#and seems to know the most random fucking languages

[blooddlusts]

MANCHILD ⋆｡°✩ lee heeseung

( WHY YOU ALWAYS COME RUNNING TO ME ) ── ex boyfriend!! lee heeseung x fem! reader

synopsis: in which you awkwardly cross paths with your ex-boyfriend. and for him to pick up a desperate phone call when you needed it the most (read part one here)

fic notes: ex boyfriend! lee heeseung x fem! reader, suggestive language, cursing, angst, a little bit of reconciliation, very slowburn interactions

kiara's notes: due to popular demand, y'all asked for a part two. y'all can thank my bestie @nocturnebite for actually helping me come up with a happy segway into this story because i was prolly gonna make it more angsty lmao. if this needs a part three —feel free to yell at me (it prolly does)

word count: 2.7k

his phone number blocked, the pictures of you both ripped in two and thrown in the trash. every memory of his face, of his lips kissing your skin, his laughter ringing in your ear —erased, deleted, gone. that was the end of the chapter between you and lee heeseung. and perhaps it was better off that way.

it had been months since you had last spoken to him. while you promised yourself that it was't a big deal, the hole in your heart was begging to be filled, replaced with someone else. it took some motivation to get yourself out of bed, to try going out to clubs, to put makeup on and make yourself presentable in public. he had made you an emotional train wreck, which meant dragging your shaky feet out on the ground to find the confidence that had seemingly left your body the day that he shattered your heart into a million pieces.

and while the confidence returned —your luck with finding a better boy to date seemed physically impossible. no literally. the saying "there are other fish in the sea," must have been a lie. because the men on your dating apps, the men that approached you at clubs, were absolutely horrendous in every way possible. that's not to say that they weren't attractive (in fact, many of them were drop dead gorgeous) but you could spot their imperfections from the first date.

if heeseung had done one thing right, it was for your eyes to be open to the men that would sit in front of you. from the way they ate their pasta to the way they would snake an arm around your waist. the attention to detail made it so easy for you to reject another date, you didn't want to pursue another romantic relationship if they were going to be the same as your ex-boyfriend. but the one thing that lee heeseung had cursed you with was the magnetization. no matter where you went, you were always attracting the same type of men. the "man child" and it was fucking annoying.

they were the ones that played hard to get, the ones that like to linger and make you squirm in your seat wondering if you were going to be given the chance to go on a second date. the ones who promised to pick you up for dinner at seven only for you to be sitting in your living room almost an hour later, wondering when they would show up. the ones who talked passionately about their own hobbies without even batting an eye when you spoke on your success. you don't know what you did to attract such a form of men —but it was completely exhausting.

you prayed that they would be different. so maybe that's why you found yourself getting ready for another date. another dude from another dating app you were on. he didn't seem like a "man child" (but that was just your optimism speaking). and yet, you found yourself waiting in the lobby of your apartment, looking at the hands on your watch tick forward. he was late —of course he was.

"you look nice,"

his voice was unexpected. like a random bolt of lightning striking a clear summer day. it immediately took you out of your bored dazed as you looked up to see him staring at you. how many months had it been since you'd see his face? how many times had you spent trying to block him out of your head? surely, this was a figment of your imagination —but the tiny smile that touched his lips professed that the man standing in front of you was real.

"um thanks," you awkwardly replied, feeling your cheeks turn pink as you politely accepted his compliment.

the silence that between the two of you was as thick as a slice of texas toast. after all, what was there to say? how could you casually strike up a conversation with someone who casually threw your heart to the side?

"are you going on a date?"

"something like that, if he's planning on showing up," you scoffed as you looked down at your phone. no new messages, brilliant.

"how are things with your going with your girlfriend?" you asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject. you were mentally begging that your date could show up any minute now to save you from the jaws of the awkward conversation you were forced to be in.

"we broke up,"

great, so much for making the conversation less awkward.

what were you supposed to say? "i'm sorry that you two broke up?" you weren't. in fact, there was some form of satisfaction knowing that things with his ex-girlfriend didn't work out again. and yet, you found yourself awkwardly shifting in your chair praying that some sort of words could slip out of your lips to answer heeseung.

"oh..."

"...yeah,"

as much as you were curious to know why the relationship had ended. you had no choice but to plant a tiny smile on your lips and let out a sigh of relief as your phone screen lit up. saved by the bell-ish. the likelihood of this date being better than your previous ones seemed unlikely but it was better than spending any more time with heeseung. those were minutes you were never going to get back.

"well, that's my date," you said as you got up from your seat and smoothed out your dress. for a minute, you could have sworn that there was a tiny grimace on his face when he heard those words slip out of your lips. but it was almost immediately replaced with a faint smile. it had to be your imagination.

"it was nice seeing you heeseung,"

and with a polite smile, you walked out of the lobby with confidence in your footsteps, masking the sinking pit of anxious feelings that swirled in your stomach. you had a date to worry about and yet, he was there crawling his way back into your mind like a parasite.

it had been so long since you'd last seen him. so why out of all places did you have to see him now? more importantly, what was he doing in the lobby of your apartment building?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

your date was going horribly. not much of a surprise there. after being picked up forty minutes late, your date reeked of cologne. not that his cologne smelt bad, but it was like the man practically bathed in it. he was chivalrous enough to open the car door for you —that was about it. he chewed with his mouth open, he would constantly interrupt you when you had anything to say, and let's not forget how his phone wasn't silenced so you could hear the tinder notification constantly beeping on his phone.

you couldn't even keep track of what he was talking about. you were just waiting for the bill at this point. you were already planning on calling an uber instead of letting him drop you back at your place. the last thing you needed was his lips covered in pasta sauce trying to kiss you —ew.

"well, this has been a fun date but i should probably go home now," you started to say as you watched the waiter place the bill down in front of you. your date didn't even pay attention to what you had said, he took one glance at the bill and looked back up at you.

"aren't you going to pay?" he asked.

"excuse me?"

that was a quick slap to the face. now he was really racking up the points for being the worst date you've had. picking a fancy ass restaurant and expecting you to pay? of course, you should have picked up the sign sooner. there was a card on the dashboard of the car he picked you up in that was from some car rental business. he decided to pay for the most expensive bottle of wine and gorge himself on an expensive plate of food. great, another man child.

"i asked you out on the date, the least you can do is pay for the food," he replied casually while wiping the pasta sauce off of his chin.

"you've got to be fucking kidding me. is this what you do to all women that you take out on a date? order the most expensive meal and expect them to pay for it?" you snapped as you glared daggers at you date.

the fact that he didn't say anything made things even more upsetting. all he did was blink at you, as if you should have known this was how the date was supposed to go. "look, it's not that big of a deal. besides, i promise i'll make it up to you once we head back to your place," he said as he tried to place his hand on top of yours.

"oh really? is that what you think is going to happen? that i'm invite you back to back to my place and i'm gonna let you fuck with that tiny thing you call a penis?" you grit your teeth before getting up from your seat.

"go call your parents and ask them to help pay for your meal," you said as you opened your purse and threw some cash down in front of him. "here's my half of the bill," you added on before walking out of the restaurant, leaving behind your date jaw dropped and confused.

you stepped out of the restaurant into the darkened sky. the only thing lighting up the world in front of you were the city lights and the billboards that illuminated advertisements of happy smiling faces beaming in fluorescent colours in front of you.

while you should have felt relieved that you called it quits with that dude that just wanted to get in the sheets, there was something about this date that was the last straw. they were all the same, all of the dates that you had been on were just stupid men seeing you as another way to get their body count up. it was fucking disgusting. you craved the romantic life, you begged to be loved again, you wanted—

—and in that moment, your impulsiveness took over. you found yourself fishing your phone out of your purse, your hand going to the settings, clicking on a blocked phone number that you had memorized by heart, and pressing the call button.

you paced around in circles. a thousand thoughts accumulating in your head as you continued to hear the phone ring in your ear. until you heard his voice on the other line.

"hey, do you think you can pick me up?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the car ride was completely silent. no questions asked, no small talk to be made, just you two sitting with the radio as ambience to fill the void that was between the two of you. you didn't think he was going to answer, let alone pick you up. yet, you found yourself in the same car with your ex-boyfriend, with lee heeseung, the man you swore you never wanted to see in a million years —all because some stupid date went horribly wrong.

for the first time in a while, you felt like you could actually breathe. like you could sit back and pause in a world that was constantly moving. or maybe it was because you were in a car with someone that you had once been vulnerable with, someone that you had completely poured your heart and soul to. whatever the reason, you were able to rest your head on the side of the window and relax in the passenger seat.

"so, do you want to talk about what happened?" there it was. the moment that you weren't necessarily dreading, but knew that was going to happen. it was only a matter of time before he was going to confront you about the situation. or why you decided to call him up out of all people.

"not really," you muttered. you refused to make eye contact with him. one look into those doe-like eyes and hating him was a lost cause. you couldn't give in to him that easily.

"it's just, all of these dates that i've been going on are awful," you started as you finally moved your head away from the window and turned to look at him. "i mean, every guy i've been going out with these past couple of months have been the same. i'm so sick of attracting men that act like children!" you groaned as you threw your hands up into the air.

heeseung only chuckled as you finally started opening up to him again. there was something about seeing your face getting all red and flustered that made his heart skip a beat. he wanted to tell you, he needed to tell you—

"—he asked me to pay for the meal, hee. the dude literally ordered the most expensive meal on the menu and expected that i was going to pay—"

"—you called just me hee,"

you paused and turned to look at heeseung who was staring directly at you. thankfully you two were at a red light, so it wasn't like any car was going to come crashing into you but still. the nickname had slipped out of your tongue so casually that you didn't even notice yourself say it. but he did.

you didn't say anything to him after that. it was an instant "keep your lips" quiet moment after that. he caught you slipping once, you weren't going to let it happen again. so when he drove into the parking garage of your apartment complex you couldn't help but eagerly take off your seatbelt.

"well, thanks for the ride," you said already moving to open the car door. but before you could make a swift exit, heeseung was already out of the car, outside opening the door for you.

what was this feeling that was swelling up in your chest? you should be hating him right now. yet, you didn't shoo him away when he started to walk with you up to your apartment. he didn't say anything, just had his hands in his pockets, keeping his eye out for anyone that seemed suspicious. it was the tiny things that made your heart continue to skip a beat, even when you knew that you shouldn't.

"you know you didn't need to walk me to my door," you said as you fished your keys out of your purse.

"i know, i just figured that maybe it would save you from any other creeps trying to hit on you," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"i appreciate it, heeseung. thanks for picking me up tonight. i honestly didn't think that you were going to pick up the phone,"

"well i'm glad i did. i've missed talking to you,"

you could only nod and smile at his comment. and then came the awkwardness that you two were so familiar with. it's not like you could give him a hug, or the usual kiss on the cheek when you first started dating. you two were just strangers, exes that picked up the phone for one small favour. nothing more nothing less.

"have a good night, heeseung,"

"sweet dreams,"

and while you watched him walk down the hallway as you stepped into your apartment, your stomach was greeted with the same pit of butterflies fluttering around. you shook your head, you couldn't fall for him again, that would mean neglecting everything that he had done. the way that he had taken your heart, smashed it into a million pieces and left you lying trying to fix everything he had broken.

but he answered your phone call.

you watched him turn the corner, a sigh escaping your lips before you closed the door behind you. now was not the time to catch feelings for the man that had cursed you to find every "man child" in the city. now was not the time to fill the hole in your heart with the same man who inflicted the damage you were trying to fix.

but everything about that night had brought back the tiny spark that you had put out so long. the wave of emotions coming back like a tide the more you played them over in your head. and so you went to bed with a confused head and a stomach swirling with butterflies.

he had left you once before. but he came back.

if only he never answered your phone call at all.

taglist: @keehoes @daisyintherainsposts @evxnsbae @douqhnxtss @mimimovv @sunooqvrlsx

reblogs, likes, comments & feedback are appreciated!

[nox-in-a-box]

thinking about tuff and raps being besties again

[asxgard]

Handprints | [3/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!reader

Previous |

Summary: The birth of your first child and all the little moments that you cherish with your husband.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’m honestly enjoying this Robby and Reader, so I might do something with them/inspired by them. Let’s see where season 2 takes us👀

This one got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it!

Word Count: 4.4k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, pet names (my love, sweetheart), mild angst, comfort, fluff, birth scene (nondescript), postpartum, mentions of a prior panic attack, therapy, Mother’s/Father’s Day, vague smut (minors dni!!!!), Robby getting good things because he deserves it

not beta read

Langdon returned in the last few weeks of your pregnancy, rolling into the Pitt with something to prove. He wasn’t as cocky as he had been, but he threw himself headfirst into the chaos of it all — which worried you that he would only fall back into his addiction.

Michael had put strict rules in place for him after he was done rehab — random urine tests, he needed sign offs for most of the drugs he could prescribe, as well as having him attend NA meetings. You could see plainly that even if Frank succeeded in all of that, Michael would need so much time to trust him as he once had. You didn’t know what had transpired between them during that shift, not really, but Frank had let your husband down majorly.

Most in the Pitt might not have known he had been stealing the drugs from patients, or the ED, but with one glance at you and it was clear Frank knew that you knew about it. How could you not? You were Michael’s wife, his one true confidant in the mess of it all.

Frank sucked up to you, maybe thinking it would be an easier way to soften Michael’s heart to him again. Brought you a muffin from the cafeteria when he saw you hadn’t eaten, pulled a stool over to your computer so you could sit, even taking the meaner or nastier patients from your plate. All with a smile. All with a humility you hadn’t seen in awhile.

You appreciated the gestures, but it did little to help gain your trust back.

“It’ll just take time,” you said to Langdon one afternoon. “He won’t trust you again if you take the easy way out.”

He seemed to consider it. “And you? When will you trust me again?”

You turned away from the computer screen to look at him, “Pass all your drugs tests. Show me that coin you get after one year in the meetings. Don’t fuck with my patients again. Then we’re square.”

He gave a curt nod, “Okay, I can do that.”

You smiled softly at him, “I hope so, Frank.”

Due to your large bump, you were not frequently in the trauma room, not wanting to risk bumping into anything or anyone. Like usual, you stuck to triage and the non-critical patients. Michael wanted to keep your stress and adrenaline levels down, which you accepted with little pushback. He also ensured you always sat down to have lunch, even pulling himself away from the chaos long enough to eat with you when you demanded requested it.

If he was going to make sure you ate, you were going to make sure the same.

It was roughly lunchtime when the cramping started, starting as just a mild sense of discomfort before edging closer to moderate pain. Braxton Hicks contractions, you thought, seeing as you were only in your 38th week. You had been getting them periodically since starting your third trimester, but they never got any worse than mild.

Dana found you hunched over the nurses station, trying to take slow, even breaths. The cramping had gotten substantially worse, edging closer to you not being able to think properly.

“Honey?” Dana called your attention.

You took another deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth. “It’s nothing, I’m okay.”

“You and your husband, I swear to god.” She let out a long breath before raising a careful eyebrow at you, “How long has it been going on?”

You hummed, thinking, “I don’t know, noon?”

Dana grinned at you, “Looks like you’re about to have this baby, kid.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No. I still have two weeks.”

“Babies come when they’re ready, not when you are.” She chuckled.

You groaned. Adam, you really had to make an appearance now, huh? Couldn’t have waited a week and a half for when I started maternity?

You clenched your teeth, “Where’s my husband?”

“I just saw Robby head into Trauma-1.” Frank said as he passed, eyeing you warily. “You okay?”

“Baby Adam just decided he didn’t care about the plans I had, no biggie.”

“You better get used to that.” Frank said with a laugh.

You only rolled your eyes at him, trying to catch your breath after the contraction. You watched as Frank ran to grab Michael from the trauma room, and you mentioned to Dana it might be smart to call in someone to cover until the end of your shift. In one fell swoop, two ED doctors were about to be unavailable.

You tried not to feel guilty.

Michael exited Trauma-1, hiding his annoyance of being pulled away well enough, before he spotted you. His eyes flashed before he was jogging over to you, hand immediately going to your back.

“Sweetheart?” His cool mask had slipped, the one that kept everything between you two mostly professional while you were at work.

You squeezed his hand, “Adam has decided he’s ready to meet us.”

Michael’s eyes widened, gaze flickering between your belly and your face. “What?”

“Contractions edging closer to five minutes apart, for about a minute. They’ve gotten worse since noon.”

“Noon?” Michael yelled, though not at you, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly five! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We were busy.” You said, “I thought it was just Braxton Hicks, like it’s been all month.”

“We were busy.” Michael echoed, tone disbelieving. “You were seriously—”

You hushed your husband as another contraction hit, clutching his hand tightly.

It felt like mostly a blur after that. You had gotten up to Labor & Delivery a little bit later, and Michael called a friend of yours to go get your go bag and baby bag to bring to the hospital.

As the contractions got closer, so did your desperation.

“Why did you do this to me, again?” You panted. “Jesus Christ, just get him out of me.”

Michael grinned at you, “Last I checked, you were the one begg—”

You swatted him away like he was nothing more than an annoying fly. “Michael Robinavitch, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking mildly amused, though he tried to contain his grin.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said a few minutes later, after another contraction, kissing your hairline.

“Trade with me?” You asked with a sly grin.

He chuckled, “I would in a heartbeat.”

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, trying to catch your breath, using the techniques you had learned in birthing classes.

“Now you say that.” You said, closing your eyes. “Wish you had said that before I went into labor.”

Michael kissed your forehead and rubbed circles onto your back. “Tell me what you need.”

You hummed, “I think I want to walk around. Might help.”

He helped you from the gurney to your feet, holding you steady. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned on him for support, swinging your hips from side-to-side. After breathing through a particularly bad contraction, Michael helped you walk back and forth across your room.

You breathed through each of them, taking them one at a time and trying not to get overwhelmed with how far you still had to go. Michael was steadfast beside you, nearly intuitively understanding what you needed when you needed it. Cold washcloth, soft caresses over your shoulders, squeezing your hips together while you leaned over the gurney, whispering encouraging words to you, or holding you close when the pain subsided.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, tone soft, standing behind you and swaying with you while you breathed in and out, arms wrapped around you. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Strongest woman I know. I love you so much.” He kissed your neck, moving to your jaw and then your cheek.

You hummed in acknowledgement, though you kept your focus on breathing through the contraction.

A few agonizingly slow hours later and you were ready to push. You felt ready to cry, clutching Michael’s hand with a grip that rivaled a vice. He soothed you, kissing your forehead.

“You’ve got this. Push when you breathe out, come on,” he encouraged.

Part of you wanted to kiss him. The other wanted to throttle him.

During the next contraction, that was what you did, breathing out as you pushed. Slow, controlled, powerful. It ripped through you and you screamed.

You had once wanted to be dignified during your labor. You worked at this hospital and these people were more-or-less your colleagues, even though you did not always work with them directly. The thought of remaining composed now made you want to laugh.

“Alright, he should be out on the next push.” your OB told you, looking over to Michael. “Would you like to do the honors, dad?”

Michael’s eyes got glassy, though he looked at you. “I’ll stay right here if you need me to.”

“It’s okay,” you breathed out, mustering a smile. “I know you want to.”

He kissed you, before moving to assist your OB with delivering your son. Thankfully, she had been right, and it only took one more push before your son was in Michael’s arms.

Adam Robinavitch was finally here.

You cooed at him softly when he was laid on your chest, though he cried loudly — clearly upset to be anywhere else but your womb. You could hardly blame him, but you felt overwhelming joy finally holding him in your arms. Tears leaked from your eyes, a warmth cascading through your insides at the sight of him, at the feeling of his tiny hand on your skin.

Michael had his hand on your head, stroking your forehead softly with his thumb. His teary eyes remained, looking between you and your son with a soft smile on his lips.

Adam gurgled on your chest, making small noises to highlight his displeasure. You kissed the top of his head before letting your head fall back onto the pillow, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion.

“I love you.” You said, blinking through your fatigue to look at your husband.

“Thank you.” He whispered back to you, big brown eyes soft and warm as he held your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow.

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “For this life. For loving me. For giving me a chance. For bringing our son into the world. I don’t know why you decided to take a chance on an old guy like me, but I’ll forever be grateful that you did.”

Tears blurred your vision and you blinked them away, “Oh, Michael. I’m so grateful it’s you. Even before I knew it, it was you. It always has been.”

He kissed you tenderly, whispering ‘always will be’ against your lips.

—

Postpartum was no joke, and add in being new to motherhood? You were in the trenches. You were thankful Michael had gotten a decent amount of time off to be in the throes of it with you, but at times, it still felt like you were drowning.

You tried not to feel guilty when you knocked out on the couch or turned in early, leaving the brunt of night shift to Michael. He was an ever faithful partner, and never even flinched when you felt he was shouldering too much of it. All he asked was that you rest, heal and spend time with Adam.

He took time in the mornings for himself, even started seeing a therapist via Zoom and you could see it helping. His shoulders seemed lighter and it created healthier habits for when he went back to working.

Michael’s first shift back did not come home with him, though you knew it was not likely to always be that way. Not when harder patients hit, or major casualties, but you hoped the things he was learning in therapy would help him whenever that day came.

You were rocking Adam back and forth, trying to get him to fall back to sleep, humming a lullaby softly. You caught movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, tired smile stretching across his lips.

“Hey, my love,” you said lowly, trying to keep your voice quiet so as to not stir your baby, who still would not fall asleep. “How was your shift?”

He gave a small shrug, “I’ve had worse.”

You raised a careful eyebrow at him, but didn’t push. “I think Adam missed his daddy.”

Michael stepped into the room, walking until he was beside you, looking at your son in your arms.

“Yeah?”

You made a small noise of agreement, moving to hand him over. As he stirred, Adam opened his eyes to look up at his father, their eyes complete mirrors of each other. It was undoubtedly one of your favorite features that he had inherited from Michael.

“I think he likes your lullaby much more than mine, actually.” You said, kissing the top of your son’s head.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, is it buddy? No, mommy’s lullabies are the best.”

Despite having a tough day of your own, your heart warmed. You leaned your head on Michael’s shoulder, staring down at Adam and rocking side-to-side with Michael’s movements.

Perhaps this was a healing all its own, in the quiet of your son’s room, just the three of you.

—

Mother’s Day came shortly after you got off maternity leave, and while it was nice to return to work, you missed Adam. It was nearly painful. But all your co-workers made it feel like a second home.

Dana and McKay were happy to swap baby stories with you, while Langdon attempted to give you and Michael tips. You seemed more receptive to it than your husband was.

You had decided that for your first Mother’s Day, you wanted the day off to spend with your son. Michael also ensured he had off, and let you sleep in. It was peaceful to wake up to a quiet house.

Michael brought you breakfast not long after you woke, and you showered him with kisses in gratitude. It really was the little things.

“I have a full day planned,” he told you, sitting beside you in bed, sipping a cup of coffee. “Slow morning, then when you’re ready, we’re gonna go out.”

“Out?” You questioned. “Care to be more specific?”

A sly grin formed on his face. “Nope.”

You scoffed, but you were smiling.

Sometime after noon, Michael was packing a lunch bag while you got changed, curious to see what he had planned. He got Adam ready, and you met him at the car with an eyebrow raised. He only smiled at you.

It was easy enough to guess what he was up to once you pulled up to the park. It was a beautiful spring day, and you enjoyed the little things — a picnic in the park with your family of three was perfect. Not too complicated, or required too much effort from you, and it was simple enough that you weren’t worried about Adam fussing too much.

You relaxed on the picnic blanket, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin, the warmth sending a happy buzz through your system.

Adam was only four months, but he took in the world around him eagerly. He was beginning to roll over with only a small amount of assistance, and he clapped his hands when he was excited, babbling nonsense.

It seemed like such a short amount of time since he had been born, but he was already beginning to grow far too quickly for your liking.

Michael kept Adam entertained while you read a bit, before you ate together. Michael really had quite the spread, aside from the sandwiches, he also had fruits and cheeses and crackers and your favorite chocolates.

“This is exactly what I needed.” You told him. “Thank you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, “You think this is it?”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He only smirked.

You discovered when you got home that Michael had hired a babysitter for that night. He said he wanted to take you out to dinner, and an excitement thrummed through you. You and Michael had barely had any alone time since Adam came into your lives, and while you enjoyed all the time you got with your son, you knew a night out with your husband would be good for you.

The restaurant he had picked? It was where you had had your first date.

A quaint little Italian place, and you nearly cried when you pulled up to it. It was not fancy or lavish, but it meant the world to you.

“Thank you for today.” You said, sipping your drink, trying not to cry in the middle of the restaurant.

He grabbed your hand on the table and ran a thumb over your knuckles. “You deserve it, sweetheart. You’re the best mom Adam could ever ask for, and I always want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

Your face heated, suddenly feeling sheepish.

Conversation flowed easily, and it was nice to be able to feel normal again — not just a mom, or a doctor, just you. It made your chest feel lighter. The topic eventually leaned back to Adam, and the fact that you missed him.

“We can take dessert to go.”

You smiled in relief, “Yes, please.”

On the ride home, you intertwined your fingers with Michael’s.

“So…any thoughts on another one?” You ventured quietly, a teasing smile on your lips.

Michael choked on an intake of air, “What?”

You laughed, “Eventually. Maybe. I don’t know. Just popped into my head.”

“Give a guy a little warning next time.” He chuckled.

“Consider yourself warned.”

He squeezed your hand, “Do you want another?”

You shrugged even though he was looking ahead at the road. “I don’t know. Adam’s still so little, but he’s also already so big, you know? I already miss how little he was. I wouldn’t be opposed in a year or so, but I wouldn’t be upset if we just stuck with one.”

“So…possibly another?”

“What do you think?” You asked instead of answering.

There was a long pause, and then a sigh, “I’m not getting any younger, I’d like to watch Adam grow up, go off to college. If we decided to, I wouldn’t want to wait too long.”

“So possibly another?”

You could hear the smile in his voice, “Possibly another.”

—

Father’s Day came with another day off, Michael wanting his first to be spent at home as well. You knew these kinds of holidays might need to be sacrificed in the future, so you were grateful that at least your first of each would be spent at home.

Knowing Michael, you knew he wasn’t one to want much fanfare, so you planned most a day in. From breakfast and lunch, to a few nice things to grill for dinner. It was mostly about spending time together, and you were happy to supply it. The details of his present sat in a card on the dining table, a cabin rented in the Poconos to fish with enough room for Jack and Jake to tag along (both had already agreed).

The day turned into a well deserved relaxing day, though you could see how much Michael was enjoying spending some time off with his family.

After dinner, you handed Michael the card, Adam in your lap. You bounced your legs, making car noises with your mouth, making him giggle and clap. You heard Michael open the card and silently he read over it.

“Jack and Jake already took off, and I worked something out with your shifts, you’ll be all set.”

He blinked at you before he was out of his seat and kissing your face, making you giggle. Adam squealed in your lap, clapping more eagerly while he babbled at his dad.

“This is…thank you.”

“You haven’t taken any time to go back up there in a really long time.” You shrugged, knowing he used to try to get away more frequently earlier on in your relationship. Sometimes you tagged along, but you thought a boys weekend away was just what the doctor ordered (you, you were the one who ordered it). “Soon you’ll have to bring Adam with you.”

Michael grinned, looking down at his son. “You’ll love it, I can show you how to…”

You watched Michael excitedly explain fishing to your son, who watched him with big brown eyes, mesmerized.

You put Adam down to sleep sometime later, before joining your husband in the living room. You curled up next to him.

“Thank you for today…it was very needed.”

You kissed his cheek, “You’re an amazing father, you know that? I’m incredibly thankful for you.”

He pulled you closer and kissed your head. You turned in his grasp and kissed his lips, moving into his lap to kiss him deeper. Michael responded instantly, one hand going behind your head and the other going to your hip.

The first time you had been intimate after giving birth to Adam had been a process riddled with your insecurities. Michael kissed his way through each one and took his time, like he was relearning your body. It took an incredible amount of pressure off your shoulders, and you revealed in his touch.

Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tongue licking along his bottom lip. His grip on you tightened, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Warmth pooled in your abdomen, and you moved your leg to straddle him.

His fingers ghosted over the skin of your hips, making you shiver. He moved a hand up your torso, grabbing at your flesh and you moaned into his mouth. You moved your hips down to find some sort of friction. A groan echoed low in Michael’s throat, and the sound set you on fire.

Michael had you up and on your back on the couch in a swift motion, settling between your hips. You pulled at the hem of your shirt until he helped you pull it over your head. He kissed down your neck and across your torso, moving lower until your head buzzed with pleasure.

You felt like your body was thrumming under his touch and you lost yourself in it. It wasn’t long before all of your clothes were scattered across the living room, Michael back between your hips.

He whispered his love for you against your skin, and proved it with each slow drag of his hips, until you were a moaning mess under him, a blinding heat overtaking your senses. He was everywhere, feeling so full of him, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, blissed out and overwhelmed with all the warmth swirling around in your chest.

Michael came with a few low grunts, groaning against your throat before pulling you into a rough, sloppy kiss.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, panting with him, foreheads touching. You leaned up to languidly kiss his lips again. He brushed a thumb across your cheek. He kissed along your cheek and nose, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle. You lightly pushed him away.

“Get off me, old man.”

An eyebrow rose, “Old man, huh? This old man can make you come again, if you—”

You laughed, “Get off.”

He moved his head in such a way that the softest touch of his beard ran along your neck and your face, making you squirm. The sensation was incredibly ticklish.

“Alright, alright, I yield. I yield!” You laughed again, turning your face away from him. “You’re not even that old anyways.”

He laughed and kissed your cheek, moving to sit back on his haunches. He looked down at you with a soft smile.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, “If you’re gonna keep looking at me like that, I might have to take you up on your offer.”

A sly grin spread across his lips, “Yeah? Thought I was an old—”

You reached up for him, “Just get back down here, Michael.”

He laughed, but complied.

—

A rare quiet morning was always a welcomed thing in your household, slow and lazy. With the hectic reality you both faced at work, you had begun to cherish these days. Adam on his playmat, you and Michael sitting on the couch eating breakfast and enjoying the company of each other.

When Michael came back into the kitchen from taking a shower, you had Adam sat in his highchair. You had a spread of paints and a canvas print sat on the dining table, a handful of newspapers protecting the wood from any mess.

Michael looked over it all with a face drenched in curiosity.

“Care to fill me in? What’s all this?” He looked over all the paints, raising an eyebrow at you. “This a new hobby, or something?”

You shrugged, “Not quite.”

He stayed silent and waited for you to elaborate, but you were messing with a few different colors, mixing them on a paper plate.

“Blue or red?” You asked.

“...blue?”

You handed him a paper plate with blue paint.

He stared down at it, “Do you want me to..?”

You looked at him and smiled, “Put your right hand in it.”

“Right, right. Of course. Logically, that was my next step.”

You chuckled, “I thought it could be a cute art piece for Adam’s room. Your hand, my hand and his in the middle.”

A softness warmed his face, and then he did as you asked. You pulled over the canvas print for him to put his now paint covered hand on. You handed him a damp paper towel when he was done. You dipped your hand into the red paint and copied your husband, so that your hands mirrored each other.

Adam seemed thrilled to be involved when you dipped his hand into the purple paint you mixed, placing his hand between both handprints you and Michael had left. You wiped his hand off and gave him a kiss on the head.

“It’s perfect.” Michael said in your ear.

You pulled him close, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You stared down at the little art piece of your handprints, your heart swelling at your little family you and Michael had carved out for yourselves. Even amidst the chaos, you had found your home.

“Always?”

“Forever.”

No matter what you two faced, you knew it was a promise you would both keep.

FIN.

All Dr. Robby content taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph

Robby deserves only good things. This brought me back to the layout I did for A Lesson in Firsts and omg it was another great journey.

Damn, s1 of The Pitt is over. What am I going to do with myself?? Write a lot? Probably

Also?? Heartbeat has over 1k notes?? That’s insane, thank you guys so much🥺🥹

[teaboot]

Trading random boy knowledge! In my (cis) experience masculinity is more body language/ behavior than anything else and I don't know much about clothes anyway. Tried to stick to more general stuff, but some of it is probably also specific to my region.

1. Upwards nod for people you know, downwards nod for people you don't.

2. If you're holding a door for someone but don't want it to seem overly formal/ like a big deal, use the back of your fist or your foot to prop it. Nobody cares if you walk through before holding it, if it's a push door.

3. Master the frat boy hug, which is appropriate for any situation where a handshake isn't. Clasped hands in front, one side leaned in, and two pats on the back. If you carry, this is also a tactful way to avoid people awkwardly feeling your weapon when they press up against you.

4. Assume anyone wearing a hijab does not want to be touched by you, if at all possible. Don't offer a handshake- right hand over the heart with a small bow. Very small.

5. You can put a phone in your back pocket but don't sit on top of a thick wallet, it will fuck up your spine. Most people have card wallets now anyway.

6. Most guys bond over shared interests and are reluctant to open up too much before a relationship has been established. It's okay not to be into cars/sports/guns/whatever, but if someone asks and you were to say only “I don't watch football,” and nothing else, it'll be heard as “I'm not interested in bonding with you over this.” Consider instead something like “I don't watch much football, but I went to a game once and it seemed pretty cool.” Treat it like you're rescheduling something- give them a way back into the topic or pivot it to something else if they want.

7. Queer spaces have their own rules and they're usually highly localized. If you're in a new area and don't have an “in,” attend a live Rocky Horror performance or a social drag event. They're basically professionals at adopting new queer people. It can be a little intimidating, though!

Hell yeah!!!! Thank you so much!!! A bunch of these I hasn't heard before esp socializing and etiquette

[sweetvoidstuff]

Just a Normal Night

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: What begins as a chance encounter turns memorable when you help Jeon fucking Jungkook during an unexpected and chaotic night. Jungkook finds himself lingering in you world—sharing drinks, laughter, and lighthearted moments with your friends that feel more real than anything he’s known lately.

Word Count: 25K

Masterlist

Just a Normal Night: Seoul Edition

Just a Normal Night: Missing You

A/N: Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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Jungkook had only wanted one thing tonight: a normal dinner. No hushed whispers trailing after him, no fans sneaking photos behind raised menus, no tight, tense feeling that he had to be ready to bolt at any second. Just one simple meal — that was all he was asking for.

Sometimes, he got lucky. Tonight, it seemed, luck wasn’t on his side.

He had chosen the place carefully: a traditional Korean restaurant tucked on a quieter street, not far from his hotel. It looked promising — cozy, with soft lighting and a small, not on any main roads. He figured he could at least have the comfort of ordering in his own language without fumbling through English. He'd even gone the extra mile to cover his hand tattoos, knowing how easily they gave him away. While he loved them, they were like a neon sign flashing BTS to anyone who glanced too closely.

At first, everything seemed fine. He ordered quickly and quietly, keeping his head down, then slipped off to the bathroom before his food could arrived. That was when things took a turn. On his way back to his table, two young women — early twenties, maybe — caught sight of him. He heard it before he fully understood it: a rush of excited chatter, the words tumbling out too fast. Still, a few things were unmistakable — his name. BTS. His stomach dropped.

Damn it.

He could already see it in their eyes — the disbelief, the beginning of hysteria, the desperate reach for phones. If he didn’t move fast, he’d have a scene on his hands. An entire evening ruined. Jungkook tensed, scanning for the fastest way out without making things worse. He adjusted the cap pulled low over his eyes, preparing to dodge past them—when suddenly, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Yah, Eun-woo," a voice said, warm and a little impatient. "You really left us sitting there alone forever?"

He froze. Eun-woo? Before he could react, a figure slipped smoothly between him and the two girls — you, stepping up like you belonged by his side. You didn’t even look at the strangers. Instead, you gave Jungkook an exasperated, playful glance, your hand still steady on his shoulder. "Come on, sit down. You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizer again."

The girls faltered. Confusion flickered across their faces. Jungkook, wide-eyed, caught the brief flash of uncertainty in their eyes — was he really Jungkook? Was this just some random guy who really looked like him?

Across the room, just minutes earlier, you had been minding your own business — more or less.

"Oh my god. Guys, don’t look — but I think my screensaver just walked in," you hissed across the table, eyes wide. Pascal barely looked up from his beer, snorting. "Ha! You say that about every hot Asian guy."

"No, listen," you insisted, trying not to move your head as you watched Jeon Jungkook slide into a booth like it was the most casual thing in the world. "I'm serious. I’m pretty sure that's the real one."

Pascal, skeptical but willing to humor you, turned slowly to peek. "The one with the cap?" You nodded, a little too quickly. Pascal grinned. "You wanna go over there? Get an autograph, a picture, maybe his firstborn child while you’re at it?"

"Shut the fuck up!" you hissed, smacking his arm lightly. "I'm not walking over there. He's human. He deserves to eat in peace — just like we do."

You stabbed at the grill, throwing a little more bulgogi onto the sizzling surface, but your eyes kept sneaking glances at Jeon fucking Jungkook sitting a few tables away, as casual as if he weasn’t the biggest star in the world. Pascal and Flora, your two best friends, were used to your dramatics — Flora being the towering but gentle giant of the group, and Pascal the sassy, slightly taller than you, but never impolite energy bomb.

"You’re really not gonna go over?" Flora asked, his deep voice low and amused.

"I want to," you admitted through gritted teeth, "but it’d just be...awkward."

"Why? You’ve been learning Korean with Eumi for months," Pascal chimed in. "You two can actually have conversations now. She said you were good. He'd understand you."

"Not the point!" you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

You peeked again just in time to see Jungkook stand up, making his way toward the back where the bathrooms were. Not long after, you heard the unmistakable chatter of two girls at a nearby table — rapid-fire excitement, the words BTS and Jungkook tumbling out clearly. You tensed.

Shit

You straightened up just as Jungkook reappeared, walking back from the bathroom — tense, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes flicking nervously as the two girls went to him chattering animatedly and making hearth eyes at him. He immediately looked tense and ready to bolt. You didn’t waste another second. You shot a quick look at Pascal and Flora.

"I’m gonna need you to fake it," you muttered under your breath, leaning in. "Pretend Jungkook’s part of our group."

Both of them froze for a second, then nodded sharply, understanding immediately — the chatter from the other table had tipped them off too. You grabbed Dong, your favorite waiter, as he passed by with a tray.

"Hey, can you bring whatever that guy ordered to our table if he sits with us?" you asked in a low voice, flashing your most pleading smile. Dong, ever the professional but also a secret gossip lover, glanced at Jungkook and then back at you. Without missing a beat, he nodded. "Got it."

Relieved, you made yourself ready to intervene, moving casually into his path like it was the most natural thing in the world. As you closed the distance and saw his shoulders with how close the girls approached, you acted on pure impulse — stepping up beside him, placing your hand firmly on his shoulder, and saying, loud enough for the girls to hear:

"Yah, Eun-woo, you really left us sitting there alone forever?" You gave him a playful, exasperated glance, ignoring the stunned look in his eyes. "You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizers again," you said, tugging lightly at his jacket like you'd done it a hundred times before.

The girls looked stunned for a second before one blurted out, "Wait—what are you doing with Jungkook?!" You let out a soft, easy laugh, glancing between them and Jungkook — well, Eun-woo for now.

"Jungkook?" you repeated, shaking your head fondly. "Ahh, you must be mistaken. Happens all the time. He does look a lot like him, right?" You gave a little laugh, warm and natural, and Jungkook — though still looking like a deer in headlights — caught the drift.

You quickly switched to Korean, low and hurried: "You looked uncomfortable. I help."

Your Korean wasn't perfect, but it was enough. Jungkook’s eyes widened, surprised, then softened with instant understanding. He nodded once — subtle, grateful. Unfortunately, the girls weren’t ready to let it go.

"Oh my god, you speak Korean?!" one squealed, inching closer. "Please tell him we’re his biggest fans!"

You turned back to them, switching back to English with the kind of casual patience that comes from telling a lie you’ve told a hundred times. "Sorry, but he really isn’t Jungkook," you said kindly. "You’re actually like the third group of people during his student exchange who think that."

You grinned in a way that invited them to laugh about it too — to feel a little silly, but not judged. For a moment, they wavered. But then one of them pointed sharply, "Yeah, sure. Look at his lip ring and his eyebrow piercing! It’s totally him!"

You could feel Jungkook tense up beside you, his body rigid, caught like an animal about to bolt. The girls were getting too close, practically in his personal space now. You stepped firmly between them and him, hands up in a calming, almost scolding gesture.

"Guys, guys," you said in a low, mock-conspiratorial voice. "I get it. It’s spooky, right? Crazy look-alike level. Even I freaked the first time."

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even more like you were sharing a juicy secret. "But trust me. If he were really Jungkook, he would have..." You grabbed his left hand gently, flipping it palm-up to show them his knuckles. Well it was his hand without tattoos. You hoped the girls didn’t know that.

"See? No tattoos," you said smoothly, smiling wide. "Eun-woo just likes to dress edgy sometimes. Doesn’t make him a K-pop idol.", trying to bluff your way through it. You didn’t really have any other way to try and convince them otherwise.

But the girls weren't buying it. "Yeah, right!" one of them snapped, jabbing a finger toward his hand. "On his left he wouldn’t have tattoos!"

Jungkook, still tense and quiet beside you, picked up enough of the fast English chatter to realize the situation was slipping. He glanced down at his own hand — the one you were still holding loosely — and seemed to understand instantly what was happening. Before you could stammer out some wild excuse —Jungkook moved.

He raised his other hand casually, briefly turning it up, then back down again, as if dismissing the whole thing. A quick, confident gesture — Look. Nothing there. You're imagining it. And because it was so natural, so matter-of-fact, the girls hesitated. Having showed them both his hands were tattoo free, for them to see, but not long enough to see one was covered in make-up.

You jumped right back in, "Trust me, we’ve been through this before. Poor guy can’t even go to a grocery store without someone asking for a selfie." You laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Like it was all just a funny misunderstanding.

And finally — finally — the girls started to lose steam. They muttered something to each other, still suspicious, but not brave enough to cause a bigger scene.

"I mean, think about it," you added, tilting your head playfully. "If the Jungkook really came here, don’t you think there’d be like...bodyguards? Cameras?"

The girls exchanged a glance, suddenly unsure, their momentum stalling. You caught Jungkook’s eye and tilted your head slightly toward your table, (where Pascal was calling from, what took you so long) — Move now.

Jungkook blinked, then — catching on fast — nodded. You casually gripped his jacket and steered him away. Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice low and warm near your ear: "Thank you," he murmured in Korean.

You straightened, heart hammering hard. You hadn’t realized until now just how close you’d gotten to him. How much his presence seemed to settle over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. Only once you made it safely back to your friends, your heart pounding in your chest, did you let go of his jacket, sliding into your seat like nothing had happened.

You leaned in a little, keeping your voice low and soft so it wouldn't carry. "I’m sorry if I overstepped," you said in careful Korean, your nerves making you speak slower than usual. "You just looked... really uncomfortable. I thought maybe I could help."

Jungkook blinked at you — slow, processing — like he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up here, surrounded by strangers who weren't trying to mob him. You rushed to add, "If you want to leave, you totally can. But..." You hesitated, glancing toward the girls. They were still peeking over, whispering behind their hands, but they didn’t seem nearly as sure of themselves anymore.

Jungkook followed your glance — having to lean slightly to the side around Flora’s massive frame to even see them. You had, very intentionally, placed him right beside Flora — your towering, gentle-giant of a friend — blocking most of the view and shielding Jungkook from wandering eyes. Meanwhile, Pascal, unfazed as always, continued grilling meat like nothing dramatic had just happened. With casual flair, he plopped a few sizzling slices onto Jungkook’s plate too, playing the part of a friend just sharing food — selling the image that Jungkook was simply part of your group.

Across the table, Pascal gave you a meaningful look, then asked slowly, deliberately, so Jungkook could follow the English easily, "So, what now?"

Jungkook’s gaze flickered between the three of you — you, Flora, and Pascal — something warm and amused beginning to spark behind his eyes. He turned toward you again, answering in low Korean, "Thank you... for helping. Really. But I don’t want to bother you."

You shook your head quickly, heart thudding. "No bother! Honestly..." You smiled, feeling a bit like a kettle about to boil over. "It’s kind of amazing to meet you here."

Jungkook’s brow quirked slightly — not out of arrogance, but like he was bracing for the onslaught of questions, of personal space invasions, of fans pretending to be casual. For a situation just like before. But nothing came. You didn’t start babbling questions hysterically about his music, his tour, his tattoos. You didn’t even ask for a selfie.

You just smiled across the table at him — and yeah, maybe your hands twitched a little like you were physically restraining yourself from peppering him with excitement — but you held it together.

And Jungkook noticed.

The way you were practically vibrating with curiosity, but still giving him space. The way your friends didn’t treat him like a trophy, but just another person at their table. He let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh through his nose. Then he gave a small nod, looking down at his plate — at the freshly grilled meat Pascal had thrown there without a second thought — and then back up at you.

"If... okay, then," he said lightly. "I’ll stay. If that’s alright?"

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. "Of course it’s alright. We have plenty of food. You can even steal Flora’s if you’re fast enough."

Flora, catching on without missing a beat, rumbled, "Not if I eat him first," flashing Jungkook a wide, toothy grin that was so over-the-top it made the idol chuckle out loud. And just like that Jungkook relaxed into his seat, picking up his chopsticks like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like for one evening, at least, he could just be a guy on holiday.

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You did what you always did when you came here: You overate. By a lot.

The two girls who had hovered and whispered about Jungkook had left ages ago — giving up when it became obvious that Jungkook wasn’t going to break away from your group. Now, the atmosphere was relaxed, warm, and a little sleepy, the grill cooling down after the last round of bulgogi. You groaned dramatically, leaning back against the booth.

"I’m dying. I can’t eat anymore," you announced, one hand cradling your stomach.

"Good," Flora rumbled immediately, grinning as he reached toward your plate. "Then I’ll just have your bulgogi, right?"

You shot forward like he’d just threatened your firstborn, jabbing your chopsticks at him defensively. "Don't you dare!" you cried, and before he could even try again, you grabbed the last sizzling piece of bulgogi and stuffed it into your mouth with a defiant groan of satisfaction.

Flora only laughed, and next to him, Jungkook chuckled too — a soft, genuine sound that made your heart squeeze a little.

It had been shockingly easy to eat with your group. No pressure, no weird tension — just easy laughter, messy chopsticks, and half-argued conversations. Pascal and Flora had made a real effort to slow their speech down, checking themselves so Jungkook could follow without feeling lost. You, meanwhile, translated where you could, your Korean a little clumsy but more than enough to get by. And when even that wasn’t enough, both you and Jungkook had your phones open with Google Translate, passing them across the table like some bizarre relay race.

It was fun — in a way that made Jungkook forget he was supposed to keep his head down.

In a way that felt... normal.

And the more Jungkook learned about your little trio, the more he found himself relaxing. Neither Flora nor Pascal had any real idea who he was. They didn’t listen to K-pop — hell, they barely listened to pop music at all, according to Flora, who proudly proclaimed over a plate of kimchi that "good music died with cassette tapes."

It was only you who had recognized him. You — who had quietly, almost shyly, admitted you were an ARMY, but not in an overwhelming way. You didn’t list off his accomplishments like a resume. You didn’t bombard him with facts you’d memorized from interviews. You didn’t even try to worm your way closer with desperate compliments or too-personal questions.

In fact, you hardly brought it up at all.

It had been Jungkook who pried the truth out — curious after you translated a complicated joke for him mid-conversation without missing a beat. When he’d asked if you were a fan, you had paused, ducking your head slightly, offering only small pieces in response. Guarded. Careful. Like you were trying not to make him uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to remind him of the distance between you.

You even whispered to Pascal and Flora at one point, firm but light-hearted, "No asking him to sing. No asking for autographs. Pretend he’s Flora, just smaller."

Pascal had snorted so hard he nearly dropped a piece of meat onto his lap. It made Jungkook laugh — real and open — because it was funny, yes, but also because it made him feel like he was with his Hyung’s again. It reminded him of the way the Hyung’s used to bicker and tease over late-night meals, eating until you were ready to burst.

He missed that.

He missed them.

And sitting here now, watching you argue half-heartedly with Pascal about how many scoops of matcha ice cream you deserved after dramatically declaring yourself "too full to move," something in Jungkook's chest slowly, quietly loosened.

Dinner was officially winding down. The plates were mostly empty now, only a few stubborn scraps of meat and side dishes clinging to the platters. The air was heavy with the warm smell of grilled beef and soy sauce, mixed with the lazy hum of a Friday night crowd. You’d been chatting casually with the server — Dong — a young man who clearly liked your table a little too much, lingering at every opportunity, refilling your water glasses three times when once would have sufficed.

Jungkook noticed it immediately. He noticed everything about you now.

It was strange.

Even after all this time at the table — after the way you had helped him out earlier, helped him laugh, helped him breathe without a weight on his shoulders — he still felt like he barely knew anything about you. Or your friends.

You were polite to the point of being overbearingly considerate. Every question you asked him was gentle, cautious — if you asked anything at all, that unsettled Jungkook more than if you had been the typical overeager fan.  He had braced for the usual flood of attention, the eagerness, the invasive questions. He almost wanted you to break and start peppering him with everything you were dying to know.

It would have been easier. Predictable.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled, careful and kind, carrying every conversation with a deliberate gentleness that made his chest ache a little. It made him want to know everything about you— needing — to know more. What made you laugh until you cried. What you thought about when you stared off into space. What songs you sang when you thought no one was listening.

And yet, Jungkook could feel you holding yourself back, watching him with bright, hesitant eyes whenever a new topic surfaced, like you were trying to calculate what was safe to say, what might be too much.

You wanted to ask him things. He could feel it — the questions trembling on the tip of your tongue. But you were afraid to step over some invisible line. Afraid to be another name on a long list of people who had only wanted pieces of him, not the whole person.

He couldn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. But somehow, that made him want to bridge the gap even more. It wasn’t just you protecting him tonight. Without realizing it, he wanted to protect this fragile thing between you, too — this warm, quiet, normal moment.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make you trust that it was okay to ask him things. That he wanted you to. And as luck would have it, Flora threw him the perfect opportunity.

"So, where are we going first?" Flora asked, stretching his arms wide like he was preparing for battle. You groaned faintly, looking about ready to surrender to your impending food coma. Still, you dutifully pulled out your phone, swiping through what looked like a list of names and places, rattling them off faster than Jungkook could even hope to follow.

He blinked at you, completely lost.

Pascal, noticing his confusion, leaned over and offered a translation — half in English, half through Google Translate — "It's art night in town," he said, flashing a thumbs up like it explained everything. "All the museums and galleries stay open until three a.m.! It’s awesome. You should totally come!"

You looked up at Jungkook instinctively — and the realization hit you both at the same time.

They were inviting him.

Your panic was immediate. Surely he didn’t really want to come? He was Jungkook — he had better things to do than stumble through art galleries with three random weirdos. He could be doing... literally anything else. But Jungkook just tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes pinning you with playful intent. "Can I?" he asked softly in Korean, his voice rich and teasing, like he already knew you wouldn’t dare say no.

And god, it was unfair — the way the restaurant lights caught the faint gleam of his lip ring as he dragged it thoughtfully between his teeth, the way a tiny, almost-shy smile flickered at the edges of his mouth as he watched you.

You huffed — a tiny, strangled sound — and nodded quickly, trying so hard not to burst into flames. Jungkook’s smile widened just a little, victorious, and you knew you had lost whatever silent battle was happening between you.

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When the check came, the server, Dong — who by now was basically auditioning for honorary fourth member of your little group — dropped it neatly at the center of the table with a cheery, "No rush!"

And then all hell broke loose.

Jungkook moved fast, reaching for it without hesitation. You, Pascal, and Flora all protested at once, insisting he was a guest and shouldn’t pay.

"No, no, you’re our guest!" Flora protested immediately, reaching for his bag.

"Absolutely not, man, you’re not paying," Pascal added, doing a frankly embarrassing full-body lunge across the table.

You had your wallet out too, fumbling with your card and a nervous glance at Jungkook.

But Jungkook just shook his head, his stubbornness absolute. He didn't even bother arguing properly — just stood and handed his card to Dong with a polite bow, cutting off all resistance. Pascal leaned over while Jungkook was distracted signing the receipt, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. He spoke just loud enough for you to hear: "Damn... he's kinda hot when he gets bossy. No wonder you listen to K-pop."

You choked on your own spit, slapping a hand over your face as heat bloomed fiercely across your cheeks. Flora snorted his drink up his nose.

"PASCAL," you hissed under your breath, half mortified, half strangling on a laugh.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook had impeccable timing. He turned back toward the table just in time to catch you covering your face and trying desperately to disappear into the floor. His brow quirked up, a devilish little gleam sparking to life in his eyes. "What - What did he say?" he asked in a mix of English and Korean, voice low and far too pleased, a grin already threatening the corners of his mouth.

You shook your head frantically, mouthing "nothing, it’s fine, please don’t" — but Pascal, grinning like the absolute traitor he was, had already shoved his phone into Jungkook’s hands, Google Translate glowing bright like a sword of betrayal.

Jungkook read the screen, blinked once, then grinned — a slow, lazy smirk that made your stomach do something wildly unfortunate. He chuckled — a low, warm sound that skated down your spine — and cocked his head at you, lip ring catching the light. "You like me bossy, huh?" he teased in Korean, clearly savoring every second of your visible suffering.

You made a strangled, dying noise into your hands as Flora and Pascal cackled at your expense. Even Dong, hanging around a suspiciously long time under the pretense of clearing plates, laughed quietly into his sleeve.

"I— That’s not—" you tried, but you were too flustered to form a coherent sentence. Jungkook just beamed at you, looking devastatingly pleased with himself, before tossing a playful wink your way that nearly finished you off completely.

You were going to perish right here, in the middle of this barbecue restaurant, at the hands of Jungkook’s teasing smile. And honestly, it would be a beautiful way to go.

Jungkook watched you quietly, his heart beating a little faster. You were... lovely like this — bright and real and flustered, your kindness and humor wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

And the best part?

He hadn't even really started yet.

Jungkook tucked his card back into his wallet with a satisfied air and turned to the table, clapping his hands once like a boss. "Let’s go," he said brightly. "Art night is waiting."

"You’re a tyrant," Pascal groaned with a smile, shoving his arms into his jacket sleeves. "You’re a saint," Flora said, with a deep chuckel.

You could only laugh, your heart buzzing in your chest, as you followed Jungkook out into the cool night air. He fell into step beside you almost naturally, his shoulder brushing yours just lightly enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. When you dared glance up at him, he was already looking at you — smiling — like maybe he didn’t mind spending a little more time in your world after all.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The city was alive tonight.

The streets buzzed with people, lit in gold and neon, the sidewalks thick with couples, families, groups of students laughing too loudly under the old streetlamps. It was the perfect kind of crowd — big enough, distracted enough, that Jungkook could move almost invisibly through it.

Especially with Flora at his side.

Flora, towering and broad-shouldered, was a natural shield — not even trying, really, but his sheer size meant Jungkook easily tucked into the space behind him whenever the street grew too crowded. It was funny, actually. Jungkook had spent years surrounded by professional bodyguards. But walking behind Flora, who cheerfully blocked people’s lines of sight without even noticing, felt easier somehow. More casual. More... normal.

You and Pascal, though, were another matter entirely.

You caught attention just by existing — a bright spark in the corner of Jungkook’s vision, laughing too easily, moving with that infectious kind of energy that made people glance over without even realizing they were doing it. And Pascal, tall and cocky in his easy, flippant way, was just as bad, tossing sly comments and grins over his shoulder that had strangers double-taking in amusement.

Together, you two were impossible to miss and draw even more attention away from Jungkook. And somehow, impossibly, Jungkook didn’t mind. It was... fun. Real. Messy and alive in a way he hadn’t realized he missed.

Your first stop was a tiny underground art exhibition tucked between two noodle shops. Only ten pieces total, displayed in a narrow, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of fresh paint and old stone.

The theme was "Nature Reclaimed."

Everything was green and rough around the edges — photographs of abandoned buildings overtaken by ivy, sculptures made of twisted roots and river glass. It was quiet inside, hushed in that reverent way art spaces sometimes were, the noise of the city outside muffled like a dream. As you made your way down the shallow stairs to the entrance, a man in a faded hoodie approached, murmuring something quickly.

Without missing a beat, you pulled out your phone, flashed a QR code from a ticket app, and then — smiling apologetically — pointed at Jungkook, indicating him as part of your group. The man nodded, satisfied, and waved you all in without further fuss.

Jungkook, lingering just half a step behind you, blinked in surprise. "What was that about?" he asked in Korean, his voice low enough not to carry.

"He just wanted to see our tickets," you said, switching languages. Your voice was soft, almost careful, but there was a lightness in your eyes that made him feel strangely at ease. Jungkook frowned slightly, processing — and then his eyes widened as the realization hit him. "But… I don’t have a ticket," he said, baffled.

You turned to him fully then, your smile gentle, almost teasing as you answered, "It’s fine. I got you one."

Jungkook stared at you. Like you had just sprouted wings or declared yourself king of Seoul. There was a strange little jolt in his chest — something between touched and ruffled — because he was the one who usually took care of things. He bought the tickets. He paid the bills. He made sure the people around him were comfortable.

He wasn’t used to... this. Someone quietly smoothing the way for him without making a big deal out of it.

"You didn’t have to..." he started, almost defensive without meaning to.

But you just shrugged easily, already drifting a few steps ahead toward the first sculpture — as if it really wasn’t a big deal at all. As if he wasn’t someone you needed anything from. As if he was just... your friend.

"It’s just a ticket." you said over your shoulder, voice warm and a little teasing. "Don’t be dramatic."

Behind him, Pascal snorted. "Oh no. He's learning your secret," he stage-whispered to Flora. "She pretends to be all nice and harmless, and then BAM — she pays for something and makes you feel like a useless piece of trash that’s forever in her debit."

"Happened to me last month at brunch," Flora added solemnly, adjusting his bag strap like he was remembering a war story. "Still not over it."

You turned back around, walking backward now, grinning wickedly. "Shut up, both of you," you said, voice bright with laughter. "I’m a delight."

Jungkook couldn’t help it — he laughed too. Something warm and full that he hadn’t heard from himself in longer than he liked to admit. He jogged a few steps to catch up to you, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours — playful.

"Next time," he murmured in Korean, just for you, "I’m buying your ticket."

You glanced up at him, surprised — and something flickered between you. Something bright and a little reckless.

"Next time?" you said softly.

Jungkook smiled — a real one, crooked and boyish and impossibly endearing — and followed you deeper into the exhibition, the city’s noise forgotten behind thick stone walls. One of the last exhibits at this place was a sculpture — simple at first glance — just a mass of twisted iron and polished driftwood. It looked almost like a bird caught mid-flight, wings half-formed, trapped in metal and wood.

You tilted your head, studying it thoughtfully. Jungkook drifted closer, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jacket, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye more than he watched the art itself. There was a small part of him — quiet but insistent — that wanted to know what you thought of it. What you saw when you looked. What kinds of things stirred you.

Meanwhile, Pascal, in typical fashion, had already wandered closer to the next piece — a massive tangle of tree roots shaped vaguely like a crouching figure.

"Oh, hell yes," Pascal muttered mischievously, glancing back over his shoulder at you. "Come on, you have to!"

You turned, caught sight of what he was eyeing, and burst out laughing. Without hesitation, you moved over, and the two of you — grinning like fools — immediately contorted yourselves into a ridiculous reenactment of the sculpture: Pascal crouching dramatically, you draping yourself halfway over his back like a sagging vine.

"Hold still!" Flora said, laughing, pulling out his phone with a little huff of effort. He knelt slightly to get the right angle, his giant frame making the tiny gallery feel even smaller. Behind Flora, Jungkook chuckled low in his throat, bemused. He crossed his arms loosely and leaned in toward Flora.

"What are they doing?" he asked, amused but genuinely curious.

Flora shifted a little awkwardly, clearly searching for a way to explain it. "Uh... how to say..." He grimaced slightly, embarrassed, but soldiered on anyway. "Since I know them... there is no sculpture they don't — ehm — copy." He smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of their thing."

Jungkook blinked, then laughed out loud, nodding in understanding. "Tradition?" he teased.

Flora brightened. "Yes! Tradition."

Jungkook turned his gaze back to you and Pascal, who were dissolving into giggles as Pascal dramatically flopped to the floor, still committed to the ridiculous pose. You sat beside him, poking his shoulder, scolding him half-heartedly for "ruining the artistic integrity" of the piece.

They looked close, Jungkook thought. Comfortable. Easy in a way that spoke of long friendship, of thousands of shared jokes and late nights. He hadn’t gotten the vibe that you and Pascal were together — no overt flirting, no lingering glances — but still. Seeing you like this, smiling so freely, leaning on Pascal like it was the most natural thing in the world...

A tiny, unwelcome sting flickered through him.

Beside him, Flora shifted again, glancing down at Jungkook with a knowing twinkle in his eye. He leaned down, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper: "I have a pretty boyfriend, right?"

Jungkook startled slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked back and forth — from Pascal, still lying dramatically on the ground, to Flora, standing there with an easy, fond smile. It took him a beat. Two beats. And then it clicked.

"OH."

Understanding bloomed like a firework behind Jungkook's ribs — bright, stupidly bright — and he turned to Flora with a sudden, warm grin, nodding. Of course. Pascal and Flora were together. They were the couple. Not you and Pascal.

A soft, almost giddy sense of relief — of possibility — unfolded in his chest like a secret he didn’t even know he was hoping for. Without thinking too hard about it, Jungkook pulled out his phone and handed it to Flora.

"Take one more," he said, his voice low but sure. "Of me and her, yeah?"

Flora’s eyebrows jumped, but he grinned wide and took the phone eagerly. You, brushing dust off your knees, glanced up — saw Jungkook approaching — and blinked, startled.

"He wants to—?"

But Jungkook just smiled at you, easy and boyish and a little challenging, and dropped into a crouch beside you, mimicking the awkward, sprawled pose you and Pascal had struck earlier. He looked at you expectantly. "You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?"

Your heart did a weird, flipping thing inside your chest. Something fluttery and wild and wonderful. Because this was Jungkook choosing to be part of your chaos. This was him wanting to share a stupid, silly moment with you. Smiling so wide your cheeks hurt, you scooted closer, slinging an arm loosely around his shoulders, mimicking the sculpture’s pose with exaggerated drama. Flora laughed, snapping a few quick pictures while Pascal cheered you both on in the background.

"Artistic integrity!" Pascal declared. "Restored!"

Jungkook’s shoulder bumped yours lightly as you both tried (and failed) to hold the ridiculous position without laughing.

"You’re surprisingly good at this," he teased under his breath, his voice warm against your ear.

"I told you," you whispered back, smiling. "I'm a delight."

And as the flash clicked and Flora captured the moment — something unspoken settled between you and Jungkook, bright and sparking and full of possibility. You straightened up from the silly pose, cheeks warm from laughter. Flora grinned down at his phone, satisfied with the shot he had just taken of you, Pascal — and now, Jungkook — tangled together mid-laughter, perfectly recreating the odd sculpture’s awkward, balancing pose. Jungkook flashed you a quick, slightly breathless grin, and for a second, you let yourself just look at him — really look.

You peeked at Jungkooks’s screen. There it was — You and Jungkook, shoulder to shoulder, laughing like old friends, looking so natural. Like it was something you did all the time. Your heart gave a tiny, helpless flutter. You would have loved to have that photo. Loved to have that memory of you and Jungkook together, caught mid-laugh, tangled in a ridiculous re-creation of art. To have a little piece of this impossible evening, something to hold onto later when it felt like a dream.

But...

You hesitated. The thought of asking — of possibly making him uncomfortable, of seeming like some crazy fan who only wanted a trophy photo for social media — made your stomach twist up tight. No.

Better to let the moment pass quietly. Better to keep the memory for yourself.

You swallowed the wish and tucked it away. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook watched it happen. Watched the way you bit your lip slightly, looked at the photo, then deliberately looked away.

He waited — giving you space — waited, thinking you might still ask.

But after a few seconds, when you said nothing and just smiled and adjusted your bag on your shoulder, he smiled softly to himself. Of course. He was already starting to understand you a little: you didn’t take — you never expected. You just quietly appreciated.

And somehow, that made him want to give you even more. He didn’t press. But he did make a little note in the back of his mind: to get that picture to you later.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

Pascal clapped his hands, dusting them dramatically as if he’d just completed a grand performance. "Alright, children. That’s enough culture inside walls. Let’s go outside and be sophisticated." he declared with a grandiose wave toward the exit. "There’s an installation out in the courtyard, and you must be seen with a glass of wine. It’s, like, mandatory. Très chic." He threw a dramatic arm toward the courtyard where twinkling lights were already coming on and food and wine stalls lined the edges. ”Let’s go be fancy art snobs outside."

You laughed, slipping easily back into the banter, and translated quickly for Jungkook, whose eyebrows lifted in amused confusion at Pascal's theatrical tone.

"Pascal says it’s mandatory to hold wine and look… pretentious," you added, grinning, having just checked the word for pretentious in Korean.

"Can’t argue with that," Jungkook said, lightly bumping his shoulder against yours, adjusting his cap. The subtle disguise doing surprisingly well so far. You didn’t even try to hide your smile.

Pascal was already striding ahead toward a charming little stand selling local wines and small plates, dragging Flora along with him. You and Jungkook followed at a more leisurely pace. Outside, the evening air had cooled just a little, and the courtyard looked like something from a storybook — soft golden light, the rich smells of roasting nuts, spices, and baked goods drifting on the breeze.

As you reached the stand, Pascal was already leaning against the counter, animatedly discussing the wine options with the poor vendor asking which wine would make him look the most "cultured."

You chose a light, fruity glass for yourself — something casual — and reached automatically for your wallet. Before you could even properly find your card, Jungkook was there, stepping in front of you, gently pushing you aside with a soft nudge of his arm.

"I got it," he said firmly.

"No, really, it’s fine," you protested quickly, heat rushing into your cheeks. "You don’t have to —"

But Jungkook just shook his head, looking down at you with that stubborn little smile you were already starting to recognize.

"I want to," he said simply, already tapping his card against the reader before you could argue more. You turned to the older man running the stand, hoping maybe he would help your case — but the man just chuckled, a twinkle in his eye, and said warmly, "Ah, let the gentleman pay, sweetheart. He is insisting."

You blushed harder, feeling the tips of your ears go hot, and Jungkook caught it instantly. He tilted his head slightly, absolutely delighted by your reaction.

"See?" he teased, voice low enough that only you could hear.

Behind you, Pascal — never one to miss a good opportunity for mischief — clutched his chest dramatically.

"She’s blushing! Flora! Flora!" Pascal stage-whispered loudly, grabbing Flora’s arm with faux urgency. "Call a medic! We’ve got a romantic casualty. Look at her blushing like a Victorian maiden! Flora, where’s my fainting couch?"

"Oh my god, Pascal, shut up," you hissed under your breath.

You buried your face in your hands for a second, groaning in embarrassment while Flora just laughed quietly and patted Pascal’s shoulder like he was an unruly child. Jungkook laughed too — not meanly, not mockingly — but warmly, like he was laughing with you, not at you. There was something soft and sincere in his eyes when you finally peeked up at him through your fingers. Pascal patted you patronizingly on the back, still dramatically gasping for breath like he might swoon at any moment.

"Cheers?" Jungkook offered, holding out your wine glass to you with a small, almost shy smile.

You took it carefully, your fingers brushing his just for a moment — enough to send a tiny, electric shiver racing up your spine.

"Cheers," you whispered back, your smile matching his.

You didn’t even notice Flora sneaking another candid photo of the moment — but Jungkook did. And he didn’t stop him.

The art installations out here were larger than life — strange metal trees twisting into the stars, mosaics glittering under fairy lights, even a giant abstract sculpture that looked suspiciously like a melted spoon.

"Clearly," Pascal said solemnly, swirling his wine glass like he was at a five-star auction, "this piece is about the futility of buying matching socks."

You burst out laughing, trying (and failing) to mimic his snooty voice while shaking your own glass dramatically. A tiny drop of wine sloshed out, and you gasped, wiping it quickly against your jacket.

"Careful," Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes bright. "You're too fancy now. Gotta protect the image."

You grinned up at him, emboldened by the lightness of the evening. "Oh, absolutely," you said, twirling your glass again with a theatrical flourish. "I’m basically a... more than princess now."

You fumbled for a better word, realizing halfway through that your Korean wasn't good enough for this moment. Jungkook caught on instantly, his smile widening.

"You could say yeowang. Queen," he offered, voice warm.

"Ah, yeowang!" you repeated, beaming, and Jungkook gave an approving nod.

Pascal threw an arm around Flora’s waist and sighed dramatically.

"We are in the presence of royalty. Someone fetch me a fainting couch."

You snickered. "Pascal, what is it with you today and needing a fainting couch?"

"Art moves me," he declared, clutching at his chest. Jungkook shook his head in amusement and, swirling his own wine with a mock-serious air, leaned toward you. "In Korean, if you want to say someone’s showing off, you can say Pom jabn-da." He pronounced it slowly. You tried to repeat it — and immediately mangled the pronunciation. Jungkook burst out laughing, not unkindly. "Again, again," he encouraged, tapping the air like a metronome.

You tried again, slower. "Pom jabn-da...?"

"Much better!" he praised, his eyes crinkling. "Just casual. Like teasing a friend."

You practiced it under your breath a few more times, earning another bright thumbs-up from him. Your heart fluttered stupidly at how delighted he looked. A few installations later, you and Pascal spotted a new sculpture — a chaotic tangle of bronze limbs, like a group of dancers frozen mid-fall.

"This one's asking for it," Pascal declared.

Without even needing to speak, you both clambered into a half-recreation, Pascal sticking his leg straight up in the air and you pretending to trip over him, arms flailing. Flora chuckled and obediently pulled out his phone to take pictures. Jungkook laughed too — the sound bright and real — and watched you both with amused wonder. After a moment, he handed his phone to Flora.

"One more photo?" he asked you, offering his hand with an eager grin.

You took it without hesitation, your palm tingling in his. Together, you struck another ridiculous pose, trying to mimic the bronze chaos behind you. Jungkook leaned into it easily, copying your outstretched arm with exaggerated seriousness. Flora snapped the picture, snorting with laughter as you both tried to hold still.

When you finally broke apart, laughing, you brushed some dust off your coat, cheeks flushed from the cold and the silliness. Jungkook’s phone buzzed insistently in his hand, lighting up the space between you with a soft glow.

He glanced down, his mouth twitching into an automatic smile when he saw the stream of messages blowing up his group chat.

🐿️ (Hoseok): Where r u?? 🐨(Namjoon): You're still out? 😎 (Taehyung):  Send pics!!! �� (Yoongi):  Did u get lost???

Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh, fond and exasperated at the same time. His thumb moved quickly over the screen, tapping back a few replies. Then, almost shyly, he tilted the phone toward you, as if wanting you to be part of it too.

"They're checking on me," he said, amused. "I told them I’m out with some... cool new friends."

You smiled so brightly it almost hurt, something easing inside you — that tight, nervous coil you'd been carrying ever since you met him starting to finally loosen— and gathering your courage, you cleared your throat. Maybe it was the wine, or the night air, or just the way Jungkook looked at you— but for the first time, you didn’t overthink to much what you said next. You weren't triple-guessing if it would sound too much like a fan thing. You just... said it. Simple and honest.

"If it's not too weird... could you, um... tell them I said hi?"

Jungkook’s entire face lit up — not just with amusement, but with something warmer, softer. Like you'd handed him something precious without even realizing it. He nodded immediately, eyes bright. "Of course! They'll love that."

There was something a little new in the way he looked at you now — a quiet kind of delight. Like he was seeing you take a step closer toward him, and he liked it more than he probably should. He tapped out a quick message — [My friend says hi 👋🏻] — and sent it off without fuss, then tucked his phone back into his pocket without another glance. He wasn’t distracted. He wasn’t half-present. His attention was all on you.

You didn’t realize you were fidgeting slightly, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, until he chuckled lowly under his breath.

"Hey... random question. Who’s your favorite BT21 character?"

You blinked, caught off guard — and without thinking blurted, "Tata."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook recoiled dramatically, clutching his chest as if shot. "Not Cooky?! Betrayal!"

Pascal immediately gasped, clutching Flora for support. "Scandalous. How dare you!"

"I'm wounded," Jungkook said, lowering his head in mock despair.

"I didn’t realize there was a quiz," you teased, bumping his shoulder with yours. "And anyway, Tata’s a prince. I’m royalty, remember?"

"Excuses," Jungkook grumbled, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

"You can be my second favorite," you added magnanimously.

"Gee, thanks," he said with a dramatic sigh — but his eyes sparkled.

"And Pascal's favorite is Mang," you pointed out quickly, grinning. Pascal flipped you off over his wine glass, making you laugh harder. As you wandered toward the far side of the courtyard, Flora checked his watch.

"If we want good seats," he said, "we should head to the church soon."

Jungkook blinked. "Church?"

"There’s a little concert," you explained. "Local artists. It’s small, but cool. Flora found it."

He hesitated for just a breath — then smiled, resolute. "I'd love to."

The streets were quieter now as you made your way toward the old stone church, the evening mist curling around the narrow alleys like fingers. Jungkook walked close by your side, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, occasionally nudging a stray pebble along the cobblestones with his boot.

Warm yellow light spilled from the church's arched windows, casting long golden pools onto the street. From inside, you could already hear the soft hum of voices and the faint strum of a guitar being tuned.

"Wow," Jungkook murmured, tilting his head back to take it in. The church was small but beautiful, its ancient stones blackened by time, its steeple leaning just slightly, like an old man hunching over against the years.

You smiled. "Pascal said the acoustics here are insane. Like, even a whisper carries."

Jungkook grinned at that, bumping your shoulder playfully. "Guess we better not gossip too loudly, huh?"

You laughed, feeling light, warm. God, it was getting too easy to just be around him. Inside, the church smelled faintly of old wood, wax, and rain-soaked stone. The wooden pews were already filling up fast with people — a colorful, buzzing crowd of locals and a handful of tourists who had clearly stumbled upon the event by accident and decided to stay.

You hesitated, glancing around. You didn’t want to assume anything — maybe Jungkook would prefer some space? Maybe he didn't want you hovering— Before you could finish that worried thought, Pascal clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and gave him a not-so-gentle shove toward the pew where you were standing.

"Here! Plenty of room," Pascal declared with a grin, not noticing (or not caring) about the slight oomph noise Jungkook made as he was practically dumped beside you. Flora shot you a secret wink as he slid in next to Pascal.

Jungkook blinked once, surprised — then let out a soft, helpless laugh, shaking his head as he settled beside you. "Guess this is my spot," he said, throwing you a playful sideways glance.

You tucked a smile behind your hand, feeling giddy and weirdly shy all over again. The bells outside gave a soft, distant chime, and a low murmur of excitement buzzed through the church as more people filed in. The pews were old — carved from dark, heavy wood — and the space between each row was narrow. Cozy.

At first, you and Jungkook sat with a polite little buffer of air between you, your knees almost but not quite brushing. You kept your hands tucked carefully in your lap, too aware of how close he was. But then — fast — the church started filling. People squeezed into every row. An older man with a large coat tapped Pascal’s shoulder, gesturing to the crowd still trying to find seats.

Pascal looked around — then turned back to you with a big, sunny grin. "Hey — scoot up a little? Let's get cozy," he said cheerfully.

Before you could react, Pascal planted both his hands on Jungkook’s side and gave him a strong, enthusiastic shove. The force of it knocked Jungkook sideways — right against you. You gasped, instinctively catching yourself with a hand braced against the pew back. Jungkook let out a startled, embarrassed noise, his whole side pressing into yours for a heartbeat before he awkwardly tried to straighten himself — only to realize he couldn’t. There was no more room.

You were now squished between the cold stone wall and a very solid Jungkook. Your entire side was plastered against him — your coats and sleeves brushing, your knees bumping under the narrow pew rail. His warmth radiated through the layers of fabric, dizzying and so real.

Jungkook froze, obviously realizing the situation at the same moment you did. He turned his head toward you, cheeks visibly flushed even in the dim light, and managed a breathless, sheepish little laugh.

"Uh— sorry," he mumbled, voice low and rough. He tried to shift — to give you space — but there was none. Every inch of the pew was packed now, people squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in every row. You shook your head quickly, fighting your own rising blush. "No, it's okay," you whispered back, and God, your voice sounded weirdly breathless to your own ears. Jungkook's gaze caught yours for a second — wide, surprised, a little shy — before he gave up, exhaling a soft, helpless little huff.

"I guess we're... stuck like this," he said under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or die of embarrassment. You nodded, biting your lip, pulse pounding. Neither of you moved again.

The rest of the pews were just as packed, a sea of strangers pressed elbow-to-elbow, the whole church buzzing with low chatter and the warm crackle of excitement. But all you could feel was Jungkook — warm, solid, steady — right there beside you, close enough that you could catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne every time you breathed.

It felt crazy. Exciting. A little dangerous, in a way that made your stomach flip. You stole a tiny glance at him — and caught him doing the same, his eyes darting away quickly, a guilty little smile tugging at his lips.

You weren’t imagining it. He felt it too.

The lights dimmed further as the musicians took their places, tuning their instruments with brief, fluttering notes that melted into a respectful silence. You felt the change instantly — the whole church seeming to hold its breath, waiting.

Then the music began. A soft, sweeping melody filled the stone chamber, rising up to the vaulted ceiling like smoke. It was beautiful — a delicate blend of classic orchestral pieces and haunting film scores that sent shivers down your spine. You exhaled slowly, letting your body relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

The concert would last about thirty minutes — not long, technically — but just long enough that sitting stiff and upright like a statue was impossible. Especially when you were packed so tightly in a crowded pew.

Next to you, Pascal was already adjusting — sliding down a little in his seat until his frame rested comfortably against Flora’s shoulder. Flora didn’t seem to mind in the slightest; he barely reacted beyond adjusting his posture slightly, offering a solid, comfortable place for Pascal to rest against. The two of them looked perfectly at ease, making a little more room for themselves without a second thought.

You shifted, too, almost without realizing it — leaning ever-so-slightly more into the narrow space you shared with Jungkook. It wasn’t much — just a subtle change — but it brought you even closer, until the line of your arm brushed his. And neither of you moved away.

Jungkook noticed immediately. He stiffened for half a second, some instinct in him flaring — but when he glanced sideways and saw your face, the tension melted almost instantly. You weren’t tense. You weren't looking around nervously or pulling away. You looked... content.

Happy, even.

Your eyes were half-lidded in peace, your body visibly trying to slump a little more comfortably — but there just wasn’t space to do it properly. Something inside Jungkook twisted sweetly at the sight. He wanted — badly — to just lift his arm and rest it along the back of the pew behind you, maybe even let it fall lightly around your shoulders. It would make it easier for both of you. Give you more space to lean, more room to relax. And... it would feel so natural, so right.

He could already imagine it: your head might lean into his side, both of you fitting together better, finding a little more space to breathe.

But he hesitated. If someone in the crowd recognized him — if a photo made it to the wrong hands — he could already imagine the tabloid headlines. "Jungkook Seen Cozy With Mystery Woman at Church Concert" "Romance Rumors Swirl After Late-Night Sighting"

It wouldn’t just be chaos for him — it would drag you into it too.

But you didn’t shift away. You didn’t stiffen or glance around anxiously. If anything, you looked even more comfortable as the music rose, the corners of your mouth softening in a small, private smile. So he stayed frozen, pulse racing, watching you out of the corner of his eye for any sign of unease. Anything at all. But you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you seemed to be relaxing more with every passing minute — your side melting unconsciously into his, your knee nudging lightly against his under the narrow pew rail. Jungkook’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. Very carefully, he allowed himself to relax — not dramatically, not enough to draw attention, but enough that his side pressed lightly against yours in a way that felt intentional. Enough that if you wanted to lean just a little bit more, you could.

The music swelled around you, rich and deep and almost cinematic in its beauty. Every pew was crammed full of people now, groups squeezing closer and closer to fit. In the row ahead, an older couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder, hands folded together. Farther down, teenagers bumped elbows and whispered with wide grins. Everyone was packed tight — no one would even blink at how closely you and Jungkook sat.

You lost yourself in it a little — the sweep of the strings, the low, steady pulse of the piano — but never entirely. Because you could still feel Jungkook, right there, pressed against your side. Every breath you took seemed somehow linked to him. You didn’t dare move too much, didn’t dare look at him, afraid you’d break whatever fragile, unspoken thing had started to stretch between you.

And Jungkook, for his part, was battling himself silently.

The longer he sat beside you, feeling the faint warmth of your body so close, the harder it became to stay still. The harder it became to pretend he didn’t want more.

Slowly — as casually as he could manage — he shifted. Not much. Just letting his hand fall, loose and heavy, onto his lap. An innocent movement to anyone watching. But he placed it carefully, precisely angled, so that when he next took a deep breath — deeper than necessary, maybe — the motion rocked his hand just enough that the back of it brushed lightly against yours.

It was feather-light. Accidental, surely.

You froze, heart thudding, half expecting him to immediately jerk away in embarrassment.

But he didn’t.

His hand stayed there, the faintest touch between you — just the back of his knuckles against the side of your hand. He didn’t grab you. He didn’t even really move. Only the tiniest twitch betrayed him, a small tremor that made his pinky bump gently against your skin.

Your breath hitched audibly — not loud enough to draw attention, but enough that you felt Jungkook go even more still, sensing it. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears, and allowed your own hand to twitch in response — a small, almost involuntary movement, nothing that could be called bold.

But it was enough.

Enough to tell Jungkook that you weren’t pulling away. He was tense beside you, vibrating like a tightly wound string about to snap. But emboldened by your tiny gesture, he shifted the smallest fraction, just enough to let his pinky curl — and hook lightly around yours.

It wasn’t hand-holding.

Not really.

But it also wasn’t nothing.

You felt it instantly — that almost imperceptible entwining of pinkies, the barest linking of skin. The smallest possible way to touch you more, without making a scene, without risking everything. And yet somehow, it felt monumental. It felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your lungs burned slightly, your heart hammering harder than the crescendo of the music washing around you. You stared straight ahead, afraid that if you even glanced at him, the spell would shatter. Beside you, Jungkook shifted again — the tiniest adjustment — a breath that somehow pressed his side a little more firmly against yours. His pinky, still entwined with yours, twitched once, almost like a question.

You squeezed yours back — barely — the smallest answer you could give. But it was enough.

It was everything.

The music swelled higher, louder, grander — but you barely heard it anymore. Because Jungkook was there, his pinky tangled lightly with yours, his thigh warm against your leg, his presence swallowing up every breath you took. You had no idea how you would survive the next twenty minutes of this concert. And from the way Jungkook's breathing had subtly shifted — a little heavier, a little faster — he was wondering the exact same thing.

As the last note of the concert faded into the stone vaults of the old church, the first people began to rise from their tightly packed pews, voices low and murmuring as they shuffled toward the exits, eager for their next destination.

You and Jungkook didn’t move.

Neither of you wanted to.

And, realistically, you couldn’t, not yet — Flora and Pascal were still squeezed in on the other side, and the narrow rows left little room to maneuver without tripping over each other. But even without that excuse, you knew you wouldn’t have been ready to let go of him.

Not just yet.

Your pinkies were still lightly hooked together, the smallest bridge between you. You could feel Jungkook’s warmth through that tiny touch, a quiet heartbeat of connection neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

When you dared a glance at him, you found him already looking at you.

His eyes were soft — almost bashful — and a shy, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. You saw the faintest flush creep up his neck to his cheeks, the stage lighting doing nothing to hide it. And before you could say anything, before you could even breathe properly, he gave your pinky one last small squeeze. Your heart twisted almost painfully.

Slowly, regretfully, you both let your hands drift apart.

The group started to shift and rise, Flora stretching his long frame carefully to avoid knocking into the people in front of you. Pascal shuffled sideways, pulling the others with him, and finally you and Jungkook had enough space to stand without causing a scene.

Outside, the cool night air hit you like a balm, carrying away some of the dizzy warmth clinging to your skin. You regrouped under the streetlights, the tall, dark shape of the church behind you casting deep shadows. Jungkook stayed close. Closer than before. Close enough that his shoulder almost brushed yours whenever he moved, Jungkook stayed by your side as the group paused under the yellow pools of light spilling from the church’s old lanterns.

Pascal turned to the group, his voice casual but lively. "What now? We’ve got time for one or maybe two more stops before everything closes. What do you guys think?"

He was speaking fast again and you saw Jungkook's head tilt slightly, his expression attentive but a little hesitant. His English was good, but fast conversation could be tricky, especially when tired or excited. Instinctively, you stepped in, your voice a little softer, more private.

You translated with the help of google again at this point into Korean, glancing at him with a smile — hopefully not too goofily — and pulled out your phone to double-check the night's schedule. “Pascal is saying that there’s still some time, so we can go to one or maybe two more places. He’s asking where we’d like to go.”

Jungkook gave a small, grateful nod, his eyes flickering to you and lingering there for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. You could tell he was appreciating more than just the translation. You fumbled quickly with your phone, trying to act casual.

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, partly for the group and partly for yourself. "We’ve got two options."

"First, bathroom break," you added firmly, shooting a quick grin around the group that made Pascal and Flora chuckle.

"After that, we have two options: There’s a movie museum exhibit — old horror films. Props from Nosferatu, Dracula, 28 Days Later..." You glanced up at Jungkook and saw his eyes light up a little at the mention and understanding. You tried not to let it distract you and continued.

"Or, there's a gallery nearby with a lot of acrylic-on-wood paintings. The theme is supposed to be 'Fever Dream'." You lifted your eyebrows at everyone, feeling their attention drift toward you, and shrugged.

"Vote?"

It wasn’t much of a contest. Flora immediately cast his vote for the horror exhibit — big guy, even bigger love for spooky stuff — Pascal nodded eagerly too, clearly into it. You watched Jungkook's eyes light up just a little at the idea of the horror props, and a small, almost mischievous smile touched his lips. He gave a little nod, confirming his choice without needing words.

You grinned, feeling a little giddy — but not just because of the decision.

“Movie museum it is," you announced, grinning.

You desperately needed that bathroom break. Because the way Jungkook was looking at you, now that you could see his face in the clear, open night — the way he hadn't really left your side even after all the people had spilled out around you — the memory of your pinkies tangled together, not just accidental, not just squished together — all of it made your heart thud against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

You were freaking out. —  Internally screaming while trying to look chill. — A classic.

You managed to give a casual little wave toward a nearby building. “Bathrooms that way,” you said, voice just a little too high-pitched to be completely natural. As the group started to wander in that direction, you pulled your phone closer to your chest, trying to hide your flushed cheeks behind it. You weren’t sure if you were overheating from the excitement of almost-hand-holding Jungkook, from the dizzy, half-panicked realization that he hadn’t pulled away — that he had wanted to stay close — or from the way he kept glancing at you now, like he was thinking about it too.

Either way, you were dangerously close to combusting.

And the night wasn’t even over yet.

You were the one who had begged for the bathroom break, but ironically, when you came out fresh-faced and trying to get your heart to beat normally again, it was Pascal who was still missing. The rest of you waited just outside the small public bathroom area, tucked against the side of the church. The cool night air wrapped around you, and without meaning to, you found yourself standing a little closer to Jungkook again.

He was quiet next to you, head slightly lowered, phone in hand. You glanced sideways, trying not to be obvious — but curiosity burned in you. Jungkook was texting, a small, shy smile playing on his lips as his thumbs flew across the screen. Every so often, he would type something, delete it, then retype it with more care.

If you could read Korean fast enough from that angle (which you couldn’t), you might have caught something like:

[🐰] : Hyungs… I’m so nervous I might die. Seriously.

[🐰] : I’ve spent the whole day with them and it’s so good it’s driving me crazy, haha.

[🐰] : It feels like butterflies are throwing a party in my stomach...

He quickly locked his phone when he noticed you looking in his direction, tucking it into his jacket pocket with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. You caught that chuckle and smiled to yourself, cheeks warming again. Finally, Pascal came jogging out, apologizing for the delay, and the four of you regrouped.

“Metro?” Pascal asked the group, glancing between you and Flora. It was just two stations — walkable, sure, but the metro would save time. You translated for Jungkook, and he nodded in agreement.

So the metro it was. The station wasn’t far, but the moment you descended underground, you realized the mistake: it was packed.

Way too many people. Way too little space.

You and Pascal cursed under your breath almost simultaneously — both of you being the smallest of the group and already hating cramped public transport situations. Flora, being tall and broad, carved a space around himself effortlessly, and Jungkook’s strong frame and solid build helped him stay upright even as people pushed and jostled around. But you?

You barely reached the overhead bars and had zero chance of grabbing onto anything. The sea of bodies swayed and pushed around you like a tide, and you knew immediately: this was going to be a nightmare.

When the metro car jolted with a hard start, you stumbled — and without even thinking, Jungkook caught you. His arm shot out, gripping the overhead pole running above the crowd. He positioned himself close to you, making sure if you were going to be squished against someone, it would be him. You leaned slightly on him, trying not to put your full weight against his side — but there wasn’t really a choice.

And then the metro braked hard at the first station.

You were sent flying — a small, helpless yelp leaving your lips — and instinctively you grabbed at Jungkook, fisting the front of his jacket. Even Jungkook had to plant his feet and shift his stance to keep steady, his muscles tensing under you. Without hesitation, he wrapped his free arm around your waist, firm and protective, pulling you flush against him.

He didn’t let go.

You were breathing fast, too aware of the way your hands clutched his hoodie and jacket, the way your cheek nearly brushed his chest, the faint scent of clean laundry and something distinctly Jungkook filling your nose.

You tried — once — to step back. To regain some polite distance.

But Jungkook bent slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and whispered in Korean, voice low and rough: “Just hold onto me. I got you.”

His breath was hot against your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air.

Your knees wobbled. Your heart thudded so hard you wondered if he could hear it too.

You gave a small, helpless nod against his chest, too overwhelmed to meet his eyes, and instead, gripped the front of his jacket tighter — knuckles white, fingers trembling slightly.  Jungkook tightened his arm around you just a fraction more, anchoring you securely against him for the rest of the ride. He was your solid ground in that chaotic, moving sea of strangers. And somehow, it felt like the whole world had shrunk again.

Just you and him, heartbeat to heartbeat.

As your stop neared, everyone started pressing forward, trying to position themselves near the doors. It was a chaos of bodies, jostling and pushing. Jungkook stayed close. Too close for you to think properly — but it was necessary.

With this many people, if you lost each other now, finding each other again would be impossible. You could just call Flora or Pascal but you hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with Jungkook – you didn’t want to impose. Without a word, Jungkook slipped his hand gently to the small of your back, warm and steady, steering you through the crush of people like you were the most precious thing he needed to protect. His hand wasn’t pushy, wasn’t possessive — it was guiding, reassuring. Like he wanted you to know he had you. That he wasn’t letting go.

You clutched the strap of your bag with both hands to keep from reaching back for him, heart rattling inside your chest like a trapped bird. Finally, the heavy metro doors hissed open, and you both spilled out into the station — breathing again, laughing breathlessly as the cool air of the outside hit your faces.

If someone had asked Jungkook what you looked like right then, flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips — he would have said, without hesitation: beautiful.

Maybe the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The museum was only a short walk away, and the fresh air helped you all shake off the claustrophobic energy of the metro. You entered the exhibition hall, and soon you were wandering through corridors of dim lighting, eerie soundtracks playing faintly in the background.

Glass cases displayed old movie props, some beautifully preserved, some delightfully grotesque. Fake vampire fangs, latex severed limbs, crumbling Nosferatu prosthetics — pieces of horror history carefully presented under spotlights. Flora, who until now had been relatively quiet, suddenly turned out to be a bizarre fountain of random movie trivia.

“That arm," Flora pointed at a disturbingly realistic severed hand in one of the cases, "was made with real animal bones inside to make it look more authentic when it moved."

You blinked. Jungkook blinked.

You caught the confused furrow of Jungkook’s brow and leaned close to murmur a translation into his ear in Korean, your breath brushing his skin:

 "They used real animal bones inside to make it look real."

Jungkook widened his eyes slightly, letting out a soft, surprised laugh, and whispered back:

 "That's crazy..."

You grinned at him, feeling ridiculously giddy that you could be the one translating this strange world for him.

As you moved on, you came to a corner that had been redesigned especially for tonight's event. It was marked with low flickering lights and a small, crooked wooden sign:

"Horror Walk — Enter If You Dare."

Inside, black curtains obscured the view, and occasional flashes of light and small shrieks from earlier participants hinted at what awaited. It wasn’t a full haunted house — more like a cramped hallway with actors hidden inside, ready to jump scare anyone brave (or foolish) enough to walk through.

You all stopped in front of it.

Pascal groaned dramatically, already shaking his head. "No, no, not for me..."

You laughed and turned to Jungkook.

"He hates jump scares."

Jungkook smiled, clearly amused, but his eyes flickered back to the dark curtains with a gleam that made your stomach twist deliciously.

“And you?” he asked softly, tilting his head toward you.

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip — horror walk with Jungkook? Half of you wanted to die of nerves. The other half wanted nothing more.

Flora, oblivious, was already striding forward to sign the little waiver the museum required. Pascal grumbled but followed. And Jungkook… well, Jungkook just watched you, waiting patiently for your answer.

You hesitated for a second before pushing through the thick black curtain, the material brushing heavily against your shoulders, swallowing you up into the dark.

Immediately, the world changed.

The hallway inside was nearly pitch black, save for faint, flickering lights far ahead. The floor creaked ominously beneath your feet. Somewhere deeper inside, you could hear recorded whispers, quiet footfalls, and the occasional high-pitched shriek that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

And then — a warm hand slipped into yours.

Properly, fully — Jungkook’s hand.

Strong, a little calloused, fitting into yours like it belonged there. You felt him step close behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his chest to your back. For a moment, you were too stunned to move.

He was just... holding your hand. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Deliberately.

You squeezed back, barely able to believe it was happening, and you felt the slight, quiet tremble of his fingers in yours. He was nervous too. The realization sent a bloom of something so sweet, so fragile through your chest, you thought you might actually float off the ground. Jungkook leaned down, mouth close to your ear.

 "Go ahead... I'll be right behind you."

You nodded mutely, and you started forward. Each cautious step you took echoed too loudly in the otherwise dead silence. Jungkook didn’t just walk behind you — he was guiding you, his hand sometimes sliding from your hand up lightly to your shoulder, to your waist, steadying you with feather-light touches whenever you flinched or hesitated. It was so subtle, so careful, like he was afraid to startle you more than the haunted hallway already was.

And then — something moved.

A figure — pale, twitching, all black eyes and sharp teeth — suddenly burst from a hidden panel in the wall beside you.

You shrieked, whipping around instinctively to run — but Jungkook was there, and you plowed straight into his chest. He laughed — a real, full laugh, delighted and breathless — and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you.

Not just a safe hug — no, Jungkook hugged you properly, one arm strong across your back, the other sneaking under your open jacket, pulling you against him like you were something he couldn't bear to let go.

Your cheek was pressed to the warm cotton of his shirt, his heartbeat thundering in your ear. You whimpered — you couldn’t help it — the sound slipping out, high-pitched and soft and far too vulnerable. You prayed, prayed, that Jungkook thought it was from fear.

(And not because the feel of his fingers brushing lightly over your back, beneath your jacket, was making your knees buckle.)

But Jungkook stiffened for a fraction of a second against you — his breath catching sharply in his chest.

Like he heard it differently.

Like he loved it.

His hand flattened against the small of your back, feeling you, grounding you to him. His nose brushed your hair, and you could have sworn you felt him inhale deeply, a tiny shudder running through his body. You stayed like that — pressed together, hearts hammering, the haunted hallway forgotten — for a few infinite seconds.

In the dimness, only you and Jungkook existed. Only the way his thumb was rubbing slow, barely-there circles at the base of your spine. Only the way you gripped handfuls of his jacket, hiding your burning face against him.

He tilted his head down, whispering into your hair in Korean, voice rough and breathless:

"It's okay... I'm here."

You could only nod — your words were locked somewhere deep in your chest, strangled by the overwhelming way he was holding you like you were precious, real, and somehow already his.

And if you weren't careful... You might never want to let him go.

You finished the haunted hallway clinging lightly to Jungkook’s jacket, every loud noise and sudden shadow making you tighten your grip for a second longer than necessary. You could feel Jungkook's hand still hovering at your lower back, ready to catch you again if needed — though you both moved slowly now, hearts not quite back to normal. When you finally stumbled out through the heavy exit curtain and back into the dim light of the movie exhibit, it was like breaking through to the surface after being underwater.

You gasped a little laugh, immediately stepping a half step away, remembering where you were. Remembering yourself. Jungkook hated it. Hated the tiny, polite distance you carefully placed between you and him again. Because he couldn’t just pull you back. Because even now, there were a few people here, and a badly taken photo would be a nightmare for both of you — and worst of all, you would be the one most hurt by it. He knew it.

But still. His hands twitched at his sides. His heart screamed.

He licked his lips slowly without even realizing it, staring after you — dazed, helpless, and ready to follow you anywhere. And he would have — he was about to — until Pascal suddenly spoke up.

“Pfff… Okay, I’m done. Horror walk has officially killed me,” Pascal groaned, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I need sugar. Then I’m out.”

You and Flora laughed, both nodding — though you covered a giant yawn behind your hand. It was nearly 2 a.m., after all. Even you, energized and excited, were visibly winding down now.

Jungkook’s heart stuttered in panic.

No. No, no, no. He didn’t have your number. He didn’t know where you lived. If you left now, you would just… be gone.

He could already feel it — that yawning space opening between you, the chance slipping away like sand between his fingers. While you and Flora casually debated which sweets stand was the best nearby, Jungkook frantically opened his group chat with his friends. His thumbs flew across his phone.

🐰: what do i do 🐰: i dont have her number 🐰: i cant lose her what do i do i cant just ask in front of everyone 🐰: HELP.

It took all of three seconds before his friends erupted in teasing.

😎 (Taehyung): lololol YOU'RE SCREWED 🐱 (Yoongi): Just ask her idiot. 🐿️ (Hoseok): Confess your undying love immediately. Go big or go home. 🐨 (Namjoon): Maybe just say you wanna text about the museum or something??? Chill bro.

Jungkook groaned under his breath, cheeks burning, still pretending to casually check his phone while you and Flora were oblivious. But Pascal was not oblivious.

🐰: i cant just SAY THAT. everyone is RIGHT HERE. 🐰: AND what if she says no 🐰: AND her friends will KNOW 🐰: AND then ill look like a desperate idiot

Taehyung was instantly bloodthirsty:

😎: you ARE a desperate idiot right now 😂

Hoseok added:

🐿️: Desperate and CUTE tho 🐿️: i believe in u soldier o7 🐿️: shoot your shot 🐿️: or steal her shoe and run so she HAS to find you later 🤡

Jungkook glared at his screen so hard he was sure the pixels would melt. Yoongi, the voice of (grumpy) reason, chimed in again:

🐱: just say you want to send her the museum address or something. 🐱: make it practical. not a confession, dumbass. 🐱: baby steps.

Jungkook thumbed back:

🐰: you make it sound easy hyung

Namjoon:

🐨: bc it IS easy 🐨: you’re just a lovesick mess rn

Jungkook ran a hand down his face, accidentally bumping shoulders with Flora, who glanced over in mild concern. He flinched and smiled a little too fast, tucking his phone behind his back as if he could read it.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was merciless:

😎: tell her you saw a ghost and the only way to be safe is to exchange numbers. spiritual protection reasons. 😎: very serious. 😎: for safety reasons

Jungkook huffed a tiny breathless laugh despite himself — and immediately bit it down when you turned slightly, giving him a small, questioning smile. He coughed into his fist and looked away.

He was losing it.

And then — Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook caught Pascal watching him. Really watching him. Sharp, assessing — and then… almost kind. Pascal stepped close enough that Jungkook could see the screen of Pascal’s phone when he tilted it forward — a message typed out in clear, simple English with its translation into Korean next to it.

"Normally Flora and I bring her home if it’s this late. But if you want to take her home instead, we will leave you two alone?"

Jungkook froze. His mouth went dry. He blinked — once, twice — rereading it to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from sleep deprivation or love-induced madness. When he finally looked up, wide-eyed, cheeks glowing bright red, Pascal just grinned at him — like a cat that had stolen the cream.

But Pascal’s smile turned serious in the next second.

He held Jungkook’s gaze firmly, and then, in slow, careful English that even he understood very clearly, he added:

"Just don’t hurt her."

The unspoken "or else" hung heavy between them.

Jungkook nodded immediately. Seriously. From the deepest part of himself. There wasn’t even a fraction of hesitation. He would rather cut off his own hand than hurt you.

Pascal seemed satisfied with that. He clapped Jungkook lightly on the shoulder, nodded once like a silent deal had been struck — and turned back toward Flora and you, who were laughing about how creepy some of the fake horror props had been.

Jungkook finally, finally allowed himself to breathe. He straightened, the panic in his chest easing just a little. He still didn’t know exactly how he was going to ask you — but now, at least, he had more time.

The four of you had gotten your sweet treats from Pascal’s favorite late-night stand — some homemade fudge and steaming paper cones of roasted almonds that perfumed the cool night air with caramel sugar.

You crunched your way through them peacefully, laughing with Flora about the terrible fake blood on one specific prop, while Pascal made dry commentary about how he’d seen scarier things at his tax office. Jungkook stayed close but quiet, occasionally smiling wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkled, but he was still a little in his own head — winding down slowly from everything.

The walk to your designated tram stop was calm. Different from the chaotic crowd earlier — this station was just a little one, off the main roads. You stood together on the almost empty platform, idly chatting while waiting for your tram to rattle in. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how the fluorescent lights made your skin look almost soft and glowing. He inched just a little closer, under the weak excuse of hearing you better, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets to stop himself from touching you again.

When the tram finally rolled in, it sighed and squealed against the tracks, and you all climbed inside together, still half-laughing over Pascal's bad jokes. It was quiet inside. Jungkook had just gotten used to the idea that he'd be sitting next to you for the rest of the ride — half-savoring, half-panicking about it — when it happened.

At the last possible second, just before the doors banged shut, Pascal and Flora jumped out. You both turned — mouths open, stunned — too late to follow. The doors slid closed with a harsh thump, locking the two of you in.

Alone.

The station outside slipped away into the darkness. You stared after them, frozen, and then muttered under your breath, a little stunned, "Fuckers."

Jungkook’s brows shot up — he didn't need any translation for that one. Even without knowing the word exactly, your tone said everything. He flushed immediately, dropping his gaze, rocking awkwardly on his heels.

"I... uh..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry... about... this situation," he said, clearly flustered, almost apologetic. His English was slow and careful, like he wanted to get it perfect for you. "I didn’t... mean to trap you?"

You blinked at him, heart twisting painfully at how sweet he was being about it — how he looked genuinely sorry, like he was afraid you’d be mad. Quickly, you smiled, trying to reassure him.

"I don’t mind," you said warmly, pulling out your phone. You tapped at the screen, pulling up the tram map, trying to figure out how he could get back to the Korean restaurant where you'd first met — it seemed like a million years ago already. You held it up to him, meaning to make it easy for him to jump ship if he needed. But Jungkook's face fell the second he understood.

He pointed at himself, then at you, his brows furrowing.

"You... don't want... me... to bring you?" he asked, his voice a little small, a little uncertain. His words were halting but sincere.

"If not... okay... I go. But—" He fumbled, gesturing at your phone and then back at you, urgent, "—I... pay taxi. So you get home safe."

You stared at him, completely blindsided.

"You..." You laughed, a little breathless, a little floored. "You want to take me home?"

Jungkook's ears burned visibly. He nodded so fast you were surprised his head didn’t snap off. "Yes," he said. "Yes... I want."

"But..." you faltered, still confused, feeling your heart race, "I don’t want to steal your time..."

He shook his head, frantic, taking half a step closer without realizing it.

"You don’t!" he insisted, voice low and urgent. "You don’t. I... I want... time with you."

He sucked in a shaky breath after that, eyes locked onto yours so fiercely you couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

"I choose." He had said it slower, firmer, so earnest it nearly knocked you off your feet. And you realized then — this was why Pascal and Flora had ditched you two at the last second. This was why Pascal had grinned like a madman. Jungkook had asked for it. He had flushed madly, panicked, but asked to be alone with you.

The tram clattered along the tracks under your feet, a quiet lullaby to the storm inside your chest. Your cheeks burned as you tucked your phone away again, pretending not to notice how Jungkook's hand hovered close to yours, not quite brave enough to touch yet.

He was still trying so hard — speaking English, clumsy but heartfelt, making it easier for you.

You smiled up at him shyly, and said, "We can keep talking in Korean."

Jungkook’s face lit up like a sunrise. He leaned in just slightly, like you had given him the best gift.

"I... want make easy for you, like you made it easy for me," he said, grinning wide, chest puffing up a little like he was proud of himself. "I want... you happy."

God. You felt like you were melting right there in the rattling subway car.

"I appreciate it," you said, voice soft but sure. The train rumbled to a stop a few moments later. You stepped out into the quiet coolness of the late night — your stop. The streets were empty, just the low hum of a far-off car or two, the golden glow of distant street lamps. You started walking, your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

Jungkook hovered close to your side, not touching, but close enough that you could feel his body heat seeping through the chilly night air. You risked a glance at him — the way his hands were tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the soft furrow between his brows like he was deep in thought.

Gathering your courage, you blurted out, "Can... can I ask you something personal, personal?"

You rushed to add, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Jungkook’s mouth curled into a wide, amused grin. He gave a little huff of a laugh, absolutely delighted with you. It wasn’t lost on him how careful you were — how, even now, after all the laughing, the horror walk, the sweets and jokes, you still treated him with so much respect. You hadn’t prodded or demanded like some people did, hadn’t poked at him like a shiny object.

Even now, you offered him the dignity of choice. And without hesitation, he nodded.

"Ask," he said warmly.

You bit your lip for a second, cheeks heating.

"Why are you here?" you asked finally. "I mean... here in this town? It’s not exactly... special."

For a moment, you worried you might have offended him. You searched his face for any sign of irritation. But Jungkook just smiled, slow and a little secret, like you had stumbled into something true.

"Holiday," he said. "Smaller cities... make it easier to blend. Easier to be..." He paused, tapping his chest lightly, "me."

Your eyes widened in understanding. You nodded quickly. "That... that makes sense."

It did. In a small city like this, he could just be Jungkook — not the star, not the phenomenon — just a guy eating sweets at 2am, laughing at terrible horror props, getting fake blood splashed on his shoes. The conversation loosened after that. He invited you to ask more.

You asked him his favorite food (which, predictably, made him light up and ramble about samgyeopsal and ramen), and he asked you about your work. He teased you gently about your horror movie squeamishness, and you teased him back for how much he liked it when you clung to him.

The walk to your apartment passed faster than you thought possible — fifteen minutes that felt like seconds. As your building came into view under the sleepy halo of the streetlights, you slowed to a stop — but your feet didn’t quite want to stay still.

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Jungkook.

Not with how warm the night still felt despite the chill in the air. Not with how close he was — real and quiet and nervously alive beside you.

You turned toward him, heart stumbling in your chest — and that’s when you noticed. He was fidgeting nervously on the spot, shifting from foot to foot like he couldn't settle. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides. He bit at his lip ring — hard — like it had personally offended him.

And he was looking at you.

No — he was looking at your lips.

It hit you like a freight train, how charged the air had become — how close you still were, how much he was holding himself back. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. And suddenly, you were excited all over again — and anxious, and dizzy, and so full of heat you could barely breathe.

Your fingers fumbled with your keys, looking between him and your building and him again, like you couldn’t decide which thing was more terrifying. And Jungkook just stood there, wrecked with nerves, looking like he desperately wanted something but didn’t know if he was allowed to take it.

And then, shy and barely above a whisper, you found your voice.

“Do you… um…” You cleared your throat, cheeks blazing. “Would you like to come up? Just for a bit?”

You gestured toward the building with a tilt of your chin, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “I mean, the next tram won’t come for a while. Not that you couldn’t just get a taxi or something, obviously, but—”

“Yes.”

His voice cut through your ramble — soft but breathless. Like he’d been waiting. Like he couldn’t let you talk yourself out of it.

“Yes,” he repeated, and stepped just a little closer.

You blushed so hard you almost dropped your keys. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to them, amused, but didn’t say anything. He just smiled — the kind that made your insides unravel — and waited while you got the door open, heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest.

You stepped inside and let him follow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the creak of the floorboards, the faint smell of the candle you’d blown out earlier, the slight mess in the sink you hadn’t quite tackled yet. It wasn’t bad — you’d cleaned yesterday, thankfully — but still, you couldn’t help the little twinge of embarrassment that bloomed in your chest.

Jungkook stepped inside gently, quiet and careful, like he didn’t want to disturb the air. He looked around slowly, eyes drifting over your space — the small bookshelf, the couch, the dish rack, the jacket tossed over a chair. The framed prints on your wall. The mug with the chipped rim on the counter.

Then his eyes caught on something else.

The wall of photos near your kitchen door.

He wandered a little closer after leaving his cap his shoes an jacket at your front door, expression softening as he scanned over them — a chaotic, joyful collage. There were pictures of you with friends, some clearly older and sun-faded. Others more recent, printed in glossy bursts of color. One where you and Flora were mid-laugh in a garden, holding fake knives from a Halloween display. Another where Pascal had his head in your lap while you looked mock-annoyed, eyes rolling but clearly fond.

Several photos showed you and Pascal together, reenacting sculptures — in museums, parks, once even a fountain. Jungkook paused in front of one where a much younger you stood frozen with Pascal beside you, both of you mimicking a classical marble pose with serious faces and ridiculous commitment.

He laughed, soft and surprised. “This really is … your thing?”

You hovered awkwardly behind him, feeling both warm and embarrassed. “We started doing them when we were, like, fifteen? It just… stuck.”

Jungkook smiled. “I like it.”

Then, shifting just a bit, his gaze flicked to the shelf next to the pictures — the one with your music collection. His eyes caught on the row of albums tucked to one side. Some of them were his. Not all, but a few. One of his solo projects. A BTS album with the spine worn from too many plays. Another still wrapped in its original plastic. Even an AgustD album between them all.

He blinked once — and then grinned.

Wide. Mischievous. Almost smug.

You groaned immediately, dragging a hand down your face. Jungkook laughed — really laughed this time — head tilting back slightly, hair falling into his eyes as his shoulders shook.

“You have… good taste,” he teased and pretended to examine the shelf like a judge at an art gallery. “And very supportive heart.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re impossible.”

He looked at you over his shoulder, and smiled softer now — shy, like he couldn’t quite believe he was here either.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “but I’m glad you let me in.”

Your heart was doing ridiculous things in your chest and Jungkook's presence felt too big and too close in your tiny home, you managed to clear your throat and ask, “Do you want something to drink?”

Your voice was light — too light — and you didn’t wait for his answer before turning toward the fridge, using it as an excuse to collect yourself. Trying to be a good host. You needed something to do, anything to stop you from watching the way he leaned against the counter like he belonged there, sleeves shoved up to his forearms, lip ring catching the dim light whenever he bit at it.

Jungkook chuckled quietly behind you, following your movement. “Water’s fine,” he said.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and opening the fridge. The cool air hit your face, grounding, and you took an extra second longer than necessary, using the excuse to breathe. Just as you were closing the fridge door again, Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

You turned around, confused — blinking at him over the rim of the glass. “You’ve kind of been doing that all evening.”

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth, but he looked a little sheepish, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I mean… something different.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

He looked at you for a moment — not scanning or judging, just looking, like trying to figure out how best to ask. Then: “Why are you like this?”

You blinked. Paused. Raised an eyebrow slowly.

“…Excuse me?”

The expression on your face made him huff at himself, rubbing the back of his neck, already regretting his wording.

“I didn’t mean it like— Not in a bad way,” he rushed, words tumbling now. “I mean… the way you’ve treated me all night. Like I’m not… you know—me.”

You stayed quiet, curious but cautious.

“You’ve barely mentioned anything about music,” he said, softer now. “You didn’t bring up BTS. You didn’t ask for a photo, or… anything like that. It’s like…” He shrugged helplessly. “You’re trying really hard not to.”

You exhaled, slowly. Set the glass down.

“Oh,” you said, a little caught off guard. “Well… yeah.”

He waited, head tilted, expression open.

You licked your lips, nervous. “I didn’t know if you’d want that. I mean… You’re a person. A really successful one, yeah, but… you seemed like you just wanted to have a normal dinner, a normal night. And I didn’t want to ruin that by acting weird or clingy or making you feel like I only saw you as this… brand.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, so you kept going, fumbling your way through, but pacing yourself so he could understand you.

“I mean you are that brand but also aren’t. You’re a person first, right? I figured asking for pictures or autographs would be rude. Probably you’re not even allowed to talk about certain things? So I didn’t want to put you in a position where it got awkward or uncomfortable. I didn’t want to cross a line. Even if part of me…” You hesitated, smiled sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, part of me might curse myself later. When this ends and you go back to your world, to being that Jungkook again, is gonna hate myself later for not asking you for a picture or an autograph.”

That earned a small breath of laughter from him.

“But honestly? Just… being with you like this? Talking and laughing and walking around — it’s better than any signed album. Because you are way nicer than I ever imagined.”

You didn’t know what expression you expected from him. Maybe gratitude. Maybe amusement. But you didn’t expect him to look stunned. Utterly stunned — like you’d knocked the wind out of him. He stared for a second longer, lips parted, eyes soft and disbelieving.

And then — without warning — he stepped forward and huggedyou.

Just like that. No hesitation. No awkward shuffle. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting all night to do it, like something fragile inside him had finally let go. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way he breathed in like he needed to memorize the shape of this moment. Your hands found their way to his back instinctively, curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He smelled like something warm, something clean. His lip ring was cool against your temple where he pressed his face into your hair, exhaling like he hadn’t realized he needed to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muffled in your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to… to explain. I just— No one’s ever… not many treat me like that.”

You blinked, hands slowly rising to rest against his sides.

“I didn’t know I needed it.” he added, quieter.

Your heart ached in the best way. You tilted your head just slightly so your cheek could rest against his shoulder. Jungkook’s arms loosened gradually, his body lingering in the space between you. His hands slid down your sides with featherlight care, as though he wasn’t ready to let go — not really. When he leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes were unreadable for a second. Then they dropped.

To your lips.

And stayed there.

The weight of his stare made it suddenly hard to breathe. You swallowed, heart stammering in your chest as you watched him try — and fail — to drag his gaze back up to your eyes. When he did, it was with effort, as if every fiber of him still wanted to be looking at your mouth instead. He licked his bottom lip slowly — not teasing, not calculated — just hungry, barely restrained. The silver of his lip ring caught on the light, glinting like a warning and a promise all at once.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't look away. Not now. Especially not when he began leaning in, inch by cautious inch, until you were close enough to feel his breath ghost over your skin — warm and soft and tasting faintly of something sweet he’d eaten earlier.

And then his lips touched yours.

A soft, reverent press. Not hesitant exactly — more like he was savoring it. Like he’d imagined this and didn’t want to rush the real thing. The kiss was gentle at first — his lips pillowy and warm, fitting against yours so naturally it felt like falling into something you’d been meant to find. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him without even realizing you’d moved, needing something to hold onto because your entire body felt too light, too giddy, too alive.

A flurry of butterflies erupted in your chest, trying to claw their way out of you.

His tongue flicked out — a slow, tentative kitten lick across your lower lip, as if asking, May I? And when your lips parted on a soft, involuntary sound — a whimper, a mewl, something needy and breathless — Jungkook’s breath caught against your skin.

That was all he needed.

The kiss deepened, hot and slow and aching. His tongue slid against yours, smooth and searching, tasting you like you were something precious. He kissed like he wanted to learn everything — the shape of your mouth, the way your breath stuttered, the soft sounds you made when his lips moved just so.

You trembled in his arms, overwhelmed.

One of his hands clenched gently at your hip, not hard but firm, anchoring you. The other drifted up to your neck, then into your hair near your hairline — fingers threading in softly and holding you still, keeping you close. He tilted your head just enough to fit better against him, to deepen the kiss just a little more, and everything about the way he touched you made you feel fragile and wanted all at once.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to let you breathe again. Your eyes fluttered open. You were trembling. Jungkook’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips slightly parted and kissed-red, a glint of wetness catching on the silver of his lip ring. His thumb brushed your jaw, and only then did you realize your whole body was buzzing. That you were flushed to the roots. That your knees felt like jelly.

That you might very well throw up your heart onto the floor.

He looked at you like you were art. And all you could do was stare back at him, still holding onto his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.  Jungkook didn’t step away after the kiss ended. His breath mingled with yours, warm and shallow between you. His eyes searched your face like he needed to see everything — the tremble in your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shaky rhythm with his.

“Was that… okay?” he asked.

His voice was deeper now, rough around the edges — like gravel softened by velvet. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. He was touching you like he couldn’t help it — like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, just mapping your skin under his fingers.

Your voice caught in your throat.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest tight with everything you couldn’t put into words. It was more than okay — it felt like your entire body had been lit from within, nerves firing in every direction. But Jungkook didn’t accept just a nod.

“Words,” he said, low and hoarse, the demand wrapping around you like silk laced with fire.

Your breath hitched. “Y–Yeah.” It came out as more air than voice. You tried again, voice trembling with sincerity. “Yes. It’s… it’s really okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on his lips — soft and sinful at the same time — and before you could even begin to catch your breath again, he was kissing you. This time it wasn’t tentative. This was deeper, hungrier — his mouth opening over yours like he meant to leave a mark on your soul. His hands gripped your waist as your breath stuttered, and your fingers dug into the soft cotton of his hoodie again. The kiss was slow and consuming, drawing you under like a tide pulling you out to sea.

Your knees buckled, and he noticed — instantly.

Without breaking the kiss, Jungkook moved you. His strong arms wrapped around you like it was effortless, and in a few guided steps, your back bumped softly against the edge of the kitchen counter. Then, with practiced strength and surprising gentleness, he lifted you — one smooth motion — and set you down on the surface.

A startled yelp slipped from your lips, swallowed almost immediately by his mouth returning to yours. Your thighs instinctively parted for him as he stepped between your legs, his chest brushing yours, his warmth enveloping you. His hand returned to your neck, fingers curling softly into the hair at your nape, tilting your head just how he liked it. You sighed into his mouth, long and low, surrendering completely to the feel of him.

He smiled against your lips — you felt it — and it made your heart twist.

You threaded your hands through his hair, fingertips brushing the undercut at the base of his skull. The strands were soft and thick, and he made a low sound at the contact — almost a groan, half-muffled by your lips. One of your hands lingered at the back of his neck, the other trailed across his shoulders, grounding yourself against the solid heat of him.

You locked your legs around his hips without thinking, drawing him in closer. You could feel everything — the tension in his body, the thrum of his heart against yours, the slow burn of something heavy and overwhelming settling low in your belly.

Jungkook’s lips never strayed far, brushing soft kisses across your jaw, down your neck, like he was committing you to memory one breath at a time. His hands began to explore more boldly now, firm but reverent — one anchoring at your hip, the other sliding slowly up your side. The heat of his touch burned through your clothes, every inch of your skin responding as if drawn by static, nerves flickering to life under his fingers.

When his palm swept along your spine, warm and purposeful, you arched into him instinctively — a soft whimper escaping your lips. It wasn’t dramatic or intentional, just pure reaction. A quiet sound of need you couldn’t hold back. Jungkook chuckled low against your throat, lips ghosting your skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, voice rich with affection and something deeper — hunger laced with wonder. The way he said it made you shiver.

His hands moved again, slower now, more exploratory — like he was discovering a secret. One hand slid around, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your top. He hesitated for a breath, as if waiting for you to stop him, to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, a small, pleased sound caught in your throat, your head falling slightly back, lips parted with your next shallow inhale.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at you, to really look — your lips kiss-swollen and pink, your cheeks flushed with heat, your chest rising and falling fast beneath your shirt.

"Still okay?" he asked, voice deeper now, strained at the edges.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You could barely speak. The word came out in a sigh, like it had to push through every beat of your racing heart. And Jungkook looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His hand found the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping just beneath. His touch on your bare skin was devastating — warm and sure as he slowly skimmed up your sides. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, watching every reaction. When his hand spread over your ribs and moved inward, your breath hitched violently, your back arching again with a sharp, involuntary gasp.

He exhaled shakily. “Fuck…”

“Jungkook…” You said his name like it was a confession, like it was the only word your mouth could remember how to form.

His gaze flickered down.

His fingers had found the curve of your breast now, brushing just along the edge of your bra — testing boundaries, testing your reactions. His thumb slowly traced the line of skin exposed above the cup, and your whole body clenched in response. Your thighs tightened around him, and your hands clutched at his shoulders like you needed something to anchor you.

And still, he looked up at you. Not for permission anymore — for the sheer pleasure of watching the way you unraveled under his hands. You were dizzy. Melting. Your head swam with heat and need, everything in you drawn to the man between your legs.

Jungkook leaned in again, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his voice barely more than breath: “You feel so good under my hands.”

You whimpered, knees falling wider, his hips slotting in deeper between your legs as you clung to him. He was hard now — you could feel it clearly against your center, even through your clothes, and the realization sent a rush of heat crashing through you.

Jungkook’s hand cupped your breast with more intention now, squeezing gently — just enough to draw a soft, breathy moan from your lips. The sound made him groan low in his throat, hips instinctively pressing forward against you, desperate for friction. His other hand slid down, gripping your hip and guiding you closer to the edge of the counter. The shift in position brought you flush against him, and you could feel the hard press of him right where you were aching — it was dizzying, maddening.

Your head dropped to his shoulder as your breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his neck. His scent was intoxicating — clean, musky, something uniquely him — and when your lips brushed over the strong line of his throat, you felt him shudder against you.

He kept touching you, his thumb sliding beneath the edge of your bra, then gently dragging his nail over your nipple in a teasing, deliberate motion that made your body jerk in his arms. You gasped into his neck, breath trembling as you held onto him tighter, your hands fisting the fabric of his hoodie. It was too much and not enough at once — your chest heaved, lips parting in silent pleading as he kept up the slow, torturous rhythm.

The heat between your thighs pulsed in time with the friction of his hips pressed snugly between yours. The thick ridge of him, even through layers of clothing, made your breath catch again. You were soaked. Desperate. A throbbing need built between your legs that had your toes curling, your legs tightening around his hips to keep him there, to keep him close.

You kissed his neck again, slower this time, your lips lingering as you let your hand roam upward, over the hard plane of his chest. Every muscle under your palm felt tense— his heart hammering in time with yours. You wanted to touch more. All of him. But your hand hovered at the space between you, not quite daring to move lower. The friction where your bodies met was too good, too electric to disrupt.

Jungkook’s breath came hard against your ear now, his lips ghosting over your temple as he whispered, almost helplessly, “You’re driving me crazy…” He was losing control slowly — and loving it.

Your answer was a soft whimper, your hips shifting unconsciously against his. He grunted, a ragged sound low in his chest, as his hand moved to cup the fullness of your breast more fully now, thumbing your nipple in slow, aching circles that had you arching into him.

Your skin felt too tight. Your nerves were on fire. And all you could think about was how good his hands felt, how good he felt — everywhere. Jungkook didn’t stop. His hands roamed your body like he was learning it by heart — your curves, your gasps, the places that made you arch and whimper. He was reverent but hungry, like he wanted to devour and worship you in the same breath.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, every inch of you buzzing with anticipation and heat as his thumb grazed your nipple again, sending a ripple of pleasure straight through your core. Your hips rocked instinctively against him, and the friction made you dizzy.

Your hands clung to him, your mouth brushing his jaw as your voice came out barely louder than a whisper — raw and vulnerable and wrecked.

“Please… touch me.”

Jungkook froze for half a heartbeat. His pupils blew wide, his jaw clenched, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. His voice came out deep, rough, already hoarse with need.

“Fuck… yeah. I—” he faltered, breath catching as he tried to anchor himself, “where?”

At first, you misunderstood. You reached down between you both, your hand shaking slightly — from nerves, from want, from the sheer surreal intimacy of the moment — and you guided his hand, bold and trembling, right between your legs. Over the heated fabric of your pants, pressing him there, where you ached for him most.

Jungkook let out a strangled groan, his head falling to your shoulder for a second like the sensation had physically knocked the breath from him. His fingers flexed instinctively, feeling the heat, even through the layers.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice shredded with disbelief and need. He kissed you again, rougher this time, a little desperate, and then drew back just enough to stammer, “Bed?”

The word was simple. Hopeful. Because he could take you here — wanted to, ached to — but he didn’t want this to be a rushed, stolen thing. Not when it was your first time like this. Not when it was you. Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly looked flustered, realizing what he had meant.

“Oh… there,” you said softly, cheeks burning. You nodded toward the door to your room, utterly mortified at your mistake, your voice nearly swallowed by your own breathlessness. You shifted, meaning to slide off the counter and find your footing again, to lead him there — but Jungkook didn’t let you go.

He gripped your waist and pulled you in, grinding you against his hardness. Your thighs clenched around him, and the gasp you let out — broken and shameless — made him hiss through his teeth. You couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t think. He grinned against your throat, a cocky glint in his eyes that he didn’t even try to hide.

“God, you sound good,” he muttered, before lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

Your arms locked around his neck as your nose buried against his skin, still dizzy with how fast this was spiraling. But it felt right. Real. Like something that had been waiting to happen for far too long. He carried you through the hallway, pushing your bedroom door open with his shoulder, never once letting you go. The world was muffled. It was just him. Just you.

He set you down onto the bed like you were precious, his, but he didn’t give you space — didn’t even move back an inch. His body hovered over yours, gaze burning down at you, and he let his hand settle low, palming you again through the fabric of your pants. Your hips lifted into his hand involuntarily, and the moan that slipped from your lips was downright filthy. He chuckled darkly, satisfied, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. “So,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, “where do you want me to touch you again?”

You wanted to answer. You meant to answer.

But his hand rubbed slow, teasing circles, and your head fell back into the pillows. All you could do was feel.

He didn’t stay teasing long. After one more slow press of his palm, he pulled back just enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pants, silently asking for more. You nodded frantically, lips parted, chest rising and falling as if you’d just run miles.

“Okay?” he asked again, that final, precious line of respect in his voice — even with his body trembling above you. You reached for him, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Yes. Please, Jungkook.”

He kissed you like he needed to taste those words again.

Then he peeled your pants down with aching care — reverent and focused — revealing more of you to him, inch by inch, as the last threads of restraint started to unravel. His hand moved lower with deliberate slowness, fingers tracing the outline of your panties like he was drawing a boundary he intended to cross — a line of reverence and tension. His touch was warm, electric, his fingertips ghosting along the thin fabric as if memorizing the way it clung to you.

He licked his lips instinctively, then caught the edge of his lip ring between his teeth — his eyes catching the wet sheen of you through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath, chest rising, voice strained. “You're soaked…wet…”

The wonder in his voice made your stomach flip. Not cocky — awed. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then his thumb pressed down, slowly, directly over your clit through the damp cloth. The pressure made you jolt, breath catching hard in your throat.

His other hand slid beneath your shirt, and you arched into him instinctively. The fabric pushed up around your ribs and you made quick work of it — pulling it over your head and tossing it blindly aside, leaving your hair tousled and wild. You barely had time to take another breath before your bra joined it, hands shaking slightly with how overwhelmed you already felt.

But Jungkook… Jungkook had stopped moving. His eyes were locked on your body now — unmoving, dark, devouring. His lips were parted, his expression torn between reverence and hunger.

“God,” he said, almost like it hurt. “You're… fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You barely had time to react before he shifted lower, pushing you back onto the bed and settling between your legs. His mouth descended, warm and wet, and he kissed the swell of your breast before taking one of your nipples between his lips — gently at first, sucking just enough to make you moan, and then his teeth grazed lightly. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as the sensation sparked down your spine.

And at the same time — god, at the same time — his hand didn’t stop.

His thumb flicked again over your clit through your underwear, a slow, maddening stroke, before he hooked his fingers around the side and pulled the soaked fabric aside. The sudden exposure made you shiver. His fingers dipped lower — warm, thick — and then, without warning, he slid one finger inside you.

You cried out his name.

It tore from you without shame, your hips bucking against his hand. Your legs shook immediately, the sensation too good, too much. He groaned above you, mouth still warm on your breast, his breath stuttering.

“You’re—fuck,” he swore again, licking his lips as he looked down at the way your body welcomed him. “You’re so wet.”

He worked that finger gently, then added a second with ease. The stretch made your knees jerk, your thighs instinctively trying to close — but Jungkook was already there, pressing one of his hands firmly to your thigh to hold you open.

His head tilted up, eyes locked to yours.

“Don’t look away,” he growled. “Look at me.”

The command in his voice made your breath catch again — and god, the way he stared at you, the way he looked at you, like he could read every twitch of your body and wanted to worship it — it only made the heat coiling in your stomach burn hotter.

You looked at him, lips parted, breath shallow. You could feel it — god, you could feel it — the wetness between your legs only growing with every slow, deliberate push of Jungkook’s fingers. Every time he slid into you, you felt how soaked you were, how easily he moved inside you, how thoroughly your body gave in to him. He had to feel it too — the way your slick coated his fingers, warm and eager.

But then, your thoughts blurred completely.

His thumb dragged down again, pressing more firmly over your clit this time, shifting the soaked fabric aside with a slick sound that made your breath stutter. His fingers inside you twisted slightly, working you open with a rhythm that wasn’t fast, but devastatingly effective — controlled, calculated. His other hand gripped the inside of your thigh, firm and steady, holding you open like you might squirm away if he let up for even a second.

And his eyes — god, those dark, fixed eyes — didn’t leave you.

He wasn’t just watching you fall apart — he was studying you, memorizing how you responded to every inch of pressure.

Then — there.

A rough, almost brutal thrust of his fingers hit something inside you that made your entire body jolt, a raw, uncontrolled moan tearing from your lips as your eyes rolled back. His grip on your thigh tightened instantly, fingers stalling deep inside you. “Eyes on me.”

You gasped, breath catching in your throat, and somehow managed to look back at him — only to find him already smiling. Not cocky. Not smug. But darkly satisfied. Like he’d just discovered your favorite sin.

“There it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. And then he pushed again. Same place. Same pace. Your legs trembled, your back arched. Your breath came in broken gasps, and your eyes fluttered shut—

His hand stopped again.

A soft, amused chuckle met your ears. “Look at me.”

It took everything you had, but you opened your eyes again. And the second you did, he rewarded you — with movement, with pressure, with maddening precision. It was too much. And not enough. And perfect.

You cried out his name, trembling underneath him, your hands scrambling for anything to ground yourself. One hand found your breast, gripping and pinching your nipple as the pleasure became too much to contain. The other clawed at the sheets beneath you.

Jungkook's gaze darkened even more — if that was possible. His eyes darted from your face to your hand on your chest, lips parted in pure, ruined hunger. The hand holding your thigh squeezed tighter, almost bruising — but the way it made you whimper only spurred him on.

He couldn’t help himself.

His fingers with a mind of their own move faster — still deliberate, but harder now, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs, and it hit again, that spot inside you, over and over, as he watched you touch yourself. You shattered with a sob, your body arching, legs trembling uncontrollably as you unraveled beneath him.

And then —as you came apart around his hand — Jungkook’s eyes snapped back up to yours.

He looked stunned. Like he’d surprised even himself.

You tried so hard to keep your gaze locked with his, obedient even through your climax, but it overwhelmed you. Still, the moment your vision cleared, you saw him watching — intensely, reverently — and he slowly pulled his fingers from your heat, making you flinch with the oversensitivity.

You let out a soft hiss, and he soothed it with a small kiss on your thigh.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d done to you — what you’d let him do. His fingers — the ones that had just been buried deep inside you — rose to his lips, and with maddening slowness, he licked them clean. Every last bit. Tongue curling over the pads of his fingers, tasting you with a groan he barely held back.

And somehow, impossibly, you felt yourself getting wet all over again.

Your chest still heaving, you barely noticed him shift lower until you felt the first brush of his hand against your hips again. The one that had held your thigh open now moved with purpose to your panties — still pushed to the side, soaked beyond reason. He tugged them gently down, over your hips, down your thighs, peeling them from your skin like a gift being unwrapped.

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours again, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“You want more?”

Like he didn’t already know.

“Yes,” you breathed out, the word little more than a gasp, heavy and desperate. Your hands reached for him, clumsy but determined, trying to push him out of his goddamn clothes. Jungkook let out a low, shaky laugh, letting you tug at his hoodie, your lips barely parting from his as your fingers slipped beneath the hem. The kiss was messy, heated, a collision of mouths and breath as clothes were stripped away.

By the time his jeans hit the floor with a thud, Jungkook was already reaching into his wallet, pulling out some foil packets. His fingers worked quickly to tear one open, but you had other plans. Your hands slid over his hips, under the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, your mouth was on him.

“Shit—” he gasped, his whole body jolting at the feel of your lips wrapping around him, heat and wetness and pressure all at once. His head fell back slightly, one hand tangling in your hair while the other still fumbled with the condom. “Fuck—wait—wait—” His voice cracked, hoarse with restraint. “I—I don’t wanna cum yet—I want to be inside you.”

You slowed, torturously slow, your mouth dragging off of him with one final, sinful swirl of your tongue that made his thighs twitch beneath you. He groaned, deep and guttural, watching you with wild eyes—completely wrecked without even being inside you yet. You smiled, smug and playful, licking your lips as you sat back on your heels.

Jungkook barely took a second before rolling the condom on, his chest rising and falling sharply, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that existed.

Then, suddenly, his hand came up, gripping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a bruising kiss. His weight shifted back, and you yelped in surprise as he fell onto the bed, taking you with him, his mouth never leaving yours. You laughed breathlessly against his lips, adjusting, moving to straddle him—knees braced on either side of his hips, your soaked core brushing against the hard line of him through the condom.

The heat between you was unbearable.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, letting him feel exactly how ready you were. His hands gripped your ass, grounding you against him with a low moan. He gave one cheek a firm slap, just enough to make you jump slightly, and you reached down between your bodies to line him up.

With a deep breath, you sank down.

The stretch was delicious, making your eyes flutter closed as he filled you inch by inch. “Fuck…” he breathed, watching where your bodies joined, one hand sliding from your hip to your waist to your chest. He needed something else to look at—anything—because the sight of you sinking down on him so slowly was too much.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his head falling back into the pillow, but his eyes never left you—not as you took him all the way, not as your walls fluttered around him, struggling to adjust to his size.

You stilled when he was fully seated inside you, needing a moment to breathe, to steady yourself. Jungkook’s hands roamed your body—palming your breasts, caressing your thighs—his eyes dark and hungry as he waited for you to move.

Then, slowly, you began to roll your hips.

The sensation made your breath stutter, the friction deep and consuming. Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movement, but letting you take control. Each time you moved, you ground down just a little harder, your pace building gradually, as the room filled with the sounds of slick skin and shared moans.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook groaned, his fingers digging into your hips like he was trying to hold himself together. “So tight… so wet—fuck—just like that.”

You leaned forward, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair, and kissed him again—open-mouthed and breathless—as you began to move faster. The pleasure mounted sharply, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, his eyes glued to the way you moved above him.

Every roll of your hips, every bounce, pulled another broken sound from his throat. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting just slightly off the bed, pushing deeper, harder, chasing the high that was starting to spiral through both of you.

And still—those eyes. Always locked on you.

You could feel the pressure building in your core, heat coiling impossibly tight, threatening to snap. And judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, his fingers bruising into your skin, he wasn’t far behind.

“Come for me,” he rasped. “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

God, you wanted to. You wanted to come so badly it almost hurt. But your body wasn’t quite there yet—your orgasm from earlier still left you shaky, and now riding him, giving him everything you had, your thighs were trembling, legs burning with effort.

But you didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to deny Jungkook the same overwhelming pleasure he’d already given you. You tried to hold on, to keep going, hips rolling weakly as your mind fuzzed over. Your mouth opened, struggling to form the words—not yet, I want to, please—but you didn’t have to say it.

Jungkook saw it. He felt it.

He stilled you with one hard thrust that made you cry out, then suddenly gripped your waist and flipped you onto your back in one fluid movement. The world spun for a moment and you landed with a gasp, your hair fanned out beneath you and your body arching on instinct. Your lungs were already starved for air, but the moment he sank back into you, deep and fast, he stole what little breath you had left.

“Fuck—Jungkook—” You were a mess—sweat-slicked, flushed, clinging to the sheets and to him like a lifeline.

And Jungkook? He didn’t even look winded. Just gloriously wrecked in the most controlled way—his muscles flexing, his jaw set, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat that only made him look more like a sin carved by hand.

You cursed him—his abs, his stamina, his goddamn focus.

He shifted slightly, lifting one of your legs and hooking it over his arm, pushing even deeper. You cried out, the new angle hitting something devastating. He growled low in his throat, watching where your bodies met, then reached between you—his fingers finding your clit and circling with maddening precision.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, back arching so hard your shoulder blades left the bed.

It was too much. He filled you completely, every thrust striking right against your most sensitive spots, and now—with the added stimulation of his fingers, you were unraveling embarrassingly fast.

Your hands scrambled at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you looked up at him, desperate. He was looking right back, dark eyes locked to yours, watching you come apart like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jungkook—” his name ripped out of you like a plea, a prayer. “I’m—close—fuck, I—”

“I know,” he rasped, barely holding on himself. “I feel you—God, I feel you—don’t stop—just—”

He was losing it too, you could tell. His rhythm faltered for just a second, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. Your walls fluttered around him, tightening, pulsing, and you saw it hit him—the way he froze, just slightly, jaw slack as he groaned deep from his chest.

And then—with a desperate, nearly bruising press of his thumb to your clit—he sent you over the edge. The orgasm crashed through you like a wave, ripping a cry from your throat as your body convulsed beneath him, thighs clenching, walls spasming around him. Your nails dug into him, anchoring yourself as your entire body shook.

That—that—was what undid him.

Jungkook let out a hoarse moan as he finally came, hips jerking once, twice, then burying himself as deep as he could go. You could feel it—the way his body tensed, every muscle locked tight as he spilled into the condom, forehead pressing against yours with a strained groan.

You both stayed like that, trembling, breathless. The room filled with the sound of ragged breathing, hearts pounding like drums in sync. Then, gently, he kissed you. Soft at first—barely a brush of lips. Then again, deeper, fuller, the kind of kiss that said stay here, I'm not done, I want this again.

You moaned into his mouth, your body still twitching in the aftermath, his cock still buried inside you and twitching with aftershocks. When he finally pulled out, you whimpered faintly at the loss. Jungkook moved quickly, slipping off the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the bin beside your bed before returning to you immediately.

He lay down next to you, pulled you close, wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to your temple. His skin was still warm, his breath evening out slowly against your cheek.

Ideally, he would’ve liked to pull you into the shower, maybe wash your hair while he kissed your shoulders, or coax a few more breathy laughs from you as you soaked together under the water. But he didn’t want to leave this—didn’t want to lose the way your body fit perfectly in his arms, how your fingers curled into his chest like you belonged there.

Instead, he stayed right there, legs tangled with yours, his nose brushing your hair, his thumb lazily tracing circles against your hip.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nodded against his chest, still a little dazed. “Yeah. You?”

He chuckled softly. “Better than okay.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay there—hearts slowing, bodies melting into one another—but it felt like time stopped existing entirely. The room was warm with the scent of sweat, skin, and something deeply personal that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way Jungkook held you afterward.

He ran his fingers lazily over your back, the motion soft and aimless, and every now and then he kissed you or your shoulder like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. You thought maybe that was it—but then you felt it. The slow stir of him, pressing against your thigh, barely more than a twitch, but enough to make your breath catch.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him. He was already watching you, eyes darker again, but softer this time. Not the same edge from before. Something different.

“Too much?” he asked gently, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

You shook your head. “Not enough.”

That did something to him—made his jaw flex, his hand press firmer into your waist. He leaned in and kissed you again, this time slow, deep, with none of the urgency from earlier. And you let yourself fall into it.

You let yourself be kissed, be held, be touched like you were something delicate—not fragile, just precious. Jungkook rolled you onto your back again, but slower now, giving you time to breathe, to look at him, to feel every inch of him against you. He kissed down your neck, across your chest, his tongue circling your nipple in lazy swirls until your breath hitched and your back arched again, even more sensitive now.

You whimpered softly, already throbbing. He made his way lower, his mouth moving down your stomach, trailing warmth in his wake until he was between your thighs again—his hands gripping the backs of them gently, spreading you open, worshiping you with his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

You gasped when he moaned into you—like he was the one receiving pleasure from tasting you. It was slow, steady, maddening. He didn’t let up until your thighs were trembling around his head again, your hands buried in his hair, your voice whispering his name like it meant something more than just please.

Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing as he went, slotting himself between your legs.

This time, there was no rush to put the condom on. He reached for the packet on your nightstand, but the way he looked down at you—your flushed chest, your parted lips, the softness in your eyes—was anything but casual.

He kissed you again as he entered you, slow and deliberate, pressing in inch by inch until you were full of him again, and he was gasping into your mouth like the sensation of you was just as overwhelming the second time.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips.

This round wasn’t fast. It was longing and worship, of hands exploring and hips moving in lazy, deep strokes that hit all the right spots without the rush. He held your gaze as he moved, his thumb stroking your cheek, your neck, your breast, like he needed to memorize every reaction.

You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging gently into his back. It was slower, but somehow even more intense. You moaned softly into his shoulder as the pleasure started building again, stronger than you expected, a warm coil tightening low in your belly.

“Jungkook…”

“Mm?” he whispered, not stopping, his pace still slow, devastating.

“I’m—already—again,” you whimpered, cheeks heating from how fast he had you there.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t believe it either. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So perfect around me.”

You clung tighter as he picked up just enough speed to push you toward the edge, his hand sneaking between you again, fingers finding your clit with ease. He didn’t need to do much—just a few soft circles, the press of his hips deep inside—and you were unraveling again.

Your orgasm this time came in slow, delicious waves—no sharp peaks, just a deep, rolling release that made your entire body tremble and your breath hitch in your throat. Jungkook wasn’t far behind.

The feeling of you pulsing around him, the way you gasped his name, how you looked up at him like he was the only thing in the world—all of it drove him over the edge again. He groaned deep, nearly a growl, and buried himself one final time, head falling to your shoulder as he came with a shudder, muscles tightening, breath stuttering out of him.

You lay there afterward tangled in sweat and warmth and soft kisses, Jungkook’s fingers tracing gentle lines on your skin. This time, Jungkook needed to clean up. You barely had it in you to open your eyes when he finally—carefully—pulled out of you, the sensitivity making you shudder. He soothed you with a kiss to your cheek and made quick, practiced work of disposing of the condom again.

You lay sprawled across your bed, boneless and warm, blinking at the ceiling like your soul had momentarily floated somewhere above the room. Jungkook chuckled, low and fond, his hand gliding over your side as he nudged you gently.

You murmured, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slipped an arm under your knees and another behind your back. You barely registered it before he lifted you, bridal-style, out of the sheets.

“Jungkook—!” you squeaked.

He looked down at you with a playful smirk and a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t entirely sinful—just soft. “Shower,” he said. “Unless you want to sleep in… that.”

You caught a whiff of the shared sweat, sex, and faded perfume and made a face. “Okay, fair.”

The bathroom light was soft when he carried you in. The water ran warm while you both washed the night from your skin. And as easily as breathing, afterward, Jungkook towel-dried your hair with gentle hands, threw on one of your oversized shirts like it was his, and tugged you back into bed with him—like there’d never been any other plan.

You’d half-expected him to leave.

But instead, he stayed.

Tucked into your sheets like he belonged there.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The next morning arrived slow and syrupy, early sunlight spilling in through the edges of your curtains. Your body ached in the best way, wrapped in a lingering warmth that wasn't just from the covers. You stirred only slightly until you felt a hand—warm, familiar, gentle—glide across your bare hip.

“Mmngh,” you groaned, voice thick with sleep, head buried into your pillow.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispered, sounding almost… sheepish.

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, the lazy kind of kisses that made you shiver rather than squirm. You turned your face slightly, meeting his lips with your own, soft and slow like the moment demanded. It was indulgent. A morning kind of kiss. And then, just as your brain was starting to register reality again, he spoke.

“Hey… uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I, uh—get your number?”

You opened one eye.

Then the other.

“…Seriously?”

His ears went a little pink, but his grin was crooked and confident. “What?”

“You’re asking now?” you said, laughing—actually laughing. “After everything we did last night? Now you want my number?”

He leaned in like he had nothing to be ashamed of. “How else am I supposed to reach you? You know, when I want to… assure you that whatever the tabloids say about me is completely false. That I’m actually a very faithful boyfriend.”

Your laughter caught in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you echoed.

He paused. Then looked away like the sunlight had suddenly gotten too bright. “Well—I mean—I’d like to see you again? Take you out?”

It wasn’t a direct answer. But it was definitely not a no.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your brain caught up and short-circuited. “You… want me to be your girlfriend, girlfriend?”

Jungkook looked suddenly very boyish. Shy. He scratched the back of his neck and gave a lopsided shrug. “I mean… eventually? If you… if you want?”

The blush that bloomed across your face could’ve melted the snow off a mountaintop.

“If you ask that nicely,” you said, still a little stunned, “I guess I’ll give you my number.”

He smiled—really smiled. Soft and sweet and bright like he hadn’t expected you to say yes but had hoped with everything in him. Then something flickered in his eyes. A shadow. His smile faltered just slightly.

“There’s, uh… one thing,” he said, voice a little awkward again. “You’d have to sign an NDA.”

You didn’t even flinch.

“An NDA? Sure,” you replied easily. “When?”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“…You’re just okay with that?”

You shrugged, still curled under the blanket beside him, hair a mess, heart full. “Yeah. I mean, I want to see you again. If signing something lets me do that and helps protect you… why wouldn’t I?”

Something shifted in his expression. Something warm. Something deep. And then, like a dam breaking, he moved—rolling over, hovering above you, his eyes dark and wide and soft all at once.

“You…” he whispered, short of breath. “You’re just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just kissed you—hard. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like that answer made something in him snap in the best way. You gasped into the kiss, gripping his arms as he pressed you back into the mattress again. And honestly? You didn’t need words. Not right now.

Masterlist

Just a Normal Night: Seoul Edition

Just a Normal Night: Missing You

Tags: @hecatesdescendant

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing, after getting some rude anos. English is my second language, and this tools helps me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

[love-belle]

looked for stars and i found a supernova !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which it takes a random song drop and a feature from a university student for their relationship to come to light.

or

for when it became true, opposites do attract. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!sargeant!reader

warnings - language

author's note - i am SO sorry i have no explanation for not posting except for the fact that i am now unemployed (i finished hs and don't start college till like august) and i just do Nothing the entire day. i love u all thank u for sticking around <3

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lilymhe and 729,816 others

yourusername boys are SO stupid and it's so endearing and frustrating like u r such a DUMBASS pls let me kiss u on the lips (i did ❤️)

8,628 comments

username hahahah!!! funny joke babe!!! kids and i and our goat miss u ❤️

username and like just that my bisexual ass cried tears (i never had a chance)

-> username she's for the girlies every man back OFFFFFF

username going insane over this

username i know logan is in shambles rn like that brother is distraught

-> yourusername he hasn't stopped calling me i had to block his number

-> logansargeant UNBLOCK my number i am your BLOOD

-> yourusername fuck off i will call mom

-> logansargeant have you ever known sanity in your life

-> yourusername have you ever felt loved

-> yourusername sorry can u please tell mom to stop yelling at me it's scary ok

-> username she did NOT need to do him like that

-> username oh that was FOUL

username she's so pretty i simply cannot believe a man can rizz her up

username do we ignore y/n violating her brother like that orrrrr

-> username u are an only child it seems

-> logansargeant it's just that she's mean

-> yourusername go and drown in a pond since u wanna act like a silly goose

username why is charles in the likes he don't even follow her

-> username i have the most funniest and silliest theory and im afraid saying it out loud will send logan into early retirement

alex_albon evil laugh

-> yourusername i pay u ENOUGH. any more and i will have to involve my lawyer WHAT DO U WANT

-> alex_albon ferrari has exceptional pasta

-> yourusername ahahahhajaha what's that got to do with me u little clusterfuck of a twink

-> alex_albon oh! absolutely nothing!

-> username i am screaming what the fuck

-> username "little clusterfuck of a twink" OH MY GOD

username crazy how everything she says is so real idk if that's the fan in me or i am just way too fucking down bad for her

*liked by charles_leclerc*

username love love LOVE see this rep bc my man is such an idiot but it's ok cus he's my princess

-> yourusername YOU GET IT !!!!! he's my princess <3

logansargeant what are you doing

-> yourusername tryna slut him out n then build a lego set w him

-> logansargeant i always knew you would be the one to bring generational shame to our family what is this behaviour

logansargeant what happened to "if i ever talk to a man again i want you to be disappointed in me" ?

-> yourusername u were disappointed in me nonetheless fym

-> logansargeant i

-> maxverstappen1 i can tell we would be great friends yourusername

-> logansargeant no way

logansargeant what happened to BIOLOGY you were supposed to be STUDYING

-> yourusername i did study

-> yourusername his anatomy

-> alex_albon logan just deleted this app i hope you're happy

-> username Y/N PLEASE HESITATE

-> username CRYINF SHE'S SO UNHINGED

username the way i can feel logan's mortification through the screen 😭😭

username when will it be me

username love to see women in stem (seducing the enigmatic men) idk im proud of her i know she was crying abt not finding the love she read bout

-> yourusername this might be my favourite comment ever i adore u

username prophecy be looking a bit too permanent 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 who's gonna change it 🤣🤣🤣 i am on my KNEES 🤣🤣🤣🤣

username everyday i learn something new about y/n and everyday i praise the lord that i can exist at the same time as her

*liked by charles_leclerc*

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 2,629,916 others

charles_leclerc you're in her dms, i wrote a song for her in under a day when we weren't even dating. we are not the same.

12,628 comments

username CRYING WHAT THE FUCK

username oh my god is this real

username CRYING THE SONG IS TOO GOOD

username HIS VLOCE JIS VOICE HIS VLICE HIS VOICE

username going crazy rn what the fuck

username HELLO?????? WHAT IS THIS

username need me a man like this thank u

username too much unpack he has a GIRLFRIEND and it's Y/N

-> username HE PULLS??? HE PULLED HER???

username this is life altering

username shaking from excitement i cannot WAIT for logan to download instagram again and be Surprised

landonorris disgusting

-> charles_leclerc forgive me for not wanting to hide my love ☹️

-> username NAH WHO GOT HIM LIKE THIS

username "thinking bout her eyes every hour she's my wildflower" OH HE'S IN LOVEEEE LOVE

username his voice oh my god

-> username tears dripping down my thighs

-> username OHMYGOD

maxverstappen1 "we are not the same" thank god

-> charles_leclerc bubonic plague 🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠

-> username nurse he's out 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

-> username nah who got him being funny

-> username DID PEOPLE SERIOUSLY NOT LISTEN TO THE SONG

-> username NO WAY THAT'S Y/N AT THE END

-> username "okaaaaaaay" CRYINF I LOVE THEM

username my life has been divided into before this song and after this song and im so grateful for that

username i think the most important thing here is who out of all his friends owns a toyota in which the heat don't work

username crying bc wdym charles wrote a song for his gf when they weren't even dating

username in love with y/n's voice at the end WHY IS THAT SO CUTE

-> username screaming i need this song injected in my veins

yourusername craaaaaaaazy how u never told me that ⁉️

-> charles_leclerc details details

yourusername cool song

-> charles_leclerc thank you i wrote it for my girlfriend

yourusername AHSHDHDJJSJSJAJS IN LOVE THIS WAS SO GOOD UR VOICE IS INSANE I LOVE IT SO MUCH

-> charles_leclerc THANK YOU !! ❤️

-> username they make me SICK

-> username calm bf 🤝 hyperactive gf

username the most important question is did logan re download this app

-> yourusername he did but then he saw this post, heard the song and deleted it again

-> yourusername he's just bitter i am bsfs with max before him

-> logansargeant disowned

-> yourusername my grad pic on the mantle BEGS to differ !!!!!! u are on the piano u have no room to talk

-> logansargeant i'm pushing you out of this year's christmas card

≡.;- ꒰ °twitter ꒱

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 899,527 others

yourusername got him to say he would still love me if i was a worm n now we go on walks and i point at every worm and say sorry i can't be her

tagged charles_leclerc

12,628 comments

username NO WAY THIS JS REAL

username i just want a detailed description of how they met and who asked the other out ☝️😞

username my roman empire the fuck

username the way their personalities crash when will it be me

username THE CAPTION IM SCREAMING

username the way she will never let that man know peace and i am so EXCITED

username she's so unhinged i love her

username LET IT ONCE BE ME PLEASEEE

username blocked (im laying on the highway tonight)

username the way i know logan had to be sedated

-> username my man did nothing wrong why are they torturing him 😭

alex_albon we're down one driver at williams

-> yourusername is it a good time to tell u that i recently got my license

-> logansargeant YOU FAILED YOUR TEST 5 TIMES FUCK OFFFFFFF

-> yourusername big emotions

-> username im cryinf what do you mean shw faield the test 5 TIMES ????

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-> logansargeant AND ?

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-> charles_leclerc ?

username crazy how this is the most random couple ever and we're instantly like PARENTS !!!!

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charles_leclerc my love please

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charles_leclerc and can you please tell your brother to hesitate before speaking? he just offered me candy and a dollar to break up with you

-> yourusername FUCK U I AM WORTH WAY MORE THAN CANDY AND A DOLLAR

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charles_leclerc pretty girl

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username this is hilarious

username logan's likes on twt are mind blowing like what do u MEAN u wish the plague on ur sister 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

-> yourusername u should see what his texts look like

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-> username siblings ❤️

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, logansargeant, carlossainz55 and 2,729,915 others

charles_leclerc silently working on our own little crafts in the same room tonight, queen? ❤️

tagged yourusername

11,628 comments

username CRYINGGGGG I HATE HIS GUTS

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-> yourusername he has one in every colour with diff fonts :((((

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-> landonorris WJAT DID I DO

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yourusername fighting demons (a degree that i chose to study) to be on my phone bc my BOYFRIEND posted

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-> logansargeant sending him links on how people got away with murder is HARDLY a threat idk why you're like this

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yourusername MY BABY LEO 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

-> charles_leclerc i am right there

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yourusername are u mitosis bc i never metaphase as cute as urs

-> charles_leclerc i am too dumb to understand this but you are the prettiest

-> yourusername king i am so in love with u

-> logansargeant i judt tfeew up

-> yourusername leave me ALONE

username i hope all the happy couples break up (why couldn't it be me in a relationship)

username SCREAMING HE'S SO DOWN BAD

[venusbyline]

Vulnerability — Aegon II Targaryen.

— summary: Aegon thought that would be enough for his mother and grandfather not to pressure him to have more children. He already had an heir and a daughter destined for his son... So why should he breed his younger sister again?

— pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x sister-wife!reader

— type: angst

— word count: 1.9k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, young!Aegon II, Targcest (older brother/younger sister), hurt/comfort, forced marriage, underage marriage, argument, mild sexual content (but no smut), non-sexual intimacy, naked cuddling, past rape/non-con, bittersweet ending, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons). no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

❥ Aegon II masterlist • HOTD masterlist

— author's notes: tbh I'm not so into angst fics, but I thought about this one a few days ago and I liked to write it yesterday. 💚💚

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • main masterlist

Aegon had not expected the reason for Alicent's recent scolding. He had not expected to hear such words when he was enjoying the brothel and then was pulled by the arm, dragging by Ser Criston Cole back to the Red Keep.

"The Queen's orders." It was what the knight claimed to justify to the other members of the Kingsguard why he was treating the drunken prince with such impatience — a behavior that was already routine, unfortunately.

Aegon thought his mother just wanted to scold him for his daily promiscuity on the Street of Silk. Or perhaps he had impregnated another whore and fathered yet another bastard... He did not doubt that it could happen again, and he did not even care about that possibility. Bastards were not really his children, just random children who had been born because of his seed.

His son was Jaehaerys. And of course, his daughter Jaehaera, whose existence had not been expected by anyone of the family, but who would be useful to become the wife of her twin brother in the future.

Aegon thought that would be enough for his mother and grandfather not to pressure him to have more children. He already had an heir and a daughter destined for his son... So why should he breed his younger sister again?

"If something happens to Jaehaerys, you will need to have a male heir as a second option."

That was the only explanation Alicent gave him after almost an hour of nonsense and irritating reprimands.

You were lying in bed, unable to sleep yet. Your thoughts were elsewhere, mind ignoring how your body needed some rest after breastfeeding the twins for more than forty minutes — there was no need for a wet nurse if you could very well nourish them with your own milk; despite Alicent being completely against that attitude.

Your body was turned to face the window, watching the starry sky. It was a good night to fall asleep and rest, distract yourself from problems...

At least it was what you wanted, until the door abruptly opens by none other than your brother-husband.

"We need to fuck."

The words sounded cold, devoid of any kind of affection, and you immediately sat up on the bed, incredulous at what you heard.

Aegon was not drunk... Well, not completely drunk like he was most nights. His long, silver hair was tied in a messy ponytail, but he had pulled it out carelessly, a little faster and painfully enough for him to let out a hiss of pain; with each passing day he seemed to hate keeping his hair so long more.

"What do you mean, 'we need to fuck'?"

Patience was a virtue. A virtue Aegon did not possess. "Gods, you know what I mean. Spreading your legs for me so I can stick my cock in your cunt and spill my seed inside."

You grimaced at the crude description of a consummation of marriage, about to curse him for his lack of manners, before realizing something that made your body freeze. “Wait... Why would you have to spill your seed inside me?”

Aegon snorted, running a hand over his face and pacing in circles, feeling almost distressed. His clothes were wrinkled, his tunic grimy, his pants stained with some liquid you did not know what it was... And of course, there were hickey marks on his neck. Marks you preferred not to ask where they came from, because the answer was so obvious that it would be stupid to even think about an alternative one.

"Our mother wants you to get pregnant again."

"We already have Jaehaerys and Jaehaera."

"Yeah, I know. But the boy is young, he could die at any moment."

The coldness with which Aegon said that tightened your heart. How could he talk about the death of his own son in such a... carefree manner? He was not a present father, obviously, not even visiting his young children in their chambers to see how they were. However, that was something mean even for a guy like him.

With shoulders slumped, you looked at the window once more. You knew Alicent was right to demand something like that... If they really wanted to secure Aegon's right instead of Rhaenyra's, it would be good if they already had an heir to succeed Aegon in the future and keep the line on the Throne.

Either way, it was depressing to think that all of your children were being treated like mere pawns, a means to an ambitious end.

"I am sorry..." Aegon's voice broke the silence, making you look back at him, frowning in confusion. He seemed to realize that you did not know what he was talking about, so he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "About how I spoke of Jaehaerys. It was a bit cruel."

There was no response at first. Aegon bit his lower lip and fiddled with the hem of his tunic, avoiding eye contact and focusing on playing with the fabric to continue his awkward apology. "I do not hate the boy, sister. You know that... right?"

Despite the way your lips parted and your eyes widened, the brief surprise was over and frustration followed soon after. "You may not hate him, but you do not love him either." Ignoring how tense he seemed, sitting far away on the bed you were supposed to share, since the two of you agreed not to live in separate chambers. It was not like you really hated each other... You preferred sleeping next to him as just a sister than spending every night alone in a large, empty room — though Aegon spent so many hours of the night in the brothels that he only joined you when the sun was almost up.

“And Jaehaera? You do not even talk about her... It is like she is not even our daughter.”

It was Aegon’s turn to grimace. Gods, he hated those words… Daughter, son… He hated being reminded that he was Jaehaerys and Jaehaera’s father and your husband. No longer a son of Alicent or your older brother.

“It is complicate... I do not know how to deal with all this.” Aegon sighed, running a hand over the face again. His vision was blurry, hazy, even though he was not so drunk. He could feel his heart racing, lip trembling, something running down his cheek…

“Wait, are you crying?”

Aegon’s eyes widened, as shocked as you were. He was not crying… He was just thinking about family problems and feeling slightly sentimental. He was not being vulnerable…

He was not crying. It was just itchy eyes, or maybe he was sleepy… “I am not!” Your brother yelled, trying to wipe away the damp feeling on his cheeks. "Seven Hells! I am not crying, okay? Now shut up and spread your legs for me already!"

The shout echoed through the chambers in a thunderous way, the veins of his neck becoming prominent due to the angry intensity, his knuckles already white when he clenched his fists. He needed to vent the frustration on something. Anything.

And unfortunately for you, Alicent had just sacrificed your physical and emotional well-being, handing you over as if you were a sheep going straight into the mouth of a dragon.

You did not back down, you did not argue, accepting what you had to do. Your duty as the only daughter of the Queen Consort, your duty as the sister-wife of the future King...

Interpreting the silence and the sadness in your gaze as a form of acceptance of your fates, Aegon began to undo the ties of his brown pants. The smell of wine and whores's cheap perfumes was impregnated in his clothes, making him disgusted with himself for a few seconds.

He hated having to do that. Having to fuck you all over again. You... The one who was his sister. The one he loved to play with, even though he was not a loving child and was only two years older. The one he loved to tease, only to roll his eyes when Aemond stared at him, disappointed. The one he let do his hair several times...

The one who had bled on his cock and sobbed his name on their wedding night. The one who had carried and given birth to his children. The one who had looked at him with a mixture of hurt and fury when he had drunkenly arrived to meet the twins hours after the difficult childbed, laughing and celebrating the fact that he had a male heir.

The one who was his little sister.

His little sister who was now naked in bed, waiting for him like a little lamb.

"Do not worry, it will be quick." As it always was and always will be, he added mentally, moving already naked to the bed.

You did not show a reaction, keeping your legs wide open to prevent Aegon from needing to hold them or force them, just like he had to do on a day when Alicent cursed him so much for not having breeding you yet that he took his anger out on you during the sex — and apologized the next day with some stupid book that Aemond said you would really like to read... Which actually happened.

Aegon gave a brief glance at your completely dry cunt, without any sign that you were comfortable with it. And how could you be, after all? Being married to him was not easy... Aegon knew all too well how unfair it was. He would not admit it in that moment, though.

He positioned himself on top of you, trying to hide the tension in his shoulders. Gods... He wished he was not being forced to do this. He wanted to continue his lewd ways on the Street of Silk, living without a care, enjoying the life of a prince, not a future King.

All Aegon wanted was to not be in this situation, needing to jerk off his own cock so he would not have to ask you to do it. He coul not let you do this...

"You want me to—"

"No!" Aegon interrupted the suggestion, his hands rubbing his cock so fast that you could feel his whole body shaking. The sounds that came out of his lips were not of pleasure, they were of pain. Not only because of the feeling of hurting himself until the sensitive skin waa almost raw, but also because he could not bear what he needed to do. He needed to fuck you and get you pregnant...

The tears ran down again, and this time he did not even try to hide them. His cheeks were warm, each drop causing quiet sobs.

It was rare to see your older brother cry, and even rarer to see him cry because of you. "Brother..."

Aegon did not answer you, he just lay on top of you, practically melting into your body in a way he had never done with anyone. He had never shown himself so vulnerable, so hopeless...

He cried nonstop, one hand holding your waist to try not to lean too much on you, not wanting to hurt you more than he was already hurting you emotionally since you were forced to get married. "I am sorry! I want to be better, I want to be better..."

Not knowing what to do, you let Aegon seek your affection. The shared nudity was not uncomfortable or sexual, though. it was intimate, but in a sad, melancholic way... It showed how unfair the fates Alicent and Otto had drawn upon your lives were. An ambitious destiny in exchange for your happiness.

You would need to have sex soon to obey the Queen's orders. However, that night, both of you would enjoy the brotherly comfort that had not existed since a long time ago. Just two siblings comforting each other's grief.

[winnie1emon]

✧.* what happens when theodore nott encounters a sweet girl in the forbidden forest?

chaser!theodore nott x fawn!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx. 2.7k

c/w: MDNI!!, smut, sexual language, piv, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, fingering, creampie, one line of google translated italian (IM SORRY), chaser!theo is mostly for the intro, doesn't have significant impact on the plot

a/n: hi this was supposed to be a two-part story, but heh... thank you + sorry to everyone who was patient with me!! this is not proof read i fear꒰(˶◞ ‸ ◟˶)꒱ also also!! ive stopped procrastinating and set up my obx blog @rafesdearest <3

A large breeze entered the pitch, and the crowd cheered as Slytherin's seeker finally caught the golden snitch. Descending off his broomstick, Theodore wasted no time rummaging through the oncoming crowd to find the pitch's exit.

No, he didn't need heaps of Slytherin girls running their hands up and down his arm; no, he didn't need the glory from scoring 70 points for Slytherin; and no, he didn't need to hear the complaints of the opposing team. All he needed was a good fucking cigarette.

"For fucks sake," Theodore huffed, pushing through the rowdy waves of people, scowling as he caught a glimpse of a girl with one of his teammate's names written sloppily on her forehead.

With a final shoulder bump through the crowd, he found himself in the broom shed, tossing his broomstick carelessly inside and opting out of heading to the locker room for a quick change and shower.

He let out a large exhale, beginning to take large strides towards Hagrid's hut, ultimately nearing the Forbidden Forest. Contrary to popular belief, the Forbidden Forest wasn't all that scary; the woodsy smell filled Theodore's nostrils, making him scrunch his nose as the rainwater scent from earlier that day lingered.

Allowing the soft crunch of the leaves to take his attention away momentarily, he hadn't noticed the figure standing at his usual smoke spot, deep in the forest.

Fumbling with his pocket, his carton of cigarettes flew out, landing on the dirt with a soft thud. A frustrated groan escaped his lips as he took a few steps forward, reaching for the fallen pack as he saw another hand pick it up.

Startled, Theodore looked up, only to be met by what seemed to him the most random girl ever. He had never seen her before, despite her appearance suggesting that she was in his year, much to his surprise; he knew most of the people in Hogwarts-- a testament to his popularity.

"Thank you," he said, his voice laced with skepticism.

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “You just win?”

He was somewhat surprised that you knew, or even asked. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“You always come here after you have a game. When you lose you usually talk to yourself…” you trailed off, remembering the times you’d hear him cursing himself or his teammates under his breath whenever he lost. You idly gazed around the forest, eyes landing on a small flower by your feet. You crouched down to admire its pretty purple color.

As you did so, Theodore was still confused. “What? How do you know that?” he asked, his tone teetering over being curious and accusatory.

"Sorry, what?" you asked, missing his question as you were momentarily distracted.

Theodore rubbed his temple. Seriously? "I said, 'how do you know that?'"

"Oh! What- I'm always over there," you pointed out, your finger directing his eyes to a small pond about half a dozen yards away. "I come every day at the same time. Usually I start leaving once you arrive though." You stood back on your feet, taking his wrist as you airily led him there. "Here. The deer like to come usually, not anymore though."

You then realized you were just grabbing some guy's wrist without permission-- Theodore Nott's wrist. Letting go, you turned your head in the other direction as your face heated up.

Theodore raised a wry eyebrow as you dropped his wrists, averting your gaze from him before seeing the pretty area. "Why don't they come anymore?"

You had felt the color comfortably return to your face before saying, "There's just been a lot more litter lately. I don't think they like that."

He grimaced, unbeknownst to you, recalling all the cigarette butts he had casually dropped on the ground in the past few months. "Right..."

Unable to find anything else to talk about, you thought it was best to leave. "I'm going to head back."

You turned to leave, awkwardly stepping around a few of the stones on the ground before Theodore spoke. "So soon?" He looked at you teasingly, faint traces of arrogance on his face. "Thought we could get to know each other."

"Well I-- I told Hagrid I'd help him judge his new crop of pumpkins," you told him lamely.

"Mm. Sure."

His eyes followed you as you attempted to leave once more, weaving through the trees, eventually small enough to fade out of sight.

Cute.

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

The following day, Theodore returned to the forest even though he didn't play a game that afternoon. He remembered you telling him that you would go there every day at the same time.

As he walked deeper into the woods, he spotted your form from afar, walking up to you as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hey."

You were currently tending to a few of the insects on the dirt, startled by his sudden greeting. Whipping your head around you saw him again-- Theodore and his gorgeous blue fucking eyes.

"Ah- Hi!" you exclaimed, giving him a large smile before quickly dropping it, subconsciously beating yourself up for being overenthusiastic. "There isn't a game today, what are you doing here?"

"Just you know, thought I'd come and get some fresh air. Didn't know you'd be here," he shrugged.

"I told you I come here at the same time every day," you told him, brows furrowed and lips quirking in a small smile.

"Forgot."

You were a bit suspicious at first, but he said it with such indifference that it simmered away.

This happened for the next few days; you'd constantly come to the forest, only to see Theodore already there, or him arriving shortly after. You both made conversation with each other and oddly enough, he was good company. Of course, you couldn't help but glance at his face for a moment too long from time to time, somewhat admiring his chiseled features or his captivating eyes. Sometimes you'd swear that his gaze would linger on you, tracing you from head to toe, but you swatted those thoughts away immediately.

The two of you grew much more comfortable with one another, even beginning to confide in one another about the teachers you didn’t particularly love or the embarrassing moments you guys had before locked away to never tell a soul.

About a week since your initial introductions, you went back to the pond as always, expecting Theodore to come soon after. Of course, what you weren't expecting, was to see a small herd of deer nearby. Your face melted into that of wonder, eyes glassy, having missed the deer during their disappearance.

Shortly after breaking out of your marveling trance, you noticed how most of the litter near the pond was gone. There were no cigarette butts, no chocolate frog boxes, and only one stray and empty bottle of butterbeer.

You heard someone approaching and by this point you knew it was Theodore. You scuttled over to him, interlocking your fingers before hastily dragging him over to the delightful sight.

“Look, look, look!”

He let you, allowing his body to be pulled by you, a quizzical smirk on his face. "Yes?"

“Theodore- look! The deer! They came back, the-“ you gabbed.

“I know,” he said gently.

“No, seriously! Theodore they’re back! There’s no more mess, so they came-,” you spoke incontinently before pausing. “You what?”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You were crestfallen for a moment, disappointed that you couldn’t have him share your excitement at the same time. “Did you already come here this morning?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I came here last night,” he said. You eyed him curiously, releasing your fingers from his before he spoke again. “I cleaned it myself.”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, like it was something he got done in a second.

“Huh?” you questioned, almost unbelieving.

“Come on, do I have to repeat everything for you sweetheart?” he simpered.

You were a bit daunted by his use of a nickname. Sure you two have gotten close over the past few days, but you didn't know you guys were that close...

"No sorry-," you apologized quickly. "It just sounded like you said you cleaned the whole thing yourself. But you wouldn't. I know you," you tried to tease, but his face , just moments ago coy and smug, was now unamused. Of course, you started to prattle as a last resort to not make things weird.

"Not that you're like lazy or anything! I meant that you just don't seem the type, -- er, you probably have better things to do with your time than clean and stuff."

The expression on his face was unreadable, and you could feel your soul wilting away with each passing moment.

"But if it was you then great! That's really, really great and uhm, kind of you!" You forced yourself to bring a finger up to your mouth to shut yourself up, a bead of sweat forming on your head.

Theodore leaned a bit closer, and he looked off. You couldn't tell if he was bothered or annoyed with you, or if he was just pulling your leg.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

Were you supposed to laugh...?

You opened your mouth, prepared to let out another incoherent string of apologies and nonsense, before you were interrupted by the feel of his breath on your face, followed by the soft landing of his lips onto yours.

It felt gentle, patient, almost like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn't. He noticed, beginning to bring his hands to cup your face, and your hands found his hair, his tongue beginning seek entryway into your mouth and you granted it to him.

He became a little sloppy, his breathing ragged and his hands bringing your face impossibly close to his own. He got rougher, like he was was a man trapped and you were his first ray of sunlight in years. Somewhat overwhelmed, you brought your hands up to his shoulders, and he took it as a sign to pull away.

His hair had become mussed, his chest heaving up and down as he gasped for air.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he gave you a gap of space. "I got too... too," he huffed, catching his breath.

"No, you didn't do anything," you reassured him. "Just needed to- to soak it all in."

He gazed at you, face flushed and his embarrassment slowly fading. You granted yourself the ability to let your eyes travel down, stopping at the very obvious tent in his pants.

The sound of your heart beating filled your head, excitement and arousal about to pour out of you. You closed the gap between you both once more, pulling him into another kiss. You savored the small sound of surprise he made, your hand roving down to cup his erection that was straining against the denim of his jeans.

You heard him groan, pushing you a few steps back to place your back against a large tree, hands snaking down to flip your skirt up. He fondled your ass, lips detaching from yours to scoff a smile.

"Not chilly in this?" he asked you, fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear.

"Wanted to look cute," you defended.

"For me?"

You looked like you had been hit with a confundus charm, but that moment was short lived as you felt him lower your underwear, the air hitting your exposed cunt.

You ran a finger against the straining denim, making him twitch slightly. He lightly rubbed over your pussy, your arousal coating his fingers. He slipped a finger in, another one quickly following.

Your knees buckled for a moment as he pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt, finding a quick pace. You dropped your hand from his erection, now using it to hold onto the tree from behind for support as you let out a string of moans and whimpers in his ear.

He curled his fingers, finding the spot that made your eyes roll back, watching you with the most impish look ever. You were so close to orgasming quickly, and right as you were, he pulled his fingers out, releasing multiple incoherent mewls from you.

"Così dannatamente carina." (So damn cute).

Before you could complain about your lost orgasm, he had discarded of his zip up sweater, pulled down his pants, freeing his erection from his boxers, and lined up his cock with your cunt. Theodore lifted one of your legs up, supporting it with his hand to spread your legs. He pushed inside slowly, your pussy time to adjust to his thick cock.

"Shit, you feel so good," he whispered by your ear.

Each thrust of his hips would pressure your back harder into the tree, but the pain was unacknowledged as you could only focus on the pleasure currently pumping in and out of you.

"T-Theo," you mewled, looking at him with wide eyes, maintaining eye contact.

"Hm?" he asked, using his hand that wasn't supporting your leg brush a stray eyelash off your cheek.

You wanted to speak, but instead let out a strangled whine, the erotic noises of his cock entering in and out of your sopping cunt growing louder. You bit down hard on your lip, immensely stimulated because your cunt was getting the stuffing it needed, but because of how gorgeous he was.

He was otherworldly, the beautiful scenery visible past his face, no doubt only complimenting his features. You stared so hard, to the point that your brain had gone fuzzy and your moans and whimpers slipped out more frequently.

Theodore was clearly sharing the same feeling, beginning to bury himself deeper into you, his hips slapping against your clit each time.

He peppered kisses all over your neck, sucking on your skin until it left marks. Soon, his movements grew frantic-- much more than it already was, and his groans were shaky.

"Fuck, I'm- I'm going to come inside you," he panted.

Your cunt clenched against his cock, much like how you clung onto his shoulders, desperately wanting him to get impossibly closer to you.

"P-please," you begged. "I'm so close. M' gonna come."

He moved his head away from your neck, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the fresh hickey left on there. Gently putting down your leg, he used both hands to now cup your face, staring into the eyes, both of your irises dilated, pure lust on display.

You couldn't hold back any longer, your legs shook, your vision went blurry, and your walls tightened around his cock as you came. He followed shortly after, and with a final thrust, he shot warm, thick ropes of cum into your pussy.

He pulled out shortly after, breathing heavily. The remnants of his leaked out of you as you pulled your underwear back up, patting down your skirt.

Theodore returned his boxers to fit around his waist, zipping up his jeans quickly.

You both stood for a while, unsure if the silence was comfortable or not.

"That was," he spoke first, face flushed and hair disheveled.

"That was good," you said, hopeful that he would agree.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

The sun seemed to die down, grey clouds coming in, and you took it as a sign to go. "Should we go back into the castle?"

Theodore nodded in agreement and you pushed yourself off the tree trunk, taking wobbly steps back before he grabbed your wrist from behind.

"Wait." He retrieved his neglected zip up from off the leaf-filled ground, holding it near you, signaling you to outstretch your hands. You did, and he slowly helped you wear the sweater, zipping it up before flipping the hood back to it's intended state. "It's cold."

It was an unusual gesture-- not that it was out of character for him. Just because it was so kind and light, almost as if he didn't fuck the thoughts out of your head just moments before.

You gave him a small smile, allowing his arm to drape over your shoulder as you both started your trek back to the castle.

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

[bianquitasunderworld]

could you write something where dave is obsessed with readers boobs please?

18+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: 18+ English is not my first language! Smut, Fingering, Teasing, Switch Dave, Switch Reader/Dom Reader, Dave begs, Mommy kink, Female Penetration. (I think that’s it)

Parings: Dave Lizewski x Reader

A/N: This man is such a LOSER and I love that. I got carried away with this one. I don’t proofread.

Dave’s obsession with boobs, especially your own is truly…questionable. We all know he’s got a thing for boobs I mean we all saw that one scene!

Dave struggles to voice his feelings, often too embarrassed to even speak about such things. He’s frequently averting his gaze, but his eyes involuntarily gravitate towards your chest. The ogling always intensifies when you choose to wear tank tops or choose to forgo a bra, leaving him subtly captivated.

On a particularly hot summer day, Dave had invited you to his home due to your apartment’s lack of electricity and air conditioning. You gladly accepted his offer immediately and chose to wear the most revealing outfit in your wardrobe to keep the heat from affecting you. The outfit was perfect; poor Dave couldn’t look away. He was hypnotized by the way your boobs looked, and his gaze seemed glued to them. Despite his efforts, he found himself entranced, unable to divert his attention.

You weren’t completely oblivious to your boyfriend’s wandering eyes. Of course you didn’t mind but you couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts were playing inside his head. Filthy thoughts consumed your mind, the way Dave’s tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth and the way he licked his lips only made you more curious as to what scenarios he could possibly be playing out in his mind.

You wondered if he was thinking about sucking your tits as you ride him, or if he was thinking of you kneeling in front of him with his dick between your tits as he coats them with his come. You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together in your seat as you bit your bottom lip, desperately trying to find some relief or pleasure. The thought alone is simply enough for you to get off on.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Dave’s hand and hear his soft voice. “W-what are ya thinking about?” He stutters, his voice laced with nervousness.

He watches and notices how you become fidgety when his hands caress your thigh. A sense of warmth comes over you at his soft touch. His featherlike touch further ignites the small flame that has been burning within you since you noticed his gaze.

your voice is soft as you trip over your words. “N-nothing. T-this is just a good movie, don’t you agree?” Your head nods towards Dave’s tv. Truthfully you couldn’t care less about whatever movie was on at the moment, and neither did Dave, all he could focus on was how thin your blouse was and how he could just barely see the outline of your boobs.

Dave nods even though he isn’t paying any attention to whatever the fuck was playing either, how could he when the most beautiful girl in the world was right in front of him with her boobs on full display! His heart was racing as he tries to calm down his arousal.

He can’t take it anymore, he decides to make a bold decision and just acts before thinking. If all failed he could just die of embarrassment and curl up into fetal position, right?

Dave slowly moves his soft hands up your torso tracing small random patterns against your skin. You shiver as you feel his cold hands make their way up and under your blouse.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't help myself..." He leans in closer, his breath tickling your neck as his fingers brush against your bare skin. His heart is pounding in his chest as he struggles with his desire for you.

“Davie-“ your voice is soft. Dave takes it as a good sign when you don’t immediately stop him and curse him out for being a pervert. You of course know what Dave wants and exactly what he’s up to, he plays this game far too often. Pretends to be shy, innocent, and soft then next thing you know you’re both naked as he’s deep inside you while his mouth is wrapped around your boob or his hand is down your shorts while he suck on your boob, regardless of what happens mark my words, some part of him will be touching your chest.

"I'm-I’m sorry, I can't help myself," Dave confesses, his lips moving against your neck, his hands gently squeezing your soft breasts through your thin blouse. "You're so irresistible." His voice is soft and whiny.

His hand trails across your cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps along your skin. “Y-you’re going to love it. I promise, alright?”

His hands slide down to unbutton your blouse, revealing your bare skin underneath. He leans in to lay a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your collarbone as his fingers skim across your chest.

You nod hesitantly as his hands focus on unbuttoning your blouse, once it’s finally off and your breasts are revealed to him, he can’t help but let out a small whimper. Dave can’t help it, when he sees your bare chest he swears he’s in heaven.

Dave's hands tremble as they slide up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. He leans in closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "They're perfect," he murmurs, his voice barely audible even to himself.

You hesitate to speak, stuttering at every word that leaves your lips. “T-Thank yo-u Davie.” The heat between your thighs is becoming so unbearable.

“I w-wanna taste you mommy” Dave murmurs, his voice rough with need. His hands slip inside your panties, his fingers finding the dampness between your legs. Dave’s mouth wraps around your nipple, flicking at it and sucking at it as his hands explore your panties, feeling how wet you’ve become just for him, because of him.

The only sounds that can be heard throughout Dave’s household is the sound of your moans and whimpers as his hand plays with your wet pussy. You buck your hips agaisnt his hand as his fingers rub your clit. "Dave... I'm close," you gasp out, your body arching into his touch. "Don't stop oh my god baby!" The feel of his fingers inside you, combined with his mouth on your breast, sends waves of pleasure coursing through your entire being.

You pant his name, your body trembling with need. The sensations are overwhelming, but in the best way imaginable as his fingers continue to tease you.

F-fuck, yeah, baby," Dave gasps out, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to feel you come around my fingers, come on pretty girl. Let me feel you come around my hand." His fingers move faster, curling deeper inside you as he searches for that one perfect spot to send you over the edge.

Your eyes shut tight and your nails dig into his shoulder as you feel your climax approaching, you cry out his name and beg for him to let you come.

“Fuck, yes," Dave moans, his hips bucking against your leg as he whispers in your ear."Let go, baby. Let me see you come apart for me."

"Come for me, baby. Let go," Dave urges in a husky whimper. "I want to feel you baby.." His fingers curl and stretch, finding just the right spot, the perfect rhythm.

Dave’s eyes watch your every move and reaction as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, his eyes light up as he hears you moan and watches you buck your hips uncontrollably agaisnt his hand. Broken cry’s of pleasure leave your mouth as you come apart around his fingers.

Dave watches you fall apart under his touch. He groans, his hips bucking up against your side , seeking more contact as he feels you shatter around his fingers. “Such a good girl, so fucking tight.” he breathes, his voice thick with lust and pride.

A small gasp leaves your lips as you feel empty when he pulls his fingers from your pussy and brings them to his mouth. You watch and bite your lip as with a slow, deliberate motion, he tastes you, savoring your sweetness.

“You taste amazing," Dave murmurs, his eyes locked on yours."Mmm," Dave hums, his eyes closing in pleasure as he tastes you. "You're so fucking addictive," he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

Feeling your body pressing against his, Dave groans into the kiss, his cock twitching against the rough fabric of his jeans. His cock is begging for a release. He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he looks into your eyes. "You're killing me," he mutters, his voice rough with lust.

Your eyes slowly wander down to the bulge in his jeans, you lick your lips at the sight admiring the imprint of his cock against his jeans. “Is this all for me Davie? You’re this worked up over watching me come and playing my tits?” Your words are filthy and condescending, something Dave catches on to quickly.

“Y-you turned me on so much just by letting me play with your pretty pussy.” He whimpers "I need you right now." He tugs on your hand gently, guiding it to his erection. “I want to feel you wrapped around me so bad." Dave’s voice comes out as a whimper as he begs for you. He’s become desperate and grinds against your palm.

“Please, baby." He whines, his hips undulating against your hand. "I need you so fucking bad." His eyes bore into yours, full of desire and need.

Your eyes admire him as he begs desperately for you, your body is begging for him but the desire to make him beg for your body overpowered your need to please him, to have him inside of you.

Whimpering, Dave presses his hips into your hand. "Please, mommy, please. I need to be inside you.." His voice is raw with need and desire. He leans in, pressing his lips against your neck.

Your resolve slowly fades and you feel yourself giving into him. His desire and desperation turns you on more than anything. Watching him fall apart simply because he needs to be inside you is the most amazing thing you’ve ever experienced.

You give him a small nod and watch as he quickly moves to unzip and take off his pants and quickly drops his boxers to floor, kicking both items of clothing off and moving back to sit near you looking at you intently. You slowly bring your palm to his cock and wrap your hand around it. Admiring his manhood. His cock twitches in anticipation, leaking pre-cum onto your hand.

Your eyes sparkle in admiration as you watch Dave’s face contor into one of pleasure. A deep moan escapes from his throat as he jerks his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into your hand.

“What do you need baby?” You tease him, watching closely as his glasses fall askew. “I need you to take me inside that tight little pussy of yours, mommy." Dave's voice is ragged.

You tsk at him in disapproval. “Oh such nasty words coming from such a pretty boy, what a shame.”

His cock jerks in your hand, a testament to his arousal. Your hand slows around him, teasing him. “I'm sorry, mommy," Dave pants, his hips jerking involuntarily. "I can't help it. I need you." His cock throbs in your hand

“Oh that’s much better, good boy.” You praise.

“T-Thank you mommy.” As if responding to your approval, Dave's cock twitches again, this time more forcefully. He arches his back, offering you better access to his sensitive tip. "Please, mommy," he whispers. "I need you to ride me.."

You coo at him and slowly remove your hand that’s wrapped around his shaft. “I know baby, you’re just so pretty when you beg. Mommy’s gonna give you what you want baby”

Dave's breath hitches when you remove your hand from his cock. His head rolls back in anticipation, his eyes closed tightly. "Oh, god..mommy," he moans, his voice shaky with desire.

His eyes flutter open, he watches you through the lenses of his glasses. “Thank you, mommy," Dave breathes out, his body trembling with anticipation. As you pull back, he reaches out, tracing the curve of your breast with his fingers. "You're so beautiful."

His words send a shiver throughout your body, his compliment bring out a small smile from you.

“Thank you Davie” You kiss his lips softly then pull away as you straddle his hips. Your entrance hovering right over his thick length, his hands slowly make their way to hold your hips.

Dave watches as you position yourself above him, his heart racing in anticipation. "Mommy," he moans, his hips pushing up against you. His cockhead brushes against your entrance.

His cock twitches against your sensitive folds, begging for entrance. "Please, mommy." You slowly lover yourself down on him, your mouth falls open as you gasp and your eyes shut as you feel his large cock slowly stretch you open around him. “Oh Davie-“ You steady yourself against him.

A soft moan escapes Dave as you lower yourself onto him, feeling you stretch around him. He grips your hips tightly, guiding you slowly down his length. "Oh fuck, mommy," he whispers.

“You’re so big Davie” You cry out as you lower yourself down on him, feeling him inside you. Dave pants, his voice thick with lust and need. He thrusts upwards gently, meeting your downward motion, their hips slapping together in a rhythmic dance of desire.

his cock throbs inside you. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples, his hands hold your breasts tenderly. His hips buck slightly, pushing further into the tight embrace of your warmth. You whimper when he’s fully inside you, his throbbing cock fills your body and your brain feels empty, your only thought is him and how good he’s making you feel. You slowly grind your hips down agaisnt his own.

“Fuck, yes," Dave groans, feeling you move against him. His own hips buck up, meeting your grind with enthusiasm. He bites his lower lip, feeling overwhelmed by the sensation of being inside you. "So fucking tight," he pants.

You groan as you feel him thrust up into your pussy, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. “You feel so good baby-Oh fuck!” Every sound and noise that is being made is borderline filthy, every moan and whimper sounds almost pornographic.

Dave cries out, his hips bucking wildly as he takes you with force. His cock pistons in and out of you, driving you both towards the brink of ecstasy. Your tits bounce at his hard thrust, your moans and cries come out broken, due to the overwhelming sense of pleasure that’s he’s giving to you.

Daves hands roamover your body again, finding your nipples. He pinches and rolls them between his fingers, using them to his advantage as he continues to fuck you senseless. Dave’s hands wander back down towards your hips, his hands wander lower and grope your ass. he leans forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. Dave’s glasses are foggy and crooked, barely on the tip of his nose.

You whimper and reach your hand towards his face gently taking them off and tossing them to the side of the couch. His tongue circles around your nipple, tugging gently at the sensitive flesh, his face somehow burrowing further against your tit. Feeling the warmth of your ass against his hands, the taste of your nipple in his mouth, and the tightness surrounding his cock, Dave can't hold back any longer. His hips buck up fiercely.

You moan and your eyes roll back as you feel your climax approaching “I’m gonna fucking come!” You groan. “Come for me baby, fuck-Oh Dave-“

Dave’s groans are muffled as he sucks on your tit, his feels his own orgasm taking over. He thrusts up into you, his cock pulsing as he releases his seed deep inside you. His hips buck wildly, his hands gripping your hips tightly. His hip shudder as he thrust up into you, emptying himself inside you. He pulls his mouth off and away from your tit and just rests his head against your chest.

As the wave of pleasure subsides, leaving both of you panting heavily, Dave remains connected to you, his cock still buried deep inside. He kisses your chest tenderly, his ear still pressed against your racing heartbeat.

[plaidos]

Sorry if this is going too far with turning your inbox into the children's cartoon complaint zone, but the stuff about Grenda in Gravity falls got me thinking.

I was a teenager when Gravity Falls was coming out, and it remains one of my favorite cartoons, but rewatching it recently made me uncomfortably aware of just how much mean-spirited and offensive comedy there is throughout. Grenda as a "comic relief" character is a huge one of course, but there's just a LOT of deriving comedy from people's bodies and appearances. Plus just straightforward man-in-a-dress jokes...

There's also the fact that Alex Hirsch seems to think AAVE (or like "slang" created to be a comically heightened imitation of AAVE) is the most hilarious thing ever, but also makes sure it's always coming from on-screen white characters, as if that unproblematizes the way it's mocked? It's a CONSTANT recurring thread throughout the series.

I ended up falling off a recent rewatch for a while after hitting the episode "Soos and the Real Girl." It really hit me there with the exact way they were characterizing Soos's social incompetence and "childish" interests, oh, he's straight up supposed to be autistic. He explicitly gets obsessed with the dating sim because he likes how social interactions have predictable rules in it, unlike real life. It's hammered home *multiple* times that one of his big stated social deficiencies is an inability to make eye contact, etc. Come the fuck on. And that's fine in a vacuum, the episode ends with everyone realizing he didn't need to change himself because he could still have value as a person as long as his awkwardness was charming to a quirky chubby woman.

But all the jokes in the episode are still about how funny it is that he's socially unaware and makes other people uncomfortable or frightened. And worse, it recontextualizes the way he's used as a joke throughout the rest of the series, the way he's portrayed as stupid, as a man-child, as being abused and taken advantage of by his employer while he's oblivious to it. It's just so gross. And that's not even getting into how he's also fat and Hispanic, and he's not just mocked but *dehumanized* for comedy CONSTANTLY.

Plus that episode throws in one of the show's transphobic jokes for good measure. Isn't it so funny that you can't tell if this person in alternative fashion is a man or a woman? Isn't it funny that Soos is so autistic-- I mean socially inept-- that he openly, in public, to their face, speculates on their gender? Not like for trans people that's a nightmare scenario that carries an implicit threat of violence or anything...

And all this is absolutely not to suggest that Gravity Falls is a uniquely harmful piece of media. I know for certain if you pick any network sitcom at random, before or even since Gravity Falls, you'd find way worse examples of all of this. But it's just a bummer to now be a grown-ass fat, autistic, trans woman who can recognize some of this stuff, and realize that even the media that's most special to me thinks it's funny to be hostile to people like me, that it's not really made for me. And to recognize that it's even worse for people who are marginalized in ways that I'm not.

Anon I’m in love with you — it’s like you went down a checklist in my brain of every complaint i’ve ever had about this show. i completely, completely agree with every note here — the jokes about AAVE specifically stood out to me, especially since there’s been at least one occasion where Hirsch went on a twitter rant about how (xyz aave) is the worst, stupidest thing to ever happen to the English language (meanwhile he thinks combining the words “Bill” and “Dipper” is funny enough to include as a joke despite it being just literally putting two names together. wooow how clever and funny white people are, thank god this caucasian braingenius is protecting the sanctity of the english language from black people who make up bad new words)

also dude can’t go five seconds without putting a white person in a “cowboys and indians” style native american costume. Hirsch has a fucking major problem with the way he treats his hispanic characters & how he portrays native american mythology & culture as basically this funny stupid thing to be used as set dressing for white people.

it feels a lot like he watched The Simpsons’ (sometimes effective, sometimes ineffective) satire on racism, bigotry, and the conservative tendencies in archetypical american towns and understood that it was funny but didn’t get why and just limply recreated the jokes without the structure for it to be a satire. not that the Simpsons doesn’t fall into these same problems with racism & body shaming, but i feel like they at least have a veneer of it being “isn’t it stupid how people like Homer think like this?” rather than just “haha different culture talk funny”

and the problem is, it sucks that it’s like this because it’s so good. it feels like every time i recommend it i have to be like “a lot of the jokes have aged like milk but it’s worth it”. like i love Gravity Falls. which is why it’s important to criticise it for its flaws.

[mojifushiguro]

unforgettable ! e.yeager & a.arlert

"if you loved the girl then im so, so sorry..." eren x black!fem reader x armin.

warnings: guilt, smoking, drinking, sexual mentions, language, NOT PROOFREAD YET.

part 2. this is part 1. next part here.

"y/nnnn, always late." ony dapped you up, "erennn, always laterrr."

eren laughed a little, dapping ony up. "shit, if she aint take so long with everything she do." you instantly rolled your eyes. "I was in the car before you, dont do that."

you gave sasha a small hug, really going down the line of the couch until you made it to armin.

"wassup y/n" he looked up at you, dapping you up.

such a tease. and you squinted to let him know that you knew what he was doing.

"armin." you gave a nice smile before walking to the couch across from ony, mikasa, and armin. on the couch where you sat, was sasha, and eren, and you sat between them.

jean sat on the floor, beside the table, playing some game on his phone with connie, who sat on the other side, cussing him out every time he messed up.

"so what y'all did last night?" mikasa glanced up from her phone, and looked around at everyone. you grabbed a cup from the stack and took a deep breath, picking up the bottle of liquor that sat beside it.

"like... after?" sasha bit at her acrylics, trying to pop them off.

"shiddd, it seem like everybody split up at the party, lets talk about that." connie reached across the table to grab the blunt from jean.

everyone was in Connies basement, and if you were being honest, the room was nice. it had different color lights everywhere, and since it wasn't as big, connie would just use it as a place to hotbox... if he smoked enough.

"Ian gon lie... I got some pussy last night." jean mumbled out of nowhere, making everyone start laughing. ony grinned and reached over to dap him up, "on my mommaaa, I got the best head last night"

you laughed, trying your best not to look at armin, who lazily rolled a blunt beside mikasa.

the slowest, most subtle smirk creeped onto his lips. as he man spread, exhaling while everyone else made conversation about... sexual things? you were guessing. you weren't really paying attention.

but you did pay attention to the way he raised the blunt to his lips and licked it, keeping his head down, and the way his eyes flicked up at you.

you sipped your drink, holding eye contact until you both looked away, hearing eren's name being called.

"aye E, you got pussy last night?" connie snickered, hitting the blunt and passing it back to jean.

eren smacked his lips and waved connie off. "fuck you."

"tell em don't worry bout it cus you getting some when we go home." you tapped the bottom of erens chin and he smiled.

a bunch of 'ouuuuu's came from people in the group and you shook your head. was he really? probably not.

"nasty." mikasa raised her eyebrows.

"aye, can somebody go get another bottle? jean bitch ass gon drink all of it before I have a cup." ony nudged the back of jeans head.

you nodded, standing up and they continued to bicker, and went towards the door.

as you made your way up the stairs of the basement, you went to the kitchen, opening the fridge to choose from whatever bottles were in there.

damn connies alcoholic.

you heard the basement door again, glancing back as you grabbed two and looked at it.

did you really wanna get drunk tonight?

"you must wanna get wasted?"

it was none other than armin, leaning against the counter as you turned towards him with two bottles in your hand.

you looked towards the basement door, making sure no one was coming up the stairs. "what you doin up here?"

he shrugged, hopping on the counter. "we didn't really get to talk since last night."

you sat the drinks on the island and put your hand on your hip. "so you come up here, risking us gettin caught talking cus you wanna have a conversation wit me?"

"we fucked in a car last night, that was riskier."

"who fucked in a car last night?" connie walked in the kitchen.

fuck.

"...armin and some random girl he dont want nobody to know about." you looked from connie to armin. "but I caught them, so I know."

connies jaw dropped and he frowned.

"why would you... say it?" armin dragged his hands down his face and exhaled.

great way to play a part.

"so who was it?" connie leaned on the island, grabbing one of the bottles and drinking straight from it. he then held his finger up and sat the bottle back down, wiping his mouth. "is that why you aint say nothing when we was talm bout pussy?"

"it was some..." armin started, but you cut him off.

"ugly bitch. she was ugly as hell and he's ashamed. I would be too." you smiled, shaking your head and grabbing both of the bottles.

you walked back over to the basement and sighed. "good luck on telling connie about it, cus he won't leave you alone." you teased before opening the door and walking down the stairs.

"there she is, the plug. what took you so long?" ony grabbed the bottles from you and you walked back over to the couch you sat on, being unexpectedly pulled on to erens lap.

"connie got too many options."

eren wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulders.

not too long after pouring everyone a cup, connie and armin came back down from the kitchen, and sat in their original spots.

"hell was y'all doin?" eren grabbed the the second blunt from jean, and hit it.

"stay outta grown folks business." connie pointed at eren, and picked up his cup.

you looked at connie longingly before looking at the floor, fidgeting with your hands. you couldn't lie, you were nervous as hell. as close as connie and eren are, you wouldn't be surprised if connie pretended he didn't hear what you and armin were talking about, and then turned around and told eren everything.

and if he did, what would be your excuse for cheating? you had no real proof of eren cheating, just suspicions and clues that eventually led to nothing.

you quickly grabbed your cup from the table and downed it.

"damn y/n, you good?" ony frowned, chuckling a little and sipping from his cup.

you nodded, "yeah... 'm just... ready to go home."

"no wayyy, the party just started." jean held his arms out.

sasha looked at you before looking at jean. "it dont look like she feel well... let her go home."

"who stopping her?" mikasa mumbled, glancing up at you from her phone. you looked at mikasa and frowned in confusion. "huh?"

"okay everybody shut the fuck up, ima take you home." connie stood up and pat his pockets for his car keys. eren tapped your thigh and let you off of him. "you good? you need me there?"

"yeah, and no." you pat his shoulder reassuringly and followed connie out of the basement.

now were you feeling down? of course not. but your nervousness was taking over you. and being in the car with someone who could possibly know what happened last night didn't make anything any better.

the ride was quite silent.

you never had anything negative or any animosity between you and connie. but you weren't that close either.

and all that "bros before hoes" shit, it like seemed like something connie would stick to.

"you good?" he asked, glancing at you.

"im good."

connie glanced at you again before adjusting in the drivers seat, leaning on the car door.

"I know bout you and armin." he finally muttered after a long, awkward silence.

you looked at him. what the hell even is your life?

"what about us?"

"y'all fucked."

if you had a drink, you would've choked on it. you knew what he was talking about, but that caught you way off guard.

you just looked at connie before looking ahead.

"why you think that?"

connie let out a small laugh. "I sense it, shit. you can tell when somebody did sum. or... connie can tell." he shrugged. "allat awkward shit and the looks, I know."

your heart was almost out of your chest.

"well we didn't, and you dont know what you talkin bout." you looked out the passenger side window. "I didn't do nothing with armin. that's weird."

connie licked the inside of his cheek and slowly nodded, tapping the steering wheel.

"im not gon snitch on you. if that's what you think." he continued to pay attention to the road."

you sighed, looking down at your feet. it was dark, probably in the AM's.

you shook your head. "you and eren too close, you gon tell." you glanced at him before shaking your head again.

you didn't even know why you were so scared of eren finding out. its not like you were afraid to lose him anyway. it was more like, you were afraid of what he'd do to armin.

after some silence, you thought about what he said. "you lyin?"

connie smacked his lips and frowned, "hell naw. they both my homeboys, and you one of my homegirls. I fuck wit all y'all equally." he explained. "cant tell on two people for one person."

you nodded, thinking about the situation.

"I mean...." he started again. "its fucked up, you fuckin his best friend and all, but everybody know eren. if I was you, my petty ass woulda did the same shit. just be careful who you tell, if you tell somebody."

you slowly nodded. "and you not gon tell nobody about it?"

connie sighed and held out his pinky. "cus I know y'all girls be doin this corny shit."

you laughed and linked pinkies with connie.

"I pinky promise, Ian gon tell a soul."

[elllisaaa]

OOPS - C. YEONJUN

KINKTOBER DAY 23 - SEXTING

SUMMARY : when your best friend receives a nude from you on a random tuesday, he feels the need to seek some clarification, and maybe that it is his chance to finally fuck you like he's been wanting to for years.

-> pairing : bff!yeonjun x fem!reader

-> words count : 1.6k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : sexting (obviously), sending nudes and videos, masturbation (f. and m.), dirty talk, teasing, begging, praising, phone sex

+ the way i'm depicting yeonjun does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | txt masterlist | kinktober 2024

You had always been a clumsy person, and sending a text to the wrong person had already happened to you countless times, leading sometimes to awkward situations, but never as embarrassing as the one you were in right now. You groaned as you looked down at your phone screen, the chat with your best friend still opened. And there, a picture of you wearing pretty much nothing took centre stage. 

you :  [1 attachement] i could use some company tonight… junnie :  ??? wtf y/n ???

Your cheeks were burning, and all you wanted to do was to bury yourself six feet under but sadly you couldn’t. And you didn’t even know what to say because obviously, you hadn’t sent that to the right person. Truthfully, these nudes were just meant to some guy you met through a common friend. You had gone on a few dates together, and even though he wasn’t exactly your type, nor was he really interesting, you were a woman with needs, and a lonely woman at that. Hence why you were about to send him this mirror photo, with you posing in nothing but black lacy panties and your oversized shirt lifted up to show part of your boobs. 

you :  fuck don’t look at that delete delete delete it wasn’t mean for you junnie :  yeah could’ve guessed who were you going to send that to anyway ? you’re bitchless you :  first of all fuck you i’ve got plenty of bitches second and even though that’s none of your business, i’m seeing someone lately

The way Yeonjun seemed to care that much helped you relax a bit. His first reaction only seemed to be out of surprise, and you would have reacted the same way if you had received a sudden half-naked pic from your best friend too. Though, you would’ve probably not deleted it right away. 

junnie :  you mean that lame guy who couldn’t even pay for his own meal the three times you went out ? he’s an ass you :  well maybe but he’s my only option and i’m in need junnie :  doesn’t matter you can do way better than this jerk you’re too smoking hot to be sending that to him

Your cheeks took an even darker shade of red as you read his compliments, but it was not out of shame this time. It wasn’t unusual for Yeonjun to praise your looks actually, but never in such a bold way. And the fact that he was not referring to your pretty face but most likely to your body made some feelings swirl inside of your stomach - some feelings that shouldn’t even be there in the first place but that you couldn’t stop. 

junnie :  cat got your tongue darling ? you :  no gotta go  junnie :  to send him your nudes ? you :  and so what ? you jealous ? junnie :  maybe bet that loser couldn’t even make you cum anyway you :  and you could ?

This conversation was taking a turn you hadn’t expected, but a turn you liked very much, a turn you maybe liked a bit too much. You bit down on your lips as you waited for Yeonjun’s answer, though nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were about to read. 

junnie :  oh darling i would ruin you if you asked make you cum on my fingers first, until you’re dripping everywhere make you come on my tongue next, until you’re crying out my name and then i’ll give you my cock and i’ll fuck you better than any other guy you had before so, still need that jerk ?

You stayed speechless for a good minute that felt like an hour. There had always been some kind of tension between you and Yeonjun, always had been something underlying feelings that you didn’t want to misinterpret. He always looked at you and talked to you and flirted with you in a way that was way more than friendly, and you had always wanted him too - because let’s be real, who wouldn’t ?

you :  i’d let you do all that [1 attachment]

On the receiving end of your texts, Yeonjun couldn’t believe what was happening, couldn’t believe that this wasn’t just another one of his wet dreams, with you taking the first role and making him crave you and your body even more. He had wanted you for such a long time that it was hard for him to acknowledge that you had sent him another nude, another shot of your now naked tits, and that this time, you had done it while being absolutely conscious of who you were sending it to.

junnie :  fuck, you’re so beautiful darling tell me this isn’t a joke tell me you’re going to let me put my hands on you you :  i’m not one to joke about something like that, you know that are you touching yourself too ? [1 attachment]

His heart was racing in his chest as he opened the next photo - this time, a closer pic of your drenched panties, your fingers pressing against your clit through the material. He had been palming his cock over his sweatpants ever since he had received the first photo from you, and even if you had told him to delete it, he would’ve probably kept it for a while, because he couldn’t just forget about it just like that, because he needed you. And now, he needed you to see how bad he wanted you. He took a quick pic of the obvious bulge deforming his sweats before sending it to you without any shame. 

junnie :  [1 attachment] what do you think ? you :  show me more junnie :  [1 attachment] enough ? you :  shit i knew you were big you would fill me up so good [1 attachment]  wish it was your cock instead of my fingers

Yeonjun’s head was spinning with want, with all the fantasies he ever had about you and the new ones you were stirring inside of him with your little game. Every photo you sent became more and more revealing, and with each new one, his hand only sped up his rhythm. He didn’t care about how late at night it was, he didn’t care if one of the other guys could hear him, he just couldn’t stop when you kept sending him shots of your glistening folds and videos of your fingers covered in slick, spreading it across your hardened nipples.

junnie :  you’re driving me crazy look what you’re doing to me [1 attachment] wish you were here to sit down on my cock i know you would take it so well make the prettiest sounds for me too

The video of Yeonjun quickly getting himself off, paired with his airy moans and low grunts you could hear in the background made you even wetter if that was possible, your own fingers speeding up and rubbing against your g-spot making you feel close to the edge already. Your texts were starting to have more and more typos but you didn’t care, it felt too good to stop now. 

you :  i wpuld  frck junnie i nzed you so bad i’m so clode  [1 attachment]

This last video of you moaning his name was all Yeonjun needed to finally call you. The game had been fun, but he wanted to hear you as you came for him, wanted to hear through the phone how wet you were. Within a second, you answered the call and your needy whimpers immediately ringing through his ears felt like the greatest music he had ever heard. 

“- Fuck darling, you sound so good. 

- Junnie… Need you so bad…

- Me too, shit, you’re making me go crazy.”

Another one of your moans was the only answer he got, but it was more than enough for him to feel the knot in his stomach tightening as well. Your high-pitched voice was heavenly, and with his eyes closed and his imagination working overtime with all the photos you had sent to him, it was easy for Yeonjun to picture you touching yourself, all wet and ready for him.

“- I’m so close Junnie…

- Me too, darling… Cum with me, let me hear you.”

Your sounds of pleasure only elevated as you felt your orgasm wash over you like a hurricane, and Yeonjun let go too, covering his own hand in loads of cum as he moaned your name. For a while, the only sound that either of you could hear was the one of your heavy breathing, trying to regain some sense of consciousness after what had just happened. 

“- Are you still there darling ?”

You hummed absentmindedly, your mind still clouded with the intensity of your release. You rolled over your stomach to take some tissue and wipe your fingers from your slick, and then you took a hold of your phone again. You didn’t really know what to say now, but you didn’t want things to become awkward between the two of you, so you tried to crack a joke to break the ice. 

“- I thought you were a gentleman, but you’re here giving orgasms to girls when you’re not even with them.”

Yeonjun chuckled on the other end of the line, cleaning himself up a little too. 

“- I can be a gentleman. All you have to do is ask Y/N. Say the words and I’ll take you out on a date tomorrow. 

- And if I want you to come over and fuck me ?

- I’ll be there in ten.”

A smirk spread out on your lips as Yeonjun immediately hung up, but you had heard him rushing in the background before he ended the call. Sometimes, sending the wrong text to the wrong person wasn’t such a bad thing.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

txt taglist (fill in this to added) :

@lala-----------lala @bbgnyx @hann1bee @rikiives @lichyuu @foxinnie8 @seomisaho @dylanobr1ens @straytiny127

kinktober taglist (dm or comment to be added) :

@d-dilemma @bath1lda @leeknowinggg @anxiousskylar @mikaelless

[eufezco]

NIGHT RIDES WITH LOGAN༄

logan x afab!reader (smut) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

logan spends all day working and you get bored.

when he finally gets home at night he is too tired to do anything but collapse in your bed, between your arms and with your hands caressing his hair. you want to spend some time with him, you miss his company, but you know that work drains all his energy and you would never hold it against him, he did everything he could to provide for the four of you. so you eventually found a way to spend some time with logan.

you booked his limousine.

the first time his brow furrowed in confusion as you opened the door to get into the car. —what are you doing here?

—wanted to spend some time with you.

—you know this makes me loose fucking money.

—you can put in the app that you're free, i won't be a bother, i promise.

and logan huffs but agrees because he's upset but at the same time it's comforting to have you there. he starts driving and you start talking, and he listens, smiles and hums to everything you say. he likes to listen to you and how you have the need to tell him about every thought that goes through your head.

and you turn up the radio a little and hum and sing all the songs while logan is focused on driving but you can see how his fingers tap the rhythm of the song on the steering wheel. he's happy to have you there with him.

and sometimes logan drives with a hand on your thigh, caressing and squeezing the inside of it or taking your hand and putting it on the shifter under his. other times you have your feet on his lap while logan drives, innocently at first, but then you start to rub his crotch with them and he looks at your feet and then he looks at you, looking back at him as if you were doing nothing.

so logan has to park in the darkest alley he knows and fuck you dumb in the back seats. he has you sitting with your legs spread open, knees to your chest, and his body between them as his hips slam into you. may not seem to be the most comfortable position, but remember it's a limousine so you have all the space you need.

it's even better when you ride him. you straddle him and his big hands are on your hips, helping you to bounce on his cock. he grunts and pants into your mouth. he spanks your ass, sucks on your nipples, and looks at you in awe, with parted lips trying to control his breathing as you ride him with your eyes closed shut and your hands on his chest.

there comes a moment when your legs start shaking, your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders and your movements become more desperate, you can't stop moaning and by the way, you're squeezing his cock, logan knows you're about to cum. so he starts bucking his hips upwards to meet yours. and the limousine is moving, the windows are fogging up and you are sure that they can hear from outside the car.

one night he was driving these girls to this party and you were sitting quietly in the passenger seat. the girls were drinking and having the time of their lives in the back of the limousine, laughing and dancing to the music. and all of a sudden one of them called logan and flashed her tits to him through the rearview mirror.

you clenched your jaw, turned around, threw yourself at her, and pulled from her hair. you slapped her and she slapped you back, and logan had to stop the car and get in the middle of the fight. he apologized and offered the girls the ride for free, also they were drunk enough to not care too much. you sat in the passenger seat with your cheek burning and blood coming out of your nose until he dropped the girls at the party. then he used the alcohol he had in his glove compartment to clean your wound.

other night logan stopped driving so you could get a snack. when you got out of the limousine and started walking to the store, a random man slapped your ass. logan never felt so much anger before. he got out with his fists clenched and punched the man so hard that he broke his own knuckles.

—you can't do that, you know how much it takes for you to heal...

he grunted as you wrapped his knuckles with a bandage. he didn’t care, he’d do it again.

and there are nights when it gets very late and logan still has a couple of hours of work but you can't keep it up any longer so you lean your head against the window and fall asleep. logan can't watch you sleep so uncomfortably so he quickly drives home and carries you in his arms to your bed. you hum when he picks you up and he mumbles the sweetest things for you to not wake up.

—sh, it's okay, i got you. you're home, baby, you need to sleep and i'll be with you before you know.

he tucks you into your shared bed and kisses your forehead before he leaves. you hum when you feel his lips. —love you, lo.

—love you too, baby.

and when he gets back to the car he rubs his face to clear his mind because he'd have loved to get into bed and sleep with you but sadly he has to continue working. he opens the glove compartment to take a sip of his alcohol and when he does, he finds your panties, crumpled into a small ball waiting for him.

he takes them and he can feel how wet they are thanks to his cum mixing with your juices. logan brings them close to his face and takes a deep breath. then he puts them inside his pocket. —you're gonna be the fucking death of me.

[denwritesandcries]

Hold to my Hand – H.C

Pairing: loser!hazel x fem!reader

Summary: You might be a little – completely – obsessed with your girlfriend's hands and apparently she enjoys that a lot.

Word count: 2,3k.

Content: cursing, fluff, kisses, slight jealousy, hazel being a loser AND a mess, soft gfs.

Note: So… women, right? Women with rings and cold hands… right?

English is not my first language.

“Babe, stop that!”

“What?” You said, “I’m not doing anything.”

But you were.

You were sprawled out on your girlfriend Hazel's bed, a book from your English class abandoned in front of you while your girlfriend had a laptop open on her lap, the cute look of concentration from before replaced by red cheeks and nervousness at your actions.

It was no big deal, actually, your girlfriend was simply very easy to flustreat; you had one of her hands in yours, leaving feather-light kisses along her calloused, ring-covered fingers, sending goosebumps across her cold skin.

“You’re distracting me.” She whines, looking away to a random spot in the room, “I can’t type like this.”

You huff, climbing higher on the bed to be at her height, keeping your grip on her hand and glancing at the laptop screen.

“Boxing and wrestling techniques?” you read, letting your head fall to rest on her shoulder, “Will you really gonna start a fight club with Josie and PJ?”

Hazel immediately perks up, telling you all about the idea that she and the girls had at lunch – you're sure 80% of it must have come from PJ, but you don't have the courage to interrupt her – and how they're going to get along and have fun with this and Hazel will teach everyone self defense techniques. She looks so much like a happy puppy that it warms your heart.

Unfortunately, you can't give her full attention to the conversation, being too involved in the way she gestures to process anything else.

Okay, maybe you're a little – just a little – obsessed with your girlfriend's hands.

“...You sure you don't want to?”

“Huh?”

Hazel's voice snaps you out of your reverie and she's staring at you with bright, expectant blue eyes.

“Are you sure you don't want to join?” She repeats.

“Hm-hm,” you mumble.

“Please?” She asks softly, “For me?”

You look away from her, because there's no way to deny anything if you're looking at that needy dog face, and you keep yourself looking at the old judo and jiu-jitsu trophies that she keeps on the shelves in the big room.

She really wants you to be part of this, but you know PJ and Josie are probably only doing it because they want to fuck someone and Hazel because she wants to make more friends, but the most you'd get from this club would be a broken nose or tooth, so no, thanks.

“I can come to see you at meetings and give you moral support, love.”

It's not exactly what she wanted, but you know you won. Hazel completely softens the moment you call her love, every single time.

Hazel lets out a long dramatic sigh, giving up her laptop and turning to wrap her arms around you, burying her face in your neck.

“Fine, but you’ll definitely change your mind when the club finally starts!” She declares.

You scoff, sinking into her touch when you feel her hands spread on your hips beneath your shirt comfortably.

“Do you really want to get into this with those two, Haze?” Your question breaks the established silence, somewhat uncertain.

Your girlfriend unfortunately had a tendency to not notice or just not stand up for herself when someone was mean to her and PJ and Josie weren't exactly known for being gentle with people, so Hazel running something with them made you quite apprehensive. Of course, you wouldn't do anything to change her mind since it was something she really seemed to want to do, but a little caution wouldn't hurt.

“Oh, they know what they're doing, babe.” She squeezes you a little tighter, “They were in juvie!”

You laugh: “No, they weren't.”

“Still.”

You keep your word and start attending all the fight club meetings – under PJ's complaints that you're not really doing anything –, busying yourself with cheering Hazel on during her turns and talking to Mr.G about any nonsense stuff that he wants to speak in the stands. It's actually quite fun, but you don't change your mind about the fighting part.

You start bringing water bottles as a treat to the girls while you're there and take on the role of tending to all of Hazel's injuries when it's all over – which is a lot, since they don't really seem to know what they're doing in the moment –, you find yourself being very good at it and probably would have become the whole group personal nurse if it weren't for the possessive look in bright blue eyes and the sad pout on Hazel's face when she watched you wipe the blood from a cut on Brittany's cheek and put on one of the cute little band-aids that were supposed to be only for her one day.

Besides all that, the most important thing is that you have a free pass to admire your girlfriend as much as you want and she looks great kicking ass and throwing punches. Especially throwing punches.

In your defense, the obsession with your girlfriend's hands, your girlfriend’s touch, is actually justified. The thing is, you never had many friends since you came to this weird school and neither did Hazel, so when you got together everything in your relationship was a little new; you found yourself suddenly starving for contact.

Holding hands, playing with the rings on her fingers, pats on the shoulders, arms around the body, hugs, caresses. It was simply impossible not to be aware of every little touch that Hazel gives you, even less impossible not to melt with them.

So yes, maybe you liked it a little too much when Hazel came to you asking to bandage her bruised knuckles just because it gave you the chance to touch her as much as you wanted, like now, at home.

“Ouch!”

“Stop moving, Haze,” you complain as you apply the antiseptic to her, “This will only make it worse.”

“But it hurts.” Hazel whimpers, pulling her injured hand to her chest protectively.

She's sitting on the bathroom sink, which probably wasn't very safe, but it was the best way for you to treat her and also where the first aid kit you were using was kept.

Today's fight seems to have been a little more serious than usual because Hazel's dominant hand is hurt. Like really hurt, with purple bruises already forming over the torn skin, so your spare band-aids weren't enough to take care of it. Now, if she would just let you handle it properly.

“That's bad. You're lucky it didn't break.” You say, taking her hand more gently to examine it, “Damn, what did that blue-haired girl do to you to make this happen?”

Hazel stays quiet, suddenly embarrassed and looking at anything else as you wrap a clean bandage around the wound.

"Then?" You press.

Hazel mumbles something slurred and unintelligible and you frown, not knowing what could have made her so embarrassed. With how easily that happens tho, you didn't have a good guess.

“I heard her talking to some girls before the meeting today.” She pauses, “Talking about you.”

“Oh.” You say, trying to pull away a little so you can look her in the eyes, but Hazel closes her legs around your waist so you can’t move, “Saying bad things?”

She shakes her head and swallows, her blush deepening.

“She said that she likes it when you come to see us,” her good hand grabs the front of your shirt, “Said she wanted to ask you out.”

“Oh, Haze—” You begin.

“She knew we were dating. She knew. But she kept talking about it and I— I got mad, so I hit her.”

Hazel says it all quickly as if it were a single sentence, but you understand anyway; she is nervous, keeping her eyes closed and looking down. She was jealous, still is, but she's also scared of what you'll think of her for it.

Screw it, you think. It's a fight club, people are going to get hurt sometimes. Now it's time to comfort your girlfriend.

“You beat the shit out of a girl for me?” You say, taking the bandaged hand gently and bringing it to your lips, “That’s hot.”

Hazel's face is so red it glows, “Babe,” she squeals.

"What?" You tease, leaving smacking kisses from fist to wrist, “She should know better than to say things like that for you to hear, how rude.”

Hazel’s pupils are dilated when her eyes meet yours, “You’re serious?”

“Hmm.” You hum, leaving a mark of lip gloss on her skin, “Like I would leave the best girlfriend in the world for someone else like that.”

She squirms in your grip, swallowing hard and trying to keep from stuttering and you can't help the giggle that escapes as you notice a shiver run through her.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” she whines.

“I’m not,” you shrug, innocently.“I’m just kissing it better.”

You think Hazel never really realized the effect her touch has on you until one day at the library.

There's no club meeting today, so when you make your way to the library after your last class, your girlfriend follows along beside you excitedly, rambling about her day and waving your hands together as you walk down the halls.

You had to study for a history test, so you find a table in the back where you like to stay while Hazel looks for a book nearby to entertain herself.

You just spend less than an hour focusing on memorizing dates and names your teacher sent to the next test before your ears pick up the clink of Hazel's rings against the antique wood of the table.

Your gaze shifts away without even realizing it, focusing on Hazel's drumming and immersed expression.

“Have any of your rings ever fallen off?” You ask with sudden curiosity, even after months together this had never occurred to you.

“Huh?” She lifts her head, “Oh, yes. Lots of them.”

Hazel stops for a moment to check it and adjust some looseness and you gently take the hand with the ring you gave her, running your thumb over the silly little smiley face plastered on it.

“I never take that one off,” she smiles.

“I noticed,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You might end up breaking your finger over this, you know? Or someone’s nose.”

“I was trying to be romantic,” Hazel snorts.

“Sorry, love,” you lean across the table closer to her, looking between the plastic ring. “I just gave that to you as a silly joke.”

Hazel tilts her head, that confused and bit sad puppy expression back on her face.

“Yeah?”

You nod, “One day I’ll give you a real one, with a real gem." You can feel Hazel staring at you, her jaw is probably dropped, but you settle for shaking her hand, “A blue one. Will suit you.”

“You think so?” She sighs.

“Of course,” you find yourself saying. “I’ll give you the most beautiful one, the first one everyone will notice when they look at you.”

You look up to find Hazel. Just Hazel. With soft eyes, bright smile and hands full of rings.

There were moments – moments like this – when it felt like there were only the two of you in the world, when you couldn't see or feel anything but Hazel and you drowned in her completely.

Taking a deep breath, she leans over the table, hand letting go of yours to slide down your arm. You swear your skin crawls.

“Babe?” Hazel calls; you notice how she keeps her voice low for fear of ruining the moment, even though she's so clearly nervous.

You open your mouth and nothing comes out, the touch on your skin is cold but it feels like it's burning you from the inside out. What did you come here to do in the first place?

Hazel leans back under the forgotten book and you grab her wrist when she moves to keep her close.

“I— I would like that,” she says, eyes wide and face flushed, “Sounds good, I mean.”

"You deserve it. You deserve this and more, love,” You’re not really sure what ‘more’ is, especially for someone who can buy anything they want like Hazel. Maybe it’s all she wanted, all you could offer her; maybe it’s just you.

Hazel squeezes your hand, leaning in closer and running her thumb over your knuckles so gently that the noise you make is embarrassing. You think she's going to kiss you and maybe she would have, if it weren't for the angry shush! coming from the librarian near the bookshelves next to you two.

She only mentions it days later, when you're back in her bed, curled up in a familiar way while Hazel scrolls through her phone.

Her fingers are running through your hair, almost lulling you to sleep and you feel like you could do the same as the cat at the foot of the bed and melt into a purring puddle under her touch.

“You have a thing for my hands." She comments out of nowhere, interrupting the peaceful atmosphere, a giggle in her tone.

“What?” You ask confused, using your arms to lean against her chest, “I do not.”

You know it's not true, but denying it is better than admitting something like that. Hazel gives you a look; she knows you better than that.

“But you do.” Hazel turns you in her arms and you let out a surprised squeak at the action when she finds yourself on top of you.

You shake your head, refusing to give in, but she runs her cold hands under your shirt, resting on the warm skin of your belly – this seems to be one of her favorite things to do.

“Jeez!” You hiss, “How can you be so cold all the time? You’re like a lizard.”

“Oh, I love lizards!”

“Haze!”

You squirm in her grip, but Hazel holds firm, an unusual confidence behind her actions.

“Admit it,” she asks with a smirk. “You have a thing for my hands.”

“I have a thing for you.”

The cocky little smile she has every time she touches you for the next week is totally worth it – and it's also totally kissable.

[lila-lou]

✨All over again - 3/4✨

Summary: After a crash leaves Dean with permanent memory loss, you’re nothing but a stranger to him now. Years of love, gone in an instant. But the hardest part isn’t that he forgot you, it’s that he doesn’t want to remember.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Angst

Word Count: 7268

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

Weeks went by since that night in the motel.

Nothing changed. Not in the way that mattered. Dean still didn’t remember. Still didn’t feel anything. But that didn’t mean nothing happened.

Every now and then, he’d find little pieces of you lingering in his space.

A shirt of yours in his room, tucked into the laundry pile like it had always belonged there. A picture of the two of you on his laptop—your wedding day, him in a suit, you in white, both of you looking so damn happy—staring back at him when he wasn’t expecting it.

And the worst part? The part that really messed him up? He wanted to feel something when he saw those things. But he didn’t. Not the way he was supposed to.

What he did notice, though, was you.

The way you moved. The way your jeans hugged your ass when you walked past him in the bunker, completely unaware of the way his eyes lingered longer than they should. The way your lips curled slightly when you were focused, deep in research.

Attraction? Yeah. That was still there. But love? That stubborn, all-consuming, you’re it for me kind of love? Still nothing. And you had stopped expecting it. By now, you weren’t mad anymore. Hurt? Yeah. Absolutely. But mad? No.

Because this wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t chosen to forget you. Hadn’t decided to lose the feelings he once had. And you knew that.

So, instead of fighting, instead of forcing something that wasn’t there, you just… let go. Not of him. But of the expectation. And somehow, that made things easier.

There were good days—days where you and Dean exchanged little stories, where you’d drop some random fact about something he used to love about you, but wrap it up in a joke, making it seem casual.

“You know, you used to love the way I ate pickles straight from the jar”, you had said once, grinning as you popped one into your mouth. “Said it was weirdly hot”.

Dean had snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. Still weird”.

But then, later that night, Sam caught him eating a damn pickle straight from the jar, brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out why the hell his body still craved it.

Little things like that.

Moments where you got along again.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t what it used to be. But it was something.

And at this point, it was either this—either learning to be around each other without breaking apart—or you leaving altogether. And neither of you wanted that. Even if you didn’t say it out loud.

Dean barely made it two steps into the bunker before he almost dropped the grocery bag in his hands. Because there you were. In the garage. Bent over in a downward-facing dog, your ass perfectly on display in those tight-ass yoga pants, completely unaware of your audience.

Dean’s dick twitched immediately. Son of a bitch.

His breath hitched, and for a second, he couldn’t even move—just stood there, frozen, his grip tightening around the bag like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Next to him, Sam sighed heavily. “Dude, seriously?”.

Dean blinked, tearing his eyes away for a brief moment, only to find Sam giving him the most unimpressed look imaginable. Dean didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, he nudged Sam, nodding toward you. “Are you seeing this?”.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I see it. Doesn’t mean I’m staring like a pervy teenager”.

Dean ignored him, still watching as you—completely oblivious, headphones in your ears—shifted effortlessly into another position, slipping down into a full split like it was nothing.

Dean’s breath caught. Oh, fuck. His jeans got even tighter.

“For the love of-”, Sam grumbled, shaking his head. “I still have to live with the fact that you told me very detailed, very visual stories about this exact thing after you two finally got together”.

Dean smirked, even as he struggled not to adjust himself in his jeans. “Well, you didn’t have to listen”.

“Oh, screw you. You wouldn’t shut up about it”.

Dean chuckled, but his eyes did not leave you. Because, shit. How had he ever gotten that. And how the hell had he forgotten?

His body was reacting again, the same way it had that night in the motel. The same way it had every time he got too close to you lately.

His mind? Still blank. But his body? His body knew exactly what it wanted. And right now, it wanted you.

Sam huffed, shifting the grocery bag in his hands before nudging Dean—hard. “Okay, enough, man. Let’s go”, he muttered, glaring at his brother like a fed-up parent.

Dean barely budged. “Dude, just—hang on”, he said, eyes still locked on you like he was hypnotized.

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck. “No, not hang on”, he shot back. “Let’s go. To the kitchen. Away from the garage. Away from you being a creepy asshole staring at your wife like a guy who hasn’t seen a woman in ten years”.

Dean finally blinked, turning his head just enough to glare at Sam. “Oh, shut up, dude. It’s not like I—”.

Sam gave him a flat look. “You literally almost dropped a bag of eggs because (Y/N) did a split. So yeah, you are being a perv”.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “I was not—”.

“Oh, you were”.

Dean gritted his teeth, his jaw ticking, before turning back toward the garage.

You had moved into another stretch, arching your back just enough to press your ass up in a way that made Dean’s brain short-circuit all over again. His dick gave a very obvious pulse in his jeans, and suddenly, Sam was right. He needed to get the hell out of here.

Sam sighed, already sensing where Dean’s thoughts were going. “Come on, man. I don’t need to hear you bitch about being hard for the next three hours. Get your ass in the kitchen and eat a damn sandwich”.

Dean clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away. “I hate you”, he muttered, adjusting the bag in his hands.

Dean grumbled something under his breath before finally turning away, following Sam toward the kitchen. But even as he walked away, even as he tried to push it out of his head, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying it.

The way you looked, the way you moved, the way his body fucking reacted like muscle memory. And for the first time since losing his memories, Dean wasn’t just frustrated. He was pissed. Because his body remembered loving you. So why the hell didn’t his mind?

An hour later, you walked into the kitchen, freshly showered, your damp hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing one of your usual oversized shirts and shorts.

Sam was at the stove, stirring something in a pan, the scent of garlic and spices filling the air. Dean was lingering near the counter, nursing a beer, but the second you stepped in, his body tensed—like it knew before his brain did.

His eyes flickered to you for a split second, then back to his bottle.

“Food’s almost ready”, Sam said, glancing over his shoulder, as if sensing the shift in energy the moment you entered.

You nodded, stepping further in. “Smells good”.

Dean took a long sip of his beer, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t totally rattled. He watched as you moved past him, reaching up to grab a glass from the cabinet. His eyes flickered—just for a second—to the curve of your bare legs, the hem of your shorts riding high.

And fuck, his brain went straight to the worst place. His fingers flexed slightly around the neck of his beer bottle. His jaw tightened. Not again. Not now. Not fucking now.

You turned back toward him, your expression unreadable. “You good?”.

Dean blinked, realizing way too late that he’d been staring. “Yeah”, he muttered, forcing himself to look away. He took another swig of beer. “Just… thinking”.

Sam, standing at the stove, let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I bet you are”.

Dean shot him a shut the hell up look, but Sam only smirked, stirring the pan.

You didn’t press the issue. You just moved past him again, sitting at the table, stretching your legs out beneath you like you hadn’t just driven him insane with barely any effort.

Dean swallowed hard, shifting against the counter, still trying to shake the lingering feeling in his gut. This was getting out of hand. Because no matter how much he told himself that there was nothing left, his body kept proving him wrong.

Dean forced himself to focus on his beer, keeping his grip tight around the bottle like it was the only thing anchoring him. But his eyes betrayed him, flickering back to you every few seconds—watching the way you stretched, the way you absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the way your lips curled slightly when you scrolled through your phone.

It was so normal. So casual. Like you weren’t still carrying the weight of everything he had put you through. Like you hadn’t spent weeks hurting over him. And that made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

Sam, of course, saw everything.

The way Dean kept sneaking glances at you, the way his grip on the beer bottle tightened every time you shifted in your chair.

With an exasperated sigh, Sam plated up the food and turned to the table. “Alright, you two. Dinner”. He set a plate in front of you, then in front of Dean before grabbing his own seat.

Dean pushed off the counter, finally tearing his eyes away from you long enough to sit down. But as soon as he did, his knee bumped against yours beneath the table. It wasn’t much—just a small, accidental touch. But his body reacted instantly. Again.

A sharp jolt of heat shot up his spine, a phantom sensation of something familiar, something his brain should remember but didn’t. His muscles locked up.

You, however, barely seemed to notice.

You just grabbed your fork, picking at your food like nothing had happened, like his whole damn body hadn’t just short-circuited over one little touch.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting slightly, trying to move his leg away—except you stretched yours out again, brushing against him without even realizing it.

And holy fuck—his dick twitched, memories he didn’t have playing tricks on him.

Sam, completely done with this entire situation, gave him a pointed look. “Eat, Dean”, he muttered, clearly tired of watching him mentally combust.

Dean blinked, realizing he was gripping his fork too tight, and forced himself to take a bite—chewing like it was a damn job just to keep from focusing on the fact that his whole body felt like it was at war with itself.

While Sam was already asleep, his soft, steady breaths filling the quiet of the bunker, Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He had tried. He had laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to pass out, to shut off whatever the hell was happening in his brain. But it didn’t work.

Because his body wouldn’t let him forget. Wouldn’t let him forget the way you looked earlier in the garage, how flexible you were, the way your yoga pants hugged everything. Wouldn’t let him forget the accidental brush of your leg under the table. Wouldn’t let him forget the way his body had reacted instantly.

And now, he was walking around with a hard-on that refused to go away.

He had even tried jerking off to the memory of you stretching earlier, his mind grasping at something—anything—to take the edge off. But it wasn’t enough.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of something more. Felt something more. Things he couldn’t remember. But his body did. And it was driving him fucking insane.

So now, here he was. Standing outside your door, staring at the wood like it was some kind of goddamn enemy, like it held all the answers to the shitstorm inside his head.

He knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew he should turn around, go back to his room, take another cold shower, do anything but this. But before he could talk himself out of it, his hand was already knocking.

It was quiet—hesitant. For a second, nothing happened. Then, soft footsteps.

The door cracked open, and there you were, standing in the dim light of your room, looking just as tired as he felt. But not for the same reason.

Dean knew he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been sleeping lately.

You’d been like this since the hospital—since he forgot you. Waking up in the middle of the night. Crying. Shaking.

Sam had told him, in that concerned-but-not-prying way of his. Said he could hear you sometimes, muffled sobs that you tried to hide.

Dean had never asked about it.

And now, standing here, looking at you, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Because if he did, he might have to deal with it. And right now, the only thing he could deal with was the ache still pulsing between his legs.

You blinked up at him, confusion flickering across your face. “Dean?”.

His jaw clenched. Say something. Don’t be fucking weird.

“I, uh—”. He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You awake?”.

You let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “I haven’t really slept in weeks, so yeah”.

That made something twist in his chest, something unfamiliar. But he ignored it. Instead, his eyes flickered—just for a second—to the oversized shirt you were wearing, hanging off your shoulder, just barely covering your legs.

You caught the shift in his gaze, the way his throat bobbed, and your lips parted slightly in realization. “Dean?”. Your voice was softer now, more cautious. “What are you doing here?”.

He exhaled hard. What was he doing here? There was no good answer. Just the wrong one. So instead of speaking, instead of figuring it out, he did the only thing that felt real in that moment. He stepped closer. Just enough for you to feel the heat of his body, for your breath to hitch in your throat, for his fingers to twitch at his sides like they wanted to touch.

You were watching him carefully now, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion that clung to you. Because this? This wasn’t normal. Not anymore. Not since the accident. Not since he stopped looking at you like you were his.

And yet, right now—right fucking now—he was looking at you like he wanted. Like he needed. His jaw worked, like he was trying to form words but couldn’t quite get them out. His throat bobbed, his breath came a little heavier, and his eyes? His eyes were on your bare legs, the way your oversized shirt barely covered you, like he was memorizing every damn inch.

“Dean”, you murmured, voice hesitant. “What do you want?”.

His gaze flicked up to yours, something desperate flashing across his face. His fingers curled into fists, and then—quietly, roughly, like he hated how much he needed to say it— “I want to feel you”.

The words landed. Hard.

Your lips parted slightly, your breath catching. But you didn’t say anything.

And fuck—fuck—Dean’s body reacted to the silence, to the tension, to the way you didn’t immediately say no.

He took another step closer. Then another. Until you could feel the heat of him, the way his body practically radiated with the weight of what he was holding back.

“I don’t—”. He swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly, like he was fighting with himself. “I don’t remember you”.

You went still, something flickering behind your eyes.

“But my body does”, he continued, voice rough, edged with frustration, desperation, want.

His hand lifted—hesitated—then finally, finally settled lightly against your hip. Just the smallest touch, like he was testing something, like he was waiting for you to push him away.

But you didn’t. And that just made it worse.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me”, he admitted, his grip tightening slightly. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop—”. His voice dropped lower, like he was confessing something dark, something wrong. “Can’t stop wanting you”.

Your breath was shaky now, your body frozen between fight and surrender. Because this was new. Dean had pulled away from you for weeks, had looked at you like a stranger. But now he was looking at you like he needed you. Like he couldn’t fucking help it.

And when his hand slid down, fingertips grazing against the bare skin of your thigh, you shivered.

His jaw clenched, his breathing ragged, his body practically vibrating with restraint. “Tell me to stop”, he rasped, his forehead almost pressing against yours now. “Tell me to walk away”.

You should stop this. You knew you should.

This wasn’t love. This wasn’t Dean remembering you, choosing you. This was desperation. This was your husband—your husband—wanting you for nothing more than a release, for the way his body still recognized you, even when his mind didn’t.

It was awful. It was pity. But you were already broken. So what did it even matter?

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers dug just slightly into the bare skin of your hip. He was so close, heat radiating from him, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His forehead nearly brushed against yours, his grip tightening, his body tense with restraint.

You opened your mouth and nothing came out. Because you couldn’t say it. Couldn’t force the words past the lump in your throat, past the deep, aching part of you that just wanted something—anything—that still felt real.

So instead, you tilted your head just slightly, your breath ghosting over his lips. A silent answer. Dean inhaled sharply. And then he broke.

His mouth crashed against yours, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he needed to feel you, to prove something to himself.

You gasped into the kiss, his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, gripping your bare skin, rough and needy. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate. And you let him take it.

Because if he wasn’t going to love you, if he wasn’t going to remember, at least he could still want you. At least you could pretend.

Just for tonight.

Dean didn’t hesitate. The second your body melted into his, the second you didn’t push him away, he took.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you against him as he walked you backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving yours. It was messy—needy—desperate.

You barely had time to breathe before your back hit the mattress, his weight settling over you, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid to let go. But then—he stilled.

His forehead rested against yours, his breaths heavy, his fingers twitching against your skin. Because for all the heat, all the tension, something about this still wasn’t right. He didn’t remember you. Didn’t remember the first time he kissed you, the way he used to worship you, the way he used to look at you like you were his whole damn world.

And for a second, that truth hung between you, thick and suffocating.

Dean swallowed hard, his lips hovering over yours. “I don’t—”. His voice was rough, strained. “I don’t wanna hurt you”.

Your chest ached. But you forced a small, bitter smile, brushing your fingers against his jaw. “You already did”.

Dean’s eyes darkened. His grip on you tightened. And then, he kissed you again. Slower this time. Softer. Like he was trying to feel something, trying to remember, trying to chase whatever part of him still recognized you.

His lips moved down your neck, his hands slipping beneath your shirt, pushing it up, his calloused fingers tracing over familiar skin like muscle memory. Like his body knew, even when his mind didn’t.

He pulled away just enough to strip off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor before his hands found the hem of yours, fingers brushing over your ribs as he pulled it off.

The air in the room felt heavier, charged with something desperate, something aching.

You were left in nothing but your panties, chest rising and falling unevenly as he hovered over you, his eyes dragging over your body like he was trying to memorize it, like he was trying to force himself to feel what he was supposed to.

Your throat burned. Your eyes, too. But you didn’t stop him. Didn’t push him away. Because if this was all you could have, if this was the only way he could be close to you again— You’d take it. Even if it hurt.

Dean exhaled sharply, his hands trailing down your sides, over your hips, his touch familiar and unfamiliar all at once. His body still knew what to do, still reacted the way it always had.

And yet, it wasn’t the same. Because this wasn’t love. Not anymore.

Dean swallowed hard, fingers skimming just beneath the waistband of your panties before his eyes flicked up to yours.

You lifted your hips slightly, a silent invitation.

Dean hovered over you, both of you completely bare now, skin against skin, bodies hot and flushed. The heavy rise and fall of your breathing filled the quiet space between you, thick with tension, with something unspoken.

And for the first time since this started—since he lost everything—Dean felt awkward.

Not because he didn’t want this. Not because he wasn’t dying to be inside you. But because he didn’t know anymore. Didn’t know if you were already wet enough for him. Didn’t know if you struggled taking his size before, if he used to stretch you out slowly or if you could handle him all at once. Didn’t know if he was supposed to tease you, take his time, make you beg, or if you used to like it rough. He just—didn’t know.

And that was fucking frustrating.

His fingers brushed against your thigh, hesitating just slightly before trailing higher. You shifted beneath him, parting your legs more, but when his fingers slid lower, he exhaled sharply at what he found.

Soaked.

You were already soaked for him.

His jaw clenched, his cock twitching almost painfully because fuck—even without the memories, even with all the pain, your body still responded to him. Still wanted him.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, fingers teasing along your slit, collecting the wetness before dragging it back up, just barely brushing against your clit.

You let out a soft breath, shifting beneath him, eyes dark and unreadable.

Dean swallowed hard, meeting your gaze. “Did I—”. He hesitated, his voice rough, almost embarrassed. “Did I used to—fuck, I don’t even know how to ask this”.

You blinked up at him, something flickering in your expression, something almost sad before you forced a small, breathless laugh.

“You never had to ask”, you murmured, tilting your hips up slightly, pressing against his fingers. “You always just knew”.

Dean’s chest ached. Not just from the words, but from the way you said them. Like you missed him. The real him. The one who knew your body like the back of his hand. The one who never hesitated, never second-guessed, never had to wonder what you needed because he just knew.

And fuck, he wanted to know. Wanted to remember.

Dean cleared his throat, still hovering over you, his body tense, his fingers still teasing between your legs but not pushing yet.

His mind was at war with itself.

He wanted you. Fuck, did he want you. But he still didn’t know. Didn’t know how much to give, how much you could take, how much he had to prepare you.

So, awkwardly, hesitantly, he muttered, “You, uh… you got experience?”. It was a dumb question. He knew that. But he wasn’t thinking straight.

You blinked up at him, confused at first, but then something shifted in your expression. Like you knew exactly what he was asking.

You swallowed hard, your throat bobbing. Then, barely above a whisper—soft, hesitant, truthful—you said: “You were my first. And my only”.

Dean’s breath hitched. His stomach flipped. His cock twitched. Because fuck. That wasn’t what he had asked. That wasn’t what he had meant to find out.

But now? Now that he knew? It turned his whole damn head.

You were his. Only his.

No one else had ever touched you. No one else had ever felt you. He had been your first. Your only. And something primal deep in his gut loved that.

His fingers twitched against your skin, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh. His voice came out rough, almost strained. “Yeah?”.

You nodded, lips parted, breathing uneven beneath him.

Dean exhaled sharply, his head swimming, his body aching. He still didn’t remember. But he felt it now. Felt the weight of what that meant. Felt possessive in a way he didn’t understand. And fuck—if he was your first, your only, then he sure as hell wasn’t about to let you forget why.

Dean exhaled through his nose, trying to think—trying to be careful. He had no memory of this, no memory of you like this, no memory of what you liked, what you needed.

So, to be safe, he gently pushed a finger inside you, just to test, just to feel how tight you were.

And fuck.

You were tight.

Warm, wet, clenching slightly around him as his finger slid deeper, your breath hitching just slightly.

Dean swallowed hard.

Maybe you needed a little foreplay. Maybe he should take his time, work you open, make sure you could take him—because he wasn’t small, wasn’t average, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

But then, you made a soft sound in the back of your throat, shifting your hips, pressing down against his hand. And fuck, he felt it. The way you tightened around him, the way you weren’t just ready, but needy.

His brows furrowed slightly. “You sure you don’t need more?”, he asked, voice rough, almost hesitant.

Your breath was uneven, your fingers curling slightly against his arm. “You always asked that”, you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean stilled, blinking down at you.

“And you always got the same answer”, you continued, shifting slightly, your lips curving in a ghost of a smirk.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah? And what’s that?”.

You met his eyes, something dark and wanting flickering behind yours. “I like the stretch”.

Dean felt that. Felt it everywhere. His cock throbbed almost painfully, his pulse hammering in his ears, his mind foggy with need.

You liked the stretch. You liked feeling him, even if he wasn’t inside you anymore. That did something to him.

His fingers twitched against your thigh, his jaw clenching as he pulled his hand back, dragging his finger out of you slowly, watching the way your body reacted, how you clenched around the absence of him.

His cock pulsed at the sight.

You were already soaked, already ready, and the thought of just pushing inside had his restraint hanging by a thread. Still, he hesitated. Because he wanted this. Wanted you. But he didn’t want to do it wrong. Didn’t want to fuck this up. Didn’t want to fuck you up more than he already had.

Dean exhaled sharply, his forehead briefly pressing against yours as he muttered, “You tell me if it’s too much”.

Your hands slid up his back, fingers curling against his skin, pulling him closer.

“It won’t be”, you whispered, voice breathless. “It never is”.

Dean’s control snapped. He reached down, gripping himself, aligning with your entrance, his tip already soaked with you.

And then, slowly, slowly, he pushed inside.

Your breath hitched, your body arching slightly, legs tightening around his waist as he sank deeper, stretching you just the way you liked.

Dean felt it. The way you took him so perfectly, the way your body pulled him in, wanted him, like you were made just for him.

His jaw clenched, his breath ragged as he buried himself to the hilt, your walls gripping him so damn tight he had to physically stop himself from moving. “Fuck”, he rasped, his head dropping to your shoulder.

You let out a shaky breath, hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in just slightly.

Dean didn’t need to think anymore. Didn’t need to try. Because the second he started moving, the second he pulled back and thrust forward again, it was there. Familiar. Instinctual.

Like his body had never forgotten the way you felt around him, the way you gripped him perfectly, like you were made for him.

His pace found its rhythm quickly—deep, steady, smooth. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t fumbling. It was natural. It was right.

And fuck, it was the best sex he’d ever had.

Dean knew it—felt it in every roll of his hips, in every gasp that left your lips, in the way your legs wrapped around him like they belonged there.

He didn’t remember the first time you had done this. Didn’t remember the late nights, the early mornings, the way he used to take his time with you—teasing, kissing, worshiping.

But his body did.

Because even now, this—this slow, deep, all-consuming connection—felt like something he had done a million times.

Like something he needed.

His forehead pressed against yours, breaths mixing, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, guiding you into every thrust.

And you were lost in it. Lost in him. Because this wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just two people fucking. This was something deeper, something that had been missing—something neither of you had allowed yourselves to feel in weeks.

Dean groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a second as you clenched around him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your soft, breathless moans hitting his ears.

Dean was losing it.

He was barely hanging on, every slow thrust pulling him deeper into something he wasn’t ready to name. You were so warm, so tight around him, gripping him in a way that made every muscle in his body tense.

And fuck, he had no idea how he used to do this without embarrassing the shit out of himself.

Because right now, he was dangerously close to blowing his load like some damn rookie.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breathing uneven. “Shit—”.

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers digging into his back. “Already?”.

Dean groaned, shaking his head. “Shut up, I’m trying, okay?”.

You smirked against his skin, shifting your hips just slightly, making him twitch inside you.

Dean whimpered. Actually whimpered.

You giggled.

And that—that—was when he realized he was completely fucking doomed.

“Geez”, he gritted out, pulling back just enough to glare at you, his jaw tight. “You always do this?”.

You tilted your head, amused. “What?”.

Dean clenched his teeth, his grip tightening on your waist. “Try to make me look like an idiot?”.

You laughed again, and fuck, that should not have turned him on more, but it did. “Well”, you teased, brushing your lips against his jaw, “you used to have really good stamina”.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Used to?”.

You bit your lip, eyes playful. “I don’t know—maybe memory loss killed your endurance”.

Dean growled, gripping your thighs and slamming his hips deeper, making your breath hitch hard.

“Oh”, you gasped, clinging to him.

Dean smirked, his confidence surging back. “What was that? Didn’t hear you”.

You glared at him, even as your legs tightened around his waist. “Asshole”.

Dean grinned.

You snorted, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

And just like that—just like always—it stopped being awkward. Stopped being weird. Because this? This was still you and him. And for the first time in weeks, Dean felt like he knew you.

But still, he was struggling.Like, really fucking struggling.

Your body wrapped around him like a damn vice, squeezing him just right, gripping him in a way that made his brain short-circuit.

While you were so close.

He could feel it—could feel the way your body clenched tighter around him with every thrust, your breath coming out in shaky little gasps, your nails digging into his shoulders like you were trying to anchor yourself.

Dean clenched his jaw, his arms shaking as he gripped the sheets beside your head, desperately trying to hold on.

“Damn it", he gritted out, voice wrecked. “You’re doing that on purpose”.

You blinked up at him, dazed, barely registering his words. “What?”.

Dean groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, his thrusts growing sloppy, because holy shit, he wasn’t going to last. “That—”. He let out a breathless, broken laugh, “That thing—whatever the fuck that is—with your, y’know… muscles—”.

Your brows furrowed. “You mean me being close?”.

Dean whimpered. Again. “Don’t say it”, he warned, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself not to come like a teenager.

You let out a breathless giggle, which was not helping at all. “Dean, it’s literally what happens during sex—”.

“Stop talking”, he groaned, shaking his head.

You were dying. Genuinely, this was the best thing ever. Your big, strong, cocky husband, always so confident, always so damn good at this, now struggling to keep himself together.

And you loved it.

“You really—”. You gasped as he thrust particularly deep, your body tightening even more. “You really used to last long”.

Dean growled, lifting his head just enough to glare at you. “Oh, fuck you—I’ve got brain damage, okay?”.

You snorted, laughing so hard that you clenched even tighter around him, and—

Dean froze. His entire body locked up.

“Oh, motherfucker”, he groaned, shaking, his hips stuttering as he came so hard he almost blacked out.

You gasped at the sensation, his warmth spilling deep inside you, his arms trembling as he buried his face in your neck, completely and utterly wrecked.

For a solid ten seconds, the only sound in the room was his heavy breathing and your half-amused, half-shocked panting.

Dean barely had time to catch his breath before he felt you shift beneath him. His body was still buzzing, his muscles weak from the earth-shattering orgasm he just had, and all he wanted to do was collapse and pretend that didn’t just happen.

But you pushed against his chest. Firm. Determined.

He blinked down at you, confused, still wrecked, as you shoved harder, making him sit back against the headboard.

“Oh, fuck no”, you hissed, climbing onto his lap.

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, his brain still trying to catch up. “Uh—wait—what?”.

You glared at him, straddling his hips, gripping his jaw as you leaned in. “You always make me come, Dean”.

Dean gulped. His cock—despite just being completely done—twitched in interest. And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever heard.

You shifted against him, making him hiss from overstimulation, but the look in your eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Because you weren’t done.

And damn it, now neither was he.

His hands found your hips on instinct, gripping you, steadying you as you rolled your hips against him, desperate, needing more.

He let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re relentless”.

You shot him a glare. “You used to love it”.

Dean swallowed thickly. “Yeah… I think I still do”.

You didn’t give him time to dwell on that. Or yourself to dwell on that.

Instead, you moved, grinding down against him, using his still-hard cock to chase your own release, every little movement sending sharp pulses of pleasure straight through him.

Dean groaned, his head dropping back against the headboard, his hands gripping your waist tight. “Fuck—okay—yeah, this is happening—”.

“Damn right it is”, you muttered, your pace quickening, your hands bracing against his chest.

His fingers dug into your skin, his hips bucking up to meet your rhythm, his breath ragged. “God, you’re gonna kill me”.

You let out a breathless laugh, leaning down, dragging your lips over his jaw. “You’re still breathing. Fix it”.

Dean let out a rough, wrecked groan. He was fucked. Completely, utterly, helplessly fucked.

Because as soon as you rolled your hips over him again, your warm, wet heat pressing against his rapidly hardening cock, all that overstimulation, all that sensitivity? Gone. Just pure, burning need all over again.

His breath was shaky, his hands gripping your thighs before sliding up to your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he adjusted himself beneath you.

“Fuck”, he muttered, jaw tight as he gripped his cock, lining himself up with your entrance.

Then, with a firm, rough push on your hips, he forced you down onto him. All the way. In one smooth, deep motion.

And if he thought he was losing it before— This? This was a whole different level.

Your body took him so perfectly, stretching around him just the way you had said you liked, the tight, wet heat making his brain short-circuit all over again. His head slammed back against the headboard, his grip bruising on your hips. “Oh, shit—”.

You gasped, nails digging into his chest, your breath coming in short, needy little pants as you adjusted, your walls fluttering around him, squeezing him so fucking tight.

Every slow, sensual roll of your hips made his lungs seize like it was the first breath he had ever taken.

His hands slid up your back, fingers splaying wide as you started to move, slow and steady, setting the pace, taking exactly what you needed from him.

Dean let you. Let you take control, let you wreck him—because, holy shit, this wasn’t just sex. This was something else. Something that made his chest ache, something that sent shivers down his spine, something he should remember but still didn’t.

And that? That scared the hell out of him. Because if this wasn’t love, if this wasn’t his, then why did it feel like it was?

His brain couldn’t keep up with what was happening—the way you moved, the way your body rolled against his like you knew exactly what to do, like you had done this a million times before… Because you had. Just not in a way he could remember.

His fingers dug into your hips, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he watched you, his head tilted back against the headboard, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in existence.

“Damn it (Y/N), fuuck", he muttered, his voice raw, wrecked, shaken.

Your lips curled slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes even as pleasure rolled through you. “That good, huh?”.

Dean let out a breathless, helpless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s not even the word for it”.

You braced your hands against his chest, shifting slightly, rolling your hips in a way that made his whole body twitch.

Dean groaned. Loud. His hands trembled as they slid up your thighs, over your waist, his grip tight like he was afraid you’d slip away. "Damn it, sweetheart—”. His head tilted forward, his forehead almost resting against yours as he let out a shaky, desperate breath. “You’re unreal”.

You laughed softly, breathless, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Not unreal. Just yours”.

Dean’s stomach flipped. His chest tightened. And fuck, that shouldn’t have hit him so hard, shouldn’t have sent a different kind of ache through him. But it did.

His jaw clenched, his eyes locked onto yours, something dangerous and undeniable flickering in them. His grip tightened, his muscles tensing, his heart hammering in his chest. And before he could stop himself, before he could think, he muttered, voice rough, wrecked, reverent—

“Yeah. Mine”.

And with that? He snapped. Flipped you onto your back, pinned you down, and took you all over again. His hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wide as he drove himself deep.

Your breath hitched, your head tilting back as a sharp, desperate moan escaped your lips.

His jaw clenched, his breath uneven as he rolled his hips, grinding against you just right, hitting spots he didn’t even fucking remember knowing.

His mouth brushed against your ear, his voice low, gravelly, possessive. “That’s it, baby”, he muttered, punctuating each word with a deep, precise thrust. “Fuck—you’re so damn tight”.

You gasped, nails dragging down his back, your thighs trembling against his sides.

Dean grinned against your skin, feeling you fall apart beneath him, feeling the way you reacted to everything he did. “Tell me”, he rasped, his voice wrecked, desperate. “Tell me how you like it”.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, your breath coming out in shaky, uneven pants. “This—”. Your voice was barely there, edged with pure need, your body arching into his. “Just like this”.

Dean groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs as he angled his hips, hitting that exact spot that had you whimpering, your legs wrapping around his waist like you couldn’t get him deep enough.

He felt the way you clenched around him. Felt the way you were so close. And fuck, he loved it.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”, he murmured, dragging his lips down your jaw, his thrusts deep and steady, perfect.

Your breath hitched, your nails digging into his back. “Dean—”.

He grinned, his breath hot against your skin, his voice gravelly, dark. “C’mon, baby”, he coaxed, relentless now, his pace perfect, determined, like he knew exactly what you needed.

You gasped and then shattered.

Your body clenched around him, waves of pleasure ripping through you, your breath coming in ragged, desperate moans as you broke apart beneath him.

Dean felt everything. Felt the way you tightened, the way your body shook, the way your breathy, helpless cries filled the room.

And that sent him spiraling all over again. His hips stuttered, his jaw clenched, his arms shaking as he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a wrecked, breathless groan.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 4

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[yourlocalzombiewriter]

And I don't even like you that much!

Wait…, I do…, fuck

(Black myth wukongs head-canons)

Author note: hi!, I’m not that use to writing and English is not exactly my first language so there might be a lot of spelling mistakes.

And this is my first time writing for Sun wukong (Black myth) so he might not seem in character, if that makes sense. Either way I hope you enjoy!

★ ✵ ★

Assuming you two are already dating, and he’s comfy around you, please prepare for some chaotic moments.

Not a single Moment is dry nor empty with this mischievous monkey.

From spooking you with a clone of himself, or annoying your with one of his many transformations, he never runs out of ideas to surprise you with.

That being said, he is a bit laid back now depending on what period you’re dating him. After the events of journey to the west, he is way more calmer then his “younger” self.

He enjoys the simplicity of day to day activities now, cuddling, cleaning up a small section in which you both share. Or laying out under a tree with you as you read to him.

Those small moments mean much more to him now.

He loves to pridefully declare his fearlessness and having no such thing as “a biggest fear”. But at night that’s quickly disproven, sometimes he uncharacteristically sits in silence. Mind making up fake scenarios of your demise that could have been caused by him, his reputation, his enemies. He has a silent vow to himself to protect you first with his immortal life, no matter the cost and punishment he may endure.

An uncomfortable fear of having something of value so precious, so fragile is almost to much to handle. He doesn’t look down upon you mortal or not, but he will still fret for your safety. He’s so tired of losing things he holds dear, and after not having that feeling for centuries before you came along, he almost gets so wrapped up in the possibility of losing you, he loses sight that he has you right now.

He loves picking you up at random times, doesn’t need to be a situation where you need to be picked up he’ll just do it. No matter height or weight he loves seeing you shocked and giggling.

His most sensitive parts are definitely his tail and ears, maybe his nose too. If you kiss him from ear all across his cheek to his nose, he swears all his immortal lives end there from how his hearts pumping.

He does plan on marrying you, makes it very vocal too in the beginning to make sure you know what your committing to.

Loves when you comb and pick at his fur, don’t even get started on complementing it. He’ll easily sit between your legs for hours as you comb through the top of his head, getting rid of knots and such.

He wraps his tail absentmindedly when you stand near him. He doesn’t really even acknowledge it happening, it usually wraps around your ankle or thigh Or lazily around your hips.

Watches you as you sleep, not even in a creepy way he just has to take time to appreciate you for just your mere existence.

Spoils you with fruits, peaches especially of course, but he mixes it up here to there. Sometimes he just comes waltzing in with buckets if not wagons of ripe fruit from different regions.

When you hurriedly say you cannot eat that much before they wither, he’ll just laugh. Because he knows he can so whatever you leave over he finishes it off happily. But if your generous your free to share with the other demon monkeys on the island.

He likes carrying you in his arms while he rides his nimbus cloud.

You can point to random spots and he’ll happily zoom on over there to let you explore. Of course with him trailing closely behind you.

(I’m aware that in most tellings of journey to the west they say picking up a mortal from the ground is almost impossible, but I’m gonna dismiss that. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

He likes lounging around with you on slow afternoon’s cuddling and engorging in different types of luxuries.

He loves taking you to hot springs, and enjoying time there together relaxing. That or a near by waterfall he frequents.

If he sees something you may like he just snatches it, doesn’t really matter to him where he took it, half of the time he doesn’t know himself. As long as it is worthy to be appreciated by you.

He takes naps on you, just asks you to lay down and then lays on your chest or stomach and falls into a comatose state for a good while.

★ ✵ ★

That’s all I have for right now, I hope these were enjoyable to read!.

( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾