#Fanfic pocket Library

[greenfrogartist]

Been a while since I’ve drawn anything but guess what

A fanart! For the fic “Missing”by @zoiaeras !

Honestly it’s more of how I imagine Peter’s design to be rather than a fanart, cause usually when I do a fanart I either draw a scene or as I’ve lately been doing draw what I imagine the cover would look like (to be fair I kinda drew the breakfast scene? )

So this is more like a very small character sheets?? And the design is wrong a bit (his hair is supposed to be a bit longer but I only ingrained the choppy hair part)

Tried to keep the blue and red of his spidey suit in, but darker and paler to show the effects Gotham had on him

Honestly the fic is amazing! and the pacing is a chef kiss, and the comedy is on point for me and what I love the most about this is that it’s doing other stuff rather than just sticking to the norm of peter - Gotham crossover

Other characters are present, there is a plot being made and the characterization makes sense for the life the characters lived, and we’re even out of Gotham and introducing other superheroes to the plot like Superman and the flash and also villains like lex Luther

And what’s fun about this fic is that currently, the strongest thing Peter have is his brain, but he is still stupid outside of building stuff (I love this adorable bean)

My most favorite thing about it is probably the plot point and that things are actually happening with consequences to them that change the status que of the fic

The fic feels like a never stopping train wreck about to happen and I’m so excited to see just how big the crash will be and how sharp the debris left of it are

Honestly I can go on and on about this fic forever but that’s mean more spoiler which is a big no no

Just know that if you want a dc x peter crossover, with more justice league characters in it, this is the fic for you

[maewphoria]

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⌗⠀양정원⠀⠀CAT⠀DISTRIBUTION⠀SYSTEM⠀꒰⠀PT.1⠀꒱

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SYNOPSIS⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀starting college in a new city, you’re settling into your apartment and trying to make it feel like home. on your first day, a fluffy calico cat appears on your neighbor's balcony, jumping towards yours as if to greet you, stealing your heart instantly. but when a voice calls out for the cat from the next balcony, panic sets in—you rush back inside, too shy to meet your new neighbor. that neighbor turns out to be yang jungwon, a fellow student in the same university who’s also new in town. thanks to his mischievous and adventurous cat, the two of you keep running into each other in the most unexpected ways. a friendship blossoms, slowly turning into something deeper—though jungwon keeps insisting it’s nothing more than friendship. as feelings grow stronger, the question remains: will their bond turn into something more—or remain just a college memory?

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pairing⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀college student!yang jungwon x college student!f.reader. featuring⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀all enhypen members (soon), le sserafim yunjin, kazuha, and chaewon (soon), aespa winter and karina (soon). word count⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀2.241k genre⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀sfw, fluff, angst if you squint, kinda slow burn, college life, university life, slice of life, comedy (although i don't find myself funny), friendships, relationships, and the cat distribution system. (it has chosen you and gave you two lovely cats.) warnings⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀drinking alcohol, parties, getting drunk (obviously), misunderstandings, jealousy, denial (jungwon is in denial), lots of flirting and tension, cat keeps breaking into your apartment, kissing, skinship, reader (aka us) is very delusional and does a lot of overthinking, a bit cringe (i think it's cringe bcs i wrote it), and might contain suggestive content in the later parts that are yet to be posted. lowercase letters intended. very proofread. tell me if i'm missing anything. mæw's notes⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀hi guys, this will be my very first enhypen au / fanfic here in tumblr. i will be cutting this fanfic in multiple parts instead of posting it all at once because it already has a word count of 40k. i am still new to this so i will surely make mistakes. please be patient with me and i hope you guys enjoy my work. this story will be added to my masterlist. also, don't even try copy-pasting my work into an ai detection website, because i already tried it and it still said that parts of it was written by ai, even though i literally wrote it on my phone in front of my cousin. likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

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library⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀part two.

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“are you completely certain you have everything, sweetheart?” your mother asks for what feels like the hundredth time, her voice tinged with both worry and affection. you can’t help but chuckle softly, rolling your eyes in fond exasperation as you roll two suitcases out through the front door.

behind you, she follows closely, reciting the list of college essentials she helped you pack, while your father lingers not far behind.

“mom, for the tenth time—literally—you packed with me. you know i’ve got everything,” you reply, turning to face her. she frowns slightly, reluctantly folding her list and slipping it into her pocket.

she reaches for your hands and clasps them tightly, as though letting go meant letting you go forever. “i’m sorry, sweetie. i just can’t help but worry. i’m going to miss you so much,” she says, her eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

you felt your heart ache as you pulled her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her as tight as you can. “oh, mom...” you murmured, voice muffled in her hair, “i’m going to miss you, too. and dad. and everyone. but this isn’t goodbye forever, okay? it’s just college—four years, tops. i’ll be back before you even realize i’m gone.” you reassured her while smiling.

“is it my turn now?” came your dad’s voice from behind, cutting through the moment with the kind of comedic timing only he had. you turned to him, confused.

“yes, honey, go ahead,” your mother says with a small smile, eyes still misty.

he cleared his throat, stepped forward like he was preparing a speech, and asked, “are you absolutely certain the place you’re renting is fully furnished?”

you blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the practicality of his concern, but nodded. “yeah, dad. it is. i saw the pictures online, and the landlord sent us updated ones too. you showed them to me, remember?”

“it’s got the basics: a living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, a little dining area, even a mini walk-in closet. and a balcony,” you added, lifting your eyebrows as if that would finally put his mind at ease. “some furniture’s getting delivered tomorrow, but other than that, i’m all set.”

still, you know deep down they won’t stop worrying—not really. it’s just what parents do.

so you took their hands, holding them like you were anchoring the three of you in that little moment.

“mom. dad. i know you're worried. i really do. and i get it. but i have to do this—for me. for my future. remember how we talked about this?” you said softly, giving their hands a small swing.

they sighed, looking down at the pavement as if it held some kind of comfort. your mom’s lips trembled as she said, “i just can’t believe my baby girl’s going to college. it feels like just yesterday you were painting rocks in daycare and telling us they were ‘magical artifacts.’”

you laughed as she started to cry again, and without missing a beat, your dad stepped forward, wrapping the both of you in a warm, protective hug. the three of you stood there for a few seconds in silence—breathing each other in like this was the last chance you’d get.

“i promise i’ll visit when i can,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “and if anything happens, i’ll come running back home. always.”

your mom sniffled loudly, then pulled away just enough to cup your cheek. “nothing will happen to you. you hear me? you’re going to be fine. just... don’t stress too much. and don’t let yunjin drag you into too many parties. you know how she is.”

your dad nodded in agreement. “yeah. remember—college is about studying, not setting new records for the number of red cups you can balance.”

you burst into laughter, shaking your head. “you guys are unbelievable. i’m your daughter, remember? i’ve got at least some common sense.”

“barely,” your dad muttered, and you playfully elbowed him in the ribs.

amidst the bittersweet laughter, the sound of a car pulling up interrupts the moment.

“oh! that’s my uber,” you say, adjusting your backpack. “dad, can you help with my suitcases?”

“on it, bud,” he said, already hoisting both bags with that exaggerated dad-strength that never failed to impress you.

he waved to the driver, who rolled up to the curb. the trunk popped open, and your dad loaded everything in then dusted off his hands and turned back. “is that everything?” he asked.

“yes, dad. i’m going to college, not new york fashion week,” you tease, earning amused chuckles from both of them.

they escort you to the car, your mom opening the door for you. but as you settled in, she suddenly tapped gently on your window. you roll it down.

“yes, mom?”

she leaned in. “sir,” she said, addressing the uber driver with a gravity that made you look at her in confusion, “if my daughter says she’s feeling dizzy or needs a break, please pull over.”

“also, you’re going to the right address, yes?” your dad added, stepping in like he was interrogating a suspect.

you let out a groan and sank into your seat, using your backpack as a shield to hide your face. “guys, seriously...”

“and don’t drive too fast or weave between cars,” your mom continued. “please drive safely. she’s very precious cargo.”

“okay mom! dad! i love you both! please let the poor man do his job,” you said quickly, waving goodbye before whispering to the driver, “you can go now. before they make me wear bubble wrap.”

the driver chuckles as the car pulls away. you lean out the window, waving until your parents become small figures in the distance.

“i’ll call when i get there!” you shout back before sinking into your seat, heart full and heavy all at once. you breathe in slowly, gaze drifting out the window.

you can do this. it’s not going to be that hard... right?

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after what felt like an eternity of winding roads, shifting scenery, and the soft hum of tires against asphalt, you finally arrived. the car rolled to a gentle stop in front of the building that would now be your new home for the next four years of your life.

you turned your head toward the window, eyes tracing the unfamiliar landscape, taking it all in—wide sidewalks dappled in sunlight, joggers weaving between pedestrians, laughter spilling from a group of cyclists, someone playing fetch with a very enthusiastic golden retriever.

the air held a certain freedom you hadn't even realized you'd been craving until now. it smelled like possibility, like the beginning of something beautifully unknown.

“alright, ma’am. we’ve arrived. would you like help with your suitcases?” the driver’s voice interrupted gently, his tone patient, practiced.

you blinked yourself out of your daze, glancing at the man in the rearview mirror before answering, “yes, please. just to the entrance would be great. thank you.”

you stepped out of the car, greeted by the sight of the tall, clean-lined building. you took a breath—deep, grounding—then turned to help the driver with your bags. the two of you wheeled the suitcases together toward the entrance.

you then turned to him, pulling out a small amount of cash. “thank you so much. really. and here—this is a little extra for putting up with my parents earlier.”

he let out a warm laugh as he accepted the tip. “ah, it was nothing. i’ve got kids myself. i know how it feels to watch them grow up.”

you smiled, heart swelling. “well, if they’ve got a dad like you, i’m sure they’re growing up wonderfully.”

“that’s kind of you to say. stay safe, ma’am.”

“you too, please drive safely,” you said with a grateful nod, before turning your attention to the double glass doors ahead of you. “alright... let’s do this.”

you mumbled to yourself as you wrestled your bags inside. the first thing that greeted you was the hum of the lobby’s air conditioner and a wall of metallic lockers neatly lined up to your right.

“oh thank god, elevators,” you sighed, eyeing the silver doors to the side. but before you headed up, you pulled out your phone to reread your landlord’s message, squinting at the little instructions tucked inside a cheerful block of text.

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landlord 🏘️: good day, miss y/n. here are a few instructions before entering your apartment. on the first floor, you’ll see multiple lockers designated for deliveries and mail. please locate locker no.508. that will be your personal locker. inside, you’ll find the keys for all the doors inside your apartment and all necessary passcodes, especially the passcode of your apartment. the passcode to unlock your locker is 0628. thank you again for choosing us. we hope you enjoy your stay, and please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.

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with a determined nod, you pocketed your phone and made your way through the lobby towards the right where the lockers are. polished silver doors with numbers engraved in neat rows. you scanned quickly until your eyes landed on 508.

you keyed in the code with a quiet click, and the locker door swung open.

inside were all the essentials: a set of keys, neatly labeled passcodes on a printed sheet, a few manuals for the appliances, and a small envelope titled 'welcome to your new home'.

“keys, check. passcodes, check. instructions, check. emotionally prepared? debatable,” you muttered, collecting everything before shutting the locker.

you hauled your bags into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor. the soft hum of the elevator was oddly comforting, a brief moment of stillness.

the doors opened with a quiet chime, revealing an empty, serene corridor lined with identical doors. you walked slowly, counting off the numbers until you reached 508 once again—this time, your door.

you typed in the passcode, heart thudding with an unfamiliar mix of nerves and excitement. a soft beep, a click, and the door opened.

your eyes widen.

“oh god. this is really happening,” you whispered, stepping inside.

the apartment was... perfect. minimal but welcoming, clean lines and cozy corners. the sunlight streamed in from the windows, dancing across the hardwood floors.

you grinned, walking deeper into your new space. “it’s even better in person! it really has everything i—wait... the balcony!” your voice shot up an octave, already halfway to the glass doors.

you threw your backpack aside and stepped out onto the balcony. the breeze kissed your skin as you exhaled slowly, taking in the view. you pulled out your phone and took a handful of photos—one of the scenery, one of the sky, two of your grinning face—ready to send them to your parents with a reassuring caption.

you were about to hit send when you heard a small sound, high and soft.

“meow.”

you froze.

you turn, the sight before you making you gasp. sitting on the next apartment's balcony is the fluffiest calico cat you’ve ever seen. “oh my gosh, hi sweet angel– no, wait! don’t jump–” but it’s too late. with the grace of a furry ninja, she leapt from one balcony to yours, landing with a perfect thud and zero regrets.

you blinked. “well. who am i to reject a royal visit?”

you kneel and gently stroke her fur before completely sitting down on the floor. “what’s your name?” you murmur. as if on cue, the cat shifts, revealing her collar. “yami? aww, what a lovely name.”

she nestled into your lap like you were long-lost friends. you let out a delighted gasp, “oh no. not the cuteness. you’re too powerful,” you whispered, gently running your fingers through her fur, trying not to explode from cuteness aggression. the last thing you wanted was to scare her away.

you had no idea how much time passed. minutes? hours? you didn’t care. it was just you and yami, and the world could wait.

until—

“yami?”

you flinched.

the voice was male. close. way too close. and getting closer.

you got startled, which in turn startled the cat—violating the sacred cat law: if a cat sits on your lap, you don’t move. ever. but you did. and now you felt like an unforgivable criminal.

“yami,” the voice called again, now just on the other side of the glass. “there you are. what are you doing? hanging out on our neighbor’s balcony again?”

you peeked ever so slightly through the curtain. the guy was in a hoodie, the hood over his head, and pajama pants, hair sticking out, probably tousled like he’d just woken up. he also sounded young so he's probably close to your age. he crouched down and scratched yami behind the ears, completely unaware of your presence.

“are you excited to meet our new neighbor?” he asked the cat, who meowed back in response, tail flicking happily.

he laughed to himself and disappeared back into his apartment.

you exhale, not realizing you’d held your breath. ‘why did i even hide?’ you scold yourself. ‘i didn’t do anything wrong.’

shaking the embarrassment away, you pull your suitcases into your bedroom. it’s bare, except for a mattress, blanket, and a few pillows. your furniture will arrive tomorrow.

you sigh and begin to unpack, preparing to shower and change into something more comfortable.

“this is going to be a long month,” you murmur to yourself, unaware that this—this quiet, chaotic beginning—was only the start.

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taglist⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀ @morganaawriterr @wondoras @mypolka @meowwwon @dolliehue @in-somnias-world @yjwonsgf @kirijuns @iifrui @momisanalien @vieniee @drunkjazed @hhyvsstuff @readinmidnight @noona-neomu-yeppeo @cutehoons02 @robotinvenus @starfallia (taglist is still open) final note⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀i hope you guys enjoyed, part two will be posted next saturday. thank you so much for reading.

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©⠀mæwphoria⠀|⠀all works belong to me. strictly do not plagiarize, copy, translate, paraphrase, rewrite or repost my works on any other platforms. if it's inspiration gained from my work then it's appreciated and i wish you good luck with your own stories. thank you.

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[kasieli]

DamiRae week 2025 | Day one: family matters/secret(*cough* uh….fake?) dating

Well, fiddlesticks. I wrote this whole thing thinking the prompt was FAKE dating and not SECRET dating, but alas…I was very, very wrong. (Do your research, Cass!!!!!!) On the bright side, this also fits family matters, so I’m saved!!!!! Oof a fanart and fanfic for this one, so much content! Anyways, without further ado, let’s start 2025 DamiRae week, shall we? ;)

***

Raven smoothed down her dress for the tenth time and checked her phone. The instructions were clear: "Meet him by the parking lot. Navy suit. Probably scowling."

She sighed, already regretting saying yes to this. One night of pretending to be somebody’s adoring girlfriend for cash—easy, right? No big deal. Smile, hold hands, maybe endure a few awkward questions from nosy relatives. She could handle this. Of course. Probably.

Her eyes scanned around, and then—there he was. Leaning against a lamppost, glowering at his phone like it had personally offended him.

Oh no.

Raven’s stomach dropped straight to her feet.

It was Damian Wayne.

She knew him instantly. Perfectly tousled hair. Impeccable posture. The same furrowed brow she remembered from endless study sessions at the library. He looked a little older now—a little broader, a little rougher around the edges—and somehow ten times worse for her mental stability.

She froze right in her spot.

I’m so fucked.

For one wild second, she considered turning around and pretending she never saw him.

But he glanced up, caught her staring, and she did the only thing she could think of. She smiled—way too wide—and waved.

His eyes widened. And she knew recognition hit him like a brick.

And just like that, Raven realized:

This night is going to be a complete disaster.

Her heels clicked traitorously loud against the asphalt as she crossed the parking lot, every step feeling like it echoed he knows, he knows, he knows.

Okay, just smile. Be normal. You’ve been normal before. Probably. Once.

She tried to ignore the fact that Damian was watching her approach now—straightening up even further, stuffing his phone into his pocket, and standing awkwardly like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wave or hug her or just spontaneously combust.

Honestly? Same.

He’s still cute. Why is he still cute? That should be illegal.

And taller. Was he always this tall? Was I just shorter?

Focus, Raven.

She reached him and gave what she hoped was a breezy, natural smile, even though her heart was hammering loud enough she was pretty sure the whole damn parking lot could hear it.

"Hey," she said, forcing her voice to stay light. "You must be Damian."

She knew full well who he was.

Why didn’t she put two and two together? Her roommate had told her his name was Damian—and it wasn’t like she knew many Damians in the wild. Maybe it was because she was strapped for cash, or maybe that she secretly hoped it was this Damian—

No. Then why did the realization hit her like a truck?

Judging by the way his mouth opened, then closed again like a fish, he was just starting to figure it out too.

"Yeah," he said finally. "And... you're..."

He trailed off, staring at her like his brain had blue-screened.

God, why was this already a disaster?

Abort mission. Fake a sprained ankle. Claim amnesia.

Something.

Instead, Raven laughed—nervous and breathy—and stuck out her hand like they were meeting at a corporate retreat and not about to lie to a hundred strangers about being soulmates.

"I'm your fake date," she said, because someone had to keep this train from derailing completely. “Raven.”

"Nice to meet you."

I already know how infuriatingly incredible you smell, and how irritating you were in our Chemistry class, but yeah, sure…

“Nice to meet you, too.”

He cleared his throat, tore his eyes away, then held out his arm, and said, “shall we?”

Raven tucked her hand into the crook of Damian’s arm—because fake couple, appear natural, don’t be weird—and immediately regretted it when she realized just how solid he was under the jacket.

Oh, great. Perfect. Let’s make this harder, why don’t we?

They started walking toward the big stone building where fairy lights twined around the railings and the faint sound of music drifted out.

Damian leaned in slightly, voice low and fast. "Okay, so….quick crash course."

Raven nodded, hyper-aware of how close his mouth was to her ear. Focus. Focus.

"The groom is my brother—Richard. And the bride-to-be is Kori." He took a quick glance at her, as if gauging her reaction. "You'll be able to tell who they are just by looking at them."

White dress. Probably another insanely attractive man. Because I'm not stupid.

"My grandmother is the short one with the purple dress," he said. "She’ll cry when she sees us. Just go with it."

"Got it," Raven said, hoping she sounded more normal than she felt.

"Then there’s my dad—he’ll probably tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories about me. Ignore half of them.” He closed his eyes momentarily as his lips pressed into a thin line. “No, actually, ignore all of them."

Raven smiled, trying to mentally file that away, but her brain was already spinning uselessly because he smells so damn good.

Clean and warm and some kind of stupid cologne that made her want to lean in like an actual crazy person.

"And—uh—my aunt Samantha." Damian grimaced. "If she corners you, fake a bathroom emergency. She will ask about our future children. Plural."

Raven bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Children.

Right.

Future.

Focus, Raven.

"Cool, cool," she said, voice a little too high. "Bathroom emergencies. Future kids. Crying grandmother. Totally normal day."

He gave her a quick, sideways glance—the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile—and damn it, why was that cute too?

They were almost at the steps now. Voices and laughter were getting louder. A big, happy, chaotic mess waiting to happen.

"Last thing," Damian said, hesitating just before they reached the door. "If anyone asks how we met…say coffee shop."

"Coffee shop. Classic." She gave him a thumbs-up, even though her heart was hammering like a jackrabbit.

He opened the door, holding it for her, and as she stepped inside into a whirl of music, flowers, and chattering strangers, Raven thought:

This is fine. Totally fine.

I am not going to lose my mind fake-dating my college crush at a family wedding.

Nope. Not at all.

The moment they crossed the threshold, it was like stepping into a hurricane. Warmth, chatter, the clink of glasses—and then a woman in a purple dress sprinted toward them with the speed of a much younger person.

"There she is!" the woman cried, flinging her arms wide. "Damian’s girlfriend!"

Raven barely had time to brace herself before she was engulfed in a perfumed, crushing hug.

"Uh—hi!" Raven squeaked, awkwardly patting the woman’s back.

Over the woman’s shoulder, she caught Damian’s face—a tight, panicked little smile that said ‘sorry, you're on your own.’

Fucking coward.

"My baby!" the woman sniffled, pulling back to dab her eyes dramatically. "We thought he'd be alone forever! You are absolutely gorgeous! Are you staying for the whole weekend? You have to stay!"

"Uh—yes—maybe—we’ll see?" Raven said, voice wobbling dangerously. Weekend? The venue was only an hour and a half out of the main city she lived in, did they have a hotel close by?

…Did Damian have a room of his own?

No, Raven. Don’t go there. Focus, goddamnit.

The woman—grandmother, Raven remembered in a flash of terror—grabbed Damian’s hand and their hands together and squeezed, beaming at them like they’d personally cured all her ailments.

Behind her, a whole platoon of relatives was gathering.

Aunts, uncles, cousins—god, so many fucking cousins.

Raven’s stomach dropped to somewhere around her ankles.

Someone was already snapping pictures.

Someone else shouted, "How did you two meet?"

"Coffee shop!" Raven blurted at the exact same time Damian said, "Bookstore!"

A tiny, horrible silence.

Raven felt her soul leave her body.

She shot Damian a glare that obviously read: are you fucking kidding me?!

Thankfully, Damian recovered fast, laughing with a sheepish shrug. "Coffee shop inside a bookstore," he amended. "You know, like those cute ones where you pretend to read but you’re really just people-watching." She hated how effortless his recovery was, and how damned adorable that laugh was.

Focus.

"Ohhhhhh," the grandmother cooed, clutching her chest like they’d just acted out the final scene of a rom-com, which, to her credit, is exactly what it felt like.

Raven laughed, too—too loud, too fake—while mentally screaming.

This is fine. This is fine. I’m not dying inside. I’m not about to faint. Everything. Is. Fine.

Damian’s hand brushed hers, grounding, steady, and she realized he was squeezing gently, like he knew she was two seconds from a full systems shutdown.

She risked a glance up at him.

He was watching her with something almost...soft in his expression.

Oh, no, she thought, as her heart gave a traitorous little skip. I’m so fucking fucked.

Before Raven could even blink, Damian’s grandmother was propelling them across the room toward a small, glittering stage where the soon-to-be newlyweds were surrounded by a mob of admirers.

"Come on, you have to meet Richard!" she said over her shoulder, practically dragging them by sheer willpower.

Raven clutched Damian’s hand like a lifeline—partly for appearances, partly because her legs suddenly felt like they’d been swapped out for uncooked spaghetti.

Up close, Richard looked like he belonged in a magazine catalog—neat hair, crisp tuxedo, easy grin. He spotted Damian immediately and grinned wider, his teeth flashing in a jaw-dropping way that made Raven realize why Damian’s smile had the same effect.

Fucking incredible genetics.

"Damian, you made it!" Richard pulled him into a quick, back-pounding hug. Then his eyes shifted to Raven—and sharpened.

"And you are?" Richard asked, eyebrows lifting just enough to be dangerous.

Raven opened her mouth—but Damian beat her to it, slinging an arm around her shoulders with a casualness that might have fooled everyone else, but she could feel the tension humming under his skin.

"This is Raven," Damian said, casually. "My girlfriend."

Richard’s grin turned downright devilish. "Girlfriend, huh?" He turned back to Damian. "Funny, you never mentioned having a girlfriend."

Raven laughed—a little too high-pitched—and waved awkwardly. "I’m a, uh...recent development."

"Very recent," Damian added quickly. Too quickly.

Richard’s fiancée, a stunning red-headed woman in a shimmering dress, gave a delighted little clap. "Oh, I love that! A whirlwind romance!"

"Exactly," Raven said, nodding so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "So whirlwind. There were...brooms involved."

Damian choked on a laugh next to her, coughing into his hand.

Richard just raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but mercifully—thankfully—decided to let it go.

"For what it's worth," Richard said, clapping Damian’s shoulder with mock gravity, "you definitely traded up, man. Way out of your league."

Raven blushed furiously, half from the compliment, half from the way Damian’s hand squeezed her shoulder a little tighter, like he agreed.

Sure, sure. Not like he’s a solid 11/10.

"Yeah," Damian said, voice weirdly soft. "I know."

Raven’s heart stuttered.

Focus, Raven. Focus. Stop falling for him again at a wedding in front of all his relatives. Jesus.

"Now," Richard’s fiancée announced, turning and practically clapping her hands, "we're about to kick off the first dance…and after that, we’re opening the floor!"

She beamed at them. "You two better be the first ones out there after us!"

Raven laughed weakly, praying for an earthquake, a sudden power outage, a freak lightning strike—literally anything to get her out of this.

But the music was already starting.

Raven stood with Damian just off to the side as the music changed, a soft, slow swell of something orchestral and sweet.

The crowd shifted—people making space, murmuring in excitement—as Richard and his fiancée moved onto the center of the dance floor.

Raven clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, feeling a thousand different things at once: relief that she wasn’t immediately being forced to dance, panic that it was coming soon, and an overwhelming, ridiculous fluttering in her chest from simply being next to Damian.

The bride and groom swayed together, laughing at something private, faces close, the rest of the room disappearing around them.

It was...stupidly beautiful.

Raven bit her lip, feeling that weird, achey warmth settle in her ribs.

Next to her, Damian shifted his weight awkwardly, and she could feel his discomfort radiating off him.

Still, when she glanced up at him, he was watching Richard and his fiancée with a strange, unreadable look on his face.

Soft. Almost...wistful.

Raven's chest tightened painfully.

God, he smells so good.

God, he looks so good.

God, I'm so fucked.

She looked away quickly, pretending to smooth the skirt of her dress, trying to shove the stupid, growing feeling down where it belonged: not here, not now.

The song played on, low and tender. A few other couples—the brave ones—were joining in around the edges, but no one dared intrude too closely.

When Raven risked another glance at Damian, he caught her looking.

Their eyes locked.

For half a second, it was like they were the only two people in the whole building. No fake dating. No families. No paycheck waiting at the end of the night.

Just...them. Standing too close. Breathing the same air.

Then Richard’s fiancée gave a little whoop and shouted, "Everyone, join us!"

The spell broke.

The crowd laughed and clapped, and suddenly Damian, bless his soul, was offering her his hand with the slightly crooked, lopsided smile that had made her an idiot back in college—and apparently still had the same effect now.

"Guess that’s our cue," he said.

Raven swallowed hard and took his hand.

I’m doomed, she thought.

I’m absolutely, one hundred percent doomed.

"You ready to make a fool of me?" he said, voice low enough only she could hear.

Raven let out a shaky breath and put her hand in his. Her fingers trembled a little against his palm. She hoped he didn’t notice.

"Always," she said, because it was easier to joke than admit her heart was about to punch its way out of her chest.

Raven let Damian lead her onto the dance floor, weaving through clusters of laughing couples. Her heart hammered so hard she could practically hear it above the soft tune of the ballad.

She tried to focus on the basics: left foot, right foot, don't trip, don't humiliate yourself—but then Damian’s hands found her waist, gentle and solid, and her brain promptly short-circuited.

He was warm. Steady. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, like he was terrified of holding her wrong.

Raven rested her hands on his shoulders—tried to, anyway.

Somewhere in the process, her fingers brushed the back of his neck, and Damian shivered.

Actually shivered.

Oh.

Oh no.

That’s bad.

…Or good?

They started swaying to the slow beat, small steps at first, neither of them really talking, both way too focused on pretending to be normal.

Raven stole a glance up at him.

He wasn’t looking at her—not directly—but his jaw was tight, and his brow was furrowed like he was working through some complicated math problem.

Probably the same one she was: how do you dance with someone you’re supposed to be faking it with when it feels...well…

The music wrapped around them, soft and sweet, and little by little, the space between them shrank.

Not enough for the relatives watching from the sidelines to comment.

But enough that Raven could feel the heat of Damian's chest against hers, the whisper of his breath near her temple.

Enough to make her dizzy.

He smells so fucking good, she thought miserably.

He’s so fucking close.

I’m going to do something so incredibly fucking stupid.

She cleared her throat—desperate to say something, anything—but when she opened her mouth, what came out was:

"You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be."

Damian’s mouth twitched. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it or leave it," she said, forcing a grin.

He laughed quietly—the sound low and a little rough, like he wasn’t used to doing it—and her heart flipped over in her chest.

"I’ll take it," he said. His voice was different now. Softer. Warmer.

Their eyes met again, and this time neither of them looked away.

The music slowed further, the world narrowing until it was just the two of them. Hands tightening slightly. Breaths catching.

For a heartbeat—one, two, fuck, maybe three—it felt like he was about to lean in. Like maybe, just maybe, he wanted to kiss her.

Raven's heart soared and stuttered all at once. And then—

Damian’s eyes shifted beside her as his lips twitched into what could be described as a pained smile. “Richard is staring,” he whispered, leaning in closer so that his words were almost pressed into her ears. Almost. “Correction: my whole family is staring.”

His arms tightened around her waist as he began to trail one hand softly up her bare back, causing her nerves to explode with a sudden surge of electricity—of course I picked this backless dress, out of all dresses, out of all days.

Raven let out a forced giggle, helplessly trying to thwart the thought of how small and fragile and…safe she felt in his arms. “I mean…that’s good, right?”

He made a considering noise before flatly stating, “run your hands through my hair.”

Raven gawked, trying to mask her surprise and humiliation as if he hadn’t suggested she do something that could literally burn her from the inside out. “Excuse me?” she squealed into the safety of his neck.

He pulled away slightly, just enough that he could meet her gaze. The sparkling string lights above reflected in his eyes and she miserably recalled why she'd deliberately avoided making direct eye contact with him throughout college. Because he had these stunning emerald green eyes with flecks of gold that seemed to capture and magnify every speck of light in the room, transforming them into tiny constellations that threatened to pull her into their orbit. Because he had this sexy scar bisecting his left eyebrow, a thin silver line that told stories of some long-ago recklessness that only made him more intriguing. Because he had these lips that looked. So. Damn. Kissable. Full and slightly curved at the corners, as if perpetually on the verge of a knowing smirk that said he could read every forming inappropriate thought crossing her mind.

His voice dropped even lower, even gruffer—even sexier. “Trust me.”

She might have whimpered at his voice, his suggestion, the way he was looking at her—fuck, at this point she didn’t know, didn’t care—but regardless, she obeyed, lifting one hand to his temple. She cautiously ran her fingers through his hair, brushing a curl away from his ridiculously handsome face. His hair felt exactly as soft as she'd imagined, like satin beneath her touch, and she couldn't resist admiring how it shimmered in the gentle lighting.

His eyes fluttered closed and, maybe he groaned, maybe she was imagining it, but damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

This was a dangerous game.

I’m so so so fucked.

Someone nearby wolf-whistled.

"Get a room!" someone else hollered.

They broke apart instantly, both laughing a little too loudly, stepping back like they’d been caught doing something illegal.

Raven’s face burned hot enough to start fires.

Damian raked a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at her.

"We’re doing great," he muttered under his breath. "Really selling it." He cleared his throat. “That was great.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the nerves, the music, or the way Damian kept sneaking glances at her like he didn’t want to stop touching her, but right then, in the middle of the dance floor, she realized something terrifying:

What if I'm not faking it?

As if answering her silent prayer, the music faded out, replaced by the soft clink of silverware being unwrapped. Around them, couples broke apart and began drifting toward their assigned tables, where waitstaff in crisp white uniforms glided between chairs with trays of garden salads. The timing couldn't have been better—Raven needed space to breathe, to process whatever was happening between them. She followed Damian through the crowd, hyperaware of his hand resting lightly against the small of her back as he guided them toward their table, where the first course awaited.

Thank god. Time to regroup and calm the spinning, tumbling, tripping thoughts in her mind.

Raven collapsed into her chair at the long banquet table, trying not to visibly hyperventilate. Her heart was still doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Her body still tingled from the soft touch of his fingers against her waist.

Damian sat down next to her, way too casually for someone who had just made her liquid with one simple touch in front of a bunch of strangers.

He picked up a glass of water like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just held her like she actually meant something to him. Like he hadn’t practically melted her bones.

Raven stabbed her fork into her salad, missing the lettuce entirely and spearing the tablecloth.

Smooth.

She yanked it back quickly, cheeks burning, and focused very hard on pretending to read the menu card in front of her.

Meanwhile, Damian shifted beside her. His knee brushed hers under the table—a tiny touch, probably accidental—and Raven jumped like someone had tasered her.

"You okay?" Damian asked under his breath, leaning toward her.

She could feel his breath on her ear, could smell the faint, ridiculous hint of his aftershave again—clean, woodsy, warm.

Raven nodded, a jerky little bob. "Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?"

Damian simply smiled—a small, secretive thing—and settled back into his seat.

As the waiters started bringing out the main course, Raven tried desperately to focus on anything else: the glittering fairy lights above them, the buzz of conversation, the random old uncle arguing about fantasy football three seats down.

But it was impossible.

Because all she could think about was:

1. How Damian's hand was resting on the table inches from hers, fingers loose and inviting.

2. How his pinky kept twitching like he maybe, possibly, wanted to touch her again.

3. How stupidly, unfairly handsome he looked right now—jacket unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened, hair a mess from her fingers spearing through it.

God.

She was so far past fucked it wasn’t even funny.

Halfway through the main course, Damian shifted again and—definitely very deliberately this time—bumped his knee against hers under the table. It didn’t help that the dress slit at her thigh, making it so his knee collided with her very bare, very warm skin.

Raven froze.

When she glanced sideways, he wasn’t even looking at her.

Just smirking a little to himself, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

The worst part?

She wanted to kick him.

And also maybe jump him right there between the bread baskets. Or climb him like a tree.

"Having fun yet?" Damian murmured, still not looking at her.

Raven stabbed another piece of lettuce with unnecessary violence.

"Having the time of my life," she said sweetly. "Thanks for asking."

Damian chuckled—low and soft—and finally, finally looked at her.

His eyes were bright and mischievous and something else too—something warmer, no something much hotter. Scalding, even.

Something that told her that maybe…maybe…he wasn’t faking anymore either.

Then, someone tapped Damian on the shoulder from behind, a strong hand in an ink-black suit. She turned around quickly and looked up…and up.

“Father,” Damian chuckled, pushing himself out of the seat and turning to face his impossibly even taller father. “This is Raven.” He held out a hand to help her up. “My girlfriend.”

Somehow the word held more conviction this time. Perhaps it was because it was his father he was lying to? Perhaps it was because of…

Focus, Raven.

“Nice to meet you, Raven,” Bruce smiled as he shook Raven’s hand with a sturdiest handshake she’d ever received. “I’m Bruce, but I’m sure you know that by now.��

She froze slightly and resisted the urge to throw a sideways glance at Damian for not telling her his father's name. She knew Samantha. Kori. Richard. But his father? That would have been helpful information. What was she supposed to do if she had bumped into him at the bar and he started talking to her? ‘Oh, hello random wealthy-looking man I've never formally met before.’ That would have been absolutely mortifying.

Instead, the only morsel of information she received was that he that might spill some embarrassing stories about the seemingly perfect man beside her. Internally, she snorted. She had to admit it, though, she’d pay good money to hear those stories.

Maybe her thought wasn’t as subtle as she intended, as Damian glanced at her with a challenging look in his eyes.

As if on cue, Bruce opened his mouth with a wide grin, and she felt Damian brace himself beside her, but then someone carrying a large camera cut beside them and took a picture, the click and flash stopping Bruce’s sentence even before it formed.

Damnit. She could have received all that useful information for…research. Or blackmail. Or both.

“Oh, get a picture of just these two lovebirds!” Bruce said, shooting Damian a wink. “It’s not every day this one is seen with a girlfriend.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Damian muttered under his breath as Bruce ushered them into an area that had a carved marble archway. The delicate stone vines seemed to dance with real roses, their petals catching the warm glow of dozens of dancing candles. Strands of twinkling fairy lights wove through the stonework like captured starlight, creating an ethereal curtain that transformed the simple archway into something out of a fairytale.

It was…magical.

Like straight out of a rom-com magical. What was going to happen now—a fake kiss?

She nearly scoffed at the thought, then, she heard it:

“Kiss for the camera!”

Raven’s stomach dropped straight to her toes. Fuck, I manifested that.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

It started small—probably one of Damian’s obnoxious cousins—but it spread like wildfire, picking up volume, until the whole room was chanting.

Raven froze, her eyes snapping to Damian’s.

He looked just as panicked as she felt, one hand still half-extended like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to run for the exit or drop to one knee.

Oh God.

This is happening.

This is actually happening.

Around them, the crowd was clapping, laughing, jeering like this was the halftime show at a football game and not, you know, her imminent emotional collapse.

Damian gave her a helpless look—the tiniest shrug, a ‘what can you do?’ grimace—and then stepped closer.

"Sorry," he murmured under his breath, voice barely audible over the noise.

Sorry for what, making me humiliate myself in front of your family by fainting right in this spot?

And then he cupped her face with both hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Raven’s brain completely shut off. Just—static. Pure, white-noise panic.

He was warm, and steady, and close, and when he dipped his head to kiss her, she froze. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage, her breath hitched in her throat. A part of her wanted to bolt—to turn and run as far as her legs would carry her—while another part remained rooted to the spot, terrified and yet inexplicably anticipating, desperately wanting, what was about to happen. Her whole body tingled with nervous energy, and she wondered, absurdly, if she remembered how to kiss at all. And then his lips met hers, and everything around her—the laughter, the clapping, the music—all of it blurred into nothing.

It wasn’t a fake kiss.

It wasn’t a peck-for-show.

It was soft, careful, real.

His lips brushed hers once, tentative—like he was asking permission—and when she didn’t immediately combust or flee the building, he kissed her again. Deeper this time. Slower.

Raven’s hands slid up without thinking, one curling into the front of his jacket, the other through the soft strands of his hair. Holding on.

Damian's thumbs stroked lightly across her cheeks, and he tilted his head just enough to slot their mouths together even more perfectly—and god, it was so much worse than she thought it would be.

Worse because it was perfect.

Because it felt good.

Too good.

His lips were impossibly warm against hers, demanding yet somehow gentle as they moved with practiced confidence. When his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, she opened for him with a small, desperate sound she'd deny making later. Heat bloomed low in her belly as he deepened the kiss, tasting faintly of champagne and something darker, something uniquely him. His fingers slid from her cheeks to tangle in her hair, angling her head back slightly as he continued his thorough, devastating exploration of her mouth. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to catch fire at once, and Raven knew with absolute certainty she was completely, utterly, without-a-doubt fucked.

Her heart was hammering, her body buzzing, and when she finally broke the kiss, it wasn’t because she wanted to.

It was because she had to—lungs burning, head spinning. She was literally about to explode.

A roar of cheers and whistles exploded around them, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. All of her senses—the smell of Damian, the taste of Damian, the feeling of his lips on hers—made her completely forget that they were sharing a kiss for just a fucking picture. In front of literally everyone.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Did they almost have a full-blown make out session in front of his entire family?

Raven blinked, dazed, as Damian dropped his hands and took an abrupt step back, shoving his own through his hair again like he was physically restraining himself from grabbing her and doing the same damn thing all over again.

"Wow," someone said nearby. "Get married already!"

Raven laughed—breathless and wobbly—and ducked her head, pretending to be bashful so no one could see the absolute chaos happening on her face.

They just witnessed the best fucking kiss I’ve ever had in my entire fucking life.

Damian leaned closer, just barely, so only she could hear:

"See? That...that wasn’t too bad, was it?"

Raven risked a glance up at him.

His cheeks were pink. His eyes were shining. His lips were parted, and slightly tinted by her lip gloss on his perfect fucking lips.

And suddenly, she didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

She felt like kissing him again.

So bad it was almost a physical ache.

I’m so fucking screwed, she thought wildly for the hundredth time all evening.

When they made their way back to the main room, Raven barely made it through the main course without combusting.

Between Damian’s occasional knee taps, the stolen glances, and the lingering awareness of that kiss—that kiss—she felt like she was walking around with an electrified wire running under her skin.

So when Damian leaned in and said, "Come on. You look like you’re about to faint," and tugged gently on her wrist under the table—she didn’t even hesitate.

She followed him out of the crowded hall, through a side door and down a quiet garden path lit by fairy lights and paper lanterns. The night air was cooler, softer, and Raven gulped it in like a drowning woman. Moonlight dappled the cobblestones between the swaying shadows of cypress trees, and the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine wrapped around them like an invisible mist. In the distance, the muffled sounds of the party drifted out through leaded glass windows, but here, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the whisper of a fountain somewhere in the darkness, it felt like they'd stepped into another world entirely.

Damian slowed once they were away from the noise, shoving his hands into his pockets, glancing at her sideways.

"You okay?" he asked again, quieter this time.

Raven nodded quickly, wrapping her arms around herself for something to latch onto that wasn't the toned muscles of his chest. "I’m fine. Just—" She blew out a breath. "Your family’s a lot."

He chuckled. "Tell me about it."

They walked a few more steps in easy silence. The sounds of the party continued to fade behind them—laughter and clinking glasses dimming into the background—until it felt like they were the only two people left in the world.

Raven risked a sideways glance. In the soft light, Damian looked…different. Less guarded. More...real.

She was so busy trying not to stare at the cut of his jaw, the way one curl of his hair fell a little into his eyes, that she almost missed what he said next.

"You know," Damian said, voice casual but rough around the edges, "I recognized you."

Raven blinked. "What?"

"From college." He shrugged, kicking a loose stone along the path. "You were friends with Liam, right? You were at that Halloween party sophomore year. The one where the guy set the microwave on fire.” He chuckled, as if recalling a fond memory. “Plus, chemistry study group where you…you…you know…”

Raven's mouth fell open. "You remember that?"

Damian smiled a little—and it wasn’t the fake, charming smile he used for the family. It was smaller. Realer.

"Yeah," he said. "I remember you."

Raven's brain short-circuited all over again. In a full-blown, fight-or-flight panic, her mouth decided to override her survival instincts entirely and blurt out:

"I thought you were cute."

Dead. She was dead.

Absolutely fucked—and not in the way she wanted.

The words just exploded out of her, and there was no taking them back now.

Raven slapped a hand over her mouth like that would somehow rewind time. Damian turned to stare at her, eyebrows raised, clearly fighting a smile.

"You did?" he said, sounding waaaaaaay too pleased with himself.

Raven made a tiny strangled noise in the back of her throat that she'd definitely deny later, too. "I meant—I—like, objectively! Like, 'oh yeah, he's cute'—but like, in a normal way. In a 'everyone thinks that' way. Not a me way. Specifically. Not that I thought about it! Because I didn’t. Obviously. That would be—"

Damian stepped closer.

Raven’s words tripped over themselves and died.

He wasn’t smirking now. Not really. He was just...looking at her. Soft and a little wondering, like she was some kind of puzzle he was starting to understand.

"You still think so?" he asked quietly.

Raven opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And then, very bravely, very stupidly, she nodded once.

Damian smiled—a real one this time, wide and a little crooked—and Raven felt her knees threaten to give out.

"Good," he said simply.

And for a second, it felt like maybe he was going to kiss her again. Right there under the fairy lights. For real this time. Maybe more than just a five-second kiss for show.

Raven’s heart soared and plummeted in the same breath.

The night breeze ruffled his dark hair, making it dance across his forehead in a way that seemed almost unfair. Raven couldn't help but stare, drinking in every detail of his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the slight quirk of his lips, the intensity in his eyes that made something deep in her chest constrict painfully. She looked at him like she was trying to memorize him, like she was afraid this moment might slip away if she dared to blink. And then, he simply just reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers barely grazing her cheek.

It was nothing, but somehow…it was everything.

Raven swayed toward him without meaning to, her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Much to her surprise, Damian caught her, both his hands resting on the sides of her arms, so warm, so steady, so…right. Guess she swayed more than she thought she had.

"Come on," Damian said, voice low and impossibly soft. "Before they come looking for us." And then he offered his hand, palm up, like it was the easiest, most natural, most instinctive thing in the world.

Raven stared at it for half a second—at the long fingers, the callused skin—and then placed her hand in his.

His fingers curled around hers, lacing through them in a way that felt like he'd done it a thousand times before—and wouldn't mind doing it a thousand times more.

And for the first time all night, Raven knew neither of them were pretending anymore.

[theangeltopaz]

“TEDDY BEAR.”

SYNOPSIS. You finally decide to take Whitney on a proper date. Of course, as all things with Whitney do, it evolves into something more. WC. 4.9k

CONTENT. SubBot!Whitney, DomTop!Reader, amab reader, implied taller reader, pre-established relationship, smoking, soft sex, dacryphilia, praise (char. receiving), Whitney has tongue and nipple piercings, unprotected sex, anal, fingering, spit as lube, oral (char. receiving), overstimulation, cum eating, exhibitionism? (yall do it with the window open, but i was picturing it as a screened window that just led to a backyard so)

AUTHOR’S NOTE. This was definitely an excuse to write sub Whit. I fucking love a Whitney that’s a loser for his boyfriend, if you couldn’t tell. Might be ooc Whit. Partially inspired by @hellsslibrary ‘s headcanons. Please be merciful if this is bad, as I’ve never written smut and I haven’t written fanfic in a while. Also I’m acearo and a virgin, so we’ll see how this goes. I may end up writing a hard dom reader in the future, but for now take soft dom reader. I wrote the majority of this whilst listening to Mitski. Constructive criticism and tips are very much accepted and appreciated!

If you choose to click ‘Keep Reading’, you are consenting to reading smut.

Yeah, this date was probably the smartest idea you’ve had in a while. Or Sydney had. 

Because now you were cuddling a soft Whitney after sex.

Pretty nice, ain’t it?

       Let’s go back to when this started. You were in the library with Sydney, absentmindedly picking up books and admiring the cover or reading the synopsis. “Syd, do you know of any good date spots? I feel like Whit and I haven’t gone on a proper date in a while.”

       Sydney probably wasn’t the best person to ask this, considering the fact that you’re pretty sure he’s never been on a date. But you guys were close friends, so who else were you supposed to ask?

       “I mean, if I were to go on a date, we would probably go for a walk near the temple-“ he started.

       “No temple.” 

       “Fine. No temple. Uhm, you could go to the park-“

       “We have been to the park. Many times.”

       “Right, I forgot about that,” he said, recalling some of the tales of your… escapades with Whitney in the park. “Uhm, the arcade?”

       “…We have an arcade?”

       “Yeah…?”

       “Okay, thanks so so much Syd.  You’re a lifesaver,” you said, beginning to walk away. You then realized something and turned back around. “Where exactly is the arcade?”

       He laughed a little. “I’ll send you the address.”

       Your shoes squeaked against the hallway tile as you walked. Entering the cafeteria, you took in the many lunch tables. “Where the fuck is Whitney?” you mumbled to yourself. Which was reasonable, considering the fact that you saw Whitney’s friends, the ones you so despised, but not Whitney himself. You needed to talk to him about that date idea Syd had given you yesterday. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t see him in math class either. Sometimes you feel like pulling a Kylar and putting a tracker on Whitney. Once again, reasonable considering you never seemed to know where he was. Maybe he was skipping school, but wouldn’t his friends be with him? You got out your phone to text the blonde. Strange. You had one unread message from him, sent this morning.

       “There you are, slut,” someone said, grabbing your wrist. You slipped your phone into your pocket and let the person lead you. Of course, you knew immediately who that someone was, considering their voice and choice of a vulgar nickname.

       “Hello to you, too, Whitney,” you responded. You didn’t question where he was dragging you, much to his surprise. Instead, you decided to inquire about something else. “Where have you been?”

       “Don’t worry about that,” he grumbled. Did you always look this pretty? Why did you always worry about him?

       “Where are we going?”

       “Shut up, slut.” Nevermind. You asked too many questions.

       “Okay, fine.”

       Whitney pushed you into the bathroom and locked the door. It’s clear that his actions are fueled by lust. He pressed you against the wall with his own body. He’s been thinking about this, about you since this morning. “Did you not see what I texted you?” he asked, seething with both anger and desire.

       “No? I actually try to pay attention in class,” you said, rolling your eyes. Whitney often found himself hating that you actually tried in school, because that’s more time you spend in the library and less with him.

       “Whatever, slut,” Whitney said, then he pulled you down and pressed his lips to yours. Finally, he got what he was waiting for. The kiss was rough, deep, desperate. You wrapped an arm around his waist, whilst your other hand traced up and down his spine. You were always so gentle and rough at the same time. He wasn’t usually this needy for you, but sometimes Whitney’s mind got the better of him.

       The blonde continued pressing up against you and you continued kissing him. One of your hands trailed from Whitney’s back to his jaw. You tilted his head up to make this a little easier for yourself. In turn, the kiss grew more forceful. Your hand on his jaw moved behind his head, gripping on his hair roughly. He groaned in response to your treatment. Fuck, why did you always do this to him?

       You bit down not-so-gently on his bottom lip. The oh-so-scary Whitney let out a goddamn low whine and opened his mouth. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, forcing his jaw to open wider. His own tongue slid into your mouth, the cold metal of his tongue piercing brushing over your tongue. The blonde could taste something saccharine on your tongue, a taste that was so distinctly you. Whitney could feel himself losing any train of thought. He hated that you always knew how to make his head feel fuzzy and his body feel warm. He started leaning on you, relying on you for support.

       You broke the kiss, only to ask,“Was this what that text was about?” You were seriously choosing now of all times to start talking to him? “Hurry up, slut,” Whitney muttered as he grabbed onto your hair, making you moan. You pulled the blonde’s head back by his hair and latched onto his jaw. You made your way down his jaw and neck, sucking hard, just how he liked it. He was sure his neck would be purple tomorrow, if not just later. You licked over a certain spot, your teeth grazing over it. He whined again (how did you always know how to make him whine?) and just as you were about to bite down…

       The bell rang. You rolled your eyes, obviously annoyed, and pulled back.

       “Keep going, slut,” Whitney grumbled, looking up at you and glaring. Since when did you stop because of the bell? It wouldn’t be the first time you both had gotten in trouble for skipping class to fuck.

       “I’d rather not get detention, considering the fact that we have plans after school,” you responded. Plans?

       “The fuck do you mean we ‘have plans’?”

       “I’m taking you on an actual date, for once. To the arcade.”

       “…Why?”

       “When was the last time we went on an actual date?“

       “…Fine.” Whitney hated to admit it, but you had a point. It had been a while since your last date. And, he could use this as an excuse to get you to come home with him and finish where you left off…

       “Okay, baby. Love you.” You always insisted on being so affectionate, not that he minded.

       “Shut up, slut,” Whitney muttered, “Love you too.” He could feel a hint of red in his cheeks. His body was betraying him at the worst possible moment right now.

       You laughed. Fuck, your smile was gorgeous. Did your voice always sound that good? Maybe he was going insane. “See you after class, Whit,” you said, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and walking away. He let you leave. He couldn’t help but look forward to tonight.

       Jesus fucking Christ, Whitney hated it here. As soon as the final bell rang, he was out of class. He could see you chatting with Sydney as you walked out of the doors. Little did he know that you were really just trying to keep your eye out for a certain blonde that you so adored. 

       Sydney wished you goodbye as he started walking away, probably to the temple. You were still looking for Whitney.

       “Hey slut.” You seemed caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the person you were looking for. You intertwined your hand with his. “Hey, Whit.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead for the second time today. Whitney could pretend he hated how soft you were with him, but you could always make him melt. Sure , he liked when you were rough too, but with your gentle kisses and your reverent way of touching him and the pleasant nights you spent together… God, his thoughts were trailing again. He could feel himself turning red.

       “What are you thinking about, Whit? You’re blushing a lot,” you said smugly, pulling Whitney out of his thoughts. Fuck you and his perceptiveness. You were unfairly good at reading him.

       “Shut up, slut. Are we going or not?” the blonde said, attempting to change the subject. Anything to get you to stop talking about him. Otherwise, Whitney might end up begging on his knees for you to fuck him. And he did not beg.

       “Okay, okay.” Whitney watched you take out your phone. Your background was a photo you took of you and him, back when you had first started dating. You had managed to get him to begrudgingly do a hand heart with you and you were so proud of that moment that you made it your wallpaper. As much as Whitney didn’t want to admit it, he liked that photo.

       You opened your messages with Sydney and plugged the address that he gave you into your maps. He felt you tug his hand and you both started walking in the direction of the arcade.

       “It really has been forever since we went on an actual date,” you said, sounding rather excited. Whitney could tell that even if you sounded eager, you were just trying to occupy the silence. If he was being honest, and as much as he did like your voice, he was content to just admire you, to trace your features with his eyes, and to think about everything you could do to him… Fuck, his thoughts were trailing again.

       “Yeah, it has,” Whitney said in response, sounding completely out of it. Probably because he was.

       “You feeling okay? You’ve been zoning out a lot.” You sounded concerned. You were always worrying about him, caring for him. God, even in the bedroom, you were so… sweet. He was blushing again. You really had made your way into his heart. You had the first day you both met.

       “I’m feeling fine, M/N.”

       “Hm, you didn’t call me ‘slut’ for once.”

       Whitney smiled a little. “Don’t think too much of it, slut.”

       You smiled in turn and said. “You’re so pretty when you smile genuinely.”

       The arcade was a short walk from the school, probably to attract students who just got off. You don’t know how you didn’t know about it. Your steps transitioned from loud to almost silent as you went from the dull sidewalk to the colorful carpet of the arcade. There were people everywhere and screens flashing with various game titles. It was filled with the buzz of laughter and noise from various machines. You looked at Whitney, meeting his eyes. “Where do you want to start?”

       “Hm…” He smirked and dragged you to one of those two-person shooter games. “Here.”

       “Alright!” 

       You both sat down in the seats provided for the game and you slid some money in the machine. While the beginning cutscene played and you watched, Whitney was staring at you. He knew you liked these sorts of games and he liked how focused you got during them. The light from the screen highlighted your facial features and the grin on your face. 

       As the actual game started, you immediately delved right in and started shooting the black tar monsters. Whitney snapped out his trance and started playing too. You both easily passed through the first few rounds of the game. There were points where you had to revive each other, but you both were having fun. When you both had finally died without being able to revive, you had accumulated a ton of tickets. 

       Whitney wasn’t focused on that, though. The look of joy and determination on your face was his entertainment right now. He loved how you looked when you were focused. After the game, you looked at Whitney with an emotion in your eyes that could only be called adoration. “You lead the way, Whit.”

       By the time you both were done, you'd played almost every game in the arcade. Right now, Whitney was watching you as you concentrated on a claw machine. You were trying to line up the claw perfectly to win Whitney a teddy bear. Of course, you knew of his collection of plushies, so you were determined to win this for him.

       Whitney, of course, was more preoccupied with looking at you. For the millionth time today, he thought about your face now and compared it to the way you acted in the bedroom. He loved when you focused solely upon him, when you fixated upon pleasuring him. The way your eyes and hands and mouth ran over him… You were probably the best lover he’d ever known, with the way you treated him. He was far from ready to admit that, though.

       Your laugh brought the blonde out of his thoughts. Whitney watched as you bent down—he hardly resisted the urge to slap your ass—and excitedly grabbed the teddy bear you had been trying so hard to get for him. You handed it to him triumphantly, saying,“For you, baby.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then to his mouth. He, shockingly, let you get through all three before (lightly) shoving you off him.

       “Thanks, slut,” he muttered. He was blushing and clutching onto the teddy bear tightly.

       “So, what are you thinking we do with the tickets?” you said, grinning at his flustered expression.

       You ended up buying another plushie for Whitney and some candy with the tickets you both collected. He was laying his head in your lap as you sat in Whit’s bed and passed back and forth a cigarette. Whitney was holding onto the teddy bear you won him. The sun was starting to set outside and casted a golden glow on the room, making it look like the confession scene of an 80s romcom. The first wisps of the cool night air passed through the open window.

       Whitney could feel you gently trace the line of his jaw as he breathed in smoke from his cigarette. He tilted his head toward your touch. You were looking at him with that look in your eyes again, the one he had seen many times before. That look of pure love. You were the only one to ever look at him that way. As much as Whitney loved your affection, he didn’t know how he deserved it.

       The blonde breathed the smoke out, and clumsily sat up in your lap whilst still holding the bear. He straddled your lap, each of his legs bordering your hips. The golden rays of sunlight hit your features perfectly and reflected in your eyes, which met his. Although the room was silent, a thousand words were spoken in that moment.

       Whitney brought the cigarette to your lips. You closed your eyes and breathed in deeply as you continued to trace his face. Whitney pulled the cigarette away from your face as you exhaled. The smoke framed your head like a halo. It was almost ironic, because, in Whitney’s eyes, you were simultaneously so close and so far from being an angel. You were compassionate and affectionate, but you could be downright sinful with your gentle hands and honeyed kisses.

       Whitney inhaled from the cigarette again. This time, before exhaling, he connected your lips. He breathed the smoke into your mouth. You pulled back and breathed out.

       Whitney extinguished the cigarette, before reconnecting your lips. You kissed him back with a certain reverence. Earlier, your kisses were quick and rough. Now, they were sensual and tender. 

       You cradled his face in one hand, whilst the other rested on his hip. Whitney leaned into the gentle caress of your hand as he continued kissing you slowly.

       You broke the kiss with a soft smile. “Relax your jaw for me, yeah?” you had asked in that fucking enticing tone of yours that always compelled him to listen.

       After he nodded, you kissed Whitney again, and he did as you asked of him. You pushed your tongue past his soft lips and traced the inside of his mouth with it. Whitney let out a soft groan as he sucked on your tongue. You tasted like the tobacco of the cigarette you had just smoked.

       You pulled back from his lips, causing the blonde to let out a soft whine. “It’s alright, Whit,” you whispered reassuringly, as you started pressing soft kisses to his neck that was already littered with bruises from earlier. Whitney tilted his head up so you could have better access. Your mouth caressed his skin continuously, occasionally nibbling or licking him a little. Your persistence caused the blonde to let out soft moans of pleasure, which got a little louder when you bit down a little harder.

       Your hands moved to the buttons of Whit’s shirt. You asked, once again in that soft tone of yours,“Do you want to go further?”

       Whitney nodded his head, muttering a soft ‘yes.’ His brain was a little too fuzzy to focus on words right now. He still held on to the teddy bear you won him, fidgeting with its fur as you unbuttoned his shirt.

       As soon as you undid the last button, you slipped the shirt off him. “You’re always so pretty, Whit.” Whitney blushed at your shameless admiration of his body. You looked at him like an angel fallen to earth.

       You flipped your positions, making Whitney lie down on the bed with you over him. His body hit the mattress with a silent ‘umph’. You resumed pressing kisses to his body, this time to his torso. Your mouth ran over his collarbone, before moving down to his chest. 

       Your tongue flicked over the cold metal piercing in one of his nipples, whilst your hand came up to play with the other one. He moaned and shivered at the just feeling of your touch, the sensation going straight to his dick. Fuck, his head was spinning and you had hardly don’t anything.

       Whitney arched his back up into your stimulation of his chest. You switched, sucking on the other bud whilst you rolled the one you were sucking on between your index finger and thumb. “More…!” Whitney moaned. He was pretty sure you knew his body better than he did, as you knew how to pleasure every sensitive spot that made him so vocal.

       After you were sure you had given each of his tits equal attention, you pulled off. Whitney tried to seem angry at you, but he just ended up whining instead.

       “Mm, it’s okay, Whit. I’m gonna take care of you.” Whitney looked up at you, meeting your eyes. You looked at him softly, like he meant the world to you.

       You slipped off your shirt, throwing it somewhere behind you. Whitney traced a hand over your torso, the other still clutching the bear, as you made him spread his legs a bit wider. He let out a low moan when you gripped his thighs and slipped one of your legs against his crotch.

       Your hands moved to the waistband of his pants, and your fingers traced the line where skin met fabric. “Hurry up, slut…” he muttered, but there was no malice behind it.

       “Alright,” you whispered against the skin of his neck, causing him to shudder against you. “You’re planning on holding onto the bear?”

       Whitney silently nodded his head, too embarrassed to admit it out loud.

       “Okay, baby.” You unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, slipping them off his legs. You thumbed at the edge of his boxers and cupped his dick through it, causing Whit to whine. Why were you choosing now of all times to be unfair? You laughed a little at his whine, biting down gently on the junction between his neck and shoulder whilst massaging his tip through his boxers. “Agh- please…” Whitney moaned. He then blushed, realizing he was practically begging for your affection. He attempted to hid his face in the bear his was still holding.

       “Patience, Whit,” you said, but proceeded to contradict yourself and gave him what he wished for anyway. You slipped your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down all the way. His dick slapped against his stomach, already dripping pearlescent precum.

       “You never fail to take my breath away, baby.” You and your dulcet words often left Whitney desperate and wanting. With the way you looked at him, one could have sworn the blonde had hung the stars by hand. 

       You slipped off the rest of your own clothing as quickly as you could, revealing your own hard cock. Once completely stripped, you caressed both of Whitney’s thighs and brought his legs to wrap around your waist. Your gentle touch had him feel like he was floating.

       Your fingers traced up Whitney’s dick, collecting beads of precum that had dripped down. “P-please! need you…” he moaned, clutching on tightly to the teddy bear. Whitney’s usual facade slipped only a little when he was with you normally, but during sex, you stripped him down with your persistent hands and unwavering gaze.

       “I know, Whit, I’ve got you.” You brought your fingers, which were lightly coated in Whitney’s own fluids, to his mouth. He parted his lips, allowing you to push two of your fingers in. The blonde whimpered at his own salty taste and the inherent intimacy of consuming his precum from your fingers. He sucked on them, swirling his tongue as you scissored the digits in his mouth. He looked at you wordlessly, but you knew him well enough to tell he was begging for more.

       You pushed a third finger in his mouth, thrusting in and out. Once you determined that your fingers were wet enough, you removed them from Whitney’s lips. You brought the digits back down to his pelvis, grazing his flushed tip teasingly, before bringing them to his ass.

       “Please…” Whitney muttered. He looked up at you with desperation in his gaze in an attempt to get you to conform to his whims.

       “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you whispered. Two of your fingers breached the tight ring of muscles, aided by Whitney’s saliva, and began to stretch him out. You thrusted the digits in and out him, scissoring occasionally.

       This contributed to the loss of Whitney’s already slipping control, as he was already having trouble forming coherent thoughts. He attempted to bite back a moan when he felt you slip a third finger in him.

       “Taking it so well, hm? I wanna hear you. You’ve been so good for me so far, you’ll get something better soon, Whit,” you said, your voice a bit gruff with arousal. You continued thrusting your fingers into Whitney, drawing more moans and whines from him.

       Deeming him stretched out enough, you pulled your fingers out of Whitney. He whined at the sudden emptiness and clenched around nothing.

       “What did I say, Whitney? You’ll get something better soon.” You used any remaining liquid on your fingers to slick up your own dick, before lining your tip up. You tilted his hips up a bit for better access and pushed the tip in.

       Whitney keened. You groaned, saying,“Fuck, you’re still tight. Relax for me, okay? Don’t want this to hurt.” He listened to you, relaxing his muscles a bit. Although he was still a little tense, Whitney was loose enough that you could push in deeper.

       You grabbed onto his hips, tightly enough to bruise, as you finally bottomed out, causing both Whitney and yourself to moan. The blonde’s breathing was labored, and sweat was beading on his brow. You filled him up so well. He clutched the bear tightly to his chest in an attempt to ground himself. “God, you feel so good Whit. So pretty for me. I’m gonna move now, okay?” 

       Whitney nodded in response, already struggling to form words. He gasped as you began to pull out of him and thrusted right back in. You began with a slow pace, much to Whitney’s disappointment.

       As you continued at that slow pace, Whitney’s desperation brought him to tears. He felt so close to cumming, yet so far. “Please…” he sobbed, finally breaking completely down,“Need more…” He held on tightly to the teddy bear, staining it with his tears.

       Seeing Whitney cry only led to more arousal on your part. “Fuck, Whit, you look so good, taking me so well. I’ve got you.” He whined at your praise. 

       You started to pound into him faster, finally doing what Whitney wanted you to. When you began to thrust into his prostate head on, he practically screamed and came without warning. His neediness surely contributed to his quick orgasm too. You groaned at the feeling of him clenching around you. The white liquid coated his stomach, some of it (unfortunately) getting on the bear. 

       However, when you went even faster—fueled by the lust seeing him cry brought you—Whitney started wailing more. One of his hands still held the teddy bear for comfort, whilst the other dug into the skin of your neck.

       Your extreme pace has Whitney seeing stars. His dick started leaking again when he wasn’t even fully recovered from his last orgasm. “T-too much!” he cried out in overstimulation, tears still slipping from his eyes. 

       “Hm, baby? Do you want me to stop?” You slowed down, sounding concerned. Fuck, you cared so much, it only made him want to cry more.

       “N-no, please, keep going…”

       “Mk, you’ve done so good so far. Just let me know if it gets to be too much.” You resumed your fast pace, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room, although you made sure to go a little bit slower now. 

       Whitney’s face was completely flushed with crystalline tears dripping down. Your praise only increased the rush of blood throughout his body. He was panting and sweating and he couldn’t speak beyond small phrases or words. 

       Your own hips began to stutter, and you could feel a familiar tightening in your abdomen. “Fuck, Whit, I’m gonna cum.” 

       Whitney hardly processed your groaned words, too lost in his own head. As soon as he felt the warmth of your cum fill him up, he moaned something along the lines of ‘cumming!’ and came for the second time that night. He still held on tightly to the bear.

       You pulled out, much to Whitney’s disappointment. He whined at the sudden emptiness he felt.

       “Hey, I’ve got you. I’m gonna do one more thing and then we can take a bath, okay? Are you alright with that?” 

       Seeing him nod, you lowered your body closer to the mattress, aligning your face with his ass. You pushed his legs up to his and licked a stripe over his hole. You could taste your own salty cum leaking from him.

       Whitney moaned at the feeling of your tongue. Sure, you had eaten him out before, but this was different. He was already really sensitive.

       Your tongue dipped inside Whit, licking up the cum dripping out of him. He whined as your nails dug into his upper thighs, and you continued eating him out like a man starved. You’ve managed to make him hard again with merely a few deep strokes of your tongue. 

       You pressed your own dick against the mattress in an attempt to get yourself off whilst your tongue repeatedly fucked into him. Your hands moved, one now kneading his ass whilst you used the other to get yourself off. 

       Whitney struggled to form a coherent thought. The pleasure you gave him only led to further loss of any sense he might have. All he could was moan and sob your name.

       It didn’t take long for Whitney to orgasm a third time, too fucked out to warn you. Cum spurted from his spent dick, as you licked into him deeply one last time. 

       You pulled off of the blonde and jerked yourself off. After cumming on your hand, you brought it to his mouth for him to clean, which he did obediently.

       “You did so good, baby,” you said, then pressed a chaste kiss to his bruised lips. “Can I clean you now?”

       Once you had Whitney’s nodded approval, you got off the bed and went into his bathroom. You came back with a wet towel, which you used to clean his body.

       You used the rag to wipe down the blonde’s face, which was stained with tears in cum. You cleaned off the parts of the bear that had bits of cum on it. You then cleaned the rest: the lower half of his torso, his thighs, and inside of him.

       Once you finished cleaning him, you cleaned yourself. Whitney watched through glazed eyes as you re-entered the bathroom. You came back and crawled in bed beside him, pulling the covers over you both. You’d decided you’d wait until tomorrow to clean the bedsheets, instead opting to relax with your boyfriend.

       The sun had long set by now, the room only illuminated by serene moonlight. The brisk night breeze floated in through the open window, only blocked by a screen. Your arms were wrapped around Whitney’s waist. He gently dozed against you, small snores escaping him. Whitney could surely be rough and arrogant, but at times like these, he was just as soft as the teddy bear he was still holding.

[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift [Min Yoongi x f!reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Min Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus's 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. Warnings: some swearing, it'll be fluff, maybe some angst, but mostly fluff, no smut for now but still MDNI A/N: Hi there. This is my first attempt at writing some Yoongi stuff. I'm just writing this for fun, I'm learning all the fanfic lingo and I want to improve. I don't know if I'll write more but I'd like to. English is my second language, pardon any mistakes.

THE NIGHT SHIFT

You walk into your campus’s 24-hour library five minutes before eleven on Friday. Just as most leave to attend a party to celebrate the end of the week, you head into work in hopes of avoiding the craziness of it all. Admittedly, you also want to escape your best friends’ and roommates’ attempts to get you to join them. You have never envied the meticulous process of getting ready for a party. Time and again, you've seen your friends spend hours primping and prepping. Showering, shaving, moisturizing, applying makeup, blow-drying, straightening or curling their hair, and planning outfits– you can’t help but sigh at what most likely awaits you when you return home in the morning. But pretend all you want; their excitement about parties does make you crave and wish to be more like them. So, instead, you enjoy making them hangover stew and listening to whatever stories they remember from their night, watching them fondly as you live vicariously through their adventures. 

Waving to the librarian preparing to leave her shift for the day, a buzzing in your pocket startles you. After placing your bag at the main desk, you dig into your cardigan pocket and fish out your phone, grinning at the string of texts already lined up for you.

Eunji [10:58PM]: Here’s a pin to our location, ‘kay? If you don’t hear from us, send in the cavalry (salute emoji)

Hwayoung [10:58PM]: Yah! WTF. Unnie, don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine, mhm? Call if you need anything~~

Eunji [10:59PM]: I’m kidding~ I’m kidding~ We’ll be safe, most likely drunk but we’ll try not to be too loud when we get home (wink emoji)

Hwayoung [11:00PM]: Sorry if one of us ends up in your bed (blushing emoji)

Snorting, you type.

You [11:02PM]: You know how to apologize to me, I’m easy. Bribes are welcomed. (wink emoji)

Sliding your phone on the desk, shaking your head at Eunji and Hwayoung’s shenanigans, you get settled for the night. Mrs. Kang leaves you a list of tasks to get done for the night, all of it achievable, and bids you goodnight, leaving you at your post. 

You suspect the library will be mostly empty, if not deserted, by midnight. Hiding your bag under the desk and grabbing your phone, you slip one wireless earbud in your ear and set off for your usual beginning-of-shift lap around the main, second, and third floors. Twenty minutes later, a dozen stray books gathered and a headcount of thirteen people total in the library, you return to your desk for the night, settling in to start writing your essay. 

As the hours begin to pass, you only ever glance up from your laptop to note when someone leaves the building. This means that at nearly 2 AM your previous count of thirteen is brought down to seven when you watch Seungmin, a regular second-year student, exit with a shy wave and bow. You push the chair back and stretch, yawning as your eyes peek at the notifications on your phone. Most are from Hwayoung, usually the least tipsy one, who sends you photos of them at the off-campus party, looking great as always and having fun. You press on the most recent photos and heart it, lips curling up softly.

Closer to 3 AM, you’re up stretching your legs and gathering some more books, placing them back on the shelves where they belong. You still have music in your ear, humming as you walk back down to the main floor. Right when your foot leaves the final step, you’re startled by a person standing at the main desk. Dashing to it, jittery hands taking your earbud out and bowing apologetically as you approach. 

“Ohh, I’m so sorry, have you been waiting long?” not giving him the time to answer, “how can I help you?”

When your eyes meet the cat-like ones of the young man in front of you, you startle a little. You’ve seen him across campus a few times, usually hanging with his group of rambunctious friends. Most of them you’ve spoken to here or there, even sharing a class with one of them, but the one standing in front of you has always been elusive. Quieter. 

“Mhm,” he nods, barely making eye contact as he slides a paper over to you. 

Looking quickly between the paper and him, you pick it up and read the name of the book. You recognize it right away. Most third-year psychology students end up at some point looking for it you find. 

“Oh,” you chew your lower lip, “second floor, back left corner near the water fountain. Here…” you grab a pen and scribble down the area for him, handing it to him. “If it’s not there, please come back, and I’ll help you find it…” 

He finally locks eyes with you for a few seconds, mumbling the quietest thank you ever heard and bowing. And just as quickly as he appeared, he is gone up the stairs. You glance over your shoulder to his retreating figure. 

While you may be immune to the desire to party, you certainly are not immune to attractive guys. He was very handsome with his slightly long black hair, bangs long enough to fall in his eyes when leaning forward. His powerful gaze is what struck you when face to face, but you were also struck by the way he nervously licked his lips when waiting for your help. He was handsome is all you can think of as you sit back down, unable to let go of the interaction.

You pick up your phone, wondering if you should ask your friends if they know his name. Eunji is the social butterfly you wish you were and seems to know everyone in Seoul, not just the school but the city as well. You decide against it; the odds of getting an answer out of her at this time are extremely low before settling back into school work with one final glance to the stairs. 

When 5 AM comes around, you’re just about done with your essay when footsteps catch your attention as your body snaps towards the stairs. You slouch back in your chair when you realize it’s the campus security guard, bowing when he passes your desk and sighing. Damn it, YN, why are you this way…Shaking your head in disappointment, you grab the sandwich you bought yourself before coming into work, snacking on that with your water while manifesting this next hour to be over and done with. 

The sound of the turnstiles is the next thing catching your attention briefly away from your food, glancing up to see a student smiling brightly at you and bowing before rushing up the stairs like a man on a mission, making you chuckle. Right as you get up from your seat, two sets of footsteps catch your attention, but you continue moving around your desk to begin your final lap to clean up before Mr. Song’s arrival. As you reach the bottom steps, you’re met with the student who just entered the library, leaving with the handsome guy from earlier, stopping to let them pass, and bowing to each other quickly. Standing still, you watch them leave the library, but not before mystery guy takes a quick peek behind him to you, prompting his friend to do the same. 

His friend begins grinning and laughing, his friend tugging him with force out of the library, which simply confuses you more. You decide not to dwell on that interaction, instead, you begin your final check and clean up before the clock finally strikes 6 AM. You hand off your list of completed tasks to Mr. Song and wish him a good day once you’ve gathered your things.

The crisp morning spring air is a welcome sensation against your face when you leave the building, yawning and walking back to your apartment. 

Entering the apartment, it’s quiet and still, making you wonder if your friends are even home yet. But one glance at the slippers still present at the entrance is enough to let you know that they haven’t returned home yet. You smile warmly, dragging your feet to your bedroom and getting changed into some pajamas, sliding into bed to get as much sleep as possible.

It’s just past noon when you hear the rousing of your friends. You’re already up, freshened up, and cooking them some hangover stew. The post-Friday night routine for all of you. Glancing over your shoulder, you spot Hwayoung, followed by Eunji slowly coming to sit in the living room. 

“Food is ready~!” You sing-song, grabbing the tray of food you’ve readied and bringing it over.

You’re all happily enjoying your breakfast, listening to them share the stories of what they remember of their night. Eunji remembers dancing with a guy and nearly going home with him, while Hwayoung remembers watching some drama unfold between two girls and a guy. 

“So, you were eavesdropping?” You quirk your eyebrow. 

She grunts. “Do we call it that if I was stuck in the bathroom while they were gossiping?”

You all laugh, serving each other more food as Eunji turns to you. “How was work?” 

You still right away, pretending the question didn’t immediately bring your mind right back to handsome library guy. “It was good, quiet as usual but you guys know me, I like my boring Friday nights.”

Your friends stare at you, and you know they can tell you’re itching to say something, to share too. They wait you out as you take a few bites of food, chewing quietly before swallowing that bite. You’re silent for barely two minutes before you open your mouth, shutting it right away. You don’t know why you’re hesitating, your friends would never judge you for anything you already know that. 

“So,” you pause, watching the way their eyes are already glued to you, “do you know Kim Namjoon? We have the same Cultural Theory class?”

They both nod right away, urging you to go on. “You guys know his friends by any chance?”

They both lean back, glancing at each other for a few seconds before Hwayoung asks, “Why are you asking?” 

Your face contorts in something the girls have never seen out of you before, like it physically pains you to have to explain it to them, “Well,” you trail off, “this guy came into the library like at 3 in the frickin’ morning…and I’ve just seen him around Namjoon and his friends, I just…I never…I don’t think I’ve ever heard his name before. I was…just cu–curious, you know?” 

You shut your eyes, wincing at how awful that sounded, “Okay, I know you guys wanna freak out, can you just do it now…” you sigh, and right on cue both Hwayoung and Eunji start kicking their feet, giggling like high school girls who have just heard the juciest gossip. Then a series of questions begin overlapping at unheard speeds, you’d think they were a Formula 1 car with how fast they were going. 

It’s only five minutes later that they finally quiet as Eunji gently smacks Hwayoung on the knee, urging her to ask you the question they want an answer to: “Why are you asking?”

The silence is deafening when she’s done speaking, and you’re playing with the hem of your hoodie, “Because he was cute.”

You swear you’ve never seen your friends hold in their excitement this much before you add, “Can you just tell me if you know his friends?” You whine before letting your body fall back on the ground. 

You’re staring at the ceiling, questioning your life choices and wondering if you should have even brought this up as Hwayoung crawls closer to you, lying next to you, “Well, yes. Eunji has classes with–who is it?”

“Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. Was he one of them?” Eunji asks, joining you two on the floor.

You shake your head. “Isn’t Taehyung the guy you have a crush on?” 

“No, that’s Jeon Jungkook. He’s the smart second-year who skipped a year, he has a class with Hwayoung.”

“Ah…”

Hwayoung hums, “So, not Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin, or Jungkook.” She turns to Eunji, “That leaves Yoongi, Seokjin, or Hoseok.”

“What did he look like, Unnie?” Eunji asks you, intent on giving you an answer.

You go on to describe him as best as you can, until suddenly one detail pops into your head, “Oh my god, I’m an idiot. He was looking for a book, he was looking for a psychology textbook!  Do any of them major in that?” 

Hwayoung snaps her fingers, looking at Eunji, “That would be…Min Yoongi, no?” 

“Yep. Min Yoongi.” Eunji says the name, and then they both look at you. 

You’re mouthing the name softly, looking up to your expectant friends, “What…what do you guys know about him?” 

Hwayoung shrugs, “He’s nice. Quiet. Picks and chooses his people. Studies psychology. Shy. He’s not as…’out there’ as the other guys but a classmate of mine said he did a project with him their freshman year and was a hard worker, and just nice overall.” 

You listen to her, nodding along, suddenly feeling like you let the curiosity get the best of you and that you’re getting hopeful over something that hasn’t even happened. You’ve had crushes. You’ve never seriously dated anybody, but you’re still young, so no rush, right? Min Yoongi was just a cute guy you had seen at school, that’s all. 

“Mhm, he’s just cute…” You explain to no one in particular, maybe to yourself, and your best friends notice right away how you suddenly get lost in your head. “Well, thank you for clearing up that mystery.” You laugh, sitting up.

Hwayoung rubs your back from her lying position, “You know, you’re allowed to think a guy is cute and wonder who he is.”

“I know…” Sighing, you lie back down with your friends. “But I’m not you guys. I’m not the girl that attracts attention everywhere I go. I’m the quiet one. I am the one who flies under the radar. I mean, I did that to myself.” 

Eunji holds your hand, “Come on, any guy would be lucky to be with you. Rest assured, we will remind whoever you end up with of that very detail.” She says with certainty, making you giggle. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” You sigh, staring at the ceiling once more. 

A few minutes of silence pass when Hwayoung speaks up, “Let’s order food, buy alcohol and snacks, and watch a bunch of rom-coms to remind us how single we all are.” 

This makes all of you burst out in laughter but also agreement. With that plan in mind, each of you do your apartment chores. And nothing heals you more than an afternoon with your best friends listening to music. You can’t deny that your thoughts sometimes veer back towards Min Yoongi. 

You were never the girl who was boy-obsessed or focused in high school. You never minded when it happened because to each their own, but you kept your crushes very close to your chest. Objectively? You can look at guys and just think they’re handsome, and could you say this about him? Of course. But he struck you differently with that tiny interaction. A crush at first sight of sorts. You tell yourself it’s more than okay to think that Min Yoongi is a good-looking guy and that you're likely going to keep thinking so. With that in mind, you make a list of movies to watch until the wee hours of the morning or until you fall asleep. Come evening, Hwayoung calls her favorite local restaurant and places an order for pickup, which has become your job to pick up.

With that in mind, you make a list of movies to watch until the wee hours of the morning or until you fall asleep. Come the evening, Hwayoung has called her favourite local restaurant and placed an order for pick up, which has become your job to pick up.

“Remind me why I’m picking this up and not you? You placed the order, no?” You ask, slipping your shoes on with a small grin. 

“Because I am very specific about what alcohol girls’ night must have, and Eunji is very specific about the kind of snacks she likes, and we both know what you like so…” she trails off, “makes sense to us to do this.” 

You playfully glare at both, placing your purse around you, “You just want to buy the fancy shit…”

Hwayoung snaps her fingers, “Ding ding! We have a winner!”

You burst out laughing. “Alright then, I’m going to pick up the food. Please, let's all get back here quick so we can start our sappy rom-com night.”

After a messy three-way high five, you manage to begin your fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant, looking down to the order confirmation Hwayoung had sent to you. Your walk goes faster than you ever expected it to go as you reach the beautiful traditional building that houses the restaurant. None of you have ever physically come here, but a pamphlet had been left at your apartment when you moved in at first. And somehow, this had become your go-to place for a treat. Except this time, instead of delivery, because of the size of your order (Hwayoung had probably gone overboard this time), you had to go pick it up. 

You open the door and announce yourself, saying hello as you walk up to the counter to the nice middle-aged woman there. You show her your phone with the order confirmation, “I am here for a pick up, here’s the reference number.” 

She looks at it and smiles, “Mhm, yes, your order is just about ready if you wouldn’t mind waiting here for a moment.” 

You nod and bow to her, waiting in the lobby as you look around the restaurant. You take your phone out to update your friends.

You [8:41PM]: Arrived! Food is ready at any moment. Will be back home soon~! How’s the booze and snack search?

“Miss, your food is ready.” You hear the owner speak, shoving your phone back in your pocket and turning to face her. She points towards the curtain that separates the front and the kitchen. “My son will have it out.”

You’re paying when she fusses over her son and how he’s trying to carry both heavy bags at once, helping him, and only when you look up do you feel your body freeze. You clock her placing the first bag on the counter in front of you, but where your focus is, is different. Your eyes are trained on her son bringing the second bag out, making eye contact with cat-like eyes when he finally lifts his head. You can’t believe your luck (or bad luck?) when you’re face to face with the owner’s son. And you can’t wait to go back and tell your friends exactly who that is. 

Min Yoongi.

post separator @hyuneskkami

[jollyhunter]

♡ MILKSHAKE FOR TWO ♡

LOVERBOY ! SOLDIER BOY / BEN x fem!Reader [Happy Valentine’s Day!!]

WARNING Fluff, Angst (bearable), Smut with plot - NSFW - MDNI!; fingering, a lil' spankin', biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it!), softdom!Ben (gasp!), faking orgasm, Ben reprimanding you, aftercare (Ben's way lol), strong language, basically just a general warning for Soldier Boy, no use of Y/N

⋆ ˚｡⋆ NOTE Okay sweethearts, this is my first time writing for Soldier Boy so please be lenient with me. 😭 Getting this man's colorful speech feel right as a non-native English is a real challenge lmao

After reading the Loverboy!Ben Headcanons by @lovedahlia I finally found the courage to pick this idea up again! And thanks @zepskies Coffee Shop Hadcanons for inspiring me with the sweet ending!! (and the pussy drink 💀)

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY The lovey-dovey atmosphere around Valentine's Day did little to ease your ache. To put it blunt; Lately your love life's been... let's say dull. Since for whatever reason getting off was turning out to be frustratingly difficult. Or more like, impossible; You just outlast any man in bed.

Well, except maybe for the cocky bastard of a supe seated across of you… Who you’d just made a bet with.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS ~7.4k [my longest fic so far!? 😭]

♡ MILKSHAKE FOR TWO ♡

One, two, three, five - now another orgasm. You lost count. He keeps rocking his hips as you ride another one of your highs out, his cock throbbing inside you -

“Is it hot?” Ben’s gravely voice throws you right off your imaginary man, eyes snapping up at him with a look of panic and confusion.

The warm scent of weed wafts through the musky air and hits your nose, reminding you of your situation; Right. You’re here to ‘babysit’ Soldier Boy while he’s meticulously rolling joints and taking a swig of his beer every now and then.

“W-what?” Your thumb quickly swipes away the fanfic on your phone’s screen, feigning innocence.

“The picture of your boyfriend’s dick.” He replies. The motel’s dim light frames the intense gaze occasionally drifting toward you, a teasing smile tugging at his beard when he continues. “Can’t ignore the way you’ve been practically eye-fucking that thing for the past six joints.” He jerks his chin at the phone now tightly clasped under your hands likes it’s holding all your sins in one place.

“What- that’s not- no- what the hell.” You stutter, while you’re secretly relieved that his mind took a different direction.

“Hm,” he grunts, unconvinced, his eyes briefly closing. You tense up in the couch when his elbows slide off the table, now resting on his spread legs, his head tilting your way. “What’s it then, huh? Internet?”

Ah yes, you were looking at internet. Hughie had mentioned the word to him some days ago, but no one seems to have had the patience – or guts – to properly explain it to him. You smirk to yourself, but keep the mocking comment back. You didn’t want to risk him snatching your phone away again, as he had done many times before just to annoy you.

“Yeah, internet. It’s like a – a library, but digital, you know?” You try to explain. Your hands casually let the phone disappear in your jeans’ back pocket while you make sure to keep the discussion going. “How do you even know about dickpics? My gramps sure as hell wouldn’t know.”

“Oh fuck off.” He throws you a half-arsed scowl over the edge of his canted beer, “I basically invented it. The concept of showing off your dick to your girl ain’t that goddamn new-fangled.” He sneers the word ‘new-fangled’, his free hand waving dismissively in your direction.

The frown on his lips shifts into a crooked smile at what seems to be a particularly fond memory popping up in his mind. Cute, it suits him.

“I once had Warhol print my dick in the colors of the American flag. Surprised Countess with one on every fuckin’ wall.”

“Wow.” You can’t help but shake your head and crack a laughter at the mental image. “I bet she was ecstatic.”

“Oh you can bet my nutsack. That night we fucked like bunnies. Skeeted those paintings. Redecorated the whole damn thing.” He grins like a proud boy before his fond smile suddenly flips, “Now the bitch’s gargling dirt.”

The air thickened and your chest tightens. Only the sound of his fingers briefly strangling the neck of his beer bottle fills the tense silence in the room.

Your eyes drift to the ground, scrambling for something to say to steer the conversation away from his dead ex - but he beats you to it.

Ben has let out a heavy sigh after he took a swig, the beer bottle now tipped in your direction.

"So. No boyfriend then, huh?" He muses before he tilts his head, his lips curling into a smug smirk, “Gonna spend your national fuck day all alone with a pillow between your legs?”

“I- I’m not spending my - as you call it so colourfully - ‘national fuck day’ with a pillow between my legs. Thank you very much.”

“No? Not gonna rawdog it while you’re thinking of me?”

Your eyes widen at that wild accusation - not that he was wrong about the latter assumption. But you certainly wouldn’t let him know that.

Your cheeks flush slightly and you quickly force your parted lips into a firm, tight line. “For your information. I’ll not spend my day all sad and pathetic home alone but will be going out to Jerry’s Coffeehouse and treat myself with an extra large matcha milkshake with chocolate chips and loads of vanilla syrup. And it’ll be my best fucking Valentine’s day.”

His eyebrow pops up at that, his sharp eyes observing you for a moment as if he’s considering something, his expression a mixture between amusement and something else which you can’t quite read.

After a moment his lips quirk, voice confident, but there’s also a hint of curiosity hidden behind it, “Ah, that’s a code word for you rounding the bases, hm? Get yourself a sweet fuckin’ home run. All Turn-Down and the whole nine yards.”

“What? No – agh - Not everything’s about sex, Ben.” You groan and drag a hand down your face, trying your best to hide the tinge of bitterness in your voice. “Unlike me, I bet you wouldn’t survive a day without jerking off if I wasn’t cockblocking you with my mere presence.”

“And I bet I could ruin you real fast if you didn’t act like a little tight-folded nun around me all the time.”

Your breath catches in your throat for a moment. In all these weeks, Ben never made a move on you. Not even a single attempt at flirting with you. To the point that - even though you knew you shouldn’t - you started to wonder whether it was your looks or your personality you’d have to blame for.

So, yes, you have indeed acted rather, let’s say, ‘reserved’ around Ben.

But that wasn’t because you were appalled by the thought of what he could do to you with you sprawled out beneath him, all open and inviting. Quite the contrary. It was because you liked the thought, but also didn’t want to fall for yet another man who’d just use you for his pleasure.

So you made sure to keep him at an arms length.

“Jesus, you’re so damn vulgar.” You utter, your back slumped against the couch’s armrest while you try your best to act unaffected by his words, “ You kiss a lady with that dirty mouth of yours?”

“What’s the deal with you chicks? I ain’t friggin' Cary Grant, y’know?” He takes a messy swig of his beer and briefly wipes his beard with the back of his hand, “Y’all so damn sensitive.”

“Yeah, I wish.” You grumble, the words slipping your lips before you can give them a second thought.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t believe me, sweetheart?”

“You know what? Yeah.” You retort out of nowhere, purely driven by all the pent-up frustration of the past months. Straightening up, you proceed to make it worse in such a confident tone which even surprises yourself, “I bet my ass that I could outlast you in bed.”

It was frustrating. And felt embarrassing. Really. It didn’t help that you tried to sell it as if it was an achievement worth an oscar.

"Well, that just proofs it then."

"Proofs what?"

"That you're a wuss-fucker. Just some pathetic fucking dicks dippin' in there." Ben jerks his head towards the spot hidden between your tightly crossed legs and he snorts in amusement at your grimace. "What? ‘Tis a real shame’s all I’m sayin’. I mean, what real man doesn't make sure his girl gets off first.” He leans back and sneers against the mouth of his beer bottle, “'S pathetic, really."

"Yeah, right." you roll your eyes, your voice tighter, "'Cuz I bet you're such a gentleman in bed. But you can't proof shit."

“Oh you’re on.” He quickly sets down the bottle and flashes his cocky grin at you, his voice dropping an octave to hit that tingling spot inside you, “I’ll have you cum so damn hard, you’ll be screamin’ and kickin’ while I hold ya down. And guess what, sweetheart…”

He pushes off the chair, his large frame looming over you before he bends down to your eye-level, his voice dipping into a low, deep gravelly tone, “I ain’t gunna let ya move a single inch… and have you take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

Silence. Only the soft gulp of your last sense of self-control getting forced down your throat cuts through the thick air between you.

He holds your gaze, a playful smile spread across his lips when he straightens up again, his voice nonchalant. “‘Course, only if you want.”

“I do.” The answer came faster than you could even process it.

He looks back down at you, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his eyes before he covers it up with a smug expression, “Oh yeah?”

His words were like the flick of a switch.

Next moment clothings were flying across the room, partially torn as neither of you had the patience to get them off properly. The heat between you skyrocketed, heavy breathing filling your ears in tandem with intense drumming of your heart. Soft golden rays peek through the shutters, their light bouncing off his darkened eyes and casting shadows of wild, fervent bodies moving through the room like a tempest.

God you felt so pent up - it was driving you mad. The desperate need for relief, for reaching that sweet peak of ecstasy. It clouds your mind, has your will to think straight completely subdued.

Ben doesn’t seem to be in much more control either, his hands flying across your body, like he doesn’t know what to explore first. He pushes you up against the wall, the force deliberately kept to a minimum. His nose draws a line across your shoulder, inhaling your scent like a drug, all the way up your neck until he exhales again, the hot breath pressed against your skin under your jaw.

“Fuck me – you’re intoxicatin’, woman.” He rasps out, his voice raw and full of barely contained need.

Your breath comes out shaky, head tilted to the side without a second thought. “Ben,” you say his name close to a whine, your mind handing over the reigns to him, “Please don’t stop.”

“Won’t-” he mutters against your skin, his voice muffled by the trail of kisses, “’M not gonna stop until you’ve cum.” His teeth skim along your pulse point and for a moment you feel like your legs give in. But he quickly steadies you, his large hands moving down your sides to hold onto your hips with a firm grip. “Promise.” He adds hoarsely, some of your skin now tugged between his teeth as he starts to leave love bites in his wake. “We got a bet goin’, after all.”

Your body’s now moving on instinct and for only one purpose. Your need, your heat, it’ll keep you going, you know it. No matter how long you’ll have to pant like a racing horse, no matter how much you’ll regret it the next day when you’ll feel stiff and aching at places you didn’t even know you had muscles.

It all doesn’t matter right now. It is all just you and him. The world reduced to his strong arms wrapped around your fragile frame, his muscles flexing as he lifts you up, and his world reduced to your legs wrapping around his hips, your aching core pressed up against his bulging boxers.

Your lips collide with his, their first meeting sending a bolt of pleasure through your body. Your mind goes hazy, your legs tighten around his hips and your hands hang onto his shoulder in an attempt to hold him close.

Your heads swivel, mouths working passionate. But to your surprise, Ben still keeps it slow, savouring every bit of your lips dancing around his. His tongue’s tasting the inside of your mouth as he swallows your moans and fills it with his own groans. Teeth gently pull at your lower lip before he finally breaks the kiss, to give you the chance to catch your breath.

You pant against him, your lips burning from the stubbles but still lingering there. You suddenly feel the rest of your body again, a shudder running down your spine, right to your aching core.

That’s when you notice how wet your inner thighs are, the slick coating your skin and folds. Ben licks his lips, the scent of your undeniable arousal filling his senses. He moves you on his hips, pinning you further against the wall to hold you in place with one hand while the other trails over the bump of your hipbones, dipping down between your legs.

“Christ on a Stake. You’re so fuckin’ pent up. What did those wusses do to let you leave like this?” He groans, fingers coating in your slick as he runs them down your inner thigh.

Your eyes briefly flutter closed, your hips bucking against him with the need for some friction already. “Please, I- Ah-fff- ” You mutter, your words cut short by a terribly needy whine when Bens fingertips brush across your clit.

“Yeah, yeah, calm the hell down” he chuckles, his lips back to suck a red mark at your neck, “’M gonna take care of that needy pussy of yours, dontcha worry.”

You nod, soft moans slipping your red puffy lips as he assaults every inch of skin he can reach. Your eyes widen with a yelp when you suddenly feel yourself getting heaved up high and your limbs flail uncontrollably in a panic.

“Hey- stop struggling darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt you.” He orders gruffly, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to keep you safely in his grip. With one swift move he lifts you high enough for your legs to drape over his shoulders on each side, his palms now wrapping around the underside of your thighs to keep you pinned between the wall and his head. In moments like these you could feel a shiver run down your back, as you’d just been reminded again of the inhuman power imbalance between you two. Fuck - he could snap you in two if he’d want to.

“Now that’s a view I could get used to,” He growls, his lips curled into a hungry smile at the sight of your dripping hole, all open and inviting, and right on his eye-level. “So damn needy. ‘N so damn beautiful.” He muses, ignoring the increased panting of yours against the top of his head while you’re murmuring his name like a prayer.

His grip tightens as he pushes his head between your thighs, his hot breath against your clit sending sparks of fire through your body. He digs right in, eagerly swiping his tongue between your folds, swirling around your clit, teasing your entrance with slow deliberate slaps of his tongue. You start to squirm and moan in response, the friction like a pain-killer to your aching core.

“Hold still damn it,” he orders, the rumbling of his voice against your folds sending shivers up your spine. You whimper and his intensity increases in response. He groans when your fingers tangle up in his hair and your fingernails scrape at his scalp with frantic motions.

“Fffuck- please, please, please don’t stop, don’t stop-” You plead in weak whimpers as you can feel his beard burn your sensitive skin with every drag of his tongue up your folds, the prickling pain mixing with your pleasure. Meanwhile the muscles in his arms flex to hold you still, keep you pinned up high against the wall and to make sure you don’t accidentally tumble off his shoulders.

His lips close around your clit and he starts to suck terrible whines out of you, your legs fighting his hands under his onslaught. Your pleasure begins to coil tight, your body twitches and your fingers claw at his long hair for the following minutes - but it never snaps. How the fuck does it still not snap?

A whine of protest leaves your lips when he suddenly pulls his head back. You watch his glistening face from half lidded eyes, your chest heaving, some of your sweet juice caught in his beard.

“Damn, darlin’, you’re a tough case, huh?” He chuckles, the tongue swiping his lips to savour your taste again with a low praising groan, “Fuck- Marilyn Monroe’s a dumpster next to you. You taste like fuckin’ heaven.”

A gasp slips your lips when he decides to haul you over his shoulder and with three long strides crosses the room over to the bed when a SMACK has you yelp up. The skin of your asscheek reddens where his hand just swatted you and he chuckles. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

You struggle and squirm in protest but it’s no use, his tight grip around your waist keeps you on his shoulder, facing the other way with your nice bum exposed to him. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” His hand swats your other asscheek this time and he laughs at your needy whine, his tone amused as you can practically hear the smirk playing on is lips, “I haven’t even started.”

His voice sounds raspy, but his tone tells you he’s thrilled, as if the fact that you didn’t shatter from his touch yet, has him enthralled. After all, Soldier Boy was used to things being easy for him, to succeed with half an effort, so real challenges were a rare case for him. And your stubbornly high resistance to falling over the edge seemed to be just that.

Next moment Ben bends down, dropping you gently onto the bed before the mattress dips down under his additional weight when he crawls on top of you. His hands roam your body, groping the soft flesh at your hips, your thighs, roughly massaging your breasts as he pinches your nipples between his fingers.

You start to squirm and tremble from need, your fingernails scraping at his taut muscles that box you in from all sides. “Just hold still for me, yeah? Just lemme do the work…” he husks out, voice low and dangerous with promise that sends a shiver down your spine.

He leans in and breaths hot and low against the shell of your ear while you feel his hand trail down between your shaking legs. “Will get this needy pussy wrecked and all mine…”

You hum into his shoulder when he pushes his index finger past your slick folds, and he takes that as a cue that you need more, so his middle finger quickly follows. This time he manages to draw a soft moan from your lips, your arms wrapping around his neck where you start to kiss and nibble his skin. “You greedy little thing…” he growls, his lips quirked into a smirk.

He starts to pump them, his fingers curling to hit your spongy spot that earns him at least a little louder moan. “Please,” you start to beg, “I need more, Ben… please-” He doesn’t wait and jams a third finger inside your tight cunt before he flicks his thumb over the hood of your swollen clit, the pace of his hand slapping loudly against your cunt increasing. The stretch of his fat fingers filling you up, rubbing your g-spot and scissoring, it all has your legs trembling, the coil in your stomach tightening again to the point where it just – flat lines.

Ben notices the frustration in your eyes and he leans in to press a sloppy kiss onto your damp forehead. His thumb rubs faster circles over your clit, his eyes locked onto your face when his impatience starts to mutter under his breath. "We got us a real stubborn pussy here, hm? You think everyone else is too much of a wuss to keep up with you, huh? Is that it? You need someone who can give as good as they get?"

“Fine” He grunts, pulling his fingers from your dripping hole, his voice gruff with irritated determination, “Looks like this’ a job for my dick. Gonna fuck you over that edge in no time.”

“Please.” You whine, your face buried in his broad shoulder. Your clit swollen, throbbing, tingling, every nerve of your body burning hot and leading down to that one single aching knot as your system was threatening to short-circuit your brain, just to get this damn bundle of nerves to finally erupt.

He quickly gets rid of his boxers, his thick cock free and fully erect. He grapples with your twitching legs, spreading them apart and pulling you back towards his hips where his pink tip pushes against your entrance. You stifle a mewl, your hips bucking instinctively as you need him. Need all of him.

Both of your groans collide between your lips when he snaps his hips and pushes his shaft all the way into your tight channel in one - unceremonious – go. He stills for a moment, his breath hot and heavy when it wafts against your face, “You good?”

His voice was low, a hoarse whisper between the two of you. You nod once again, a weak “yeah” tumbling off your lips. His hands move up to grip onto your hips like handles, his hips slowly starting to move.

You groan at the feeling of his thick pulsing length dragging down your soft walls before being jammed back in all the way up until he hits your cervix and he coaxes a whimper from you. His pace isn’t fast, but his thrusts are deep, each one well measured and deliberate.

“That’s it, you can take it… taking my cock so fuckin’ well...” He mutters against your skin, his tongue swiping across your salty skin.

When he starts to increase his force, your fingers dig into his skin and if it wasn’t for his indestructibleness, he was sure he’d have some nice and long claw marks of you down his back. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and cants your hips, getting an even deeper angle this way. Slouching noise fills the room, the sound of wet skin clashing together in time with your increasing moans and whines and his grunts and groans.

His hand suddenly reaches up to grab your chin, his eyes locking onto yours. "See, darlin'? I’ll have you fall apart beneath me soon enough… can't keep your pussy giving me that attitude, that's how you end up in a mess like this.” He mocks you with a teasing chuckle, “Getting the stuffing pounded out of you, all because you couldn't control that naughty mouth of yours and had to make a bet with me."

You just nod, the meaning of his words flying by your clouded mind. Your sole focus’ on your building pleasure, rapidly charging up your throbbing clit. Ben notices it too when your walls start to clamp down on his cock, every hard thrust forcing its way back in to keep the pleasure building.

“Fuck – you’re so tight – You gonna strangle my damn dick at this point.” He hisses, his fingers digging into your flesh again to pull your hips back and meet his thrusts.

“You close, darlin’?” Ben grunts above you.

There it is again. That embarrassing moment of silence. You would’ve sighed right now if it wasn’t for you being buried beneath Ben and his punctured thrusts knocking the air out of you.

Are you close? Your core’s on fire. Certainly. To the point where it hurts even. You feel your legs and feet tingling like white-noise is rushing through your blood, leaving every sensitive nerve in its wake going numb.

But still. You know you wouldn’t tip over. Stuck in that fucking uphill battle. It was just. Not. Enough. It never was nowadays.

The blatant lie sits on the tip of your tongue when Ben’s gruff voice suddenly cuts in.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare fake it.”

How - Your mind comes to a screeching halt.

You choke it back down. Cancel the act that was up next, your well-versed finale to the dull program you were used to.

Shit, he knows.

“N-no…” you confess under your breath. The sound of it weak and to your relief, lost between his heavy grunts.

Or so you think.

“What? You think I’m some spineless wuss who can’t get his girl off?” He punctures each word with a deep thrust as he keeps pounding you into the mattress, “Just tell me whatever the fuck you need me to do, I’m not gonna cry, Jesus Christ.” He continues to reprimand you in a firm tone, his voice holding a hint of disappointment.

You gasp, your breath gets stuck in your throat. No man has ever asked you this before. No one.

Ben suddenly stills, his green eyes locking with yours when his voice takes a serious tone, “You need me to be rougher, pretty girl? That it?”

Your breath hitches, your mind dizzy and clouded by his musky scent, the feeling of him inside you, above you, all around you - and the heat still burning between your legs, still not on that damn edge to your long chased relief.

He leans down next to your head to scrub his beard along your cheeks and up to your ear, “Just say the word,” he growls and you can practically see the smirk spread across his face by the way he sounds.

He knows. Fuck he knows you need more.

And yet he waits for your response, patiently, his body still hanging onto you with a tight grip while his hot breath wafts against the shell of your ear in short bursts like a countdown.

There’s a moment of tense silence, like the calm before a storm. A force that is waiting for you to invite it in, to let it wreck your temple.

“Y-yes, please,” Your voice’s trembling slightly from each puff of warm air that’s huffed from between his lips and smothered across your skin, sending a shiver down your back.

“Jackpot,” he hums, a satisfied expression on his face before his lips begin aimlessly placing kisses all over your face, as if trying to soothe your frustration. “Not gunna hold back anymore… gunna fuck you so long ‘n so hard you won’t be able to walk for the next days. You like that thought, hm?”

“Y—yeah- please – just don’t stop…” you admit with a needy whine, your legs twitching against his shoulders and your head tilted back while your hands start to fist the sheets in anticipation. You’d surely fall over the edge in the next minutes. You had to.

Little did you know, that you’d still be going for the next couple of hours.

You switched positions every time you felt how your clit was going numb from the overstimulation and the pent up energy. Ben’s bulky body kept working relentlessly, his power not faltering once, his pace never slowing down unless he noticed you needed a moment to catch your breath.

He’d be trapping you under him, ass high up in the air, back pressed down with one hand splayed across it, wrists somewhere buried in the pillows and pinned there roughly by his other hand as he slammed is cock against your cervix in a brutal pace.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he orders, his lips against the spot behind your ear and his long, stubby beard scraping your skin as his jaw moves, “I want to see your beautiful face when you rock that high the way you fuckin’ deserve.”

“Oh- Oh fuck- I- I’m close-“ you scream as you feel his hard tip punch your spongy walls like he’s trying to engrave himself into your every inch and his fingers meanwhile rubbing your clit sore. He roughly flips you over onto your back, his lips catching yours just in time when your walls flutter around him and finally, finally that sweet relief crashes down on you. Unexpected and intoxicating as your guttural moans get muffled by his mouth. “God- this- you, God-”

He pulls back, huffing a raspy laughter with a mock-offended tone, “God? I’m fuckin’ better.” He feels your cum coat his cock, your walls wrapping tightly around him. It takes all his will power to hold himself back, to not empty himself inside you. Not yet. Not when he’d promised you to keep going all night. “That’s it,” He plants a praising kiss onto your forehead, his gruff voice rumbling against your skin, “And now let’s hear it once more. Just for good measure.”

And he does. Fingers sink into your skin whenever he’d move you around, large hands holding you down, up, on top of him, against him, muscles working all around you while they would bend or push you into any position, effortlessly.

His superhuman strength overpowers you without even trying, but it feels like he’s only ever using as little as needed to get a reaction out of you. A good reaction. When he roughly flips you over again, pushes you into the mattress, pins your head to the sheets as you squirm and tremble under him, you notice his lips brush up against your ear more frequently, murmuring incoherent, soothing words. Like he’s following the urge to be closer to you. Making silent check-ins. Always making sure you’re not overwhelmed, making sure that those whines and yelps are the cause of pleasurable pain and nothing else. At last, you find yourself on top of him, straddling his hips, bouncing on his hard cock as you ride him like a bull. “What was that about you outlasting me, huh?” He taunts and mocks you in time with rough strokes along your exhausted gummiwalls, “‘bout taking whatever I can throw at you, hm?” He snaps his hips up to meet you halfway when you yelp a short admission, “O-okay, you win!”

His lips curl into a smug smile, “What was that? You gotta work that pretty mouth of yours. Gramps ears ain’t that good.” He pulls you down roughly, making you take him deeper with each thrust of his.

“Y-yar r-ah-iight!” You groan as you fall apart one more final time. Your walls flutter and this time he allows himself to let you pull him over the edge along you. His pulsing cock coating your insides with his warm cum. Your voice’s raspy from the harsh breaths you’ve sucked down your open mouth for the past hours.

You collapse to his chest, shaking from the waves of pleasure that rippled through your every fibre and the feeling of his warm seeds filling you up and dripping down his shaft and onto his skin. His arms wrap around your back to hold you close while he murmurs naughty words against the crown of your head.

While Ben had gotten himself a joint to smoke, you padded into the bathroom, getting yourself cleaned. “You doin’ good, darlin’?” He calls after you, loosley holding the joint between his lips as he props himself up against the bed’s headboard.

You return after a while, your body wrapped up in a towel as you make your way back to the bed and snuggle up to him. He drapes his arm lazily around your shoulder, pulling you closer so that your head rests on his firm chest.

“You really had to work for it… huh?” You break the silence with a low mutter, feeling some embarrassment creep up on you.

“You kiddin’?” His eyes snap down at you and he takes a drag of his joint before he continues, “Darlin’, you’ve got the drive of a bunny in heat. Taking my cock so fuckin’ well. Most tap out after the second round but you -“ he lets out a low whistle close to a hiss, “- you just keep goin’ all night – Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“Oh shush…” You giggle sheepishly.

“Just speaking the damn truth. You be proud of that, ya hear me?” He says in a firm voice, while he reaches up to stroke a damp hair out of your face.

You smile, feeling your chest tingle and your cheek warm up, “This was… this was unbelievable. You were amazing.”

He laughs and flashes a cocky grin down at you, “Told ya my dick would beat your pussy over that edge.“

You cringe inwardly at his choice of words, “That’s not what I meant. I’m not talking about your… your dick or your stamina. I’m talking about you.” You pause, his eyebrows knot together and you quickly add, "Like, non-physically."

He stares at you, nonplussed - then irritated. “Fuck me. You - you snort some of my shit, prissy little thing?”

“No, Ben-,” a soft, frustrated chuckle escapes your lips that makes his eyebrows twitch together again, “You - you are amazing.”

You repeat but this time tilt your head back to hold his gaze, like you’re pointing at the soul hiding behind those green orbs that stare back at you, while your fingers draw invisible circles on his arms.

Silence.

Ben’s sharp eyes are searching your face for clues, like he’s mentally going through every drug that could have led you to say something as ridiculous as that.

You smile in return. A genuine, honest smile. Aimed at him. And his mind short circuits for a moment.

A faint flash of something like a blush crosses his cheeks, but it is covered up the same moment with his usual gruff expression and an irritated scoff. “‘Course I’m fuckin’ amazin’. Besides that, I just wanted to win the bet.” His teeth flash at you between a cocky smirk. “And I proofed you damn wrong.”

Ah, there it is again, good ol’ Soldier Boy.

Walls and barb wire and mine field; all up and ready to defend that one and only fragile part of his indestructible body. Keeping it strapped down by some rush of power trip and waterboarded in his twisted idea of love.

You chuckle, knowingly. That damn soft smile on your lips again.

He stares down at you with an unreadable expression, like he’s fighting the urge to slap some sense into you for throwing such an inappropriate gesture his way. To him, it was infuriating, really. But thanks to that stupid curve dancing across your face, he now feels himself caught up in a whole new range of emotions.

You could have gotten up now and left. Like you were sure he expected you to. Probably one of the reasons he kept silent, his brows pulled low like a defensive shield against your gaze, his arm draped around your shoulders so awkwardly… ‘cuz he knew he wasn’t good at this. Aftercare. He’s practically just waiting for you to snap at him, and pull away without another good word. His eyes narrow further, almost provoking it now as he felt himself slowly crumble under your warm presence.

But none of these thoughts crossed your mind. Instead your fingers gently trace the frame of his hardened face that could’ve fooled anyone but you.

That speck of a blush had been more than enough reason to settle down further into his chest with a soft hum, “Mhm, you did win... Win-win.”

Mindless chattering carries the cozy atmosphere of Jerry’s Coffehouse, each table occupied by couples sharing desserts and passionate kisses. All except the one set under your arms, your fingers loosely holding onto the card before you drop it to the table in resignation.

The sweet scent of sugary sins whirls around your nose, intrusive, mocking you. Now that you are here, sitting in the middle of a room full of unfiltered, tooth-aching love all around you, it seems like your appetite has been spoiled for good.

Truth be told, you can’t entirely blame the lovestruck couples boxing you in like in a bully circle. The problem is much worse. You feel lonely. Not the usual lonely, but terribly lonely because you had something for a moment, something real special, and now it was gone again.

It feels like so many unspoken feelings still hang in the air. At least for you there are. You are pretty sure that Ben was more than happy about Butcher’s interruption just when you thought you’d seen a glimpse of something more beneath this scraggy hard shell of “Soldier Boy”.

You exhale heavily. Your eyes glued down to your empty hands.

Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? Your job to watch Soldier Boy was done. He’d moved on. It was over. After all, last night was just for some fun, right? Something to finally get you off, to feel so much more than-

You mentally kick yourself. Get your shit together and get back to your old life.

You fish out your phone from your pocket and open the fanfic from yesterday. With a heavy sigh you scroll down the blurry words, memories of your past night flashing across your inner eye – when a sudden noise almost has you drop your phone.

The coffee table rattles under your elbows as the opposite chair clatters into it under the force of a kick and the following screeching sound has some heads whirl around to watch the scene with raised eyebrows.

Whipped cream sploshes for a second as the large glass CLANGS down in front of you and hits the wooden surface with the force of a drunken man handling a beer bottle. You instinctively dodge back in your seat. Your eyes watch the green contents of it sway under the thick layer of chocolate sprinkled cream topping before your befuddled look darts up to meet him.

Ben slumps down across of you. His casual clothes almost could’ve fooled one to believe he’s a regular guy, if it wasn’t for his bulky frame hanging off the seat in all directions.

He looks a tad annoyed, but that was something you’d long become accustomed to. There was always something that pissed Ben off when you were around. Or someone for that matter. But mostly, it was just his resting face and you knew better than to take it personally.

“Couples get one pussy milk for two.” He states gruffly, ignoring all the faces turned his way now.

“…Ben? What the hell are you doing here?” You sputter, thrown off by the sudden whiff of musky smoke mixed with an unusual, intense, fresh and masculine smell… was that perfume that just hit your nose?

His stern expression melts into a flirtatious smile. This is new. “Hey sweetheart. Miss me yet?”

“How did you know I was here? - Wait- did you just say, for couples?”

“That’s what the sailor-hat-cum-gobbler back there said.” He boots back the chair next to you to kick up his legs while he continues with an annoyed grunt, but lacked any bite, “This green spew better be worth my damn money.”

You blink at him rapidly, and quite frankly, dumbfounded. Is that emotionally constipated man even aware of what he just said or-

“That’s what we are, innit?” He cuts you short, his voice as gravelly and confident as always.

But the way his green pupils glance up at you from the corner of his eyes, a thick strand of hair falling into his face when his head tilted away slightly, like a puppy afraid to get kicked… His emotions were subtle, a rare and fleeting moment, and anybody else might have dismissed it. But it told you so much more than he was willing to admit.

When your eyes flicker down to his hand twitching from his death grip on the arm rest, your chest tightens.

Oh my God. Ben was dead fucking serious.

“Don’t people usually first date?” You chuckle nervously, trying to lighten the mood.

And to buy yourself some time as you try to grapple with a situation you had never expected to find yourself in.

In fact, you have pictured yourself in it ever since you stepped into that shabby damn motel room where he had locked eyes with you for the very first time.

His stern expression makes way for a raucous laughter, his voice booming across the small coffee in pride. “I think we’re past that point, love, after I’ve fucked you raw. For five fucking hours. That’s longer than any damn date I’ve ever had.”

“Jesus Christ - Ben - tune it down! Please.” You plead in a hushed voice, face flushed as you can sense all the curious eyes watching you both closely, like you’re part of a live performance. And a scandalous one on top.

“I don’t hear any complaints. Just stating the facts here, sweetheart.” He chuckles cockily and winks at you, clearly his full ego back in place again, “So it’s settled, then?”

“Uh- I - uh-,” you stumble over your words, your hands fidgeting and your head still reeling from the fact that he had just announced your new relationship status as if he’d made a decent marketing deal with Vought.

His eyebrows push together, that familiar look of impatience taking over his face as he tries to understand why you’re still hesitating. You swallow thickly, the lump in your throat blocking any chance to voice your inner struggles.

You visibly shrink under his intense gaze and your eyes sink to the table, unsure of what to do. You sense him move across of you and you half-expect him to either snark at you now or just simply get up and leave. Damnit, now you fucked up.

But instead he slides the XXL milkshake across the table until it bumps into your tightly clasped hands and your eyes dart up to meet his again. He searches your face, emerald eyes sharp, analysing, but motivated by genuine concern.

His calloused fingers slide off the glass to brush them against yours, gentle, almost hesitant. As if those very same fingers hadn’t groped and gripped your flesh all night like he wanted to leave his marks on every inch of your body.

His large hand moves to cover both of yours, muffling the fidgeting of your fingers with a calm and heavy presence, his actions a big contrast to his rumbling voice. “Hey, you still with me?” He husks out your name, his green eyes boring into yours, gauging your reaction.

Your breath hitches, he squeezes your hands, the tension eases. Ben’s grounding you.

“Yes.” You finally whisper with an affectionate smile, and the same moment his fingers twitch around your hands. “It’s settled.”

“Good.” He mutters to himself and his expression seems almost… relieved.

It’s this moment you realise something: Ben’s not been avoiding his usual flirty and cocky smiles because he didn’t like you or thought you weren’t worth a fling. But because you were more than a possible fling to him. Because this, this was dead serious to him. And he was probably terrified of screwing it up.

After all, people didn’t love Benjamin for showing emotions, for vulnerability, for weakness, for being human. They loved Soldier Boy for being a fucking hero. The strongest. Indestructible. And not caressing fragile hands like they were an extention of the most precious soul in the whole damn universe to him.

His hands squeeze yours once more, as if physically reassuring you, before he pulls away and leans back again, now a content smile embellishing his firm face.

A genuine smile. No show. No flirty Soldier Boy.

From one ear to the other, all Benjamin.

As if he’d seen himself in the mirror, he suddenly shifts in his seat, like he’s physically trying to shake off any remaining trace of that disgusting vulnerability. “Right, so…” He clears his throat, his eyes flickering around the packed coffee shop like he’s looking for some moron to latch onto.

You chuckle softly at the sight, knowing all too well that it’ll probably take a hell of a lot of time and love to get him to smile more like this without having him recoil from his own feelings every time.

Sure enough, Ben has found the perfect victim. “Think we gotta step up our couple-game. Popeye’s still ain’t buyin’ it.” He smirks, his eyes lazily rolling over to briefly shoot a death glare at the sailor-hat wearing employee who’s now cowering behind the counter.

He then reaches over the table again, his index finger flicking against one of the two red-white striped straws bobbing in the sweet drink, before he goes on to strangle his own between his calloused finger pads.

“The dick bender’s been watching you all this time.” He growls, and you can feel just a hint of protectiveness from the way his jaw muscle twitches beneath his beard and his nose wrinkles above the straw that’s now been jammed between his bared teeth.

“Everyone’s watching us, Ben.” You chuckle, before your eyes trail down to the free straw with an amused smile.

Ben nudges your inner thigh with his foot under the table to get your attention. “C’mon, you make me look like some cocksucker here.” He teases and jerks his chin at you and the untouched straw still dangling off your side of the milkshake, “You said you wanted a fucking great Valentine’s day, right? So do me a favour, sweetheart, and start sucking.”

You chuckle and bring the straw up to your mouth to wrap your lips around it. You take the first slurp and your cheeks melt into a wide, knowing smile.

Matcha milkshake with chocolate chips and extra vanilla syrup. That much for ‘a code word’.

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

A/N: I hope this turned out okay?? 😭

Also. Maybe I was breaking a taboo here or maybe it’s not as common as I thought, but I felt like it's a topic which I have rarely ever see in fanfics. And I know how some just don’t fall over the edge that easily? Like sometimes it genuinely feels frustrating to chase that relief to no end with no success? Yeah, this story is for you all. I hear you. 🧡

Starting a Soldier Boy tag list for anyone who’s interested! ♡ ❀ꗥ Let me know in the comments or fill out this form!

[midnite-c6]

After reading ur patient!namgyu fanfic I was just wondering if you could pretty please w a cherry on top write a fic about Seowan !! Doesnt have to be doctor x patient, I just need more fics w my beloved Seowan 🔥🔥 have a great day/noon/night!

i haven't seen any fics about seo-wan, it makes me so sad, but here's oneDJFH also, i added squid game tags because i want more nam-gyu lovers to see roh jaewon's character in daily dose of sunshine!! FIRST NON SQUIDGAME FIC .. my fav schizo TT.

kim seo-wan x reader !! <3 warnings: fluff , angst ?! , mentions of mental illness </3

つ⁠｡⁠☆ he's your study buddy!! both of you couldn't pass the exams the first time and you guys bonded over that. the two of you would sit next to each other when the professors lecturing about a lesson, since you both share the interest of being determined in passing the exams this year, there wouldn't be alot of talking during a lecture, but afterwards he's actually quite talkative!

he would also share his notes, giving you a bunch of sticky notes, all of them would have silly random doodles and small comments about how "you can do it!"

you manage to even hang out with him after classes ..which still includes studying, but you told him he needs to let lose, even for a little while. eating noodles in those small shops on the sidewalk, visiting libraries, and if you feel like your falling behind in studies, he would share the other side of his headset, making you listen to the lecture he found on youtube.

a new store would open up right next to the university, because the lessons were tiring and obsessing over the tests is unhealthy, the two of you decide to explore. it was actually a computer-shop.

since then, it's been you and seo-wan's new hobby, to play videogames for hours after lectures, how you were practically his pocket healer, how you two can't play alone without the other right by their side.

this newly-shared interest has gotten you two alot closer, you'd even ask him out, gratefully, the feelings are mutual, kim seo-wan is a simple man. now there'd be long sessions of kissing inside his small apartment, cosplaying, the two of you didn't have alot of money, but this was enough.

video games became a part of your life, one to escape reality. but unfortunately, this hit a little bit harder for kim seo-wan. you'd notice how he wouldn't take the time to study anymore. of course, as the concerned lover you are, you would remind him all the time, but he just wouldn't budge.

his parents were nice, they'd always treat you like you were family, even cooking dinner or lunch for you whenever you come over. since you haven't seen seo-wan in awhile, you'd ask them, only to find out your boyfriend has been sent to a psychiatric unit.

you would visit him everyday, telling him about your day, and asking about his. his day was filled with thinking of you, playing ping-pong with the other patients, and this fantasy world he lives in. but whenever you were too busy to visit, he'd be extra depressed inside the hospital and says he has ran out of mana. </3

you were always intrigued whenever he would tell you about his visions. his stories contain that you were truly his 'mediator', and that you're there in his life to save him. "this is very unprofessional, oh my dear.. mediator, but i'm inlove with you, for you make me look forward to explore even the darkest caves or the highest mountains." he'd take your hand to place a soft kiss on-top. he had forgotten your previous relationship before, atleast he still loves you in the new world he's living in.

you'd end up taking the test without him, but you'd never talk about it in the hospital, you know he needs more time.

in the end, you two agree upon each other to fight the fire dragon together, whatever the future may hold. because, as he confidentally says: "once i've saved up enough mana and leveled up all my armor, i choose you to come with me. you're the only one i can trust in defeating the fire dragon. i will protect you with all my life, my dear mediator!"

i'm sobbing just thinking about this bye ☹️☹️☹️ was gonna do nsfw parts too as i usually do but like i was too up in my feelings LMAOFHBRK trust im gonna post sum nsfw story next 🤞🏻

[emeraldserenade]

Soul Ties ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you went your whole life thinking it was odd that some people had a predetermined lover while some had to find their own

tw: fem!reader, soulmate au, med student!reader, none?, barely edited

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

I went back to my roots, aka I used to exclusively read and write soulmate AUs. Yell at me if you never want me to do one of these again, but I miss them. I miss that time of fanfic (I'm feeling nostalgic)

➽──────────────❥

You weren't sure about the whole soulmate thing, it was nice to know that someone out there will love you no matter what. But your parents weren't soulmates, they didn't even have marks, but they loved each other so much.

"It's not that I'm against them, it's super cool, but there are people out there everyday without one that find love. I'm just saying that it's odd that some people have someone predestined for them and some get the choice," you argued once in debate club. You have gone from social outcast to an oddly respected person to everyone who wasn't staff. You noticed it right away, while you got more friends, people agreed that it was odd, your superiors looked at you sideways.

Nothing ever came of it, they would give you odd looks, but at the end of the day they would never voice their opinions.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You met Sam first, he was visiting his sister. You watched AJ and Cass when your college schedule allowed, it wasn't the highest paying job but you loved them.

"Uncle Sam!" Both boys shouted in unison as you walked up to the door from the car. You had their backpacks thrown over your shoulders, you took them over night since you had them for the aquarium and a movie the day before.

"Who's this?" Sam Wilson gave you a look, one that you knew well, he was trying to figure out if you were his soulmate before the handshake.

"Y/n, I watch the boys whenever Sarah needs and my schedule allows," you offered your hand which he kindly took, the soul tie not snapping into place. You offered him a kinder smile, the one that comes with years of practice of not being someone's soulmate.

"It's nice to meet you, y/n," Sam offered you a kind smile in return, one just as practiced as yours.

"You're not soulmates, right?" Sarah gently asked, not wanting to come off as offended just in case. AJ and Cass had run off into the house at some point.

"No, we're not," you told her, handing her both of the backpacks.

"Good, he's a little too old for you," she joked and you laughed gently.

"I'll see you later?" You pulled your phone out of your pocket to check the time, if you left now, you would have time to get a coffee before your study group.

"You don't want to stay? Joaquín Torres, the new Falcon, is coming over and we're having a BBQ," Sarah offered and you gave her a kind smile.

"As much as I love your cooking, I have a group study of six people to get to. We will lose the big study room if we don't have all six," you explained, gently backing up.

"The public library?"

"No, the school one," you corrected before bidding them goodbye and jumping in your car.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín first saw you at the library, AJ an Cass were insistent that they bring you and your whole group food. You weren't sure how they all got on campus without a voucher, but you had to guess Captain America had something to do with it.

"Ok, and The False Vertebrae is nine pieces that are unite to form two bones. Nice the two bones and the amount of pieces that make it up," your friend, Johnny, challenged you. The other people in the group listened and you saw Sarah, Sam, AJ, Cass, and a man you had never seen before also listening.

"There are four that make up the coccyx and five that form the sacrum," you announced and the group cheered that you got it right.

"Y'all look hungry," Sarah announced their presence. "We brought y'all food," she gestured to the bag you assumed was insulated.

"You, Miss Wilson, are a godsend," Jen praised as she reached for the plate offered to her.

"I want to give it to her," Cass whined, pulling at the plate him and AJ were both holding.

"No, I want to," AJ pulled the plate towards him.

"Boys," you called for their attention. "You both can give it to me," you compromised and watched as they walked side by side to hand you the plate. "Thank you," you gave them both over dramatic kisses to their foreheads to watch them laugh.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You finally met Joaquín a day later, Sarah invited you over to her house for dinner after your last final.

"Whether you pass or fail, you'll need to eat some good food," was her bargain, as if you needed to be convinced to eat her food.

You showed up with the unopened email that held your fate of if you passed or not. You knocked on the door and was ushered in by Sam, you sat at the table with everyone around you.

"I passed," you breathed out. "I passed with an 98!"

"Congrats!" The cheers around you made you smile and you pulled AJ and Cass into a hug.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were alone outside watching the boys play, Sam and Sarah were inside finishing dinner and Joaquín was off doing something else.

"Hey," Joaquín's voice made you jump a little.

"Hey, we haven't formally met," you mused. "I'm y/n," you held your hand out to him.

"Joaquín," he offered his name and took your hand. You felt the soul tie snap into place and froze. You still didn't understand why some people were destined to be with someone else and why some were given the chance to choose. But you decided that you were ok to be one that didn't have to choose, you decided that this was a mystery of the world that didn't need to be solved. Or at least not when you had Joaquín.

"Mom, Uncle Sam! Y/n and Joaquín are soulmates!" The boys went running inside as they yelled and you broke out of your stupor long enough for you to press a quick kiss to Joaquín's lips before Sarah and Sam came running out with the boys on their tails.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[simplyraeblue]

hunter and hunted (jjk)

college (summer) break au: a fic in which y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. contents: sukuna x reader, choso x reader, modern college AU, yuji and choso are brothers, sukuna and yuji are brothers, smut warning, fem reader

chapter warnings/tags: mild angst, swearing, filthy raunchy smut, oral (reader receiving), squirting, p in v, creampie, i was diabolic writing this, choso's an oral god, use of "angel" A/N: oh my god I can't believe we've come to the end... how? how how how? it feels like just yesterday I started this hot mess of a fanfic and now it's complete. if you hated it; sucks for you. if you loved it; thank you so much. THANK YOU to all who have commented, reblogged, and showed continous support for this mini series! ദ്ദി(ó﹏ò｡) i love you all so much muah muah MUAH! I've got a little treat in store at the end of this for you, so stay tuned!

index part fourteen | the end no more sorry

master list

part fifteen word count : 5,764 (+ 635 in bonus content)

two months later

school was in full swing again, and the weather was shifting; sandals were swapped for boots, and ball caps into beanies. students flooded the campus in heavy coats, clutching their textbooks, but not everyone could adapt to the change.

your breath formed a fog in front of you as you hurried through campus, realizing you were late. oh so fucking late. Yuji was already waiting for you at the library, ready to scold you for neglecting your studies – though really it would be Megumi doing the actual scolding.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, and as you pulled it out to check the message, you let out a frustrated sigh. of course, Nobara was skipping the study session. she always preferred wild Thursday nights to hitting the books. honestly, you kind of wished you had done the same. 

after rushing (silently) through the library, you finally spotted Yuji and Megumi in a study room. you pushed through the door and immediately felt Megumi’s disapproving gaze. “you’re late.” he said with a tut.

Yuji groaned, sliding him a small bill, and your jaw dropped. “you bet on whether I’d be late?” you asked, setting your things down a bit harder than necessary.

“not if you’d be late, but how late.” Yuji clarified as you took a seat. you quickly flipped open your textbook, trying to catch up to where they were while both of them just stared at you. 

you glared at them, eyebrows furrowed. “what? you’re looking at me like I committed a crime by being late.” 

“we were just wondering…” Yuji started.

“…if you wanted to skip studying and join Nobara.” Megumi finished.

you gasped. “Megumi Fushiguro, you want to party instead of study? what has gotten into you?”

Megumi rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. “don’t act so surprised. you know how important studying is to me, but even we need a break sometimes.”

you crossed your arms, pretending to be annoyed. “sure, but you’re the last person I expected to suggest ditching our study session. what’s next, are you going to start dancing at parties?” 

Yuji chuckled, nudging Megumi playfully. “hey, maybe we could both use some fun. besides, Nobara always knows how to make things exciting. it could be a nice change of pace.”

you hesitated, glancing back at your textbook, then at their eager faces. “but what about grades?” pfft yeah right.

“they’ll still be there when we get back.” Megumi said, his tone surprisingly persuasive. “just one night won’t hurt.”

you took a deep breath, weighing your options. part of you wanted to dive into your studies, but the thought of a spontaneous night out with friends was tempting. finally, you sighed, a smile creeping onto your face. “alright, but only for a little while! we’ll come back and study after.”

“no we won’t!” Yuji joked as he patted Megumi’s back and stood from his chair. 

so now, here you were, three shots deep into a bar with your friends. “I can’t believe you convinced Megumi to come out!” Nobara shouted over the music, arm slung around your shoulder. 

“actually, it was his idea!” you responded with a grin. everyone was surprised, truly, but you weren’t complaining. 

the last two months had been nothing short of dreary, and you didn’t mean the weather. 

moving out of Yuji’s house had been the right choice. it felt like you could finally breathe again, even though each breath still carried a twinge of pain in your heart. while you were relieved to escape the heavy tension between Sukuna and Choso, you missed the latter with every fiber of your being. 

it wasn’t for lack of effort on his side. for the first month, Choso had begged Yuji for your address, but found that his brother was under strict orders not to share it. he called and texted constantly, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to any of it.

you were determined to stick to the belief that he would find someone better without you. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, had been much more persistent. by the third week of living in your new apartment, he showed up on your doorstep. despite your protests, he somehow ended up on your couch, enduring nearly an hour of your yelling. 

in the end, he accepted defeat. you vividly remember the relief you felt when Sukuna asked, “can we just be friends?” 

friends. yes, you could manage that. any feelings you had for Sukuna had faded away during your relationship with Choso, and while you hadn’t fully realized it at the time, you were sure of it now. 

now here you were, being nagged by both Yuji and Sukuna, urging you to reach out to Choso. how had you gone from hating the eldest brother to listening to him go on about how you’d made the biggest mistake?

“do you realize how this has affected him?” Sukuna asked one night over a pint of beer at a pub. “while I could drown out my heartbreak-“

“oh, sure.” you rolled your eyes.

“-excuse me. get over my bruised ego, then.” Sukuna smirked at your reaction, though he meant what he said. he understood now wasn’t the right moment to delve deeper. “I could go out, pick up a woman at the bar, and bring her home. Choso, though? he hasn’t done any of that. I haven’t seen him talk to a woman once.”

“yeah, right. Choso could walk down the street and charm any girl.” you joked, but the thought made your stomach churn.

Sukuna chuckled. “doesn’t matter. he’s barely left his room.”

“oh.” was all you could manage.

since that day, the calls and texts from Choso had stopped. whether he had given up or found happiness elsewhere, you chose not to think about it.

instead, you decided to spend tonight drowning your feelings with Nobara, Megumi and Yuji. no thinking of Choso, no thinking of Choso, you repeated the mantra over and over just as you’d done over the past two months.

Nobara spent half the night shoving you gently in the direction of other men, trying to get you to flirt and have fun. no matter how many times you tried to dissuade her, she kept telling you that it was time to move on. but even when a guy would be trying to sweet talk you, you kept having to shake away images of those twin black buns and tattoo striped across the nose. how could anyone compare?

Yuji and Megumi tried to lift your spirits as well by forcing you to dance with them. but eventually, their sweet romantics would make you feel even worse, to no fault of their own. you were just remembering the night Choso saved you from that creepy guy in a bar. 

“Yuji…” you whined, leaning heavily against the bar with your head in your hands. the music blared around you as Nobara tried to slide another drink your way, but you waved it off, no longer in the mood. “did I really fuck up? just be honest with me.”

Yuji offered a sympathetic pat on your head, a gesture that only irritated you more. he’d taken to doing it since your breakup; it made you feel like a helpless child, vulnerable and lost. “I think you did what was best for you.” he said softly, but the words felt hollow and you could see past the fake bullshit he was spewing. 

“but… I don’t know anymore.” you really didn’t. the weight of uncertainty settled in your chest. moving out had felt like the right choice, but breaking things off with Choso? that was a different story. “I just really miss him.

“then why haven’t you talked to him?” Megumi interjected, his expression neutral as if he were presenting the most logical solution in the world.

“I can’t. he’s better off without a brother-fucking girlfriend.” 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Yuji grimaced, shaking his head at your remark. the thought of you being… intimate with either of his brothers still made him a little queasy. after a moment, he leaned in closer. “he’s not better off without you. trust me, I know my brother. he might act like he’s fine, but he’s a complete mess without you. his music’s gotten louder – like he’s trying to drown out the silence – and he spends all his time in the dark in his room. I haven’t heard him touch his xbox in weeks. he’s just… an empty shell now. honestly, he’s even more emo than before, if that’s even possible.”

maybe Yuji was right. maybe you hadn’t necessarily made the wrong choice at the time, but the long-term effects felt crushing. you wanted Choso to be happy, that was why you left. if you were happy, great. if Choso was happy, even better. as you often reminded yourself, it was with or without you. but the idea of him suffering made your heart ache. 

“I just keep thinking about the good times.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I remember how he used to smile when I’d surprise him with his favorite snacks, or how he’d get lost in his music for hours. it’s like I can still hear him playing those songs in my head.”

Yuji watched you closely, his expression softening. “but it’s not just about you and him any more, it’s about what you both need. sometimes love means taking a step back, even if it hurts.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” you said, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over. “but now it just feels… empty. I thought I’d feel better, but I don’t.”

Nobara returned with yet another full drink, her eyes flickering between you and Yuji. she placed it in front of you, but you just stared at it, not ready to take another sip but not pushing it away either. “you can’t keep punishing yourself for wanting what’s best for both of you.” she said, her tone more supportive than judgmental. “I don’t see why you can’t just talk to him.”

“but what if he doesn’t want to talk to me? what if I end up just making things worse?” the anxiety twisted in your stomach, each possibility feeling heavier than the last.

Yuji suddenly placed both hands on your face, squeezing slightly to get you to turn and focus on him. “listen, you are my best friend in the world – sorry Nobara – and you deserve to be happy. I won’t sit here and listen to you agonize over whether you made the right choice. obviously, if it still bothers you, then you didn’t. I can say with certainty that Choso would want to talk to you, he’d probably cry if he got the chance for one minute to see you. so, get off your ass and talk to him.”

Nobara and Megumi’s jaws dropped, and you could only nod in shock. “I’ve never seen Yuji be so firm.” Nobara muttered to Megumi.

“I know, it’s hot.” Megumi felt the sharp jab of Nobara’s elbow in his side, causing him to chuckle.

finally, after your little pep talk from Yuji, you were stumbling back to your apartment alone, and all you wanted was to think about Choso. what was he doing right about now? was he blaring music through the speakers in his room? maybe he was playing video games or watching a movie. Yuji had said he wasn’t doing any of that, but you could only hope for the best.

you grew nauseous at the thought of him with anyone else tonight.

as you dug for your keys in your purse, you tripped over something right outside your door. fuck, had someone’s food delivery got sent to the wrong address again? “oi, what the hell?” you grumbled as you looked up from your purse, only to stop breathing.

Choso shot up from the ground, buns tousled and eyes puffy. he opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find even a simple “hello” only to give up and shut his lips tightly.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice trembling as your palms grew clammy at the sight of him. your heart raced in your chest, aching for him.

“I had to… I needed to…” Choso stammered, caught off guard that you were speaking to him. he hadn’t expected to run into you; he thought he’d just swing by and maybe catch of a glimpse of you if luck was on his side. “I don’t know what to say now that you’re right here.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle, unfazed by his awkwardness. “do you want to come in?” you slid your key into the door, and Choso nodded firmly. 

maybe it was the alcohol, or just the shock of seeing him after two months apart, but your resolve was slipping.

he followed you inside, mentally letting out a sigh of relief at just being able to speak with you. Choso had begged Yuji every day for even the smallest hint of your new address. to his surprise, it was Sukuna who finally let it slip.

you moved to the kitchen, trying to give Choso a moment to gather himself. “can I get you something to drink?” you asked, glancing back at him.

he shook his head, still looking a bit shell-shocked. “I just… I didn’t think I’d actually see you.”

you turned to face him full, leaning against the counter. “why did you come, then?”

Choso took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about you, about everything that happened between us. I can’t move on from you.

“Choso…” you whispered, your heart sinking at his words.

he stepped closer, his hand reaching out but hesitating halfway, as if unsure of how to bridge the gap between you. “I can’t move on from us.” he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll never be able to move on from you.” his hand slowly moved until it rested just above yours on the counter. “I think…” he took a breath, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart race. “I think I’ll love you forever.”

your resolve crumbled, scattered like leaves in the wind, as the warmth of his presence enveloped you. “I think… I’ll love you forever too.” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could hold them back.

Choso’s expression shifted, a longing flickering across his face as he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. he wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to hold onto you tightly and never let go, but he held back, willing to let you lead the way. if you wanted him to leave, he would do it, even if it meant breaking his heart all over again.

but standing so close, you felt that pull to him that was impossible to ignore. you didn’t know if you’d regret it, but your body was responding to his proximity, urging you to bridge the gap. “are you going to kiss me now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Choso’s breath caught at your question, his eyes widening with surprise and a flicker of hope. “is that what you want?” he asked, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. 

you nodded, a nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach. “yes.”

that seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. in an instant, he closed the gap, cupping your face gently with his hand as he leaned in. his lips brushed against yours softly at first, as if testing the waters. the kiss was tentative, filled with months of longing, but it quickly deepened, igniting a warmth that spread through you both.

you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. it felt like coming home after a long trip – a familiar warmth that wrapped around your heart.

Choso broke apart from you, breathless, as he rested his forehead against yours. his eyes searched yours, looking for something within them. “this can’t… I can’t handle it if this is just a one-night stand.” he murmured, breath warm on your face. 

you shook your head against him, a small smile forming across your face. “I don’t think I can let you go again.” as you whispered the reassurance, Choso groaned out in relief before pressing his lips to yours again.

where the first kiss had been cautious, patient, his lips now moved against yours with a fervent need to feel every inch of you. Choso’s tongue dipped past your lips to tenderly caress yours as he pulled you closer into him, heaving chests flush together as your hands fisted the back of his shirt. 

“angel…” he moaned lowly, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you panted into his mouth. you felt like you were on fire, his hands leaving trails of flame on your body while they roamed and grabbed at whatever he could get his hands on. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” you whimpered as his lips found purchase between your neck and jaw. he peppered kisses along your skin before you felt his teeth bite into you before sucking a mark. “missed you s’ much.”

the two of you became a tangle of limbs as he tugged you toward your bed, so conveniently close in your studio, until your legs hit the bed and you both tumbled backward onto the mattress. Choso landed on top of you with a thud, causing you to let out a laugh with the extra weight. 

“somethin’ funny?” Choso asked with a grin as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I missed that laugh. thought I’d never hear it again.”

looking up at him, your heart raced, urging you to speak before thinking. he was so beautiful, watching you with a love-filled gaze, that you couldn’t help but melt under him. “I love you, Choso.” the words slipped out softly from your lips but you had no regrets – you did love him, with your whole heart.

Choso’s eyes went wide, shining so bright that you were blinded by the emotion pouring out from his expression. he was shattered when you’d left. you’d taken the sunshine with you, leaving him to hole up in the darkness of his broken heart. but with those three words, you’d started to piece him back together. 

his lips crashed into yours, teeth clattering together with the force of it, as his eyelids fluttered close with furrowed brows. “I….” he started between your lips “… love…” a nip at your tongue “… you.” 

nothing was holding him back anymore from pulling his shirt over his head with one fluid motion, before latching his lips onto your neck and dragging out the sweet little moans he loved from your mouth as he marked you with his teeth. he’d heard them in his dreams, through his blaring music, every day he heard your voice, and now he wanted to make sure he’d hear it until he went deaf.

Choso trailed kisses down to your collarbone before pulling your shirt off and then unclasping the back of your bra. needy lips found your perked nipples, latching on roughly as he sucked one into his mouth. he made sure to leave bruising red marks on the plushest part of your tits as well – just in case the one on your neck hadn’t taken. this skin was softer, easier to brutally bite and suck, dragging the most incredible noises he’d ever heard from you. with every scratch of his teeth against your skin, you moaned out in a mix of pain-pleasure, and your pulse raced under his touch, shivers running through your bones as he continued his path down to the hem of your pants. 

it felt like the first time all over again; the need and desire taking over both of you. he was relentless with his hands dragging over your body, scratching and gripping everywhere they paused. but his hands would only pause for a moment, before moving on to somewhere else, desperately aching to touch you, feel you, taste you. 

“wan’ t’… need t’ taste you, angel.” he murmured against your skin as his fingers worked apart the button, then the zipper, ultimately forcing the pants down your legs and ripping them from your ankles to toss them somewhere on the floor. he had a one-track mind right now – tasting your sweet cunt on his tongue. “miss the taste of you, been goin’ through withdrawals.”

your face flushed at the filthy words babbling from his lips as he kissed your inner things, making sure to leave bite marks there too. “Choso, that’s so gross baby.” you whined in embarrassment and tried to shut your thighs, only to have them forced open by his hands pushing your knees apart.  “it’s not that great, I’m sure.”

Choso looked up from where his chin was nestled between you, eyes half-lidded as if he was drunk off you already. “it is that great, it’s perfect. could do this all day if you’d let me.” and with that, he licked a stripe up your already slick folds and let out an animalistic groan at the taste. “s’ good, tastes s’ good angel. can’t get enough.”

as he began to eat you like a man starved, spit and arousal coating his mouth and chin, glistening over his face tattoo you loved so much, you fisted his dark hair in your hand at the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. it had been so long – too long – and you were overly sensitive to every nudge of his nose against your clit as he pressed his face deep into your core.

“Cho, s’ too much.” you whimpered when he plunged a single-digit knuckle deep into your warm walls and curled it into your g-spot. your hips instinctively bucked against his mouth, and he let out a pleased hum at your reaction. 

he pulled his mouth away from your clit with a plop! and smirked up at you through his lashes. “feelin’ good, angel?” he asked, but he could feel the answer on his fingers as he stuffed another one deep into you. your gushy walls were as tight as his pants were around his constrained throbbing cock, no doubt already leaking with pre-cum at the sight of you coming undone from his tongue. “wan’ you t’ cum on me, need t’ taste it before I get inside you.”

“please – hah – please wanna cum s’ bad!” your moans were pornographic at this point as the hot knot in your abdomen tightened into a coil ready to be snapped. as you practically rode his tongue to chase your release, Choso’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the addictive taste of your cunt, deciding that if he died with his head between your legs and your cum on his tongue, it would be the perfect end to his life. 

“that’s it, cum f’ me ‘kay?” Choso urged before his tongue caressed your clit in circular motions while his fingers curled against your g-spot just right. your orgasm came crashing through you, two months’ worth of pent-up need for him and only him coursing through your bones as you came on his face with wild thrashes of your hips. 

he had to wrap his arm over your hips, forcing them to be still as he didn’t give up his pursuit of the most spectacular orgasm he could give you. even though your body felt like it was on fire, he was unyielding in his torment on your sensitive clit. you were still coming, screaming his name as you tried to scramble away from him in a desperate attempt to escape the overstimulation, but he kept you pinned in place with his bicep, growling into your dripping heat every time you tried to move.

“s-stop, ‘s too much!” you yelped as he continued scissoring his fingers inside of you, forcing open the tightness of your walls as he slurped your clit into his mouth and sucked repetitively. you were going to explode, maybe even die with every wave of release that just kept crashing, the warmth tingling through your body traveling down down down until you felt like a dam had burst, and you heard the squelches of your cunt squirting all over him.

Choso was ecstatic, and absolutely feral to feel your pussy juices spray onto his face and coating his tongue. you tasted heavenly, his cock twitching at the sight of you writhing at his touch – he wanted to lap up every bit of you, but even then, he knew his need wouldn’t be fulfilled.

just as you were coming down, body still twitching with overstimulation, Choso stood up and shoved his pants down to reveal his leaking dick, red and irritated from the confines of his pants, ready to feel you wrap around him. “please, need you to fuck me, Choso.” you begged as you reached for him, wanting him inside of you this instant or else you’d implode. 

“don’t worry, gonna make you feel real good again, baby.” Choso pumped his cock with the same hand that was coated in your release before lining up his tip with your cunt. he kissed your lips, and you tasted yourself on his tongue. of course, he’d never wipe his face of your delicious juices. “missed this s’ much, been dreaming ‘bout it every day.”

with one deep, steady thrust, Choso bullied his dick through your wet walls and bottomed out, balls deep within you and letting out the loudest groan you’d ever heard come from his lips. you gasped at the fullness, somehow forgetting just how large he was when he was pressed against your cervix and filling you so deliciously. he took no time in rolling his hips into yours without pause, ready to feel every inch of you coating his cock. 

“fuck, Choso it’s been too long.” you gasped as his tip continuously kissed your cervix, loud and wet squelches coming from your cunt with every thrust he drove into you. your hips bucked to meet him, need, desperate for him to keep going keep going keep going. without a doubt, you’d be sore and achy tomorrow, but you couldn’t give two shits as long as he was fucking you this good. 

your name was a panted-out prayer on his lips as his hands cupped your face to look at you while he fucked into you, primal instinct taking over and urging him to fill you with his cum over and over. every ignored ache of his cock from the past two months had built up to this, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. no, he’d pull more orgasms from your pretty cunt, and fill you up over and over until you could never forget the feeling of him.

 “shit – hmph – missed feeling your cunt wrapped around me. look at you, so pretty underneath me, like my own personal angel.” Choso murmured through his pants as his thrust became sloppier. to compensate for his lack of control and quickly oncoming orgasm, he slid his hand down, fingers pressing against your clit in slow, deliberate circles to get you to cum on his cock. 

as the knot began to tighten in your stomach again, your eyes snapped open to look at Choso above you – black hair already sticking to his forehead, twin buns coming loose, pupils blown out from pleasure, and mouth agape as he watched you move underneath him. “I love you.” you whined, turning your head and softly kissing his hand that was against your cheek. “holy shit, I love you!”

at your confession, Choso’s pace on your clit picked up and brought you over the edge, your second release racking your body as you trembled beneath him through it. he could not only feel it, but he could hear it too. your warm walls clenched around him like a vice, lewd wet squelches echoing with every thrust of his cock, and your slutty moans of his name had him crumbling. god, you were perfect to him, so soft and pretty and you felt. so. fucking. good. 

he felt like an animal, rutting into you with all of his strength to get himself off, desperate to release himself inside of you. his orgasm found him as you were halfway through yours, and he groaned out, “I love you!” before smashing his lips into yours as his hips stilled to be as deep as he could inside of you, spirts of his hot cum coating your walls as he shuddered on top of you. “I love you I love you I love you!”

he fucked you through both of your orgasms before crashing down on top of you, head buried in the crook of your neck as you both struggled to catch your breath and come down from the high. “I love you, Choso.” you whispered now, brushing his bangs from his sweaty forehead and kissing him. 

“I love you, angel. forever.” Choso murmured back in response, a soft smile taking over his wet lips as he nuzzled closer to you, breathing in deeply through his nose against your skin. “never gonna stop loving you.”

“that’s okay with me.” 

-

it was Christmas time now, fresh white snow coating the ground as you hurried down the sidewalk. you were late, oh so late, again. you could already picture Megumi’s disapproving glare, and you almost lost your footing on a particularly slick patch of ice at the thought.

when you finally burst through Yuji’s front door, panting and flushed from the cold, Megumi gave you the expected side-eye. but then Yuji bounded over, a huge grin on his face. “you made it! thank goodness. if I had to deal with mr. grinch for one more minute, I might’ve pulled my hair out. and I like my hair – everyone likes my hair!” he rambled on, tugging you in the living room and practically forcing you to sit on the couch beside Megumi.

“who’s the grinch this year? Megumi?” you asked playfully, a teasing grin spreading across your face as you glanced at the raven-haired boy. you then turned your attention to the other side of the room. “or is it Sukuna?”

Sukuna, lounging comfortably in an accent chair with a mug that you guessed was filled with heavily spiked eggnog, shook his head and let out a low chuckle. “take another wild guess.”

you raised an eyebrow, confused, until Choso rounded the corner wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater you’d ever laid eyes on. the sight nearly made you gasp. “oh my god.” you breathed, struggling to stifle your laughter.

“don’t. say. a fucking. word.” Choso grumbled, shooting a pointed glare at Yuji who was wearing a matching outrageous sweater.

“you look so cute!” you exclaimed, unable to contain yourself. you jumped off the couch and rushed over to him, planting a fat kiss on his lips. “I’ve never seen you wear so many colors!”

Choso’s face turned pink as his gaze dropped to the enormous, puffy reindeer on the front of the sweater. “you like it?” he asked quietly, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I love it.” you replied sincerely, and when he looked back up at you, a radiant smile broke across his face. “and I love the man wearing it even more.”

“of course, when his girlfriend shows up, he’s no longer a grouch.” Yuji huffed, arms crossed and feigning annoyance as he watched the exchange between his brother and you.

“you know you love it.” Megumi teased, wrapping his arms around Yuji’s shoulders and planting a soft kiss on his temple, a playful smirk on his face.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Sukuna declared, pinching the bridge of his nose in exaggerated annoyance before taking a long gulp from his mug.

you settled back onto the couch, still riding the high of Choso’s blush, when he reached into the pile of gifts stacked beneath the tree. his eyes sparkled with excitement as he pulled out a small, wrapped box with a red bow on top.

“for you.” he said, a shy smile spreading across his face as he handed it to you. “Nobara helped me pick it out, so I can’t take all the credit. she also threatened me to make sure I told you that.”

you snorted out a laugh and took the box from him. you carefully peeled off the wrapping to see a small velvety box hidden underneath, and your breath caught in your throat as you opened it. inside lay a delicate, silver necklace featuring a mountain with two stars atop it. 

“Choso, it’s beautiful!” you gasped, tears pricking your eyes as your fingers brushed over it.

he smiled and gently took the necklace from the box. “while it’s not wall climbing, I thought it would remind you of our first date… and, well, us being the two stars. since… y’know, we went climbing, even though we didn’t do it on a mountain and -”

you looked up, meeting his gaze and causing him to pause his rambles at your expression, and felt hot tears freely sliding down your cheeks at the sweetness of it all. “it’s perfect. I love it.” Choso softly smiled before leaning closer and carefully helping you clasp the necklace around your neck. the pendant settled just above where your heart raced beneath your skin.

Yuji and Megumi exchanged knowing glances, and Yuji elbowed Megumi playfully. “look at you two, all sweet and mushy… makes me sick.” Megumi teased with a tiny smirk.

“I’m sick of all of you.” Sukuna grumbled from his spot, but beneath the mug pressed to his lips, you could see his mouth curving up into a small smile.

Choso’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “I just wanted to give you something special.” he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice making you melt. “I love you so much, angel.”

you sniffled slightly, reaching up to touch the necklace that you knew would never be taken off. “I love you too, Choso.” you replied before placing a soft kiss to his lips. 

in that moment, everything felt perfect. you were in love, surrounded by some of the people that you cared about the most on the holidays. and for now, you knew that everything would be okay – more than okay.

-

-

-

-

Sukuna’s POV

months later

he’d never say it to anyone else, but Sukuna’s therapist knows damn well to take the secret to their grave. sure, he’d been in love with you, or some semblance of love at least. so forgive him for being a tad heartbroken that he wasn’t the one chosen after everything.

his therapist had told him not to ruminate over it, that he had sought forgiveness and worked towards being a better person. but had he truly? he’d spent the better part of the cold season getting over it, and while he ultimately had, he was still nagged by the dread of never finding someone to look at him that way again. 

he was happy that everyone else was happy. he’d royally fucked up, he knew that, and he deserved to not be the one chosen in the end. all he could do now was move forward and continue trying. 

try try try. 

it was the mantra he’d carried into the new year, seared in his brain every second of every day. it’s all he ever did nowadays.

well, that and drink himself into a drunken stupor whenever he got the chance. and tonight was no exception – having ditched Yuji’s little party at the house to escape the suffocating romance between everyone but him, he found himself at a quiet bar two pints in, desperately hoping for a mild buzz at least.

he felt like a pitiful fool, drinking away his feelings. this wasn’t like him, or it used to not be. he wasn’t so sure anymore. he still felt the same – angry at the world, annoyed by those lesser than him, but in a way, he was more mature. mindful of the people around him and how he affected their lives. he guessed that was what growth did to a person.

but he couldn’t let his old attitude consume him. he’d try and try and try to be better for everyone else around him.

that was until he met her.

“oi, get your fucking hands off me!” he’d heard a voice shout from just outside the bar. it sounded distressed yet confident at the same time. he wasn’t sure what was going on until he heard two other deep voices, chuckling and hurling derogatory insults in the air as if it didn’t matter.

today, it would matter to him.

Sukuna abruptly stood from his stool, causing it to fall to the ground with a loud crash as he stormed out the door of the bar. underneath the streetlights, he saw her – small and fragile, surrounded by two drunken men reaching their hands out for her. and yet, despite her predicament, Sukuna couldn’t help but smirk at her, rearing back a fist, ready to knock someone out. 

she hadn’t even heard the crash from the bar, focused solely on the annoying assholes bothering her. all she'd been doing was walking home, alone, like an idiot of course. but a little recklessness never stopped her. she doubted her punch would do much damage, but it was worth a shot anyway. 

“I said leave me the hell alone, twatbags!” she shouted, fist shaking but staying firm in a pulled-back position. if they made one more move, she'd muster up the courage and hit one of them. she hated guys like these, her office was filled with them and now she couldn’t even get a reprieve walking down the street.

suddenly, both men went wide-eyed in front of her. hah, so her scare tactics worked, she thought. she'd have to pat yourself on the back later for this achievement. “aw, little ole me got you boys scared? looks like you’re about to wet your pants.” she smirked, crossing her arms in triumph. 

until their eyes traveled from hers, to over her head. 

“these guys bothering you?” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist: @nighttwingg @sweetsformysoul @casualpoetrytaco @lvingd3adg0rl @haikomaiko @csolya @deathlypink @sad-darksoul @elisedylandy @jinxiewritings @aldebrana @ravester @futuristiccurlyhair @san-it-is-i-guess @marie-is-in-the-dark @llovergirlll @iseeyouuu @makingtimemine @spicykimchii @shxhari @ratcoone @mollyrocks420 @willybillyletsgetsilly @distinguishedpenguinbread @ren-ni @sugar504 @runfrme @sukuna-for-life @theclassbookworm @avidreadee123 @tibibibi123 bro. just... BRO. we're at the end ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ i can't believe it!!!! I really really hope I did the end of the story justice, and that everyone is happy with the ending! if not, at least I'm happy about it. THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO'S FOLLOWED, LIKED, REBLOGGED, AND COMMENTED through this whole short story!!!!! and to everyone who's requested to be tagged you have my WHOLE heart. ugh, I'm getting emotional again... but it doesn't make me too sad considering... Sukuna spin off coming soon! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ obviously her will turn into you in the next writing, was that obvious enough? no? damn. anyways, hope to see you all later! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[summercreolefanfictioner]

are u going to continue ur fanfic would you like to find out? i really really like it!

yes yes yes

would you like to find out pt. 3 (diabolik lovers modern college au)

Yui was beyond exhausted after the whole Ayato-Sakamaki-appearing-outside-her-classroom-claiming-he's-her-boyfriend situation. She slumped her head on the university cafe's table, groaning aloud as she looked back on everything that happened. Basically, she had to drag Ayato away from unnecessary attention until she settled for talking with him in an empty science lab.

"Can't believe you just forget we didn't happen that night," Ayato remarked, musing at Yui who was looking at her wits' ends. "I must say you hurt me, Chichinashi."

Yui blushed at the familiar nickname. "I have a name, you know! It's—"

"I know," the redhead interjected. "It's Komori Yui from the Bible Studies course."

The blonde girl was flustered, refusing to look at him because if she dismd, she won't be able to resist him. After all, Sakamaki Ayato will not be the famous IT boy of Ryoutei University for nothing. With his boyish yet charming looks and killer smile (plus the smooth and deep voice), he can get away with stealing her heart—

No, NO! Yui, focus. Focus. FOCUS. FOCUS.

"L-Look, I'm sorry about what I did," she started, hoping this will all end in a good turn. "Can we just... you know... forget what I said? I got caught up in a mood, and you did too. That's why—"

The next thing, Ayato was pinning her against the wall, his face void of any expression as he looked down on her. Yui felt scared at his behavior, looking away as she fiddled with her fingers. He was beyond mad, but not livid. Ayato had an inkling Yui will tell him her suggestion, but what can a man do?

It's simple.

Ayato smirked wickedly. "Oh? Ordering me now, are you?"

"It's not like that!"

He inched his face closer, and Yui wished the ground could swallow her whole.

"How brazen, Yui. You think you can make me give up after a few words."

I wish you would just give up. Please.

Afterward, Ayato ruffled her blonde hair and chuckled, letting her go but not without saying, "I asked if you would like to find out what it feels like to date, and you said yes," he pointed. "We have nowhere to go back now, Chichinashi."

He got her. He fucking got her under his palm.

"W-Wha—Ayato-kun!"

Ayato opened the door.

"I'll see you around, Chichinashi. Take a look at your pocket for starters."

And then he left her. Just like that. He just swept her feet in a few minutes and reminded her of their deal. Oh my gosh, she thought. What do I do now?!

Yui searched in her pocket and found a small piece of paper with Ayato's number written on it.

Back to present, Yui groaned again and slammed her fists on the table, alerting a few of the customers in the university cafe. She wanted to just disappear from the world. This is all my fault. If I just thought carefully of everything and refrained myself from falling with a handsome guy just because he was so nice, things would've—

"That's quite a face you're making there, Yui-chan," a feminine voice noticed.

Yui sat up straight, a startled expression on her face as she saw Maya serve her the usual strawberry parfait she orders at the cafe. Maya had been Yui's friend ever since she became her study buddy in the library. Despite Maya sounding so robotic and looking a bit cold, Yui actually found her presence soothing.

"S-Sorry," she mumbled shyly.

Maya sat in front of her. "The manager told me about you, so I had to take a break. What's up?"

Yui contemplated telling her. It was true enough that being involved with Ayato could lead to baseless rumors, and sure enough she might have one or a few tomorrow. But... she needed help.

"Maya-chan, can I ask something?"

"Hm?"

"Do you know someone named Sakamaki Ayato?"

Maya stilled. She knew the guy, but not because he's popular. It's because... of a certain someone she didn't want to name or else she'll complicate things.

"I know him," Maya answered. I know him all too well, to the point I don't want to talk to him. "Why?"

"The thing is," Yui hesitated. What would Maya think? That she's some promiscuous girl who opened herself up just because she fell instantly for someone in just a night? She hoped not. "I..." she leaned in to whisper. "Something happened between us."

"What do you mean?" Maya inquired, confused about her statement.

The black-haired girl observed Yui fidgeting in her seat and blushing. It took her a few seconds before finally deducing things.

"So you had sex with him," she concluded nonchalantly, sending Yui in full embarrassment.

"M-MAYA-CHAN!"

"What? Yui-chan, doing it is not something you should worry about." Unless Ayato did something nasty after then I will punch his face.

The blonde sighed in relief. "Well, the thing is we were in the moment and I casually told him I want to know what it feels like to have a boyfriend... or something like that," she narrated. "I thought he wouldn't think anything of it, but he did."

Maya frowned. Well, what did Yui expect? She had known the triplets ever since she was young, and Ayato had always displayed determination in achieving what he always wanted. No, that's a lie. The triplets have always known that they get what they want no matter when or where or what the consequences are. They're simple-minded like that.

"I like him, of course," Yui admitted, "but I have no confidence and for me, this is just a mere crush. What if things don't work out?"

And for this specific reason, Maya felt for her. There's the Sakamaki name to worry about, and the fact that dating for women can be hard as it is. She sighed, clapping her hands to gain Yui's attention.

"I have known Ayato-san ever since we were kids, and it's not all bad honestly," Maya started. "I think... you should find out for yourself where this situation will lead you and see if everything works out or not in the end."

"Are you sure, Maya-chan?" Yui asked, still having doubts about goung after Ayato.

Maya nodded. "Besides, there's no need to rush, Yui-chan. I am sure Ayato-san will have your best interest at heart. He's that type of guy, after all."

That night, Ayato was chilling with Laito and Kanato, playing a video game they rented from their favorite video shop when he received a message. When he opened the message, he grinned.

"Hello, Ayato-kun. This is Komori Yui. Please take care of me, okay?"

He typed his reply, sent the message, and went back into gaming.

"I'll give you the best time of your life, Chichinashi."

EXTRA:

Maya frowned. This is why she deliberately chose the morning shift at the university cafe, slightly glaring at the person who specifically requested her presence along with an order of an iced latte and takoyaki. And said person had the nerve to smirk at her like she's not mad at him for disturbing during her working hours.

"Ayato-san, for the last time, I am not—"

"I know, I know." Ayato held up his hands in defense. "You told me there is no way you are going to confess to Kanato, but that's not what I am here for."

Maya raised a brow while Ayato scrolled through his phone and showed a picture of Yui.

"You know her, right?" He wanted to confirm. "I asked around and they said you two are friends."

"And?"

"I want to know what kind of guy she likes."

Is she hearing things right? Ayato? Wanting to find out Yui's type in a guy? Normally, she wouldn't give any information, but this was Ayato, and knowing Ayato, he's as stubborn as a rock.

"Do you like her?" Maya asked curiously. Yui is her friend, and there is no way she will give him details if he had no intention of pursuing a serious relationship with her friend.

"So what?" Ayato didn't deny, which was a relief. "Is it wrong for me to like your friend? You like my brother, so can't I do that?"

Maya gave him a look that said, "Please stop mentioning your brother or someone will hear you," to which the redhead apologized.

Nonetheless...

"There's no need for you to know about that, Ayato-san. I am sure Yui-chan will like you."

"You think so? You're not bluffing?"

"You should go for her and treat her right, okay?"

"Sure."

Ah, thank goodness.

"If we work things out, I'll help you with Kanato."

Maya sighed in frustration.

Not this again.

[yuumenakaiser]

Whispers of yesterday

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆. Ken Kaneki x gn!reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆. Word count: 8.7k ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆. fluff, hurt, a lot of sad emotions, hospital, coma and so on I finally finished this piece of beauty and to be honest I'm really proud. It's my first longest fanfic ever and I hope people who read it, enjoy it as much as I wrote it. Before I forget it ima tag as a reminder for this fanfic @blu3-l0v3r hope you enjoy it too.

Please don't forget to reblog and like! I'm open for requests and comments, ideas etc.

The First Pages of Us

The first time you met Kaneki, he was crying.

You were five years old, standing in the middle of a playground, clutching a melting popsicle as you watched the little boy with dark hair wipe at his eyes. His knees were scraped, a little bloody and his lower lip wobbled as he tried to stop the tears from falling.

No one was paying attention to him. His friend had run off after pushing him too hard while playing tag, and now he sat on the ground, shoulders trembling.

You didn’t hesitate for a second, stepping forward and kneeling beside him as he sniffled, his scraped knee raw and red. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a small plaster adorned with tiny purple flowers, its edges slightly crinkled from being carried around.

"Don't cry, I'll help you," you said softly, your voice filled with the same warmth your mother used to comfort you. You held out the bandage in your little hand, hoping it would make him feel better.

Leaning in, you gently blew on his wounded knee, just like you had seen your mother do so many times before. You weren’t sure if it actually helped, but something about the gesture always made the pain feel a little less sharp. His sniffles quieted as he watched you, his wide, watery eyes filled with curiosity and trust.

Carefully, you peeled the plaster open, your small fingers working delicately to separate the wrapper. With the utmost care, you pressed it over his scrape, smoothing it down with soft, reassuring pats. "There," you murmured, offering him a gentle smile. "All better now."

His nose ran a little and wiped it off his hoodie sleeve. He blinked his tears away and looking up at your face “T-thank.. you.”

You gave him a bright smile before snapping your popsicle in half, the crisp crack echoing softly between you.

“Here,” you said, holding out one half of the cold treat.

He looked up at you, his gray eyes still glossy with unshed tears. He sniffled. “But… it’s yours.”

You shook your head, your smile unwavering. “Now it’s ours.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his small fingers hovering uncertainly. Then, with careful movements, he reached out and took the popsicle from your hand. He held it delicately, almost as if he were afraid it might disappear.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere. He sniffled again, rubbing his sleeve across his damp cheeks before taking a tentative lick of the frozen treat. Almost instantly, his face lit up with delight.

“It tastes good!” he beamed, his earlier sadness fading like a bad dream. His grip on the popsicle grew firmer, as if cherishing the simple gift you'd shared.

You nodded in agreement, mirroring his happiness.

And in that moment, without either of you realizing it, you and Ken Kaneki became inseparable.

---

Age 7 – A World of Books

The years passed like the pages of a well written love storybook, filled with soft laughter and whispered secrets. 

Kaneki loved books—more than anything. And soon, you learned to love them too.

The library became your second home, you both spent your time together there after elementary school, a quiet sanctuary where the scent of old pages lingered in the air. You would sit in the corner, knees tucked to your chest, watching as Kaneki’s small fingers traced over the words on the page, his lips silently forming each syllable. He was completely entranced, lost in a world that only he could see.

He would read for hours if you let him, his gray eyes shimmering with quiet fascination. And even though he was usually shy—so soft-spoken that he barely spoke in class—books made him different. They made him come alive. He would lean toward you, excitement bubbling in his voice as he tried to teach you difficult words, sounding them out slowly until you got them right. He explained stories to you even when you hadn’t asked, rambling with a passion that made you forget he was ever the quiet boy who mostly just listened to your yap.

“Did you know,” he said one day, his expression alight with wonder, “that in this book, the hero isn’t really a hero? He just wants to protect someone, but that makes him do bad things.”

You blinked, tilting your head to the side. “So… is he bad?”

Kaneki hesitated, his fingers idly brushing the edge of the page. He thought about it carefully—just like he always did. Then, finally, he shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured. “He’s just… lost.”

“Just…lost?” You thought about that for a moment, your gaze drifting to the book in his hands. Someone who wasn’t bad, just lost. Someone who did bad things for the sake of protecting someone they loved. The idea felt strange, complicated. Could love really make someone do something bad?

Slowly, you looked back at Kaneki, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Kaneki… if you had to do something bad to protect someone you love, would you do it?”

He froze.

For a moment, his small hands tightened slightly around the book, his expression unreadable. Then, his grip loosened, and he looked at you—his gaze lingering on you for a few seconds, as if he was trying to figure something out.

“…I think,” he started softly, “if it was you, I would.” his voice was steady, he meant what he said. He would try everything to protect his best friend. 

Your breath caught slightly, and you felt warmth creep up your cheeks. Kaneki wasn’t looking at the book anymore. 

Kaneki scratched the back of his head and smiled awkwardly at you, his eyes closed and his cheeks softly flushed into a light pink.

You didn’t really know what to say. Your fingers curled around the edge of your sleeve, playing with the fabric as your heart gave a small, unfamiliar flutter. You weren’t quite old enough to understand why that made you feel different—why it made you want to smile and hide your face at the same time.

But one thing was certain.

Whenever Kaneki got lost in his books, lost in the endless worlds and stories he loved so much, you would always be there to find him.

---

Age 12 – A Promise in the Rain

It started with a drizzle.

You and Kaneki were walking home from school, side by side, when the first raindrops fell from the overcast sky. You gasped, stretching your palm out and watching the droplets land on your skin. “It’s raining!” you exclaimed with a bright smile, tilting your head up to the sky. The rain drops on your palm feeling cold. 

Kaneki, on the other hand, frowned, pulling his bag closer to his chest in an attempt to shield his schoolwork. “Great,” he muttered. “I just organized my notes and finished homework…”

But you weren’t paying attention. As the drizzle turned into a downpour, you let out a joyful giggle and twirled in place, arms spread wide. Your clothes clung to your skin as the cold rain soaked through, but you didn’t care. You felt free in the rain. 

Kaneki sighed. “We should hurry before—”

“Come on, Kaneki!” you cut him off, your voice filled with excitement. “Let’s play in the rain!”

He stopped a few steps ahead of you, turning back with an unimpressed look. His lips pressed into a small pout, cheeks puffed slightly with air. “Are you serious?” Kaneki just wanted to go home, worried that all of his homeworks would get wet from the rain and to start all over again.

You only grinned and ran toward him, grabbing both of his hands before he could protest. His schoolbag in his arms falling on the ground. With a playful laugh, you spun around, pulling him with you. “We’re already wet! What’s the point in running now?”

Kaneki groaned but didn’t resist. “You’re impossible,” he mumbled. But as he watched you laugh, your joy infectious despite the chill of the rain, his frown slowly faded. A small chuckle escaped him.

And just like that, he gave in. Enjoying playing in the rain with you together, the street filled with children's laughter from you two. 

The two of you played in the rain for what felt like forever—jumping into puddles, chasing each other through the empty streets, and spinning in circles until you were both dizzy. The cool raindrops slid down your faces, mixing with the warmth of your laughter.

But eventually, the cold began to creep in.

You shivered, hugging yourself as your wet clothes clung uncomfortably to your skin. “Okay… m-maybe it’s a little colder than I thought,” you admitted, your teeth chattering slightly.

Kaneki let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “I told you,” he said, but there was no real annoyance in his voice—only fondness.

Without hesitation, he reached for your hand and held it tightly in his own, his warmth a stark contrast to your chilled skin. “Come on,” he said, quickening his pace while grabbing his bag from the wet muddy ground. “Let’s get you home before you catch a cold.” 

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments, the rhythmic sound of raindrops filling the air. Your way home was the same as Kanekis, since you both lived next to each other, neighbours. 

Then, suddenly, Kaneki stopped. 

His expression softened as he turned to you, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, raindrops falling down on both of your heads. “Hey… let’s make a promise.”

You blinked up at him, surprised by his serious tone. “A promise? What kind of promise?” 

Kaneki nodded. “If something ever happens to me… I want you to keep going. No matter what.”

Your brows furrowed in concern, feeling a little unwell of the thought that something might happen to your best friend. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Kaneki… stop that.”

But he didn’t waver. “Just promise me.” His gray eyes held something unreadable—something deep, something heavy. Important to him. 

You hesitated. You didn’t understand why he was saying this, why he suddenly looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world and that he was about to lose you. But despite the confusion settling in your chest and heart pounding fast, you found yourself nodding

“…Okay,” you whispered. “I promise. I promise that… if something happens to you, I will keep going. But with you in my heart!”

Kaneki smiled then, the tension in his face easing. “Then I promise, too.” he pulled you with him again in the direction of his home, his small hands wrapped around yours tightly. And as the rain continued to fall, soaking you both to the bone, you felt it—an ache in your chest that wasn’t just from the cold.

Something had changed between you that day. You just didn’t realize it yet.

---

Age 16 –  Motion of Memories  

The late afternoon sky stretched endlessly above you, painted in soft hues of orange and pink. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily, shifting shape as the warm breeze passed. The rooftop of your school had become your quiet escape—a place where the world felt smaller, where it was just you and Kaneki, lost in your own little universe.

You lay side by side on the cool concrete, arms folded behind your head, letting the warmth of the fading sun sink into your skin. The distant hum of the city below was nothing more than white noise, drowned out by the sound of each other’s steady breathing.

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kaneki shift. He parted his lips as if to speak but hesitated, brows furrowing slightly. His fingers twitched against the fabric of his uniform as though debating whether to voice the thought resting on his tongue.

Finally, he gathered the courage.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your head slightly to face him, catching the way his gaze remained fixed on the sky. “Yeah?"

“…Do you ever wonder what it would be like to love someone?”

You let out a thoughtful hum. The question was simple for you, innocent even. For you love was warm, filled with butterflies and seeking for the affection of the other. But something about the way he said it—soft, contemplative, almost hesitant—made your stomach twist.

“What do you mean?” you asked carefully to get a better understanding, why he was asking this question and what exactly he had in mind.

Kaneki finally turned his head to meet your gaze. His gray eyes held a gentle warmth—soft and steady, like a quiet reassurance. There was kindness in them, a tenderness he often showed. And beneath it all, something deeper lingered behind those shy nervous orbs… something that felt a lot like love. “Like in books,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Where the main characters love each other so much it hurts”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into the hem of your shirt as your heart searched for the right words. “I think…” you began, your voice soft, uncertain. “I think love is supposed to feel warm.”

Kaneki’s lips lifted into a faint smile, but it barely reached his eyes. His gaze drifted, distant and unfocused, as though he was somewhere else—trapped in thoughts you couldn’t reach, couldn't enter. There was a strange weight to his expression, a kind of quiet sorrow that seemed to live just beneath the surface.

“Warm, huh?” he repeated, his voice low, almost to himself. But there was something in it, something fragile and heavy. While sitting up his eyes dropped to his hands, how his shoulders tensed slightly, made it feel like the idea of warmth was almost too painful for him. He didn’t believe it, not really. It wasn’t the love he had known.

Love, to him, didn’t feel like warmth. It felt like the cold ache of absence. Like the hollow ache that still lingered in his chest when he thought of his mother. The woman he loved so fiercely, the one who had wrapped him in a love that should’ve been comforting, but instead, it left scars—scars that hurt every time he let himself remember.

Because love had hurt him.

Love and kindness had taken her away. And every time he let himself think about it, about the warmth of her arms or her smile, it was like a wound reopening. His chest would tighten, his breath would catch. The warmth he should have felt always came with a sharp edge, a reminder that love could cut and burn just as much as it could heal.

“Warm…?” His voice was quieter this time, like he was testing the word, trying it on, but it didn’t fit. "I think... love hurts, sometimes." 

You felt your heart twist. He couldn’t see love as warmth because it had hurt him so much. The only love he knew was the kind that ended in loss. And it was hard for him to believe anything different.

Your own heart pounded faster behind your ribs. The crush you once thought you understood had become something much deeper, something far more vulnerable. You had always cared for him, always felt the spark of something more when you were with him, but in that moment, you realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. You loved him.

You loved him in the quiet, gentle way he looked at you when no one else was around. You loved the way he always tried to shield you from the darkness inside him, even though it leaked out in small, sad fragments. You loved him more than you knew how to say.

And it hurt.

Because you wanted to ask him, so badly. Why do you think love has to hurt, Kaneki? Why does it feel like no one’s ever shown you that love can be warm, soft, and lasting? Can you feel my love for you? Or does it cut you, too?

But you stayed silent instead, your chest tightening as the words got stuck in your throat. You were afraid—afraid of pushing too far, afraid of uncovering layers of pain he wasn’t ready to share.

So you just looked at him, hoping he could see the truth in your eyes, hoping he could see that love could be warm. That you could be the warmth he needed.

Slowly, you sat up, settling closer to him and wrapping your arms around him. He needed the support. You could feel his sadness—how it weighed on him. No words need to be shared for you to understand what's going on in his mind. You wished you could take the pain away, carry it inside of you instead. You hated seeing him filled with sorrow, the way his once bright, pretty gray eyes seemed to lose their spark.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you a little closer. You softly rubbed his back to comfort him, to show him you are there for him, caring. And he cared for you. 

“Thank you…”  he murmured out, to let you know his appreciation. Shaking your head and pulling a little away, to face him again. “Not for that, Ken.” He gave you a small smile that you immediately returned. 

You wanted to tell him. I think of you when I imagine love. I think of you when I feel warmth. But you were afraid of his reaction.

The school bell rang, the fragile moment slipping slowly through your fingers, like sand. Was it too late?

Kaneki exhaled softly, his arms loosening on you, breaking the embrace. His fingers brushed against the rooftop surface as he stood up. “Let’s go back to class,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before.

He's standing now right in front of you and reaching his hand out for you, wanting to help you up. You slightly hesitated, your own mind filled with thousands of thoughts. 

Grabbing his hand and with a little pull, you were also now standing on your feets. Both now ready to leave the rooftop, he started walking and you along with him. But after a couple of steps you took a halt. 

This time… something felt different. You didn’t want to let the moment slip away like before. Something inside you urged you to speak, to be honest. You had to say it, even if you were terrified.

“Wait…”

Kaneki froze mid-step, turning slowly to face you. His expression softened, like he was already anticipating what you might say. The silence stretched between you, heavy, filled with unspoken words.

You opened your mouth, but hesitation still clung to your throat. The words you longed to say felt fragile, too precious. Yet, his gaze was warm and patient, as though he was waiting for something important, something you needed to say.

Your fingers tightened around your sleeves, your heart racing in your chest. In a breathless rush, the words finally spilled out: “I… I feel warm when I’m with you.”

Kaneki’s eyes widened just slightly. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but his words were lost. For a fleeting moment, the golden light of the sunset danced in his gaze, and you saw it—a softness there, something you couldn’t quite grasp, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

He stood there for a beat, his lips pressing together as if choosing his next words carefully.

Then, he smiled. Not the teasing grin he sometimes gave, not the shy one—but something far gentler, something that felt like he was offering you a quiet piece of himself.

“I… feel warm when I’m with you too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of something real. The truth. Holding the truth of his words in his voice and eyes. 

You froze, stunned by his words, your heart skipping a beat. Your breath caught in your chest as warmth spread through you—an overwhelming, almost giddy feeling that made your hands shake slightly.

And then, the realization hit you. A huge, silly smile spread across your face, unbidden but so genuine, so full of joy, it made your cheeks hurt from how wide you were grinning.

Without thinking, you rushed forward and threw your arms around him in a tight hug. Kaneki let out a startled gasp, his body tensing as you practically knocked the air out of him. He half-choked, caught off guard by the force of your embrace.

“W-wait, hey—!” Kaneki stuttered, trying to calm you down, though there was a soft chuckle in his voice as he awkwardly patted your back and wrapped his arms around you. You only squeezed him tighter, your heart soaring as you buried your face into his chest. You wanted to hold onto this moment forever.

Kaneki laughed, a little breathless. “Okay, okay! We really should get going to class.”

You reluctantly pulled away, still smiling like a fool, and your fingers brushed against his. He looked down at your hand for a moment before, without hesitation, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“Come on,” he said, his voice now soft and steady, “we’ll be late.”

And with his hand in yours, you both started walking back toward the stairs, the weight of everything between you two still lingering in the air. As you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but feel like something inside you had shifted, something that wasn’t so heavy anymore.

Maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something far more than you’d ever expected.

---

Age 18 – Falling into Silence 

You Promised. You both promised. 

It had started as a childish promise. The kind you make when you're too young to understand how life truly is.

After a beautiful afternoon spent together at the library — getting lost between the pages, sharing thoughts about books, and picking out a few new ones to take home — you both decided to grab a coffee-to-go before heading back.

The sun was already beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow across the Tokyo sky, painting the city in soft, golden hues.

With your steaming cups in hand, the two of you walked side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally, until you reached a quiet little playground tucked away between the buildings.

“Wanna swing for a bit?” you asked, grinning at him.

He let out a soft chuckle — and then suddenly bolted toward the swing with the bigger seat. “Whoever gets there first gets the big one!” he called out over his shoulder.

“Hey! That’s unfair!” you shouted, laughing as you chased after him.

Of course, Kaneki got to the bigger swing first, leaving you with the slightly smaller one beside him. You both began to swing slowly, letting the quiet wash over you. The cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, and the soft hum of crickets filled the air.

Above you, the sky deepened into shades of violet and gold — the last remnants of daylight slipping gently beyond the horizon.

Kaneki kicked the dirt beneath his feet, making lazy arcs in the dust. “You know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “sometimes I wonder if things will always stay the same.”

You looked at him with a questioning gaze, tilting your head slightly.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” you asked gently, trying to understand — did he mean that things between you would always stay the same? That the world wouldn’t change? Or was he asking whether change was allowed at all — and if it was, how far it could go?

Of course, all you ever wished for was the good kind of change — the kind that leads to something beautiful. A future wide and open. One where he was always by your side.

He hesitated. His gray eyes flickered between you and the sandy ground beneath your feet. He looked tense, as if unsure whether to speak what weighed on his heart.

But then, he took a breath, gathered his courage, and asked quietly. “Like… what if one day we drift apart? What if we’re no longer friends?”

The mere thought of it echoed through your entire body. A tight, aching feeling bloomed in your chest, your heart pounding harder — not from excitement, but from fear. Even your mouth felt dry.

You shook your head quickly, your feet stilling the swing’s motion instantly.

“That’s never going to happen,” you said, your voice firm and serious. You would never let it.

A world without Kaneki felt impossible — dark, cold, and unbearably lonely.

Your fingers gripped the swing’s cold metal chains tighter.

“We’ll always stay together. Side by side. I’ll always be there for you. No matter what.”

You looked at him with unwavering certainty. You didn’t like that Kaneki had such thoughts, but you couldn’t be mad at him for them. He had always been like that — full of quiet doubts and questions.

Still, you were thankful he sometimes shared them with you, like now.

Because then, you could understand what was weighing on him.

And help lift it from his heart — as if reaching into his chest with invisible hands and taking the heaviness away, without causing him pain.

Kaneki gave you a small, uncertain smile. He had stopped swinging too, now just listening to your words, letting them sink in. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought.

Then, he looked up at you and asked softly,

“How can you be so sure?”

Without a second thought, you jumped off the swing and stepped toward him, turning to face him directly. Then, you stretched out your pinky finger toward him.

“Because we’ll promise.”

Kaneki blinked, a little confused.

“A promise?” he asked cautiously.

You nodded. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be there for each other. Our paths won’t separate. No running away. No disappearing. Forever and always.”

Kaneki stared at you for a long moment. Then slowly, he lifted his hand and wrapped his pinky around yours. His grip was gentle — but firm.

“…Always,” he whispered.

“…Always,” you echoed back, giving him a soft, sheepish smile as you leaned your forehead against his.

You stayed like that for a while. Just the two of you, held together by a quiet promise.

And after a few seconds… he began to smile too.

Back then, it was just a simple promise. But to you both, it meant everything.

A small vow that neither of you could live without the other — something you’d remember. In the best times… and in the hardest ones.

---

Kaneki was late.

The two of you had planned to meet again at your favorite little book café,  that cozy place filled with the comforting scent of pastries, freshly brewed coffee, and paper worn soft from many hands. Books lined every wall, and the air always held a quiet kind of calm, like the world slowed down just a little inside.

You met there often after university, to study, to exchange notes, to simply read together in silence. Sometimes you’d talk for hours, sometimes you’d say nothing at all. And it always felt right.

Today, you had looked forward to it all day.

It hadn’t been a good one, heavy mood, heavier thoughts. But seeing Kaneki, talking to him… that always helped. He had a way of making things lighter, even without trying.

But this time… he didn’t come.

At first, you weren’t too worried. Maybe he was just running a little late. It happens. You’d been late before too. Maybe he’d gotten held up — or maybe he’d forgotten something. Forgotten the time? The meeting?

No. Kaneki would never forget your meetings.

So, you waited. And waited. And waited some more.

The waiter approached your table for the second time, politely asking if you wanted to order anything.

You gave him an apologetic smile and shook your head.

“I’m still waiting for someone.”

You didn’t want to order without Kaneki. It didn’t feel right. Besides, you’d promised to pay for his coffee this time, he covered yours far too often.

The waiter nodded and walked away, but you could feel his eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary. His expression was soft. Sympathetic, almost.

As if he felt sorry, sorry that someone like you was sitting there… waiting for someone who never showed.

That was when the unease first crept in.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes stretched into an hour. Still no Kaneki. You had already messaged him — several times.

Asking where he was, if he’d forgotten, if something important had come up. But your texts remain unread.

The screen of your phone stayed dark. Silent.

After another half hour, you called him. Again. And again.

Each time, all you got was the same voice:

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Kaneki Ken. Please leave a message after the tone… Beep… Beep… Beep…”

You still tried. “Hey, Kaneki… it's me, please call me back.” Your voice was soft, almost pleading. Then you hung up.

But still… nothing.

Maybe… maybe his phone died?

But that thought didn’t bring comfort. Not really.

Your nerves only tightened further with every passing minute. Your stomach turned with growing unease, uncertainty slowly giving way to worry.

And then… to panic.

Your breath came quicker now.

Kaneki always answered. Always replied. Usually right away.

This… This wasn’t like him. And then…  hours later—the phone rang.

An unfamiliar number.

Your breath hitched. Your hands began to tremble as your eyes locked on the unknown digits glowing on your phone screen. Something in your chest tightened, a heavy, twisting feeling in your gut.

You hesitated. Your heartbeat was so loud, it felt like it echoed in your ears, pulsing through your whole body. But still…

You picked up.

A woman’s voice answered. Clear. Calm. Too calm.

“Hello, do I speak with L/N F/N?” she asked, her tone professional.

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. Where did she get your number from and why was she calling you. Did she know anything about kaneki?

“Yes… that’s me. May I ask what you are calling me for?” Your voice was quiet. Uneven.

There was a short pause — too short to mean nothing, too long to feel okay.

Then the woman spoke again, gently but directly.

“Please try to remain calm. My name is Yumoi Nami. I’m a nurse. There’s been… an accident involving Mr. Kaneki Ken.” This was no good, your heart dropped down to your stomach. You felt dizzy and blood rushed through your veins faster. The world around you seemed to blur at the edges.

“Mr. Kaneki is in critical condition, right now he is in the OP-room.” she continued. Her voice sounded distant, clinical — like she was trying not to let emotion interfere.

“We ask that you come to the hospital immediately. You were listed as one of his closest contacts… perhaps the only one we were able to reach.” She kept yapping about Kanekis accident but you couldn't even think straight anymore. You only picked up a few words, something with steel beams, organ Transplantation. Your throat tightened and your mouth felt dry. Your eyes are burning. The world around you stopped, everything felt like slow motion.

The woman kept talking—saying something about procedures, about directions—but the words barely registered.

The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat, hammering violently in your ears.

And then you were running. Running so fast.

You don’t remember getting in the car. You don’t remember speeding through the darkened streets, ignoring the traffic lights, ignoring the way your hands trembled against the wheel.

All you knew was that one second, you were in the street and the next, you were in the hospital.

---

You signed in quickly, telling the receptionist you were here for Kaneki – that you’d been called, contacted, told to come immediately.

She nodded, made a call to a nurse, then gently asked you to take a seat in the waiting room for a moment.

You didn’t like hospitals.

Too big. All the rooms looked the same. Waiting areas, restrooms, walls — everything felt cold and lifeless.

Of course, good things happened here too. Lives were saved. Babies were born.

But to you, hospitals felt like sorrow. Like fear and silence.

Especially now.

Your thoughts were consumed by Kaneki.

Was everything going to be okay? Would the surgery go well? Would he make it through?

You were terrified. Your entire body trembled. Your heart was still racing painfully fast. You kept fidgeting with your fingers — peeling at your skin again. You hated that. It always happened when anxiety gripped you too tightly.

After about ten minutes, another nurse stepped into the waiting room, calling out.

“Is L/N F/N here?”

You stood up immediately, stepping toward her. “Yes, that’s me…” 

She gave you a quick once-over, then offered you a small, sympathetic smile. “Please follow me. I’ll take you to another waiting room — on the ward where Mr. Kaneki will be transferred later. You’ll be able to visit him once the doctors finish their rounds.”

You tried to listen, really tried. But you weren’t fully there. Everything felt unreal. Like you weren’t part of this world right now. You didn’t want to believe it.

You nodded, your expression helpless. “Thank you…” was all you could say, your voice barely audible. Then you followed her in silence.

She left you alone in the quieter room. And again… you waited.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, hands tangled in your hair. You tried to steady yourself. To breathe.

But then…

You felt the tears slip down your cheeks — quietly, gently.

And you couldn’t stop them anymore. Tears running down your cheeks more and more. You cried in silence, all alone by yourself. Consumed with worry and sadness over Kaneki, the boy you love and care so much for.

After about three hours, a doctor entered the waiting room, followed closely by a nurse. You looked up as the two of them walked straight toward you.

“I assume you are L/N F/N?” the doctor asked gently.

You gave a tired nod, your voice soft. “Yes… that’s me.”

He offered you a reassuring smile.

“My name is Kanou Akihiro – please, just call me Dr. Kanou. I’m the one who operated on Mr. Kaneki. I’m here to let you know that the surgery went well. He’s now in his hospital room.”

You listened closely, but the next words made your stomach twist.

“However,” he continued, “Mr. Kaneki is currently in a coma. We don’t yet know how long it will take for him to regain consciousness. When he arrived… he was in a terrible state.”

You didn’t even know how to respond.

So many thoughts flooded your mind at once.

You were grateful the operation had been a success – but devastated that he hadn’t woken up.

That there was no certainty. Only fear. The only thing you truly wanted now was to see him.

“…May I visit him?” you asked quietly. That was all that mattered to you now.

Dr. Kanou nodded without hesitation. “Of course. You may visit him anytime between 2 p.m. and 9 p.m., and longer if discussed with staff. If you have any questions, we are always available to assist. Thank you for being here for him.” He gave you another smile, but you didn’t return it. There was something about him you couldn’t quite place — something that made you uneasy. And the nurse beside him looked tense, even nervous.

You exhaled quietly and rose from your seat. 

“This kind nurse will now take you to Mr. Kaneki’s room,” Dr. Kanou added. The nurse gave a small bow in greeting.

You didn’t speak, just silently followed her down the hall, toward Kaneki’s room. She left you alone with Kaneki, closing the large wooden door behind you.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose as you stood by his bedside, staring at the fragile, broken boy you had grown up with. His skin looked so pale—he didn’t look good at all. He clearly needed a lot of time to recover. His eyes looked terrible, dark circles carved underneath them, like he hadn’t slept in days.

Machines beeped softly beside him. The heart monitor pulsed in slow, steady movements. His chest rose and fell, each breath slow, almost too shallow.

He looked… peaceful, even if he looked horrible. Like he was just sleeping.

You reached out with trembling fingers, brushing his hand. His skin was warm. Just like they said love was supposed to be. You gently wrapped your hand around his, afraid to put any pressure on it, scared you might break him.

Your fingers softly caressed his knuckles as you stared at his face. It hurt so much to see him in this condition. Slowly, you leaned forward, brushing away a few strands of hair from his face with your other hand and pressing your trembling lips against his forehead. You closed your eyes and let your lips rest there for a few seconds—just long enough for him to feel it, maybe.

You remembered reading somewhere that people in coma can sometimes perceive their surroundings. So you wanted to try everything to let Kaneki know you were still here. That you hadn’t left.

You pulled back slowly. A sob started to build in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You had to be strong—for him.

But when you finally spoke, your voice cracked.

“…You promised,” you whispered, the first tear slipping down your cheek. “You promised you’d stay. Promised nothing is going to happen…”

Your vision blurred. The weight of the moment pressed down on your chest, made it harder to breathe.

“We said no running away,” you choked out, tightening gently your grip on his hand, as if that alone could anchor him to you. “No disappearing.”

Another tear fell. Then another.

“I’m right here, Kaneki. I won’t leave your side… never. I’m always gonna stay,” you whispered. “So please… wake up.”

But Kaneki didn’t answer.

And for the first time since the day you made that promise—

you were truly afraid he never would.

---

Sleepless Dreams

The hospital room became a second home.

Every day after University, you went straight to Kaneki’s bedside. If you had work, you came right after your shift, no matter how exhausted you were. It didn’t matter how long the days stretched or how many weeks passed—nothing could keep you away from him.

You fell into a routine.

Every Monday, you brought him flowers.

All different kinds—you had looked up what each one meant. Sometimes you even picked them yourself, just for Kaneki. Sometimes it was white or red lilies, other times you brought forget-me-nots from your own garden, or bright yellow chrysanthemums. The nurses let you place them by the window, where the soft sunlight streamed in. One Monday, you brought a white-and-lilac orchid.

“I don’t even know if you like orchids…” you murmured, voice low but still loud enough for him to hear. “Or any of the flowers I bring you, really.” Your fingers gently brushed along the delicate petals. “…But I think they suit you. Gentle. Quiet. And they need a lot of attention and care… just like you, huh?”

A soft giggle slipped from your lips as you looked at him, even if he couldn’t respond. You softly sat down on the chair next to his bed, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Every Tuesday, you read to him.

You chose books he used to love—Takatsuki Sen, Kafka, Dostoevsky. Authors you never fully understood, but Kaneki always did. “You know,” you murmured, flipping through the pages as your eyes drifted to his still form, “I used to pretend I liked these books just so I could keep up with you.”

A soft laugh escaped you, but it was hollow. “Guess I really do like them now.” You kept reading, pausing at parts that confused you, rambling your thoughts, your own little theories behind the scenes being written. It felt natural. Like old times.

Sometimes you brought your own favorite books instead—stories you loved, wanting to share that comfort with him. Like you used to do.

Other times, they were new books, and you’d tell him your opinions along the way. “What do you think..?” you asked the silence, glancing at him. “You’d probably like this one, huh? But I think you’d complain about the main character… mhm, definitely.”

And then, you just kept talking. Like he was listening. Because maybe… a part of him still was.

Every Wednesday, you told him about your day and your week.

You sat beside him, fingers gently tracing invisible patterns across the white hospital sheets before slipping into his hand, holding it softly. 

“I saw a new café today,” you said, your voice light, even though your chest felt tight. “They had the kind of coffee you like—sweet, with too much milk. I almost bought one for you.”

You swallowed hard. “Almost forgot you wouldn’t be there to drink it.”The silence was unbearable. 

You hated it.

So, you filled it—with your voice, your thoughts, your life. “I started a part-time job at a little flower shop,” you continued. “Just to earn a bit more money… things are getting kind of hard lately… without you.”

You let out a soft sigh, shaking your head. But you kept going, kept talking.

You told him how university was slowly getting tougher, how the exams were creeping closer. How you were taking extra notes—just for him. “When you wake up,” you whispered, “I want you to catch up easily. I’ll explain everything to you, okay?”

You said you were listening more carefully in class now. Studying harder. All for him.

It was exhausting—but you didn’t care. You’d do anything for him. And putting in this much effort… it meant something.

Because he meant everything.

Every Thursday, you held his hand.

Just sat there, fingers gently wrapped around his, feeling the lingering warmth of his skin.

He felt alive. He looked alive.

He definitely looked healthier now. It had already been two weeks since the accident. He was recovering—little by little, day by day.

But sometimes… his left eye still worried you. There were moments when it looked off—dark shadows pooling under it, the veins a little too visible. Sickly, almost. But it always fades after about ten minutes. You never asked Dr. Kanou about it. You didn’t trust him.

Something about him made your stomach turn. Your gut told you to stay far away from that man—and your gut feeling never lied. So you said nothing. Keep your mouth shut when it comes to Kaneki’s health.

You know better. You spent nearly every waking moment at his side. You knew him better than anyone. 

If not for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, he could’ve been mistaken for someone lost in a deep, peaceful death.

“You’d hate this, you know,” you whispered one evening, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “Just lying here, missing out on everything. You hate being lazy… laying around.”

Your voice wavered, cracking under the weight of the silence.

“I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts.”

But Kaneki didn’t respond. 

On some Thursdays, you studied next to him.

Working through difficult homework or preparing presentations for your different classes. You’d explain parts aloud, telling Kaneki what you were studying, just like old times.

Sometimes, you’d share your thoughts—how maybe, just maybe, you were thinking of becoming a doctor yourself. Though you weren’t sure. You were just… trying to find direction. And somehow, you were slowly getting used to the hospital.

What unsettled you more was the news.

In the 20th Ward, ghoul activity was increasing. You couldn’t help but wonder if a future where humans and ghouls could coexist was even possible. You’d mentioned it to Kaneki a few times, just in passing—half serious, half dreaming—but always ended up brushing the idea aside.

Still… if you ever became a doctor, you thought…

You’d want to help both. Humans and Ghouls.

Sometimes, the nurse in charge of Kaneki brought you a cup of tea or coffee. She was always sweet, always kind. You’d talk a little, about how you were holding up, how she was doing.

It was nice to have someone to talk to. Better than the pure silence each day.

Every Friday, you let yourself cry. It had almost become a ritual. A quiet surrender to the pain you tried so hard to hold back all week.

Fridays were the days where your strength finally wore thin—where the pressure that had built up inside you from pretending, from hoping, from smiling at the nurses and whispering stories to an unresponsive body, all came crashing down.

You sat by Kaneki’s side like always, but your posture would be different. Slumped. Exhausted. There was no need to pretend on Fridays. No need to act strong for anyone else.

And when the silence around you felt louder than usual, when the ticking of the clock on the wall became unbearable, you buried your face in your palms. Your shoulders would tremble, the sobs slipping out before you could stop them. You hated crying in front of him, hated the thought of him hearing your voice break and feeling your sadness even in the state he was in—but you couldn’t help it.

“I can’t do this without you…” you’d whisper, voice shaking. “You said you’d stay, remember? You said we’d figure everything out… together.”

The tears came heavier then. Sometimes they soaked into your sleeves, other times you didn’t even bother wiping them away.

You stared at his sleeping face through blurry eyes, aching to see his lips twitch, his eyes flutter open—anything. Even just the smallest sign that he was still fighting in there.

“Wake up, Kaneki,” you begged, voice hoarse and cracked. “Please… I don’t care how long it takes, just—come back to me.”

Sometimes, you’d grip his hand a little tighter, as if trying to anchor him back into this world. Other times, you’d simply cry silently beside him, forehead resting against the edge of the hospital bed.

Fridays weren’t about updates or strength or pretending things were okay.

Fridays were the days you allowed yourself to break.

And in breaking, you reminded yourself why you were still here—why you kept coming back.

Because you loved him.

And no matter how much it hurt, you weren’t going anywhere.

Every Saturday, you brought music and your old photo album filled with memories—the snapshots of a life you shared before everything changed.

You’d set your phone beside Kaneki’s bed, letting the soft hum of music fill the sterile air. His favorite songs played first—gentle, thoughtful melodies that reminded you of late-night walks under flickering streetlights and the way his expression softened when he was truly at peace. Then came your favorites—songs full of hope, of warmth, of all the little pieces of life you wanted to share with him again.

Sometimes you closed your eyes and imagined you were anywhere else—back in that tiny book café, curled up beside him with a cup of sweet coffee and an open novel between you. Or on a park bench, watching the world go by with no fear of what waited around the corner.

“I wonder if you can hear this,” you murmured one Saturday afternoon, watching his still face. “I like to think you can.”

You reached for the photo album next. The edges were worn, the pages filled with fingerprints and smudged corners from all the times you’d flipped through them together. There were silly selfies in cafés, blurry action shots from study sessions turned into play fights, quiet pictures where he was just reading or staring out the window—and those were your favorites.

You showed each one to him again, holding the album up and describing the moment as if he needed to be reminded. “This was that day we both skipped class because it rained too hard… and you insisted of still going but in the end I made you skip with me.” You chuckled softly. “You were probably right, we should've went to class because we truly skipped something important that made me fail a test.”

You’d point at another. “Look. That dumb scarf you said made you look cool. You wore it in May, Kaneki.” You let out a sigh. “To be honest.. I think it did make you look cool.”

The emotions hit harder on Saturdays—because these were reminders of what you had. What you still had… but only just barely. The music, the photos—they were your way of holding on. Of saying, I remember. I haven’t forgotten. And I won’t.

Sometimes, while a song played, you’d set the album aside and just sit there quietly, your hand resting beside his. Letting the silence breathe between the notes.

Because even though he couldn’t speak back…

You believed he could hear you.

And maybe, just maybe—he remembered, too.

Every Sunday, you made another promise. It became a quiet ritual aswell, something sacred between just the two of you. You would lean in close, your breath brushing against his skin, and rest your forehead gently against his while your other hand was cupping his cheek. “No matter how long it takes… I’ll be here,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your words.

And you meant it—with every broken piece of your heart, with every sleepless night and every aching second that passed.

The world outside the hospital kept moving. People rushed through life, seasons changed, and you watched leaves fall, snow melt, flowers bloom again—all from the window of his room. The city never stopped. But you did. You stopped your world for him. You stayed. Because Kaneki had always kept his promises to you. Even the quiet ones. Even the ones he never said out loud. And now, it was your turn to return that same unwavering loyalty.

The days turned into weeks. The weeks bled into months.

You lost count of how many Sundays passed like that—how many times you whispered promises with a cracking voice, wiped your tears before the nurses walked in, and kissed his forehead like it might bring him back. But you always meant it. Every single time

Then, one evening—just as the golden light of sunset spilled into the room and you were getting ready to leave—you stayed a moment longer.

You stared at him, your chest tight, a hundred things caught in your throat. Your heart beat so hard it ached.

“I never got to tell you…” you whispered, the words nearly breaking you. You paused, fighting back the sob rising in your chest. “...that I love you.” It felt too late and yet more real than ever. Too big and too soft all at once. The words hung in the air, trembling like you were.

You pressed another kiss down to his forehead—slow and lingering, as if the warmth in your lips could sink into him and carry the message the words couldn’t.

And maybe it did.

Because just as you turned to leave, the stillness was shattered.

A whisper.

So quiet you weren’t sure if you imagined it. Your name.

You froze in the doorway, heart lurching. You spun back toward him, eyes wide, breath held.

And there he was.

His eyes were open. Soft. Heavy with exhaustion, but awake.

You ran to him. The tears came instantly, hot and unstoppable as you took his hand in yours, clinging to him like he was still fading and you could hold him here just by touching him. You couldn't believe he was really awake. He was back.

He was so weak. His lips barely moved. But his fingers curled around yours—like he was reaching for home.

“I kept my promise,” you sobbed, your forehead meeting his once more. “I waited. I waited the whole time for you.” You cried more and more, each sob became heavier. You felt like a little child crying so loudly, clinging onto him.

A faint, tired smile tugged at his lips, and his voice—barely more than a breath—reached your ears.

“I know,” he murmured. “I heard you… the whole time.”

And nothing else mattered.

Not the time you lost. Not the pain. Not the silence.

Because Ken Kaneki had come back to you.

And this time, you would never let go and never leave his side. You want to make more memories with him.

(…But little did you both know that the pain started just now.)

---

11.04.2025 - sincerely your yuumakaiser

[gimmethatagustd]

sunday smut book club

The cute librarian at Yoongi's local library hosts an adults-only book club. As a fanfiction smut writer himself, Yoongi is intrigued.

Pairing: Librarian Namjoon x Fanfic writer Yoongi

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Strangers to lovers, smut, humor, crack

Words: 7,150

Content Warning: Yoongi writes BTS fanfic and BTS consists of only the vocal line, they're both idiots lol, super meta, somewhat difficult conversations about sexuality, anal sex, anal fingering, rimming

A/N: This is dedicated to that one time Yoongi highkey implied that he wrote queer fanfic, and to all the fanfic writers in the world doing the devil's work 🙏🏽 god bless. Also, Sunday Smut Book Club is a real thing at a bookstore near where I live. I feel like I should go one day 👀

Disclaimer: Yoong's character is on the ace spectrum. This depiction of asexuality isn't representative of all asexual people's experiences, so please keep that in mind.

୨୧┈┈┈୨୧

SUNDAY SMUT BOOK CLUB

NAMSAN PUBLIC LIBRARY

SUNDAYS AT 3:30 PM

୨୧┈┈┈୨୧

The flyer is unexpected, to say the least. No frills, yet hardly discreet, it’s a plain sheet of white paper with large bold lettering, underneath which is a tactless cartoon clipart of a half-peeled banana propped up against a plump peach. 

Yoongi looks over his shoulder to quickly survey the coffee shop. Satisfied that no one is nearby, he rips off the slip of paper at the bottom of the flyer with the QR code – presumably for details about the club and how to get there. 

Yongsan-gu isn’t far, and Yoongi has enjoyed visiting Namson Park, even going to the library a few times in college. It’s scenic and gorgeous in warm weather when the flowers bloom, and it’s nice enough to sit outside on the unique furniture and architectural structures. Yoongi thinks he remembers Hoseok mentioning something about attending a few creative writing workshops there as a teen. 

Needless to say, it’s not the type of place Yoongi expects to host a smut book club. He’s intrigued nonetheless. How could he not be? He’s just spent the last two hours working on his newest chaptered fanfiction – if one can call staring at a blank document while trying to decide how to begin the first smut scene of a story “working”. 

Yoongi thinks so, and so do his Twitter moots, thank you very much.

Folding the slip of paper, Yoongi tucks it into the pocket on the back of his phone case for safekeeping and steps out of the dimly lit cafe into the sunny spring day. 

Tomorrow is Sunday. Yoongi promised himself that he would finish the newest chapter of his fic by the end of the day, but he’s wondering if now he should hold off until he joins this odd book club. Perhaps reading smutty, published novels will help Yoongi find the inspiration he needs to write the smut scene that has been giving him hell for an entire week. 

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t particularly enjoy sex. It’s a bit gross, really, if you think about it. In theory, sweaty bodies smashing together to exchange fluids and possibly love sounds attractive. Yoongi loves reading a good smut scene and has even gotten off on some – who hasn’t? But the moment he’s presented with the opportunity for real sex, he usually thinks he’d rather read about it instead. 

Not having sex doesn’t bother Yoongi much, but not being interested in it certainly makes writing about it a lot more difficult. 

Yoongi doesn’t bother touching his fic for the rest of the day. 

Even once he’s back at his apartment, he puts his restless energy toward tidying up before Hoseok comes over. It doesn’t take long, though Yoongi can feel himself stretching it out, stalling, so he doesn’t have to think about his fic until the very last minute when Hoseok is buzzing to be let in. 

“I am so pissed off,” Hoseok huffs as he stomps through the front door and kicks off his shoes. 

“I am so pissed off,” Hoseok huffs as he stomps through the front door and kicks off his shoes. 

Yoongi grabs Hoseok’s backpack before it slips off his shoulder and holds it until he hangs up his jacket. Hoseok comes with a certain energy that is typically positive, but when stormy, it can sweep through like a tornado. 

Today, his complaints are whines rather than the anger he claims he has. 

“What happened?” Yoongi asks, following Hoseok into the living room as though he’s the guest and not the other way around. 

“Didn’t you see? Taehyung went live for five seconds. Literally five seconds while I was getting off the bus, and I missed it.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Yoongi flops onto the couch while Hoseok gets comfortable sitting on pillows on the floor at the coffee table. He’s already pulling his laptop out, only pausing when he notices the Turtle Chips Yoongi put out for a snack. 

“You can watch it later,” Yoongi points out, only to be hit with a chip in the middle of his forehead. 

“Watching it later doesn’t feel the same!” 

“He couldn’t possibly have done anything in five seconds.” 

Turning around, Hoseok glares at Yoongi. “He showed his forehead. Which is best when seen live.” 

Hoseok isn’t wrong, but Yoongi has tried to force himself not to obsess over consuming BTS content immediately anymore. He’s a working adult; he can barely keep up with watering his plants, let alone knowing when Kim Taehyung is live on Weverse.  

Jungkook, though… 

Yoongi makes time for Jungkook. 

“What are you gonna work on? That Jinkook hockey AU?” Hoseok asks between chomping on chips. 

With a loud sigh, Yoongi turns on the couch so he can lie down while watching over Hoseok’s shoulder at his Vmin urban fantasy slow burn. Hoseok is a fic writing machine. He’s already at 30k, and they haven’t even fucked yet. 

“I never want to write fic ever again. It’s too hard,” Yoongi laments. 

Hoseok leans his head back so he can look Yoongi in the eyes. He’s smiling, of course, because he thinks Yoongi is full of shit. 

Yoongi is full of shit.

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with your life if you didn’t write fic. What hobby would you do instead? Hmm? Work out?” 

Snorting, Yoongi flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His Jinkook hockey AU barely has any hits, anyway. Maybe no one would care if he didn’t finish it. 

“I wish I could ovulate.” 

Hoseok coughs hard enough that Yoongi feels it in his chest. 

“Excuse me? You what?” 

“If I could ovulate, I’d get horny from my hormones, and then I’d be able to write this smut scene,” Yoongi explains simply. 

“So you wish you were an omega. Guess what, friend. You are.” 

Hoseok doesn’t even care when Yoongi smacks him in the back of the head, demanding he take the comment back. Undeterred, he cackles and types away on his fic. 

“I would be an alpha. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yoongi grumbles, primarily to himself because Hoseok has decided to take control of the Bluetooth speakers to play his favorite fic writing playlist.

Tonight, Yoongi will beta the chapter Hoseok is writing. Tomorrow, he’ll focus on forcing himself to finish the stupid smut scene.

Everything will be fine. 

Yoongi is so concerned about his fic as he travels to Sunday Smut Book Club that he forgets he doesn’t even own the book they’re reading, nor has he read it. Honestly, he can barely remember what book the flyer said they’d discuss this month. 

In reality, it isn’t an issue. Yoongi is sure plenty of new people have joined the club in the middle of a book. He’s a fast reader, so catching up won’t be much of an issue. Still, he feels weird walking into the meeting room on the third floor of the library empty-handed, aside from his writing journal and a pen tucked behind his ear. 

Luckily, Yoongi arrives early, so there’s no one else in the room except one man sitting at a round table with a thick hardcover book and an open notebook. His dark hair falls in his face, obscuring his features, though Yoongi can tell that the man is striking just from what he can see. 

As a writer, Yoongi enjoys people-watching, which allows him to create stories and imagine characters for later use. Based on the man's broad frame and how he hunches over with his forearms on the table, Yoongi thinks he must be very tall. He wears a white buttoned shirt with the sleeves folded and pushed to his elbows, exposing tan skin. When the man shifts in his seat, Yoongi catches sight of a library ID badge clipped to a belt loop of his black slacks. 

Yoongi should say something. This is clearly one of the librarians and most likely the one leading the book club. Yet he can’t make a sound or move from the doorway. He should have brought Hoseok with him.

Humming to himself, the librarian thumbs at the cap of his ink pen while he reads what’s written in the notebook, flicking the pen repeatedly until the cap breaks off. 

“Oh shit,” the librarian curses. The small piece of plastic flies across the room, forever lost to the dark carpet that matches its color. 

Standing up, likely to go search for the broken cap, the librarian finally notices Yoongi hovering in the doorway. 

“Oh shit,” he repeats, dropping the pen so it clatters on the table next to the notebook. “Sorry, do you need something?” 

Put on the spot, Yoongi takes a half-step backward. The librarian looks confused, making Yoongi feel like he shouldn’t be here. Did he get the room number wrong?

“I’m here for the book club?” Yoongi squeaks out and is absolutely appalled by how his voice cracks. How embarrassing. He’s a grown man, and he can’t even say the word smut out loud to a librarian.

The librarian is gorgeous, which doesn’t help Yoongi’s sudden stage fright. His sharp eyes grow and round out in confusion, and his tan cheeks brighten with a dusty rose undertone, though Yoongi doesn’t know what he has to be embarrassed about. It was only a pen cap. 

“The book club? Oh! The Sunday Smut Book Club!” The librarian claps his hands together, making Yoongi flinch. “I’m so sorry, but that book club doesn’t start until next week.” 

Given how winded he feels, Yoongi might as well be the ink pen cap flung across the room. Of course, he worked himself up to come to this event and skipped out on writing his fic, only to get the date wrong. 

“Well, okay,” Yoongi says slowly, avoiding the librarian’s gaze to examine the room instead. He’s not sure what to do now. 

“There’s another book club in about two hours if you want to stick around. It’s about queer literature.” 

“Are you leading that one?” Yoongi asks and immediately regrets how unintentionally flirtatious the question sounds when the librarian’s face turns pinker. 

“I am,” the librarian confirms with a slight bow of his head, “Kim Namjoon. It’s nice to meet you…” 

“Min Yoongi.

“It’s nice to meet you, Yoongi-ssi.”

Internally, Yoongi is considering how good a meet-cute fic this would be. A smut book club is creative, he supposes. It's unconventional for a public library, he figures. Meeting a hot librarian is cliche, but cliches are entertaining for a reason. If this was one of Yoongi’s Jinkook fics, he would have written Seokjin immediately laying his charm on a flustered Jungkook who keeps fiddling with his glasses and giggling at Seokjin’s stupid jokes. 

It's too bad real life isn’t as charming. Instead, Yoongi sits woodenly beside Namjoon as he shows Yoongi the list of novels he’s considering for the queer book club. 

“Some of them aren’t explicitly queer, but there are queer themes or perhaps are written by authors who were presumed to have been straight or in the closet,” Namjoon explains with his chin in his hand. “Sad, really. If I wrote a great novel and historians erased my queerness from it after I died, I’d haunt everyone.”

To be fair, some of the novels do look interesting. Yoongi takes a moment to scribble down the titles and authors in his journal, keenly aware of Namjoon watching him flip through pages filled with story notes before he can find a blank one.

"So, are you a writer?” When Namjoon smiles, his cheeks dimple. Yoongi feels heat creep up his neck like needle pricks.

"Umm... yes?"

"Cool! What stories do you write?"

Yoongi swallows. "I, uh, I write... a lot of different things."

“Oh, you must be a great writer to have a diverse portfolio!” Namjoon eagerly leans toward Yoongi. “What kind of things?” 

Do not say fanfiction do not say fanfiction do not say fanfiction do not say–

“I write gay fanfiction!” Yoongi blurts out. 

This is not how the story is supposed to go. It’s all wrong. Yoongi's face is hot, and his heart is in his throat, but worst of all, Namjoon is silent. 

“I know it’s weird, and I normally don’t–” 

“I love that!” Namjoon beams, his warm eyes crinkled at the corners from smiling. “What fandom do you write for?” 

Do not say BTS do not say BTS do not say BTS do not say–

“Uh, BTS…” 

What the fuck about this guy is making Yoongi spill all his secrets? Most of his closest friends don’t even know he writes fic.

Yoongi expects the judgment that typically comes after admitting to writing real-person fiction, but Namjoon surprises him again. 

“That’s really cool,” Namjoon says with another dimpled smile. “I used to read fanfiction, though I haven’t in a long time. I spend most of my time with literature that no one is writing fanfiction about.” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure there’s some super gay dead dove based on ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’” Yoongi says with a laugh. 

“The MCD warning would be a terrible spoiler.” 

“Bury your gays, literally.” 

Namjoon barks a laugh at such a terribly accurate joke, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. He seems well-versed in fandom culture, though Yoongi shouldn’t be surprised. Plenty of published novels can barely hold a candle to the fanfiction Yoongi has read over the years.

By the time the first member of the queer book club shows up, Yoongi has already helped Namjoon recover the password to his old AO3 account and sent him a few fics he hopes Namjoon will like. It feels good to share his hobby with someone new, even if Namjoon doesn’t know much about BTS. 

“Good fiction is good fiction,” Namjoon had said simply, and it made Yoongi happy to remember that there are cool people in the world. He shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d find such a person at the library. 

Most people would enjoy waking up to the love of their lives every morning. Unfortunately, Jungkook doesn’t know that Yoongi exists, so Yoongi has the second best thing to wake up to: 

[AO3] Comment on hat trick beauty namu94 left the following comment on hat trick beauty : I binged this until 4 AM despite needing to get up at 7 AM. I feel like I’m dying, but it was positively worth it. The tension was so wonderfully unbearable that I chewed through my mattress. Thank you for sharing your secret with me ;)

If Namjoon chewed through his mattress after reading Yoongi’s fic, then Yoongi eats his entire mattress after reading Namjoon's comment on it. He probably rereads the comment fifteen times throughout the duration of getting ready in the morning, holding his phone in one hand while he struggles to put on his clothes and brush his teeth with the other.

Yoongi is pretty sure every AO3 writer obsesses over sweet comments; who wouldn’t?

But perhaps he’s overdoing it when he’s at work and still can’t close out of AO3, now rereading the chapter to imagine what it may have been like for Namjoon to read it for the first time. 

“Getting a little Monday morning smut in?” Hoseok’s sudden presence over Yoongi’s shoulder startles him in his seat. 

“What!” 

Yoongi quickly exits out of the internet browser and deflates when he realizes he didn’t save his progress on the project edits he was working on for his boss.

“Don’t try to hide from me as if I’m not in the fandom trenches with you all the time,” Hoseok chastises. 

Finding out that his coworker is Army was probably the coolest thing to happen in Yoongi’s professional life. Finding out that his coworker also writes fanfiction was undoubtedly the greatest thing to happen in Yoongi’s professional life – and maybe in his personal life, too. 

Unfortunately, it means Hoseok is always on his case. 

“I sent Namjoon ‘hat trick beauty’ after I told him I’m having a hard time with the…” Yoongi looks around the office to see if his coworkers are paying attention to him before whispering, “ Smut .” 

Yoongi has managed to delay the smut in his fic and convinced himself that it was so he didn’t sacrifice the plot, rather than the truth that he just doesn’t know what to do about the scene. 

It has taken Yoongi over a month to work up the courage to show Namjoon his writing, and now he clings to every piece of feedback Namjoon gives him. Part of him wonders if Namjoon is simply being nice.

However, it’s doubtful that Namjoon’s praise is a lie. His kindness seems to grow exponentially with every book club meeting– for the Queer Book Club and Sunday Smut Book Club, since Yoongi regularly attends both now on alternating weekends, not because of Namjoon, of course. Yoongi attends both because he is passionate about literature and learning smut techniques. 

Of course. 

“That’s a weird way to woo your librarian crush.” 

“That’s, that’s not what I’m doing.” Hoseok raises his eyebrows as Yoongi sputters.

He’s not trying to woo Namjoon, right? Yoongi doesn’t even know how to woo anyone; he’s not sure he’s ever wanted to. 

“Maybe it should be what you’re doing. You said writing smut would be easier if you were horny, right?” 

“Hobah!” Yoongi hisses, swatting at Hoseok, who nimbly dodges each blow. “We’re at work.” 

“Oh, hush. No one is paying attention to us.” Hoseok rests his butt against Yoongi’s desk and waves his hand. "As I was saying, maybe Namjoon can give you a little inspiration, if you get what I mean.” 

“This is all very presumptuous. We’re talking as if Namjoon even… likes me or whatever…” Yoongi cringes, scrunching his nose. 

With a loud sigh, Hoseok pushes himself off Yoongi’s desk. He claps his hand over Yoongi’s shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. 

“You’re adorable. Who wouldn’t like you?” 

It sounds easy when Hoseok says it, but Yoongi watches him walk to his desk with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s far more complicated than just two people liking each other. Other people may find a crush exciting, but it stresses Yoongi out.

With a sigh, Yoongi returns his focus to his work and tries to push all thoughts of fanfiction and Namjoon to the back of his mind. 

The thing is, fanfiction and Namjoon are the two most exciting aspects of Yoongi’s life at the moment, so ignoring both is virtually impossible—especially when, by the end of the week, Yoongi is back on the bus to the Namsan Public Library. 

Yoongi feels like he’s quickly descending into madness the closer the bus gets to the dreaded destination. It doesn’t help that Hoseok is in his ears, attempting to give him a pep talk over the phone. 

“You just need to remember that most people like to fuck.” 

Snorting, Yoongi adjusts his wireless earbuds when the bus hits a bump in the road.

“What? I’m serious! A lot of people don’t get caught up in the logistics, you know? If they want to pursue someone, and it’s consensual, then why not? That’s what PWPs are. Life doesn’t need a plot, hyung. It can be all porn.” 

“I know all this. It just sounds fake,” Yoongi says with a huff as he prepares to get off the bus at the next stop.

Yoongi is a plot guy. His life is tagged “Eventual Smut,” and his readers are 50 chapters deep without even a chaste kiss. 

He’s positive he could never force himself to hook up with a stranger. This little plan he’s managed to let Hoseok convince him to do with Namjoon, who is hardly more than an acquaintance, is already going against everything that feels natural.

The stuff Yoongi does for his art – and silly crushes, apparently. 

Arriving early, Yoongi knows to head to the back of the library on the first floor, where the librarians’ offices are. Namjoon’s is conveniently located at the end of a long hallway Yoongi isn’t supposed to go down. The other librarians recognize him at this point, considering how many Sunday afternoons he has spent distracting Namjoon from his job, so they don’t comment when Yoongi ducks his head and slips through the “Employees Only” door.

Namjoon sits at his desk like Yoongi expects, with at least a dozen books stacked around him. He has to lift his head to peer over a stack when Yoongi slowly closes the door behind him. 

“Hi, you’re early!” Namjoon beams with crinkled eyes and dimpled cheeks that make Yoongi’s stomach flutter. Namjoon is handsome and sweet; Yoongi doesn’t need to be a sexual being to know that. 

“Is that okay?” Yoongi asks the floor as he pulls the sleeves of his thin sweater over his knuckles. He’s so nervous that sweat accumulates in his armpits.

“Of course, hyung,” Namjoon says softly. “Work is always more enjoyable when you’re around.”

Somewhat comforted by Namjoon’s reassurance, Yoongi takes a deep breath and walks up to Namjoon’s desk. He grips the edge and tries to calm his frantic heart. It’s nearly impossible. There’s Namjoon in his librarian taupe knit cardigan with the sleeves rolled up to show off tan forearms and hair neatly parted to frame his face. He’s scholarly-cute. Yoongi might not experience sexual attraction, but Namjoon can intellectually stimulate him – and that’s even better. 

When Yoongi remains silent, Namjoon’s kind smile morphs into a frown. 

“Are you okay–” 

“Will you fuck me?” 

The blush of pink across Namjoon’s cheeks and the bright sheen in his eyes make Yoongi consider that, perhaps, he might not hate this as much as he thought he would. That’s assuming Namjoon accepts his proposition rather than kick him out for being a pervert. 

Shit, he sounds like a pervert, doesn’t he? How do other people do this without wanting the ground to open up and swallow them whole from embarrassment?

“Um, for literature’s sake?” Yoongi tacks onto his initial request when Namjoon doesn’t respond. “Actually, this is really stupid, oh god. I’m,” Yoongi looks around the room to keep his eyes away from Namjoon’s face. “I’m… just gonna leave… now…” 

Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s forearm when he turns to leave, knocking a stack of books onto the floor. The loud crash makes both men jump, though Namjoon uses the momentum to stand up at his desk. 

“I thought you weren’t into…  that?” Namjoon asks slowly. He speaks like he’s not sure how to express his thoughts. Yoongi thinks he’s close enough. 

“I’m not…” 

The thing is, Hoseok was sort of correct, though Yoongi doesn’t want to admit it. Sometimes, Yoongi uses porn to help him write smut scenes when he can’t conjure up the ideas himself. Real sex, he supposes, is the best form of research – even if Yoongi normally avoids it. 

“Then why?” There’s another silent question beneath the spoken one: Why me? 

Yoongi locks eyes with Namjoon and realizes how endeared he is by the discomfort they’re both holding, each for a different reason. With faces flushed with embarrassment and eyes bright with uncertainty, Yoongi and Namjoon complement each other well. 

“Hobi said it could help me get the inspiration I need to write the smut for ‘hat trick beauty,’” Yoongi trails off, his eyebrows furrowed in irritation when laughter bursts from Namjoon.

“Wait, you’re serious? Really?” Namjoon’s fingers slip from Yoongi’s forearm when Yoongi tugs out of his grasp. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” 

Namjoon’s expression drops. “I’m sorry.” 

Yoongi hasn’t ever asked someone to fuck him before. It’s somewhat embarrassing to be laughed in the face over it, and it’s definitely demoralizing. 

Yoongi pulls at his sleeves with a sigh, forcing sweater paws as if to cover more of himself from the awkwardness. 

“Hyung, really, please talk to me,” Namjoon gently encourages. 

Namjoon’s arm falls to his side, but he moves from behind his desk to stand in front of Yoongi on the other side. The distance is respectful, yet Yoongi wants him closer. 

“It seems like a bad idea to force yourself to do something you don’t like simply because it might inspire you.” 

“I just want to try it,” Yoongi explains, still avoiding Namjoon’s gaze. “Other people can hook up with strangers, so why can’t I? It doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal.” 

Namjoon frowns. “That’s not how sexuality works.” 

“I don’t care. I think it’s all stupid.” 

Yoongi knows he sounds ridiculous without needing to see Namjoon’s amused look. He’s merely being honest; being so different from what most of society thinks people should be like can sometimes be frustrating. It makes life difficult in ways other people just don’t understand. 

Namjoon is hot. He’s tall and muscular, with pecs that make his shirts stretch and thighs that threaten to rip his pants. He’s well-read and eloquent. What more could a person want in a man? Yet here is Yoongi, chewing on his bottom lip as he finally forces himself to look Namjoon in the eyes, at war with himself over what he’s doing. 

“You seem to be overthinking the scene and this,” Namjoon suggests with a sweep of his hand between their bodies. “This isn’t me saying I wouldn’t enjoy being with you, hyung. My answer would be an easy ‘yes’ if it weren’t for the circumstances.” 

Heat floods Yoongi’s face when Namjoon’s voice lowers, his tone making Yoongi’s stomach flip. Yoongi may not experience attraction like most people he knows, but his body will react to the right stimulus. 

“I like you,” Yoongi whispers, suddenly aware of how closely he stands next to Namjoon. He can smell Namjoon’s cologne, which is clean and somehow sensual, with notes of vanilla and sandalwood. 

“I like you, too,” Namjoon admits his feelings more confidently than Yoongi had. 

“So… that’s supposed to be enough, right?” 

With a small smile, Namjoon shrugs. 

“It’s supposed to be whatever you want it to be, I guess? Sexuality is a spectrum, hyung. It’s okay if sometimes you feel one way and other times you feel differently. If you want to try something new, that’s okay, too.” 

If Yoongi were impulsive and more sure of himself than he is, he would have kissed Namjoon for being so smart and reasonable. 

“I guess being… intimate is easier when it’s on my own terms.” 

Namjoon hums in understanding. 

“You have agency. It doesn’t feel like you’re being forced or that it’s an expectation.” 

Namjoon’s reassurance gives Yoongi the courage he needs. After this, no one will be able to say that Yoongi isn’t dedicated to his craft. 

“Well, let’s get to it,” Yoongi announces with his head held high. 

Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with mirth, but he holds his laughter in when he asks, “Would you like a pen and paper to take notes?” 

“Shut up; that’s not funny.” 

It is, though, and Yoongi can’t help but grin when Namjoon reaches across his desk to grab a little pack of sticky notes and an ink pen. Perhaps if Yoongi’s life was a fic, it would be crack. 

Despite Namjoon’s joke, the atmosphere in the room thickens with tension. Yoongi may be the only one who senses it. Namjoon seems relaxed, still smiling, even as his sharp eyes roam over Yoongi’s frame. He and Yoongi have both said so much and so little. 

“Can I kiss you?” Namjoon asks as he steps forward, shortening the distance between them and making every hopeless romantic reading the fic Yoongi’s writing in his head swoon. 

How could a strange meet-cute have worked in real life? 

Yoongi doesn’t think his life would be a cliche fic, but if it could, he’d want it to be just as charming as it is predictable – but in a comforting kind of way, not boring. He’d want his life to be the kind of fic you read when you want something that you know won’t hurt you because every path is already paved, lit up by neon lights that tell you to keep going, that everything is going to be okay. 

Yoongi loves fics like those. They feel how Namjoon’s hands feel when he holds the small of Yoongi’s back and cradles the side of his face as he pulls him into a kiss. Namjoon is sure and slow as he eases Yoongi into a deeper kiss so their lips and tongues can move in a familiar dance, even if this is the first time they’ve danced it together. 

Maybe their relationship is a fast burn, Yoongi thinks as Namjoon slips his hand beneath his sweater to slide his fingertips across his waist. 

For some reason, it doesn’t feel rushed with Namjoon. It isn’t hot and heavy, bodies smashing against bodies. It’s just Namjoon, slow and patient, hooking his arm beneath Yoongi’s thighs and gently lifting him onto the edge of Namjoon’s desk. 

“This is where I usually stop writing,” Yoongi whispers against Namjoon’s soft lips. He wishes he could speak things into existence rather than write them. It doesn’t seem fair that there’s a disconnect between his brain and body. 

Namjoon doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t even seem disappointed when he asks, “Do you want to stop?” 

Yoongi wants, and yet he also doesn’t. It means the same thing both ways.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi bites Namjoon’s bottom lip, not to be sexy, but to shut him up. It makes Namjoon moan anyway, and Yoongi remembers that even though he doesn’t like sex, he’s always been pretty decent at it.

Funny how life works.

“How do you want to do this?” Namjoon pulls away to monitor Yoongi’s expression.

“I don’t like being naked,” Yoongi states curtly, still expecting judgment that will never come.

Namjoon rubs along Yoongi’s bare waist with his thumbs and firmly nods.

“Clothes on; got it. Anything else?”

The rest is embarrassing, but Yoongi knows he has to communicate his needs if he wants this to be a positive experience. He has very little practice speaking up. No one has ever asked him these questions, and his previous partners certainly weren’t concerned with making sure Yoongi was comfortable. Sex was always a point of contention and typically a means to an end. 

“I, um, have a hard time relaxing. And then I get distracted.” Despite how hotly his face burns, Yoongi tries to keep his tone casual and unbothered.

“Proper foreplay; that would have been a given,” Namjoon says with a wink, making Yoongi roll his eyes to hide further embarrassment. “Is that all?”

It’s hard to be self-reflective when Yoongi knows he’s moments away from having sex with his relatively new friend in the library after not letting another person intimately touch him in at least two years.

Likely noticing that Yoongi is quickly tumbling into overthinking, Namjoon gently squeezes his waist and lifts him off the desk.

“I’m sure this might be difficult for you to understand,” Namjoon says as he slowly turns Yoongi around to face his desk, “But I wanted you the moment I saw you, hyung.”

Yoongi is thankful that Namjoon is standing behind him so he doesn’t have to suffer from being too shy to look at him. It is difficult to understand.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” Yoongi admits truthfully. He feels silly saying so, but his heart is light when Namjoon chuckles, and the sound vibrates against his back through Namjoon’s chest.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to express my attraction to you so you know that this isn’t just me doing you a favor.”

Closing his eyes, Yoongi shakily exhales when Namjoon presses him against the desk and rests his chin on his shoulder.

Namjoon tilts his head slightly. When he speaks, his lips brush the side of Yoongi’s neck.

“Can I eat you out?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

Yoongi is breathless already, and it makes him cringe. He doesn’t like how sex makes him feel vulnerable and delicate.

“Cool,” Namjoon responds with a quick kiss to Yoongi’s neck before he gets on his knees behind him.

There’s something about how casual Namjoon is as he reaches up to unbutton Yoongi’s jeans and pulls them down until they rest just below his ass — only removing his clothes enough to make the important parts accessible. Namjoon’s behavior minimizes the severity of the moment. He makes sure Yoongi isn’t more exposed than he needs to be and doesn’t make a fuss over what they’re about to do. 

It’s nice. It keeps Yoongi from making this out to be a bigger deal than it needs to be and keeps him out of his own head. 

It’s difficult for Yoongi to move since his jeans are pulled to the middle of his thighs. Luckily, Namjoon is fully capable of handling Yoongi on his own. He presses on Yoongi’s back to guide him forward until he’s bent at his waist over the edge of the desk. The position forces Yoongi to put his ass on display.

Satisfied, Namjoon runs his hands up Yoongi’s thighs until he reaches his ass and squeezes each cheek in his hands.

“Did you prep before you came?”

Of course, Yoongi did. He hasn’t had sex in years, and he rarely uses toys when he masturbates, which already isn’t a frequent occurrence. But Yoongi can’t tell Namjoon any of this, though not for a lack of trying. As Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, Namjoon runs his flattened tongue in one quick swipe across Yoongi’s rim. 

Being vocal feels vulnerable to Yoongi. He doesn’t like expressing his pleasure during sex; it feels embarrassing, maybe even a bit emasculating, though he doesn’t know why he reacts this way. Rather than curse or moan, Yoongi lets out a quiet hiss through his clamped teeth and grabs onto the edge of the desk to hold himself in place. 

When writing fanfic, Yoongi often fluctuates between descriptive smut and smut that glosses over the details for something more vague. It all depends on his mood and how easily he feels like the words come out of him.

Can Yoongi imagine it? Or does he struggle to conjure the image vividly enough to write it down in a way his readers will like? 

Can Yoongi write a smut scene that accurately (and sexily) portrays the way Namjoon grips his asscheeks, gently hooking his thumbs in his hole to spread him open as he languidly flicks and swirls his tongue inside of him? Or would Yoongi skip over it, instead focusing on the heat that coils in his stomach when Namjoon worships him with his lips, each moan a quiet declaration of admiration spoken against his wet, flushed skin? 

On the verge of overthinking, Yoongi is relieved when Namjoon switches up the foreplay. He hears the smacking sound of Namjoon’s lips and then feels two spit-slicked fingers slip inside him. 

“Can you reach the top drawer?” Namjoon’s voice is rough and raw, gravelly in sound, different from the gentle, intentional way he normally speaks. 

Nodding and lifting up on his tiptoes, Yoongi reaches forward to fumble with the drawer handle. Namjoon’s fingers follow the movement, slowly easing in and out of Yoongi but never hitting the spot Yoongi knows he needs to hit if he wants this to be worth it. 

“There should be a little bottle of lube.” 

Yoongi snorts when his fingers bump into the travel-size bottle. How convenient. 

“Why do you have this here?” 

Namjoon squeezes Yoongi’s thigh and rakes his blunt nails over the soft skin just hard enough to make it tingle. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I thought about this happening,” Namjoon offers, probably with a shrug, but Yoongi doesn’t see him, just passes the lube behind him. “Not exactly like this, but…” 

Nothing more needs to be said.

Namjoon makes quick work lubing Yoongi up, massaging his rim and walls with confident strokes even after fumbling with the bottle. Yoongi is pretty sure other people like drawn-out sex that optimizes pleasure, but he prefers sex that is straightforward. That’s where all the fluff additions come in. If he gets the main points of sex down, kissing, fingering, and dick-in-ass, then the other stuff can be added later. 

So Yoongi is thankful when Namjoon stands up behind him without making a fuss – no declarations of how nice Yoongi’s ass is, how his hole sucks in Namjoon’s fingers with ease, how pretty Yoongi’s dripping, neglected cock is. 

It’s all silliness in real life, too porn-y for Yoongi’s liking.

“Are you ready?” Namjoon asks against the curve of Yoongi’s shoulder as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket to retrieve a condom. Again, how convenient. Do sexual people actually carry lube and condoms around? Is it just Yoongi who is perpetually unprepared? 

“Yeah,” Yoongi pants, already feeling like he’s tipping over the edge. He can’t remember the last time he had such a thorough prepping, and it’s making him sweat. “Wait – I need to look at your dick. For the literature.” 

Namjoon throws his head back in bewildered laughter as Yoongi twists around to get a good look at what is honestly a monster between Namjoon’s legs. Still wearing all his clothes, Namjoon has his pants unzipped and pushed down his hips just enough to pull his cock out. File this away under the “Has a Big Dick” tag on AO3, good lord. 

Yoongi must make a face because Namjoon’s laughter starts up again. Namjoon’s cock bobs from the shake that ripples through his body with each chuckle. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Namjoon covers his cock with his hands. “You’re making me feel self-conscious.” 

“You have a big dick, okay. I’m just thinking about how uncomfortable it will be to sit at my desk to write later.” 

Curling both lips into his mouth and looking up at the ceiling to stop himself from laughing, Namjoon exhales loudly through his nose. 

“I must say, I haven’t gotten anything like that before.” 

Waving the comment away, Yoongi turns back around and leans forward with his forearms on the desk. 

“Come on. Queer Book Club is going to start soon.” 

“Of course, Yoongi-ssi.” 

Yoongi does his best not to think too hard when Namjoon slowly thrusts inside him. He tries to focus his attention on the sensations he feels: the stretch of Namjoon’s thick cock opening Yoongi up, the press of Namjoon’s fingertips to Yoongi’s skin where Namjoon grips his hip bones to use as leverage when he pulls back and thrusts again, the continuous prodding of his prostate that will eventually turn into a build-up of pleasure.

It’s easier than Yoongi expects. He keeps his eyes closed and lets his body rock against the desk, making himself slack in Namjoon’s hold. There’s no need to do anything more; Namjoon takes over. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight,” Namjoon grunts quietly.

Somehow, it feels like Namjoon knows not to drag this out. He goes hard and fast, fucking Yoongi with enough force that more books fall off the desk. Yoongi strongly hopes no one comes in to investigate the racket they’re making. They may as well be tearing the whole library down.

The sex is objectively good; Yoongi knows that. He can feel his orgasm quickly approaching, partially because he hasn’t had sex in so long and also because Namjoon is good at what he does. The thing is, it isn’t mindblowing like Yoongi has always been led to believe sex is. Sometimes he can’t even focus on the literal feeling of sex; he can only tell that it’s doing something to his biology that’s going to make him cum.

Usually, the emotional attachment he has to the person he’s sleeping with is what gives sex meaning to Yoongi – and even then, it isn’t always that important. 

Namjoon slides one palm up Yoongi’s back to bunch up his shirt and give himself something to hold onto. 

The pull tightens the collar of Yoongi’s t-shirt around his neck. It doesn’t completely cut off his airway, but it applies pressure that makes his breathing shift into shallow gasping. Breathplay isn’t something Yoongi has ever experimented with; strangely, it’s what pushes him over the edge. 

Yoongi cums all over the side of the desk with a choking sound that makes Namjoon let go of his shirt. 

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon huffs as he presses one hand on the desk's surface and uses his other to hold Yoongi still. “You should have said something.” 

“I’m fine; just hurry up,” Yoongi insists, still winded and trying to catch his breath. 

Luckily, Namjoon doesn’t take long to finish. Yoongi nearly squirms away from him by the time Namjoon pulls out, his entire body on edge from the pleasure verging on overstimulation. Overstim is great to write about, but it's annoying to experience in real life, in Yoongi’s opinion. 

Writing two orgasms is also annoying, Yoongi thinks as Namjoon throws away the condom, hiding it deep in the trash can, just in case anyone notices it. Simultaneous orgasms are a smut writer’s dream. Yoongi wonders how often it happens in real life. If anyone can accomplish it, he feels like Namjoon could. 

Namjoon looks cute with sweaty hair and a pink tint to his tan cheeks. He looks at Yoongi with a strange mix of lust, adoration, and sheepishness when he tucks his cock back in his pants and passes Yoongi a handful of stray napkins to clean up the mess he’s made on the desk. 

“This wasn’t well thought-out,” Yoongi mumbles, face burning like a wildfire when he is confronted with his own cum. “I might throw up.” 

“It’s natural,” Namjoon laughs. 

“It’s gross.” 

What’s really gross is the sweet look Namjoon maintains as Yoongi finishes his task and does his best to straighten himself out, double-checking his pants for stains and brushing away his hair from his face. Going to Queer Book Club after this is going to be a disaster. Yoongi considers skipping. 

“So, do you feel better?” There’s another question under the surface: Did I do okay?

Kissing isn’t sex, but it’s intimate more often than not and isn’t on Yoongi’s list of his favorite things to do. Despite that, he gets on his tiptoes to kiss Namjoon – a peck that’s quick and easy to back out of and one that grows the grin on Namjoon’s face tenfold. 

“It was alright,” Yoongi says with a shrug when he pulls away. “When I have another smut scene to write, I’ll keep you on my list of people to contact for help.” 

“Ah, I’m sure you won’t need help anymore. You took notes, didn’t you?” 

When Yoongi meets Namjoon’s gaze, he’s met with the dimpled smile he’s become enamored with. This isn’t a good end to a fic, Yoongi thinks as he helps Namjoon clean up his office and prepare for their book club, but that’s okay. This is only the beginning of Yoongi and Namjoon.

[amethystarachnid]

Please, please, can you write a second part of Room for Two for me? First, thank you so much for the first part, I loved it, and the cute way you wrote it, Dumpling is beautiful 😍🧡

But now, I’d love to see their life after graduation. Now they have their own beautiful house they bought together, the jobs of their dreams, married, another furry baby to keep Dumpling company, and maybe reader is already pregnant too? Imagine how cute it’ll be Tony and reader designing the baby’s room together? 🥺🧡

ROOM FOR TWO - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: Graduation finally arrives and with it the struggles of being two fresh graduates with no clue on how the job world works. But you and Tony are sure you can do everything together, your love stronger than ever with a new fur baby and another big surprise on the way.

ᯓ★ TW(s): pure fluff, twin pregnancy

ᯓ★ AU: Accidental roommates

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The day of graduation is a blur of ceremony, speeches, and the sea of caps and gowns. You and Tony are sitting side-by-side, dressed in identical caps and gowns, trying to look like the solemn graduates you’re supposed to be, but Tony keeps leaning over to whisper comments in your ear about the people on stage or the terrible music playing in the background. You have to bite back laughter more than once, playfully elbowing him to get him to quiet down, though your cheeks ache from smiling. Dumpling would have loved to be here, you think, though she would probably be far more interested in batting at your tassels than the pomp and circumstance of it all.

Finally, you hear your names called, one after the other, and you step up to receive your diplomas, pride swelling in your chest as you glance over at Tony. When it’s his turn to walk across the stage, he makes a dramatic show of waving to the crowd, earning a mixture of laughter and eye rolls, and you can’t help but beam with pride. Despite all the ups and downs, the late-night study sessions, and the endless cups of coffee, you’ve both made it here together. You cheer him on, clapping so loudly you almost drown out the official applause, and when he walks back to you, he pulls you into a spontaneous hug, lifting you off your feet right in front of everyone.

After the ceremony, the campus is bustling with families and friends snapping photos, laughing, and celebrating, but for you, it’s just you and Tony. He tugs you aside, away from the crowd, down one of the quieter paths near the library. He’s grinning, eyes shining with excitement, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope with both your names written on it.

“Guess what?” he says, holding it up. “This came in the mail yesterday, and I figured, what better time to open it than right now?”

You look at him, heart pounding as you take the envelope. It’s from the company you both applied to—the one you’ve been dreaming about for years, the one that’s so competitive it felt like a long shot, even with your best efforts. Together, you tear open the envelope, unfolding the letter inside, scanning the words. When you reach the line that says, “We’re thrilled to offer you both positions,” you gasp, and Tony lets out a whoop, spinning you around in pure, unfiltered joy.

“We did it,” you say, voice full of disbelief as you look at him, the reality sinking in.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, pulling you into another hug. “We did it! We’re both in!” His enthusiasm is infectious, and you laugh, feeling like you’re on top of the world, the future stretching out in front of you like an open road.

With your new jobs confirmed, it’s only a matter of weeks before you and Tony pack up the apartment you’ve shared all this time and make plans to move to the city center, close to where you’ll both be working. The day you leave campus is bittersweet. You walk through the now-quiet campus one last time, reminiscing about the memories you’ve made here—the countless study sessions in the library, the late nights in the dorms, the spontaneous runs to the campus coffee shop when you needed an extra caffeine boost. It’s strange to think of leaving it all behind, but with Tony by your side, it feels less like an ending and more like a new chapter beginning.

Moving day is chaotic. Boxes are stacked everywhere, labeled in varying degrees of legibility, some scrawled by Tony’s messy handwriting, others by your own. Dumpling watches the commotion with wide, curious eyes, perched on top of the couch like a little queen surveying her kingdom. Every so often, she bats at a loose strip of packing tape or tries to squeeze herself into a box that’s far too small, and you and Tony can’t help but laugh at her antics.

The apartment you’ve chosen is perfect—or at least as perfect as two just-graduated college students can afford. It’s on the small side, with creaky floors and slightly outdated cabinets, but it has large windows that let in an abundance of light, and from the living room, you have a view of the bustling city below. The first night, you and Tony collapse onto the floor, too exhausted to even think about unpacking, Dumpling curling up between you as you lie there, looking up at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Tony murmurs, reaching over to take your hand.

You squeeze his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “I know. It doesn’t feel real yet.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with a warmth that makes your heart flutter. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For… everything. For sticking with me, for helping me get here. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

You feel a lump in your throat, touched by his words. “Right back at you. I don’t think I’d have made it through some of those all-nighters without you keeping me sane.”

He laughs, a deep, genuine laugh, and in that moment, you realize just how lucky you are to have found him. You lean over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, feeling his smile against yours as he pulls you closer.

The weeks that follow are a whirlwind as you both adjust to your new jobs, new schedules, and life in the city. Dumpling quickly becomes a fixture in the apartment, staking out her favorite sunny spots and delighting in her new vantage points where she can watch the people and cars go by. She’s thrilled with the large windows, and you often find her perched on the windowsill, tail twitching as she watches the city below with wide, curious eyes.

Your jobs are demanding, but every evening, no matter how late you get home, you and Tony make time for each other. Some nights, you cook together, experimenting with simple recipes and laughing when things inevitably go wrong. Other nights, you order takeout and eat it right out of the containers, sprawled out on the couch with Dumpling tucked between you, her tiny head poking out to sniff at whatever you’re eating. It’s a routine that feels both familiar and new, comforting in its simplicity.

The city itself is vibrant and alive, filled with endless places to explore. On weekends, you and Tony take long walks through the streets, discovering hidden coffee shops, bookstores, and parks. Dumpling becomes a little explorer in her own right; you buy her a small harness and leash so she can accompany you to the park nearby. It’s amusing to watch her little paws gingerly tread over the grass, her eyes wide as she takes in the bustling world around her. Tony likes to joke that she’s a “city cat” now, and you find yourself snapping countless photos of her as she discovers her new territory.

One evening, after a particularly hectic day at work, you come home feeling drained, your shoulders tense from hours spent hunched over your desk. Tony senses it immediately and guides you to the couch, gently massaging your shoulders as Dumpling hops up, purring and nudging your hand. The three of you sit there in the soft, warm glow of the apartment, the stress of the day slowly melting away as Tony’s fingers work their magic.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, “no matter how rough the day is, coming home to you and Dumpling makes it all worth it.”

You look up at him, smiling softly. “I feel the same way.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes, savoring the quiet, intimate moment.

As time passes, you and Tony start to feel more settled. The city that once seemed so big and intimidating now feels like home, a place filled with familiar streets, favorite spots, and memories that you’ve created together. Your jobs are challenging but fulfilling, and each new accomplishment feels even more meaningful because you have Tony to share it with. Every so often, you still catch those envious glances from people on the street or coworkers who haven’t quite gotten over Tony’s charm, but it doesn’t bother you anymore. You know that he’s yours, just as much as you’re his, and that’s all that matters.

One night, as you’re lying in bed, Dumpling curled up at your feet, Tony turns to you with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I was thinking,” he begins, his tone hesitant, “what if… we stay here for good? Like, really settle down.”

You blink, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. You’ve thought about it, too—the idea of building a life here, with him, in this apartment, this city. You smile, reaching out to take his hand. “I think I’d like that.”

His face lights up, and he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Me too,” he whispers.

It’s a simple moment, but it feels monumental, a promise of a future that you’re both excited to build together. You fall asleep that night with your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath you, Dumpling’s soft purring filling the room like a lullaby.

Years from now, you’ll look back on these days—the late-night takeout, the lazy weekends spent exploring the city, the quiet evenings in with Dumpling—and you’ll remember them as some of the best days of your life. Because here, in this little apartment, you’ve found everything you need. And as Tony holds you close, his arms wrapped around you, you know that, no matter where life takes you, you’ll always have this place, this moment, this love.

It starts on a rainy Thursday. You and Tony are on your way home after a particularly grueling day, the kind that feels like it should’ve ended hours ago. The two of you are drenched by the time you reach the apartment building’s front steps, even with the umbrella, and your only thought is getting inside, slipping into cozy clothes, and ordering something comforting for dinner.

Then you hear it—a tiny, pitiful meow that somehow cuts through the downpour.

You freeze, peering around in the dim light, your gaze finally landing on a small, soaked bundle huddled under the awning by the building’s door. It’s a kitten, barely larger than your hand, its fur matted from the rain, its big eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperation. It looks up at you, letting out another weak meow, and your heart shatters.

“Oh, no…” you murmur, already bending down to reach for it.

Tony follows, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Guess we’re going to have to get used to being a two-cat household, huh?” He gives you a small, fond smile, and the kitten reaches out a tentative paw, making a soft chirping noise. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

You laugh softly, ignoring his teasing as you gingerly pick up the shivering little creature, cradling it close to your chest. “Look at her, Tony,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “She’s just… she’s so helpless.”

He wraps an arm around you both, guiding you inside. “Alright, I’m sold,” he says, pulling the door open with his free hand. “Guess Dumpling’s getting a little sister.”

Once you’re in the apartment, you make quick work of finding a fluffy towel to dry her off while Tony prepares a shallow dish of warm milk. Dumpling, who’s lounging lazily on the back of the couch, eyes the new addition with the faintest hint of curiosity but seems more annoyed at the idea of sharing her territory.

The little orange kitten, still trembling slightly, settles into your lap, kneading her tiny paws into the fabric of the towel as she drinks, her eyes never leaving yours. You feel a warmth spreading through you, a fierce protectiveness over this small, vulnerable creature, and you can already imagine her becoming part of your little family.

As the days pass, she adjusts quickly. Her orange fur, now fluffy and clean, gives her the look of a tiny, mischievous tiger. She’s lively and fearless, pouncing on everything from Dumpling’s tail to Tony’s toes, chasing after shadows and batting at imaginary creatures with boundless energy. Tony, ever the playful spirit himself, takes to calling her “Pumpkin,” both for her orange coat and her wild, playful energy that fills the apartment with laughter and life.

“Pumpkin it is,” you say one night, watching as Tony gently scratches her behind the ears, his expression filled with such unguarded affection that it makes your heart ache.

Dumpling eventually warms up to her new sibling, the two of them becoming inseparable partners in crime, though Dumpling still looks at you from time to time as if to say, Wasn’t I enough?

It isn’t long after Pumpkin joins your little family that Tony makes the decision to leave his job. He’s been restless lately, his gaze often drifting out the apartment window as if he’s searching for something that’s just beyond his reach. When he talks about his work, you can sense his frustration, the feeling that he’s capable of more, that he’s meant to create something of his own.

One night, after the two of you have finally settled down for dinner and the cats are contentedly snoozing on the couch, he takes your hand, looking at you with that determined, focused expression that always signals he’s about to do something bold.

“I want to start my own company,” he says, voice steady but eyes betraying the hint of vulnerability beneath his determination. “I know it’s risky. I know it’s going to be hard—maybe harder than anything I’ve done before. But I need to do this. I want to create something… something that’s mine.”

You study his face, seeing the quiet intensity in his gaze, and you realize just how much this dream means to him. The job he has now might pay well, but it’s stifling him. You’ve seen him come home, drained and dissatisfied, too many nights, and you can’t bear the thought of him feeling trapped in a life that doesn’t fulfill him.

Taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hand. “Then do it, Tony. I believe in you. I know this is what you’re meant to do.”

His shoulders relax, and he lets out a long breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “You… you really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” You reach up, brushing a lock of hair from his face, smiling softly. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll keep working, and we’ll make it work. We’ve done harder things before, haven’t we?”

A small, grateful smile tugs at his lips, and he nods. “Yeah, we have.” His voice is thick with emotion, and he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how much it means to me… that you’re willing to do this. That you believe in me.”

With that, Tony makes the leap, leaving behind the stability of his job to throw himself into building his own business. At first, things are rougher than either of you anticipated. His days are consumed with meetings, networking events, late nights hunched over his laptop, trying to secure funding, struggling to get his ideas off the ground. The income you bring home is just enough to cover your essentials, and every month is a delicate balancing act, stretching paychecks and counting every penny.

Pumpkin and Dumpling seem to sense the shift, often curling up beside him as he works late into the night, their silent companionship a comfort amid the stress. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night to find him still at his desk, eyes bleary but unwavering, his determination burning brighter than ever. You bring him coffee and gentle encouragement, rubbing his shoulders or simply sitting beside him, your presence grounding him as he pours everything he has into making his dream a reality.

But there are nights when the weight of it all becomes too much, when the bills pile up and the uncertainties loom large. One night, after an especially difficult week, he comes home, his face drawn and exhausted, his shoulders slumped with a heaviness you’ve never seen before. He sinks onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, and you feel your heart break at the sight of him so defeated.

You sit beside him, reaching out to gently rub his back, and he finally looks up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “What if… what if this doesn’t work?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “What if I’m just… dragging us both down?”

You shake your head, tears filling your own eyes as you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “Tony, look at me,” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re not dragging us down. You’re trying to build something amazing, something that will change our lives. And I’m here because I believe in you. I love you, and I know that, no matter how long it takes, you’re going to make this work.”

A tear slips down his cheek, and he swipes at it, his expression crumbling as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid to let go. You cling to him just as fiercely, your own tears falling as you whisper reassurances, promises of a future that you’ll build together, no matter how long it takes or how hard it gets.

“You know…” he murmurs, voice muffled against your shoulder, “I’ve thought about what I’d do if things worked out. When things work out.” He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes, his gaze filled with a raw, unguarded vulnerability. “I want to marry you. I want to make this official… as soon as I can give you the life you deserve.”

Your breath catches, and you reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing away the tear that’s escaped. “Tony, I don’t need anything fancy. I don’t need a big house or a huge income. I just need you. This… everything we have here, with Pumpkin and Dumpling and us… this is all I need.”

He chokes out a laugh, his hand coming up to cover yours, his fingers trembling slightly. “You say that now, but one day… one day, I’m going to give you the world, I promise.”

You shake your head, smiling through your tears. “All I want is you, Tony. Just you.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and in that moment, all the worries, all the fears, fade away. It’s just the two of you, together, stronger than any struggle that comes your way. And as you sit there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that, no matter what challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together, with a love that can withstand anything.

The next day, Tony is back at his desk, his determination renewed, his drive stronger than ever. And each night, as you come home from work, you find him there, pushing forward, fueled by the promise he made to you. And slowly, bit by bit, his hard work begins to pay off. Clients come in, investors take notice, and his little company starts to grow, the future you both dreamed of coming within reach.

Years of grit, late nights, and unwavering resolve pay off, and Stark Industries becomes the name on everyone’s lips. Tony’s vision—a dream that he’d clung to even through the darkest moments—is finally a reality, and not just any reality but a monumental success. Word spreads quickly; clients are no longer just trickling in—they’re arriving in droves. Investors who had once overlooked Tony’s pitches now scramble to buy shares, and the profits start to soar. With every new partnership and product launch, Stark Industries climbs higher, taking Tony and you along for the ride.

And with this sudden, extraordinary success comes change. You and Tony move from your cozy apartment into a breathtaking penthouse, one with towering windows that offer a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape. The penthouse is all steel, glass, and modern sophistication, with soaring ceilings and an open layout that feels both grand and intimate. In the center of the space is a large, plush sectional that becomes Dumpling and Pumpkin’s new kingdom. They lounge on it as if they’ve always known that one day, this high-rise palace would be theirs.

On your first night in the new penthouse, you and Tony stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the city’s twinkling lights. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, both of you quiet as you take in the surreal view. You marvel at how far you’ve come together, from cramped dorm rooms and tight budgets to this—the culmination of years of relentless dedication and an unbreakable bond that had weathered everything thrown at it.

“I never thought we’d make it here,” you murmur, resting your hand over his. “It feels… unreal.”

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your skin. “Believe me, I’m still processing it, too.” He turns you around to face him, his eyes warm and serious as he holds you close. “But I wouldn’t be here without you. Every time I doubted myself, every time I thought I couldn’t do this, you were there, telling me I could. I owe all of this to you.”

You shake your head, smiling as you look up at him. “We built this together, Tony. You and me. And Dumpling and Pumpkin,” you add, laughing as you glance over at your cats, who are now nestled together on the couch like two furry queens.

His gaze shifts, something tender and unspoken in his expression. “Then I think it’s time I make things official.”

You blink, momentarily confused, until he gently takes your hand, guiding you toward the center of the penthouse. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, dark blue velvet box. Your heart pounds as he opens it to reveal a stunning ring—a brilliant, intricately set diamond that catches the light, shimmering with a fire of its own. The sight of it takes your breath away, and for a moment, you can’t move, can’t speak, just staring at the symbol of everything you and Tony have built together.

He drops to one knee, his hand still holding yours, his eyes soft and filled with love. “From the first day we moved in together, I knew there was no one else I wanted to go through life with. You’ve been my partner, my inspiration, and my best friend through everything. And now… I want you to be my forever. Will you marry me?”

Tears sting your eyes, and you feel your heart swell with a joy so intense you can barely contain it. “Yes,” you manage, voice barely more than a whisper as you nod, the word coming out again, stronger this time. “Yes, Tony, of course!”

A relieved, joyful laugh escapes him as he slips the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling ever so slightly. He stands, pulling you into his arms, and you kiss him, the world around you blurring as the reality of it settles over you.

When you finally break the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you grinning like two love-struck kids. “I can’t wait to start forever with you,” he says softly, his voice choked with emotion.

“Neither can I.” You reach up, touching his face, memorizing every detail, every line and angle, your chest bursting with happiness.

Behind you, Dumpling and Pumpkin observe the moment with disinterest, already settling into the lavish life they seem to have instinctively known would one day belong to them. And as you and Tony hold each other in the dim glow of the penthouse lights, the city glittering below, you realize that every struggle, every sleepless night, and every whispered promise has led you here—to a life you’ve built together, and a future that, now, feels limitless.

The wedding planning unfolds with more ease and joy than you ever expected. With the newfound success and wealth, Tony insists that you both have the freedom to go all out. He’s so animated about the entire process—sifting through floral arrangements, sketching out seating charts, even excitedly browsing suit designs. Despite the resources at your disposal, though, you both agree: you want something beautiful, but simple. Intimate, elegant, a true celebration of all the quiet moments and love you’ve shared.

You choose a venue just outside the city, a sprawling garden tucked away in the countryside. It’s the kind of place that feels like magic, with sun-dappled fields, flowering vines, and a historic stone hall where the reception will take place. The guest list remains small, just close friends and family. Even so, the evening promises to be grand in its own understated way, the joy and anticipation electric in the air.

When the day arrives, the garden glows under the afternoon sun, warm and golden, with a gentle breeze stirring the air. Pumpkin and Dumpling are staying with a friend, probably napping in their usual lazy contentment, but somehow you feel their spirits there with you, a little touch of home that completes the day. As you walk down the aisle, the world fades around you. All you see is Tony, waiting at the end, his gaze fixed on you with a look of awe and wonder that makes you feel like the only person in the universe.

The ceremony is filled with laughter and love, heartfelt vows exchanged as tears shine in both your eyes. When he promises to love you “through every late night, every crazy dream, and every step of the journey,” his voice catches, and you reach for his hand, grounding him just as you always have.

The reception flows seamlessly afterward, your guests mingling under a canopy of twinkling lights, soft music drifting through the air. The food is impeccable, a blend of both your favorite dishes, and everyone laughs as Tony makes a dramatic toast, recounting the early days of your relationship with a fondness that leaves you both blushing and laughing.

As the evening deepens, waitstaff come around with glasses of wine, and laughter and merriment fill the air. You accept a glass to keep up appearances, even though you hold it without sipping. For weeks now, you’ve been carrying a secret close to your heart—a secret you’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to share.

Tony, as perceptive as ever, notices right away. As you’re both sharing a moment alone by the garden edge, he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours as he lowers his voice, eyes narrowing in concern. “Hey, sweetheart, you’ve barely touched your wine. Are you okay?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a grin that’s threatening to spill over. You weren’t sure how you’d break the news to him, but this moment, here and now, feels absolutely right. With his warm hand around yours and the gentle scent of garden flowers in the air, you can already picture his reaction.

“Actually,” you begin, your heart racing, “there’s a reason for that.”

He tilts his head, eyes searching yours, the worry giving way to curiosity. “Yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you look up at him, unable to hold back your smile any longer. “Tony… I’m pregnant. Just barely three months.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, the words sinking in as his face shifts from confusion to realization. His eyes widen, and his mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. You watch as the full meaning of what you’ve said washes over him, his face breaking into a brilliant smile that lights up his entire expression.

“Wait,” he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re… we’re going to have a baby?”

You nod, feeling your own tears well up. “Yes. We’re going to be parents.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, pulling you into his arms and holding you tight, as if grounding himself in this incredible new reality. You feel his body tremble slightly, his joy spilling over as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, then pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looks at you with pure adoration.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, brushing a tear from your cheek. “This… this is the best surprise of my life.”

He cups your face in his hands, leaning in to press a tender, lingering kiss to your lips, and when he pulls back, there’s a soft, awed smile playing on his lips. “I thought today couldn’t get any better, but you’ve just made it unforgettable.”

The rest of the evening is filled with stolen glances, whispered secrets, and shared smiles, the two of you reveling in the quiet, beautiful knowledge that your lives are about to change forever. As you sway together on the dance floor later that night, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, knowing that this is only the beginning of the life you’ve always dreamed of—filled with love, laughter, and a new little heart soon to join your family.

The first few weeks after the wedding bring a unique and gentle kind of excitement as you and Tony settle into the rhythm of married life with a baby on the way. After sharing the news with close friends and family, your days fall into a new pattern—one where work, plans for the future, and a soft undercurrent of anticipation for the baby blend into the everyday. And soon enough, a single priority emerges above all else: the nursery.

Even though you’re still in the early months of your pregnancy, Tony’s enthusiasm is unmatched. He talks about colors, themes, and toys with a boyish excitement, and every spare moment is spent in one design store or another. He’s constantly coming home with inspiration, ideas, and sometimes items he “just couldn’t resist.”

“I found this mobile with little planets and stars,” he says one day, brandishing it with a grin. “Perfect for our little one’s room. Gotta start their science education early, right?”

You can’t help but laugh, heartwarming at the thought of your child growing up surrounded by so much love and wonder. But you’re more practical, balancing Tony’s big ideas with sensible additions—a crib, a changing table, and soft blankets, which you pick out in soothing shades of cream and soft blues, just neutral enough to work for a boy or a girl.

As the weeks pass, the nursery begins to take shape. Tony hangs the planetary mobile over the crib, which you’ve positioned in the middle of the room so it’s the first thing anyone sees. Together, you carefully arrange the toys and a few framed pictures on the walls, both of you quietly envisioning your little one growing up in this cozy, inviting space.

Your belly starts to swell slowly but steadily, each new centimeter adding to the wonder. And Tony is with you every step of the way—holding your hand during doctor’s visits, marveling at every new detail the ultrasound reveals. He’s so deeply invested, always asking questions, always curious, like every new milestone is a gift meant just for him.

One afternoon, as you sit cross-legged on the floor of the nursery, holding up tiny onesies to show Tony, he settles onto the floor beside you, a softness in his gaze as he looks at your growing belly. “You know, this is going to be the coolest room on the block,” he jokes, but his voice is thick with emotion. “Our little one’s going to love it.”

You smile back, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. “With a dad like you? They’ll think the whole world is theirs to explore.”

The crib is in place, toys line the shelves, and the walls have been painted in a soft, soothing gray that matches the stardust-themed curtains you picked out together. Everything feels perfect—until a few weeks later when, during a routine checkup, your doctor squints at the ultrasound screen with an unusual expression.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, exchanging a glance with Tony, who’s squeezing your hand a little too tightly.

“Oh, everything’s fine,” she says, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “In fact, I’d say it’s more than fine. You’re expecting twins.”

For a moment, you and Tony are completely silent, processing the news in stunned, joyful disbelief. And then you both burst into laughter, a mix of joy and shock filling the room.

“Twins?” Tony repeats, still sounding amazed. “We’re… we’re going to have two babies?”

“Yes,” the doctor says, grinning at your astonished expressions. “Two baby girls, actually. Congratulations, you two.”

Two baby girls. The words echo in your mind, and you feel your eyes well up as you look at Tony. He’s staring at you, his face lighting up with a combination of surprise, joy, and a hint of panic. But as he pulls you into a gentle embrace, you feel the excitement in his arms, the unspoken promise that he’s ready for this—whatever it brings.

When you get home, the nursery takes on a whole new meaning. Suddenly, the space feels smaller, and your original design plans are tossed out the window as you begin to reimagine the room for two little girls. The next few days become a whirlwind of rearranging, replanning, and revisiting every decision you’d made so far.

“We’ll need two cribs,” Tony says, scratching his head as he stands in the center of the room, staring at the carefully arranged furniture. “And more storage for all their clothes and toys… not to mention double the diapers. Oh, and I’ll have to get another mobile!”

You laugh, watching him slip seamlessly into his role as both planner and dad, and as the weeks pass, the nursery undergoes a complete transformation. The single crib is replaced by two, positioned side by side, each one adorned with matching linens and soft, embroidered blankets. You pick out another mobile with tiny animals to hang over the second crib, so each girl will have her own special piece above her.

Tony throws himself into every decision with all his heart. Together, you select two cozy rocking chairs—one for each side of the room—where you’ll be able to sit and feed them, or rock them to sleep on those long, quiet nights. You add a second changing table and rearrange the closet to fit all the tiny, beautiful outfits you’ve picked out, each one smaller and softer than the last. And you feel a warm, tender satisfaction knowing that everything has been done with love, crafted by your own hands and Tony’s for your daughters.

Your belly grows steadily, more rapidly now with twins on the way, and as your body changes, Tony’s attentiveness only grows. He talks to your belly every night, telling stories, asking the girls to kick for him. Sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, you feel his gentle hand on your stomach, his whispering voice, as if he’s having a private conversation with your babies, sharing his dreams and promises for the life they’ll share.

One evening, Tony catches you staring at the nursery with a wistful smile, your hands cradling your growing belly.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“I was just thinking about how much our lives are going to change,” you say softly, leaning back against him. “Two little girls… I can’t believe it.”

He chuckles, resting a hand on your belly. “It’s going to be chaos,” he admits, but his tone is warm, filled with love. “But the best kind of chaos.”

The following weeks are a whirlwind of final touches. You and Tony spend countless hours folding tiny clothes, arranging stuffed animals, and adding little decorative touches that make the room feel alive with warmth and anticipation. One wall becomes a gallery of framed prints with soft pastel colors and uplifting quotes, each one a small promise of the happiness that will fill this room.

As your belly grows rounder and the due date draws nearer, Tony becomes even more doting, always ready with snacks, pillows, or gentle foot massages. He attends every doctor’s appointment without fail, his face lighting up at every ultrasound, marveling at the sight of his daughters as they grow. Your heart swells every time you see him so in love with them, even before they’ve taken their first breath.

One evening, as you both lie in bed, Tony turns to you, his face shadowed by a soft, thoughtful look. “What do you think they’ll be like?” he murmurs, brushing a hand tenderly over your belly.

You smile, imagining two tiny faces, two sets of eyes staring up at you. “I think they’ll be perfect. Little pieces of you and me, each with their own personalities.” You feel a slight movement, and Tony’s eyes light up as he feels it too. “They’ll be our little adventure,” you add, feeling your throat tighten with emotion.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he whispers, his voice filled with a quiet awe. “And I can’t wait to see you with them. You’re already the best mom.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you rest your hand over his. “And you’re going to be the best dad, Tony.”

As the weeks pass, you and Tony spend as much time as possible in the nursery, each addition and detail reminding you of the life you’re about to welcome. The two cribs stand proudly side by side, the mobile planets casting soft shadows across the room. Dumpling and Pumpkin occasionally wander in, curling up by the rocking chairs, as if they, too, are awaiting the arrival of their new family members.

One night, just as the final touches are complete, Tony holds your hand, guiding you into the nursery one last time. He flicks on a small, warm lamp, the soft glow illuminating every corner of the room.

“What do you think?” he asks, his gaze moving over the room, his expression one of pride and love.

You look around, feeling your heart swell as you take in the space you’ve created together. It’s everything you’d dreamed of—soft, warm, and filled with love. “It’s perfect,” you whisper, turning to him. “They’re going to love it.”

He smiles, pulling you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Then it’s ready,” he murmurs, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction. “Just waiting on our girls now.”

The anticipation builds with each day, the love and excitement filling every corner of the nursery.

The birth of your daughters is a moment you and Tony will never forget. After hours of labor, Tony by your side every second, whispering words of encouragement and holding your hand, you finally hear the first cries of your little girls filling the room. The sound is miraculous, small and new, yet somehow commanding all the space in the room. The nurses place each baby in your arms, and the weight of them—tiny, warm, real—washes over you. Tony’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, his face a blend of awe and love as he looks down at his daughters, his whole world in that small, fragile bundle.

Your firstborn, nestled against you with sleepy eyes and the softest patch of dark hair, reaches up with a tiny hand, and you marvel at the delicate beauty of her fingers, so perfectly formed. Tony holds your second daughter, whose bright gaze and peach-fuzz hair make her seem even more precious, a tiny version of you in his arms. You exchange a tearful, joyful glance with him, each of you knowing that no words are necessary.

For names, you’d had many options in mind, but as you gaze down at your daughters, the choice is suddenly clear. Your firstborn, with her delicate, observant eyes, is named Lily—a name that feels soft and sweet, like the petals of a lily blossom. Your second daughter, who seems full of spirit from the moment she’s born, is Rose. Tony chuckles through his tears, noting that their names are like a garden, and you can already picture the flowers they’ll grow into, each one beautiful in her own way.

The first night back at home, you settle in, bracing yourselves for the new reality. The nursery, which had seemed so big and perfect for a family, now feels cozily filled with your two little daughters. The cribs are side by side, and you and Tony can hardly bear to put Lily and Rose down, both of you lingering at their bedside, watching every tiny movement, each sleepy yawn, and every rise and fall of their little chests.

Dumpling and Pumpkin approach with cautious curiosity, sniffing the air and stretching their necks to peer at the new arrivals. Dumpling, the more curious and daring of the two, pads up close to Rose’s crib, giving a soft, inquisitive meow as if to say, And who are these new tiny humans? Rose stirs, her tiny hand jerking in her sleep, and Dumpling looks up at you, blinking slowly in acceptance, as if she already senses her place as the older sibling.

Pumpkin, ever dignified, holds back, sitting primly at the nursery doorway, watching the scene with reserved interest. But as you and Tony return again and again to soothe Lily and Rose during the night, Pumpkin eventually follows, settling herself by the rocking chair in quiet acceptance, her large, round eyes trained on the new family members. Soon, the cats both settle in as quiet sentinels, occasionally creeping closer to observe, then curling up in the corners, as if keeping an eye on their new sisters.

Those first nights are a whirlwind of wonder and exhaustion, filled with soft cries, endless feedings, and groggy exchanges as you and Tony navigate this new world together. You take turns pacing the nursery with Lily and Rose, rocking them gently until they settle into sleep, only to start again a few hours later. It’s tiring, far beyond anything you’d imagined, but every time you look down at their tiny faces, any trace of fatigue fades.

One evening, Tony finds you in the rocking chair, Lily cradled against your chest as you hum softly to her, the glow from the small lamp casting a warm halo around you both. He watches from the doorway for a moment, and when you notice him, he smiles, coming over to brush a gentle hand over Lily’s head.

“They’re perfect,” he whispers, looking down at her with so much love it fills the room.

“They really are,” you whisper back, unable to take your eyes off her. Rose sleeps soundly in her crib, and you can’t help but marvel at how incredible it feels to have them both here, real and whole.

Tony takes over, cradling Lily in his arms and swaying gently, his eyes never leaving her face. You watch him, heart swelling with pride and gratitude, knowing that he’s already the most devoted father. He hums softly to her, a tune you recognize from his late nights tinkering away in the early days of his company, a melody he’d told you once he’d saved for his future children.

Each night becomes a precious ritual of shared wonder and care. You and Tony take turns holding the girls, whispering softly to them, marveling at their tiny fingers and the way they curl their fists while they sleep. And whenever one stirs, the other often follows, as if they already sense their twin bond, their hearts beating together even in sleep.

One evening, as you’re both sitting in the nursery, each holding a baby in your arms, you exchange a tired but joyful smile with Tony.

“Can you believe it?” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Two little girls. Our girls.”

You nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “It’s everything I ever dreamed of… and more.”

He reaches over, his hand warm as it rests over yours. “Lily and Rose,” he says softly, looking down at them. “Our little flowers.”

In the weeks that follow, you and Tony fall into a rhythm. The days are a blur of feedings, naps, and little moments stolen here and there to catch your breath. Tony dives into his role as a father with everything he has, waking up for midnight feedings, changing diapers with surprising skill, and always finding a way to make you laugh even during the most chaotic moments. On those rare mornings when the girls nap in sync, he’ll bring you coffee, settling beside you on the couch with a look of contentment that makes your heart ache with happiness.

The girls are growing before your eyes, each day bringing a new discovery—a new expression, a tiny sound, a small fist reaching up toward your face. Dumpling and Pumpkin continue their watchful routines, following you to the nursery each time you go in, sometimes even curling up by the cribs as if silently promising to protect their human sisters. Pumpkin occasionally hops up onto the rocking chair, her head cocked to the side as she watches you and Tony with the girls, her silent approval clear in her wise, patient eyes.

One quiet afternoon, as the girls sleep peacefully, Tony pulls you close on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both steal a rare moment of peace. He lets out a contented sigh, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your arm.

“We’re pretty lucky, aren’t we?” he says, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I mean… look at them. Look at us.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, watching your little family, feeling a sense of wholeness that’s impossible to put into words. “We really are,” you whisper, the warmth in your chest blooming even more. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

He kisses the top of your head, a quiet promise, and for a moment, the two of you simply sit there, basking in the gentle, perfect chaos of your life together.

The nursery is full now, with soft giggles, sleepy murmurs, and the occasional curious sniff from Dumpling and Pumpkin. Every day with Lily and Rose is a new adventure, a new page in the story you and Tony have been writing together since the day you met. And as you watch him reach over to brush a gentle hand over Rose’s tiny head, his face softened with love, you know that the best parts of your story are only just beginning.

tony as a girl dad lives in my mind rent free, sorry not sorry. if you liked the story don't forget to leave a like and a reblog and drop a follow If you want to read more! <3

[deluwoo]

thoughts on bf!enha

pairing ▸ enhypen x f.reader genre ▸ headcannon, fluff, comfort, crack (?? in some way), established relationships warnings ▸ food, mention (1) of alcohol [lmk if there r more] wc ▸ 345

eun's notes ▸ prev from my old blog @/wonieweb!! pls enjoy bc i miss writing :((

y.jw: times of silence where you just appreciate each other’s company. using elastic hair ties and scrunchies to play with his hair. writing down the little details about you: allergies, favorite restaurants, etc. muffled laughter especially when the two of you are eating. late night strolls near the Han river. attempts to do make-up on you l.hs: you secretly record when he sings so you can replay it anytime you want. sleeping until 10 am in the morning. both of you are bed heads just staring at each other confused for 10 min. homemade earrings. festival or carnival dates at night. resting on his lap during long car rides. reading fanfics with him ABOUT him and laughing 99% of the time. p.js: vinyls and wine (coke) at 10 pm. grocery shopping for the other boys. finding your stuff in his bag because you rarely bring yours. making fun of his pre-debut photos. sunday brunch with his family. you watch him play games on the big TV. homemade lunch on school days. fingers around belt loops when out in public. s.jk: dog parks and ice cream. peach/apple picking with him. free tutoring but it ends with the two of you extremely confused and irritated with the subject. 2 whole albums of polaroids of the two of you. a playlist of songs that remind him of you. late night car drives to the drive thru. babysitting together. dancing in the rain. p.sh: strolls with your hands in his pockets. using the ‘its our anniversary’ card to get discounts in restaurants. stealing his hoodies and cloaks. short but kind compliments at the most random times. the most random texts at 1 am. likes to choose your outfits. getting sulky because hes just laughing at you for no exact reason. switches from being the little spoon to a big spoon. k.sn: homedates where u binge watch kdramas and eat. “because im your bf” excuse. diy photoshoots. late night gossiping. secret photos of each other sleeping. grabbing you by the waist onto his lap. matching pfps or lock screens. pinterest boards for each other. kissing of cheeks. n.rk: homemade memes of each other. private twt just to simp over you. hes the most romantic when youre asleep. youre couple love language is quality time. likes to buy you flowers and presses them when theyre almost wilted. library dates. buying stationary together. 4 am talks on the rooftop. he’ll put your stuff on the higher shelves to see you struggle then eventually traps you against the shelf while he gets it for you.

a reblog wld be nice 👹👹 repost of previous works ©wonieweb now ©deluwoo

[adorabee3]

Music Box

Ray x fem!reader

summary: reader has a special music box given by her parents when she was young but it was accidentally broken by the younger kids. Fortunately, Ray takes it in his care to fix it.

TW: mentions of blood, use of Y/N(does that count?)

A/N: this is my first fanfic I’ve ever posted on any platform and i apologize in advance for any mistakes or if it’s just bad. I came up with this idea after ordering a Howl’s Moving Castle music box on Amazon today ( ´ ▽ ` )

Y/N grew up in the Gracefield Orphanage among her 38 siblings. She was told her parents perished in a fire when she was born and the only thing that had been left for her was a music box.

A beautiful one. It had stars and the moon on the lid and would light up as it played its gentle melody.

She often finds herself winding it up throughout random points of the day or when she is sitting in the field by herself. 

More often than not, Ray sits beside her, humming a melody of his own.

“Where did you get that melody from?” Y/N asked.

Ray look at her without turning his head, still humming the tune. When he finally stopped, he replied, “I remember hearing it when I was in my mother’s womb.”

Y/N found it fascinating that Ray was able to remember that far back and nodded. “That’s cool.”

While the day went on, Y/N wounded up her little music box as she and the other children cleaned, or cooked, or did anything.

When she headed to her room, there were many children running around, causing Y/N to clutch onto her fragile box.

As she avoided getting knocked over, she didn’t notice Thoma running behind her.

Before she knew it, her box was flying out of her hands as she fell on the floor.

When she landed on the floor, her chin smacked the floor, causing it to bleed. But that was of little concern to her. She heard the box make contact with the floor and heard the little parts pop out and scatter all over the place.

The room became silent as she looked up with wide eyes. Thoma and Lannion stared with a mortified expression. She carefully picked up her box with delicacy. She stared at it, some gears were missing and springs popped up all crooked.

Emma, Ray, and Norman walked in and saw Y/N on the floor with the other kids staring at her.

Her chin was dripping with blood and she stared at the broken box with tears in her eyes. She whimpered as she gathered all the parts she could, trying to put it back how she remembered it was but to no avail.

She began to full on sob as the older kids ran up to her. Norman taking the box from her hands and Emma holding her in her arms as she cried.

Ray scolded the children, telling them they had to be careful and they shouldn’t ever be this reckless.

Norman found all the pieces missing from Y/N’s little pile and handed it to Ray, “do you think you can fix it?” He asked.

Ray inspected it for a moment before nodding. He made his way to the library with the pieces in his hand and pocket while the other two older kids instructed the younger kids that it was bedtime.

Emma and Norman took Y/N to Isabella’s office to clean her chin. While Isabella was cleaning the wound and putting a bandaid on it, Emma went to get a change of clothes for her.

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure we can fix it in no time.” Isabella reassured. Y/N only stared at the ground, slowly nodding her head.

Emma and Norman took the girl to bed and tucked her in before heading to the library to find Ray. They opened the door to see him in the farthest corner of the library working away to fix her music box.

“How’s it going?” Emma asked.

“Good so far. It looks like I might have to stay up. Most of these parts belong on the bottom of the box, I’m honestly really surprised they were able to pop out.” Ray explained.

“How long will it take?” Norman asked.

“I don’t know. I might need to work on it tomorrow.” He said while screwing in a cog.

Emma stared with a worried expression, “But what if Y/N is depressed because of her box?”

Norman chuckled, “We’ll just have to keep distracted, won’t we?”

Emma nodded her head with a determined look.

Norman turned to Ray, “we’re going to head to bed. Good luck on that and don’t stay up too late.”

Ray hummed as the duo walked out, closing the door behind them.

Ray had stayed up all night, making sure it was fixed.

The next day when Y/N woke up, she reached out for her music box on her nightstand but didn’t find it. She realized that it had broken and it made her sad.

The other kids got up and got dressed along with y/n and ran to the dining room for breakfast.

When the table was set up, y/n sat in her usual spot before she heard Thoma and Lannion call her name, “Y/N!”

She looked up and stared at the boys, who were standing in front of Isabella. Isabella had a noticeable vein sticking out her forehead as she kept her composure.

The boys bowed and basically folded from how low they were, “We are so sorry!” They said in unison.

“We didn’t mean to break your music box!” Thoma said.

“We‘ll make it up by doing your chores for a month while you rest!” Lannion said.

“No words can express how sorry we are!” They both shouted.

Y/N stared at the boys and nodded her head, “it’s okay. Thank you for apologizing.” She smiled.

The boys hugged her tightly and sat down with Isabella sitting in her own chair.

The children ate their breakfast and did their daily tests before going outside for free time.

Y/N sat under the tree with her eyes closed, humming the melody from her box.

Ray walked up to her with a F/C box in his hands. “Yo.” He said before sitting next to her.

“Hi.” She replied, not opening her eyes.

“How’re you holding up without your box?” He asked.

“Terrible.” Y/n bluntly said.

Ray hummed, “well, I guess I’m gonna make your day.” He placed the box in her lap and she looked down, finally opening her eyes.

She carefully opened the box and gasped when she saw her music box.

It looked brand new. It was fixed and cleaned.

She looked at Ray, who was smiling. “Wind it up.” He said. Y/n winded up the little lever and let the familiar melody play in her ears.

Her tensed shoulders began to relax again and she rested her head on the tree.

Ray held up a cylinder, “you can replace that one with this. Obviously, you don’t have to, but you seem to like it when I hum my tune, so I made this for your box.” He explained.

Y/n took the cylinder from his hand and opened the box, carefully pulling out the cylinder and replacing it with Ray’s new one.

When she turned the lever, it played the melody Ray hummed. She looked at Ray with a big smile on her face and tackled him in a big hug.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” She quickly said.

Ray chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist and gently patting her head. 

fin.

[carrymelikeimcute]

Stop Stealing from Authors

As an author, please please PLEASE do not download 'free' ebooks or listen to 'free audiobooks' on YouTube etc.

Books take work to research and write, and author advances are already incredibly low, without us having to PAY THEM BACK to the publisher because the book isn't earning enough. Authors are already earning far far below the minimum wage per hour of work we put in.

Many ebooks are incredibly cheap already and have regular price drops down to 99p/$0.99, and are FREE using a library app.

Audiobooks likewise can be accessed digitally for FREE via the library.

Authors in countries like my own receive a small amount of money when you access our content via the library. Money which means we can keep writing books. Using the library also gives them visitor numbers and incentivises funding, preventing library closures.

Funding piracy makes the already very hard job of writing as a career even harder and endangers library resources.

'Well then maybe you should get a real job' I have a job, and that job is being an author. It is very entitled to tell authors that we need to essentially have a full time job AND still produce content for you to enjoy for free, at a speed/quality which makes writing also a fulltime job.

As a fulltime author I wrote 3 novels last year, each with 4-5 rounds of edits at different stages in the process. I also edited the two books I wrote the previous year during that time. Hundreds of hours of work. And I have since seen piracy websites making money off of that work.

Saying that piracy 'expands the reach of our books' is as insulting as being 'paid in exposure'. If you want something that someone made, you have to pay them for it. It is not doing someone a favour, to steal from them. And let's be real - how many people are you telling about each book you steal? Are you recommending the piracy site to others in the same breath? Are you just rating on goodreads and counting that as 'payment' for what you stole?

If you want to get a free book and 'expand the reach' - sign up to Netgalley and get free books in exchange for posting reviews.

'But then I can't read all the books I want to read' - Why should you get everything you want? Genuine question. I don't have all the make-up I want, or all the decor I want, but I'm not shoving stuff in my pockets because it's not fair that I don't get to have everything my magpie brain desires. You don't have enough time in your life to read every book anyway. You have to choose.

I bet you also have more than one unread book in your possession, right now. Probably a TBR pile. Why do you need another one for free, when you have books to read? And if you don't want to read those books, you can access every book, via the library.

Authors would even prefer that you buy our books second hand, because at least that 1. is good for the environment as it keeps books out of landfill and 2. benefits charity if you purchase for a charity bookshop/ doesn't benefit pirates. And 3. unlike a stolen ebook, you can donate it again and it will be visible on a shop shelf, attracting new readers.

'You should write because you love it, not for money' I do write because I love it, that's why I spent years learning my craft and working to get published. So I could do this as a job. I even write fanfic on the side as a hobby, and that is VERY different to writing publishable novels for my editor - I get to do all the fun stuff with none of the WORK that my writing job requires.

I don't love being told what setting/theme is 'hot right now' and needs to be in my next novel. Or re-reading my book for the 15th time to look for typos, or spending 4-5 hours every morning writing to meet a crunch deadline and the rest of the day brainstorming the new idea which is due in a week, answering emails and editing. It's my job, not a hobby, and it's not all fun, all the time. No one page edits for the LOVE of it.

'If buying isn't owning, then piracy isn't stealing' - Unlike films/tv, books are still available as physical media you can own forever. They're also less likely to vanish from your ereader because they aren't licenced like a tv show.

'I don't want to support a horrible person but I still want the book' - so...you agree that pirating does nothing for the author? Good. Because that 'spreading awareness stuff' we already covered, is bullshit. But if they're so terrible...why do you want to read something that was invented in their brain, and is likely full of their terrible values/dog whistles? Why not find new authors to support instead of hate reading/continuing to absorb content from people you fundamentally dislike?

Lastly, the argument I routinely see is that 'it's just the same as lending a copy to a friend'. It is not. Firstly because you're putting money into the pockets of those who stole our work, via ad-rev on their sites, whereas lending a book to a friend doesn't result in you making money off of someone else's work. But also, lending the book to ONE person is not the same as making it available to EVERYONE. I just filed a copyright takedown on one of my new books which already had 200+ hits. Unless you plan to lend a physical book to 200+ people, you will not do that same amount of damage as piracy.