yes it does.” Your friend replies without missing a beat. 

“No it doesn’t” You say with a huff. 

“Y/N, babe. You don’t see what everyone else sees and maybe your brain is trying to protect itself from the small chance of destruction, but you two are so in love it’s actually ridiculous.” 

“I don’t think he’s looking for a relationship right now. If this season so far is any indication of what next season is gonna be like, do you really think he’ll want a serious relationship to juggle too?” You’d chugged the last bit of wine in your glass and immediately filled it back up. 

A loud scoff comes from your friend. “With some girl he just met? No. You are a whole different story though. You two have history and are quite literally each other’s person. Two peas in a pod. Match made in heaven.” 

You didn’t understand why your friend was so adamant about Lando and you getting together. What if it ended in flames and your friend group is stuck having to play children of divorce? You don’t want that. 

“Do you hear yourself right now? I think you’ve had too much wine because that’s not true.” 

She sits up on the edge of the wicker couch with an annoyed expression painted across her face  “Do you hear yourself? I’ve never seen someone deny themselves happiness like you.” 

“I don’t think I have actual feelings for Lando though. I really think it’s just because we are the only two single people in our friend group and it’s like I feel obligated to somehow have feelings for him. I just need to find the right person and whatever I may be feeling about Lando will go away.” 

If someone could professionally roll their eyes your friend would be a pro. “You’ve already found the right person though!”

Before you can argue back for the hundredth time tonight the familiar tune of an incoming facetime call fills the air. Your phone that’s sitting on the glass coffee table lights up and Lando’s face fills the screen. You glance over at your friend who’s got a smirk on her face that could rival the Cheshire Cat. 

“Speak of the devil.” She laughs. 

You let it ring, fully knowing that if you answer it your friend will be insufferable the whole time you’re talking to him. You do send him a quick text to make sure everything's alright and of course he immediately responds with-

everything's all right.. just missed you is all. 

Which has you locking your phone and stuffing it in the pocket of your hoodie. When you reach for your glass and realize it’s empty again you decide to just grab the bottle and drink straight from it. 

“Drinking from the bottle because you’ve come to terms with how dumb you’ve been?” Your friend teases. 

“Nope. It’s from having to deal with you all evening.” 

Alright so maybe you did have actual feelings for Lando, but you were never going to fully admit that to your friend or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t want to risk ruining what you two already had, which was an amazing friendship. So for the following months you continue to go on an endless amount of dates and with each one that fails your friend's voice rings in your mind.

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to find someone else if you subconsciously compared every guy to Lando. They were never funny enough or charming enough or took themselves too seriously. In the end it was simply the fact that they weren’t Lando. So maybe your heart had already dug its claws into Lando, but you weren’t going to give up without one last battle. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

New Year's Eve. The final night of the year and the one party of the year that celebrates ends and beginnings. You’d hoped that with the plan you had for tonight that your streak of horrible dates would end and the next one would be the one. The trend of eating twelve grapes under a table at midnight on New Year’s Eve had been all over your social media. According to the internet if you were to do this you’d find love or your soulmate the following year– which was something you were so desperate for. So, your said plan was to bring some grapes with you and find a table to sit under. 

As you were taking one last final look in the mirror a familiar British accent echoed through your apartment. “Are you almost ready?” 

You quickly slipped on your heels and grabbed your bag off the dresser, but by the time you turned around there stood Lando, leaning against your doorframe with a slight smirk on his face. “Been waiting forever. It���s gonna be next year by the time we get out of here.” 

His teasing, which usually always got a reaction out of you, was ignored. The sight of him had you frozen in your tracks for a moment. He had on a white button up, which he always looked good in, but it was the couple of undone buttons at the top and the necklace you got him for his birthday last year around his neck that got your attention. There was always something about seeing Lando in things you got him that made that funny feeling bloom in your stomach. Perhaps it was the fact that everytime he chose to wear them you knew he was thinking about you and that when he was away a part of you was always with him. 

“Quit staring.” 

You're knocked out of your trance and the blush that creeps onto your cheeks from getting caught is almost as embarrassing as being caught. “I wasn’t staring. I was admiring my good taste. Should have gotten one myself.” You try to play it off and push your way past him with what little amount of confidence you have at the moment. 

“I’ll get it for you, then we can be matching.” Lando says as he follows behind you. 

“I can buy it myself.” 

“Yeah, but I’m still gonna get it for you anyways.”

You stop in the kitchen and grab the little bag of grapes out of the fridge. “I don’t need you to get it for me Lan.” You’re too preoccupied with figuring out how to fit everything into your small purse to see the utterly confused look on Lando’s face. 

“Ok forget about the necklace. Why the hell are you bringing grapes with you?” 

“Incase I get hungry.” You reply without missing a beat. 

“There will literally be food at the party. I even made sure Max got those little cocktail sausages you like.” 

And there he goes again, making those feelings you’ve tried and are still presently trying to push down come to the surface all because of some damn cocktail sausages. “I appreciate that Lan, but I’ve been on a grape kick lately. Just can’t seem to get enough of them.” 

With your purse finally closed with the grapes securely inside, you head towards the door, more than ready to get to the party. 

“I’ll text Max and tell him to get some grapes delivered.” Lando mumbles as he closes the door behind him. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’d never considered yourself much of a party girl, but there must have been something in the air tonight because you were living it up. From the dancing to the drinking and then to top it off somehow in the middle of everything you showed off your DJing skills with Lando. 

Somehow you’d managed to unglue yourself from Lando for a moment and ended up in the kitchen among the various kinds of alcohol. You’re pouring the last bit of coke into your coke and malibu when Max comes up beside you. 

“I see you finally escaped from Lando for a moment.” 

An airy laugh emits from you. “Yeah, he’s been a little clingy tonight.” You state as you turn and lean back against the counter, facing the large crowd of people. 

Max copies your actions, but not before grabbing a beer. “What are you talking about tonight? When he’s back home it’s like you two are conjoined at the hip.”  Which was true, but you didn’t get to see Lando as much as you’d like, so you make the most of what you can. “Oh forgot to tell you, your grapes are in the fridge.” He motions towards the stainless steel appliance with his beer bottle. “Lando better pay me back. Do you know how much I paid to get that damn bag delivered? Absolutely insane.” 

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape at Max’s words. “I heard him mention something about asking you to get some when we were leaving. I thought he was just joking.” 

Max scoffs. “There is no such thing as Lando joking when it comes to you. Think he’d chop off his own arm to make sure you were happy. Hell if you needed an organ he’d be the first one in line to give you one.” 

This time it’s your turn to scoff. “No he wouldn’t.” 

“Why do you do that?” Max groans. 

You narrow your eyes at him, confused as to what he was referring to. “Do what?” 

“Act like he doesn’t think the world of you.” 

Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out. Instead you bring your cup to your lips and fill the void with your drink. What Max had said was true, but you couldn’t help it. You figured if you forced yourself to think that Lando didn’t care that deeply about you, then those feelings that you harbor for him wouldn’t rise to the surface. It didn’t help that his behavior recently had you thinking that perhaps he felt the same about you and when you have your mutual friends in your ear implying that to be true it just makes things that much harder for you. 

“You probably haven’t even noticed that he’s been practically watching us talk this whole time have you?” 

You can feel your heart rate start to speed up just at the thought of it. As your eyes scan the room they finally land on the Brit standing in the corner with some other people, but he’s not actually engaging in the conversation, he’s too busy staring back at you. Somehow from across the room you can still see those pretty mixture of blue and green eyes of his sparkle and when he realizes you're finally looking back at him a shy smile spreads across his face before he’s quickly looking away. 

“Wish you two would stop dancing around each other and just admit what we all already know.” Max mumbles before taking a swig of his beer. 

Maybe it’s the mixture of alcohol and the fact that you’ve once again got someone in your ear about Lando and you, but you can sense those feelings starting to claw their way back up and you aren’t sure if you can push them back down tonight. 

“Ten minutes until midnight!” The DJ’s voice travels through the apartment and you’re sure Max will be getting some kind of fee taped to his door in the morning. 

Max says something about talking to you later before exiting the kitchen and you realize with ten minutes till midnight that you’ve got to get your grapes and find a table to fit under. For the moment you push Lando to the back of your mind and focus on your very important task at hand. 

Luckily for you Max had a decently sized dining table in his apartment so with your grapes in hand you crawled under the table, which thankfully was shielded by a tablecloth, and settled in for your feast. 

Lando on the other hand had been searching for you everywhere since the ten minute announcement. He’d literally just seen you in the kitchen with Max and then when he looked back again you were both gone. He’d gone in the bathrooms, the bedrooms, the closets, every single place he could think you would be and it’s like you had vanished. Max had a large apartment, especially to be living in London, but it wasn’t that big to allow for you to not be found. His texts to you had gone unanswered and he began to think maybe you had left, but he knew you would have told him if you were leaving, so that theory went out the window. 

When the five minute announcement hit his ears he began asking people if they had seen you and with each no or i think she was in the kitchen a while ago he received his hopes of finding you before midnight started to diminish. 

He’d finally worked up the courage to tell you how he’d felt tonight. After years of holding himself back and not wanting to ruin what you two already had, he’d decided that life was too short and that he would come to regret not allowing himself to truly love you like he should. He knew you were the one and there wasn’t a bone in his body that didn’t think you didn’t feel the same. So, he was finally going to bite the bullet tonight and he wanted you to be the person he was kissing as the clock struck twelve. But if he couldn’t find you, then how in the world was he supposed to do that? 

Lando was honestly starting to get worried over not being able to find you, screw the whole love confession at this point. What if something had happened to you? He’d been all over Max’s place countless times and he still couldn’t find you. With the official countdown echoing through the apartment he decided to just say fuck it and head to your place and see if you had gone home.

As he was heading to get his coat a familiar sparkly heel sticking out from under the dining table caught his attention. It was the same type of heels he’d seen you put on earlier and he did somewhat of a double take. He wondered if it was the couple drinks he’d had messing with him because why would you be sitting under Max’s dining table? 

He crouches down and slowly lifts the table cloth up, unsure of what he’s going to find underneath it. Everyone is only getting louder and with five seconds until midnight what he finds staring back at him under the table is not at all how he expected his night to end up. There you are with your now empty bag of grapes on the floor and your cheeks stuffed full of said grapes. You resemble something of a chipmunk and Lando can’t help but laugh at you. 

“What the hell are you doing down here?” 

The excessively loud shouting of happy new year from everyone while noise makers and confetti fill the air distract both Lando and you for a moment. He didn’t think this is the position he’d be in right now, he figured he’d be in that crowd with his lips on yours like so many others right now. While you on the other hand didn’t think you’d be caught in such an embarrassing situation, not to mention you hadn’t even gotten all your grapes down, so this stupid thing was probably all for nothing. 

His attention is back on you in no time and he really wants to know what you were doing. Were you that addicted to grapes that you had to hide under the table while you got your fix? If so, he may need to have a talk with you. 

“Seriously, why are you hiding under the table stuffing grapes into your mouth?” He prods again. 

Your mouth is still so full of the grapes that you can’t really talk and all you can manage to get out is leave while simultaneously trying to jab his leg with your heel. You were embarrassed and at this point scared you might choke on the grapes, and you’d rather go out in peace then have Lando cause a scene because you were choking. 

“Ouch!” Lando yelps as your heel finally makes contact with him. You know he’s being dramatic because you barely even kicked him, but you would try anything for him to drop that table cloth and let you be. “Come on, come out from under there.” Lando grabs your arm and practically forces you to come out from under the table.

Luckily, everyone else was too preoccupied with still ringing in the New Year to see you crawl out and as you dust yourself off you're still chomping on the last couple grapes left. The party only seems to be getting crazier and you don’t really feel like staying here until the party inevitably ends at an ungodly hour in the morning, especially now that your plan for love has undoubtedly failed. 

You finally swallow the last couple grapes and take a deep breath, the fear of choking and embarrassment now behind you. “Do you care if I leave? Not really feeling the party that much anymore.” 

Lando doesn’t even question your request. “I’ll walk you home, let me grab our coats and tell Max we are leaving.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The cold England air hits you as you exit Max’s apartment building and you’re thankful that your place isn’t very far from his. It’s silent between Lando and you for some time, the sound of your heels on the pavement, fireworks in the distance, and other people celebrating are the only things you two hear. 

“Can I ask you something?” Lando finally breaks the silence. 

“Shoot.” 

He takes a deep breath fully knowing once he opens this locked away side of him that there’s no going back. “Have you ever thought about us?” 

You feel your heart skip a beat at his question, yet you try to remain cool and collected. “What do you mean?” 

He stops in his tracks causing you to mimic his actions. “Like,” he motions between the two of you, “us.”

There’s not a doubt in your mind about what he’s referring to and yes you do think about the two of you. Yet your brain feels scrambled once you're actually confronted with the possibility of Lando feeling the same as you. You’d tried so hard to ignore the feelings, hell you’d tried something you saw on the internet to hopefully bring a different man into your life to finally squash those feelings. You’d just never thought you’d be in this position though and it’s throwing you into a whirlwind. 

Lando isn’t sure what your silence means and he figures he’s already started, he might as well just fully admit it at this point. 

“Fuck it. I told myself I was going to do this tonight and I’m not gonna chicken out again.” His cheeks are rosy from the cold and you can tell by the way his pretty eyes dart all around your face that he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “I’ve got feelings for you.” He finally blurts out.

“No scratch that I’m in love with you Y/N. Think I have been for some time now. I’ve tried telling you how I felt for what seems like ages, but I’ve always been too scared to. I’ve been afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same and to me I’d rather bottle up my feelings and keep you in my life then tell you how I feel and lose you. But clearly I’ve grown tired of that and realized that the reward would be higher than the risk. You’re my person Y/N. I couldn’t imagine life without you and to have you be mine would make life that much better. So here I am baring my heart to you on some street in London on New Year’s Eve. I actually had a whole plan on how I was-” 

His rambling while you loved most of the time was cut off by your desire to shut him up with your lips on his and you did just that. You grabbed him by his coat and pulled him into you, your lips crashing together. It takes him a moment to realize what's happening, but when his brain finally starts to work and he kisses you back it’s everything you could have imagined and more.

Kissing Lando is like heaven on Earth and the way his soft lips feel against yours has you wishing you would have just stopped being so stubborn and listened to your friends ages ago. His large warm hands come out of his pockets and he cups your face as he deepens the kiss, which has you feeling lightheaded and warm all over. 

There’s fireworks being let off not too far away that light up the sky above you, but you’re too engrossed in each other to pay them much mind. It’s truly like a scene straight out of a movie and you know you’ll remember this moment forever. 

You two finally pull away to breathe and it’s like you can see the world in a whole new way. The depressing grey landscape of London in the winter time suddenly looks like it was painted in technicolor and neither of you can wipe the cheek hurting grin off your faces. “So I guess you feel the same?” He asks. 

“Yes Lando Norris, I’m in love with you too. Have been for a while and like you I didn’t want to ruin what we already have. To me there was no possible way that you felt the same and I hate rejection and the idea of losing you. So, I went on a million dates trying to find someone that would replace how I felt about you, but I guess you can’t replace someone who your heart has already laid claim to.” 

You feel Lando intertwine your fingers with his and it’s like everything just feels right in the world. 

“I’m glad we stopped being so stubborn and that I don’t have to see you out with all those random guys anymore.” 

“Believe me, none of them even came close to comparing to you. It was like going on a date with a sack of potatoes most of the time.” 

His infectious laugh fills your ears and you feel your heart swell. You can’t believe this was what you were depriving yourself of for so long. 

The rest of the walk back to your apartment is spent walking hand in hand. All while little giggles escape each of you ever so often and Lando occasionally kisses you on the head or lifts your intertwined hands up to plant a kiss there. 

“I have to ask again. It’s really been bugging me. What were you doing under that table?” Lando asks as you near your apartment building. A loud groan emits from you and there isn’t anything less that you would want to talk about than that. “Come on, just tell me!” 

“Fine! I saw this thing on the internet that if you eat twelve green grapes under a table at midnight that it’s supposed to bring you luck in the love department in the New Year. Like you’d find your soulmate or something. I was so desperate to try and get over these feelings I have for you so what we had wouldn’t be ruined that I was willing to try anything.” 

He’s silent for a moment and then he looks at you with the biggest smile on his face. “Well I’d say it worked didn’t it? You’ve found love and not to be overzealous, but I’d say your soulmate too.” 

You’re stunned for a moment when you realize that yes, the grapes did work, just not in the way you planned. The universe had put Lando in your life years ago and for some weird reason had you wait this long to finally truly be in one another's lives, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Hell, you’d eat a whole package of grapes if that meant Lando and you got to be together in every lifetime. 

“They did, didn't they? I guess almost choking to death was worth it in the end.” 

“I mean I know I’m every woman’s dream, but you didn’t almost have to kill yourself to get my attention baby.” 

You playfully slap his arm as he laughs at you. That big head of his was sometimes fully ego and you realized you were going to have to put up with it all the time now. “Oh shut up.” 

“Yeah, but you love me.” He states before pressing a kiss to your lips, which has your mind feeling like TV static once again. 

When you pull away and look him in the eyes there’s nothing but pure love staring back at you and you know that this is who is meant to be in your life, till the end. “More than you’ll ever know.” 

The next morning you receive a group text from Max with Lando and you in it.  

max: why have i found an empty bag with what looks to be a grape stem in it under my dining table??? i fully know it was one of you.

you: i don’t know what you're talking about. 

lando: me either. no grapes were consumed by us last night. must have been someone else. 

[muwapsturniolo]

Nipple or Tip ( • )( • ) C. Sturniolo

"I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks-"

⟢ funny shit tbh. nipples and tips of dick are mentioned as well as balls. chris being unhinged in ulta, reader done with his bs but also down with his bs.

dividers by the one and only rose toy @bernardsbendystraws

You were a beauty lover, it was well known by everyone in your life. When you were a kid, you were constantly in your moms makeup bag, messing up her high-priced lipsticks and eyeshadows on a daily basis.

As you got older, that love for makeup stayed.

You had a whole beauty room in your two-bedroom apartment. You had the vanity, the box lights as well as ring lights, and drawers on top of drawers filled with makeup you may not even have a chance to touch.

Chris knew of your love for makeup, he has been in you're beauty room one too many times to think otherwise. He never saw it as too much because he knew it was your way of expressing yourself - he was never the one to hate on expression.

So here he was, driving you to the place he should just invest in at this point.

Ulta.

You spent so much time there, that the workers recognize you. You have the credit card, you've racked up points, and you memorized the aisles. This was basically your third home, the first being your own and the second being Chris's.

"Alright, what do you need today?"

You proceed to go through your list as you walk inside the bright store, the sound of Billie's "Birds of a Feather" playing over the speakers. The song distracts him for a moment, but he comes back to reality hearing you say foundation.

"Wait, didn't you just get a new foundation?"

"Well...Yes, but I need another one!" He gives you a look as the two of you walk over to Wyn Beauty. "Technically, you don't need another one. You have about forty of them, but who am I to complain considering you're paying?"

It's comical to him the way you stop in your tracks, your eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean I'm paying? It's your turn to pay!"

Chris chuckles to himself, fixing the beanie on his head. "I'm just pulling your clit."

"Chris please stop fuckin' talking to me. That's not even how the damn saying goes!"

He giggles like a schoolboy and kisses your shoulder, motioning to the bright green packaging in front of you. "Go ahead and pick out your millionth foundation."

And so you do, you pick out a new foundation...and concealer, primer, setting spray, bronzer, lip gloss, and lipstick.

"Ok, now a lip liner." Your words spark Chris's interest, his mind going back to a specific video he saw not too long ago. The two of you start walking over to NYX, and he decides to fill you in on the content he consumed.

"So like, I saw this makeup video on tik- Why are you getting makeup videos on TikTok? What girl are you sending them to?"

"I'm getting them because of you, dumbass. You're the only girl that actually puts up with me, why would I talk to another one?" You snicker to yourself knowing he's right.

He's too in love with you to go find someone else.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I saw this video on TikTok where this girl was trying out these makeup hacks or secrets, whatever it's called. So she said the best way to match your lip liner is to match it to your nipples! Crazy shit, but it has me thinking, what if you matched it to the tip of my dick?"

All you could do was stare at him in silence.

"You being deadass?"

He shrugs before answering you, a smirk that shows he's up to no good making its way onto his face. "I mean, I think it would look nice on you. A nice pinky red....It's up your alley anyway considering you have a blush named 'orgasm' and a mascara called 'better than sex' ."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking to me?" He groans and pulls you closer, his hands settling right on top of your ass. "Come on it would be funny! I will literally give you my card and let you roam in TJ Maxx and I will take you to Chili's!''

"You had me at TJ Maxx."

You whip your phone out, thanking yourself for buying a privacy screen, and begin scrolling through your privet photo albums to find a picture of Chris's dick.

"Wait, you should match one to your nipples too. Then we can compare which one looks better."

He could be so childish at times, but you were the exact same.

The two of you stand in the aisle, holding up different shades of pink and brown to your phone. Eventually, you two settle on "Rose" and "Nutmeg", the two colors being the closest you could get.

Soon the two of you are back in the car and Chris is urging you to try on both lip liners, refusing to drive until he sees them on you. You first try on the brown shade, lining your lips with ease. It was a pretty color, simple and not unusual considering you always wore brown lipliner.

You turn to Chris, asking him what he thinks. "Sexy as usual. You know I like it when you do the brown ones." You smile at his flattering words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before wiping the lip liner off. You unravel the pink liner and swipe it on, rubbing your lips together so it blends out.

"So what do we think? Nipple or tip?"

You see the way his eyes dart across your face, analyzing everything about you.

"Both look good, you know you can make everything look good. It's what I love about you." You find your cheeks getting warm, never getting used to the way he makes you feel so good, even on days when you look like a bum.

"Come on, I promised to let you roam in TJ Maxx." He puts the car in reverse and begins driving towards the retail store. The drive is quiet for the most part, nothing but music and the occasional small talk. As soon as the two of you make it to TJ Maxx, Chris turns to you before getting out of the car.

"You know, I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks where this girl put her foundation on with her boyfriend's balls."

"This the last time imma tell you to shut up talkin' to me!"