#choking on my stress tears or smth

[taegularities]

colour me in: translucent | jjk (m)

Summary: And whenever the world seems to fall apart and your thoughts cast a shadow over your heart, he rushes to lift you to your feet. Conjoining your hearts and souls, again and again and again.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some healthy angst, so much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: y’all. So. Much. Fluff, talk about stars, talk about his hometown, mention of a wedding 😁, 1 nara mention, a guest appearance!!, and another guest appearance…, daddy issues mention, oc has a tummy ache :(, banter, conversation with her mom, badass oc, their friends <3, moving and work stress, overworking, kook panics in this one, oc does too, tears and tears and tea–, abandonment issues, overthinking!!!, they communicate too late bc they’re scared, pregnancy scare, mention of throwing up, kissing and hand holding <3, petnames, insecurities/slight envy; explicit sexual content: diving right into the smut as the chapter starts 🤭, tie around oc’s neck ha ha, oral (f. receiving) (over panties and without 🥲), fingering, brief masturbation (m.), making out, jk takes the backseat and oc drives for a while <3, bit of choking, they’re half clothed for a bit, tiddie and butt love, tears, flirting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, emotions omg 😷, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, he unloads in her mouth 😄, and yeah, maybe more but i forgot – lmk if you notice smth! also… THE 👏 EN 👏 DING 🚨🚨🚨 ➳ word count: 35.8k 💀  ➳ a/n: here it is… after a long ass fight with tumblr and my tears, it’s here! i don’t have much to say this time except that this chapter means the world to me. and i hope you love it just as much. shoutout to @missgeniality for betaing parts of this and helping me with difficult scenes, i truly struggled!! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, let me know and don’t be shy to reach out!! love you and let’s dive in 🥺 ➳ listen to: say you won't let go by james arthur | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

The whispers cease the moment your door closes.

The whispers of the world, of all traffic, of all passersby, of all echoes. And those in your head, susurrating since you left the glass building and its conference hall.

They dim the moment you drop your palm off the door; your heart is still a nervous mess as you take your shoes off, watch him take his shoes off. He places them neatly in the shoe cabinet, jacket hung on one of the coat hooks.

Right here, you’re surrounded by a tranquil, quiet dome. Not as subdued as the emotions the outer world elicits; just an arena that feels perpetually warm, sepia and still.

And amidst that warmth, there’s yearning. You feel it in every nerve of your body, burning through your limbs. Stunning sentiments pull at your soul, making it heavy; and your heart floats, perpetually above the clouds.

As he rubs his cheek with a soft hand — you know, because you were holding it just two minutes ago, clutching it in the car for dear life —, you take a step forward, your mouth open, but not quite capable of saying all that’s weighing on your tongue.

They’re good things; amazing things. And he hasn’t yet gathered all his thoughts either to truly voice what he’s been hiding since you left the chaos. Only opting for the living room, painfully slowly, as if he’s waiting to face you again.

And maybe… maybe he really is. And maybe he doesn’t need to talk at all.

Because he stops the moment you speak, tenderly calling, “Jungkook.”

It’s all he needs. Combined with the lightest touch to his elbow, a hint of your voice is all he needs. He wants to keep hearing his name. Again and again and again. And today, announcing it to the world, you promised that you’ll be doing just that.

Shit. What have you done to his heart? He wants to ask questions that neither of you has an answer to; or, not one that can be verbalised. One that could explain this euphoria.

So he doesn’t say anything at all.

Instead, he stumbles as he turns back to you again, taking a deep breath before his head tilts. The unbounded amount of want is swimming in his tired eyes, and you barely manage a hushed, “Should we—” before his fingers flutter and he—

Dashes straight toward you. One large step, both hands jacking up to take your face captive. He raises your head, eyes closing, mouth parting an inch before it’s locked with yours.

If he hadn’t started, you would have.

The same thumb always caressing your skin pulls your lower lip down. An unfaltering habit, tender whenever he spirals. You trip backwards, with him in tow, immediately gripping his arms with a wild, accelerating heartbeat.

Your soul was already awake, lit up from today’s events; but he dunks it in a brighter shine — and now it flushes pink.

For a while, your kiss’ sounds are all that echo off the wall, mixing with your sighs. He starts gently, head angled, diving deeper.

Every now and then, he tugs at your lip ever-so-slightly, teeth and tongue dragging over it. The wet muscle is soft against yours, and you let your touch drop down to his waist to hold him closer.

But there’s not that much time to dissolve into him right here, against your entrance door, because Jungkook backs away before you can bid your sanity adieu. Maybe that’s for later.

Maybe you need to be okay with his breath grazing your skin for now, for the words he murmurs so close to your lips, “You’re crazy for this. Absolutely crazy.”

You are. Both okay with this, and incredibly crazy.

There’s never been more certainty in your actions or your intentions than whatever you do with him. For him — if that deems you crazy, then you absolutely are.

Heated from the kiss, Jungkook steps away, but not without entangling your fingers with his. On the way to the bedroom, you ignore everything that doesn’t entail him.

Like, the humming of the fridge. Or the sound of the traffic outside, audible through the tilted window. And the buzzing of your phone; it’s been doing that for a while now.

Of course it is.

But you don’t hesitate to deposit it on your bedside table mere seconds later; you barely manage to put it there, nearly watching it slide down as Jungkook pulls you back. You clash against his body, and the tongue once again mingling with yours only enhances your disorientation.

God, you’re a lost cause. Nothing else to expect with his palm holding your jaw, arm slung around you, kissing you senseless.

Time slows down; the sensation turns electric. His motions are rhythmic, fingers brushing your neck. And despite the bitterness he must have felt at the conference, he tastes so , so sweet.

Heady desire growing, you grip the back of his head, pushing it closer. You’re insatiable. Yearning for more of his damp, soft lips, hysterical when he lets out a craving, small moan.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts, giving your neck no more than a handful of teasing pecks, “what that did to me?”

He moves back until you plummet into the mattress; your eyes follow when he leans in and falls to his knees. Placing a hand at the nape of your neck, tenderly moving your face a bit closer to his.

“Without a warning, too,” he continues, “what, were you planning to drive me mad for so long?”

Not the angry kind of mad. His smile and the fondness in his eyes reveal that much. No — the mad that a lover is.

“Did it work?” you ask, and he flashes his teeth, beloved crinkles around his eyes.

“Did it? What do you think?” He kisses your nose; then, the apple of your cheek. “You didn’t notice any of it today? Or any other time before that?”

“I wanted to… I want everyone to know. I was going to tell you when you came home, but… I wanted to say it in front of everybody. That,” you touch the collar of his blazer, rubbing it between your fingertips, “I’m done with their games. I don’t care anymore, Jungkook.”

“I know… You don’t care.” His hand leaves the nape of your neck, caressing your face. “But you care about me, yes? You care so much.”

It’s not really a question. It’s a statement, a reassurance to himself. A mantra, as if he needs to repeat it and let it reverberate in his mind until he’s grasped its meaning.

“I do,” you whisper, peeling the blazer off his shoulder by only a few inches, “and I want to stay. Can I… just stay here?”

“You’re crazy,” he echoes once more, emphasising his words with a shake of his head, “to think I’ll let you go again. You’ll see.”

Although he still establishes a brief, temporary distance between the two of you right after; you’re reluctant to stop feeling his warmth when he stands. He towers over you, and you muster utmost courage to not faint.

Because the sight is one to behold.

How he removes the blazer in a swift movement, discarding it on top of the table at the wall. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, but only one side, glancing at you throughout the ordeal.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.

“Why is your mouth open like that?”

“Do this exactly in front of a mirror, and… and you’ll know why.”

He smirks. “Right. And stare at yourself in the mirror for longer than a second, and you’ll know why, too.”

God, this guy…

And he actually doesn’t stop.

His pupils keep wandering; to your eyes, to your lips, to your heaving chest. To how you close your legs when he loosens his tie with tattooed fingers, lettered knuckles on full display. He opens a single button of his dress shirt; enough to reveal a patch of golden skin.

The tie dangles off his neck, doing wonders to your mind, and you resist the urge to grab it and pull him down to you. But you don’t need to; you only get to cherish the sight for another second.

Because right after, he pulls it over his head, baring the highly kissable mole on his neck before—

“What are you doing?” you wonder, eyes wide, and probably filled with anticipation as he puts the tie around your neck. “I’m…”

“Looks a lot better on you.”

One more shake of his head. You subtly catch a jerk behind his pants, and your gaze drops instantly. Behind the dark slacks, he’s already waiting for you, and the thought leaves you frothing at the mouth.

“You’re not looking bad yourself…” you say, drifting off, barely looking into his face as your hand reaches out. “May I?”

“What, baby?”

“Just…” 

You move forward, a palm to his thigh, and close your eyes before placing a kiss to the growing bulge. It twitches under your lips, and you drag your mouth lightly over his dick’s outline.

“Should’ve known,” Jungkook breathes, affected straight away, “but somehow, this is worse than your hand.”

“Really?”

He clicks his tongue when you do it again, unfazed by the layer between you as you give his clothed cock an open-mouthed kiss. Two of his fingers settle underneath your chin, and he raises your head in order to meet your gaze.

Then, he pushes you back a little, within a second back to one knee; then the other. He cocks an eyebrow as if to reprimand you, but then gulps down a chuckle as he says, “Really. But wait a bit more.”

You need to wait, because he prioritises your pleasure. One demand you’re ready to give into.

So, so prepared, when he asks politely, “Open your slacks?” You do. The way he drags his hands over your thigh and up to your hips, starting to discard your pants, is arguably less polite. “Here we go. Raise your ass.”

You help him out as best as you can. But he attaches his lips to your naked thigh the moment it comes into view, scattering kisses over your hot skin as he casts it off of you entirely.

You raise your feet a bit above the ground, and he uses the moment to separate your legs. Doesn’t even bother taking off your panties first; casually making himself at home between your limbs.

Light-headed, you open your eyelids halfway to glance at the blurry ceiling light; you never noticed when you closed them. Maybe when the sweetness spread over your thighs’ skin.

Maybe he’s as dizzy as you — only, when your whirling stare descends to his face, he’s smirking. And for a second, you don’t understand why. Puzzled, you keep looking, observing the tempting lick over his lips; the deep exhale; the barely-there blinking.

And then he says, “Never thought about it. But you should wear light-coloured panties more often.”

“…Why?”

But you soon get why.

Because you feel the arousal behind the fabric. How it glues your pussy to it, the damp spot probably growing. It’s visible — that’s what he’s liking so much.

He can see all of the desire you harbour for him, showcased so blatantly. And despite the embarrassment, watching his face flush in that rosy dust boosts your ego, too.

Your face burns.

“You’ve been like that for…” he starts, shrugging his shoulders in curiosity, “how long now?”

“Long enough. And I dare you to do something about it.”

Because fuck, he talks too much. In hindsight, only really when you need him to shut up; deliberately.

“Oh god,” he exclaims, dramatic as ever; as he raises a hand, you nearly think he’ll place it on his chest for further effect, but he only touches your knee, “now if you’re daring me, I’ll have to.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you’re not a sore lo—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a rude interruption, and the sudden push of his fingertip against your clit is ruder. It’s a momentary touch, fleeting, as opposed to the slow and calculated way that he buries his face in your panties. Eyes glued to yours for a moment.

And then…

Then, you relish the first taste of Heaven — as does he, you suppose.

Because the satisfied sigh is outrageous, hot against your covered folds. He licks over the damp stain, only the tip of his tongue; thoroughly salivated, because you feel the wetness seeping through the clothing.

There’s no moment between the start of his action and your immediate, ”Fuck.”

And to him, your reaction sets just the tone for a woozy night to come. He nods between your legs, gelled back strands tickling, hums so sweetly. You adjust on your seat, though the subtle change affects nothing; only drives you wilder as you shift deeper into his face.

His tongue is painting circles over your clit. Drawing out sensations, and you don’t understand how… there’s underwear between him and you. A barrier, aching to be removed, so how is he doing this, howishedoingit—

“No! Oh god—”

You can’t decipher why you voiced the rejection; you don’t want him to leave. Frustrated when he does, mouth open, waiting for you to speak up until you do, “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t fucking know…”

“Babe…” He shakes his head… He’s doing so much of this today. But one of the loose strands keeps moving so gorgeously over his forehead, so if it was up to you, he could keep doing it. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry…”

“Nah.” He says it when you press your lips together, hot and bothered as he licks another stripe along your cunt. “Didn’t mean it that way. Open that pretty mouth. Do scream, yeah?”

You could melt into the ground. Or into the sheets; he always knows what to say. No matter what the situation. A verbal monster once, a graceful poet another time.

They say, get you a man who can do both. But he can do all million things known to humankind and the book of romance.

His mouth works deeper into where you ache. Tongue action expanded, he returns to the panties, seeking one of your nether lips to tease it, pull at it. He’s ruining your garment, making it stick to your pussy.

Pries your legs open when he comes back to the clit, and then drops down to the overflowing sex again. The sensual gestures are toying with your nerves, and you still can’t figure out how. Leaves you waiting, yearning, craving the lack of a blockade in between.

And once the uncomfortable, wet cotton of your panties rubs against the inside of your folds, you finally speak up, “Why are you—”

“Sorry,” he interjects, aware of his bestiality. You see it in his stupid wicked smile. “I know. This is just…” Big eyes stare back down, albeit hazier than before; his finger touches the drenched patch for a second. “So good to look at.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Of course.”

Shit, he’s so cheeky. If you had the strength, you’d wipe that bubbly smile off his face; not good for your heart. Would smooch it away. But fret not — you’ll get your chance, too.

For now, you need to grant him this win. Not least of all, because it feels so good for you, too.

So you don’t defy him when he suddenly moves in more. Hooks a finger into your panties and slides them aside, letting them snap back against the juncture between your pussy and leg. And then, you guess the actual fun starts.

Because he throws one carnal look at you before his arms wander under your legs. You can barely gather your thoughts before he digs in again, properly this time. Lips directly attaching to your skin, he starts diligent work on soiling your body.

And god, does he do it well…

So experienced. Aware. Studied you and your body well enough — because the agonisingly slow tease isn’t random. He knows how much you hate it; knows how much you love it.

How it builds anticipation, and how it grows your desire.

He’s a little fuck, but maybe that’s why he never fails to break you this hard. You know he’s enjoying this — delighted when your eyebrows furrow, close to weeping as he breathes against your pussy.

Even though a man starved, he takes his time. For a second. Then another. And then parts your folds with his fingers, whispering, “Would you say that’s better?”

Like he’s at some meeting. Goddamn.

You blink, responding, “I don’t know. Better than the panties, worse than…” His finger slips in mid-speech, just halfway through when you manage a breathy, “this.”

“I… Shit, you’re… hot as fuck.”

Right.

Even you’re turned on by how your head tips back again, eyes rolling inward when he diminishes the distance and kisses your cunt. Nobody else is going to raise your confidence like he does.

“Mmmh,” he voices as the make out session intensifies, smacking noises sounding from below. He lifts his lips by a mere inch, only to mumble, “So hot. So fucking good.”

And that’s it — back to business.

“Nnnghkook…”

The arms he dropped under your legs sling around them, hooking in, and somehow, he’s able to reach to your back like that. Raises your legs in the process, pulling you in. Deeper in your heat, big button nose against your pelvis.

Your right hand attempts to grip his hair before you threaten to fall backwards, failing miserably. You immediately place both your palms back on the bed, because you doubt you can trust that damned left arm to hold you upright — quivering like this.

The tip of your tongue touches the arch of your upper lip, and then you tilt your head, warning him, “Fuck… if you don’t fuck my brains out today, Jungkook…”

Brains? Plural? Acting as though even one’s present in your head right now.

Jungkook chuckles, licking you dry; the little sound combined with the sinful ordeal is a delightful one. Contrary, but gifting the moment some reality. Some tenderness. You’re having fun.

He stops to throw the escaping strands back again — all in vain, of course — and brings his hand to your ass, moving you over the bed until you’re off the edge. You yelp, close to falling, but he holds you carefully.

Ass half dangling, he throws your legs over broad shoulders, kissing your thigh before he promises, “Don’t worry at all. Won’t leave a single thought in either of our heads.”

You wince when he bites the flesh of your leg, and then proceeds to advance his soft lips to the tender ache. He collects saliva on his tongue, probably ready to dive in again; moves in at least, tickling your pelvis with his breath.

His nose takes a deep breath, inhaling you, dizzy from your scent. And his thumb — it floats over your clit, preparing for more insanity. But when the position elicits some discomfort, you say, “Put me on the bed. Can I… bed properly.”

Fragments of sentences. They make him smile.

“Sure,” he says rather calmly; you’re anything but.

It’s not normal. Watching a guy like Jeon Jungkook push his hair back with his jaw on full display; tongue darting out.

He signals his approval once more as he pats your thigh, and you make quick work at weakly turning around and crawling onto the bed. You’re still trembling as you get on all fours, very conscious of what you’re doing.

Casually, you say, “I’ll get the lube, too.”

Of course you know what might follow. What will follow. He never stops raving, daydreaming, bragging about your ass — walking past you in the kitchen, just to grapple a handful and to innocently claim, “What? I love your butt.”

But before he strikes this time, you’re only barely able to grab the lube out of the drawer, placing it next to the pillow instead of handing it back to him. Because… because before you know it—

There’s already a finger to your pussy.

“Shit,” you curse, “you and your impatience.”

“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, as purely as the butt-love-statements as his touch retracts. Mellow voice; only a flutter of his lashes is missing, really. “I can wait.”

No, he can’t. Liar.

“No,” you repeat, readily letting your upper body fall. You bring your fingertips back to your ass, tracing it down until met with your arousal. “Don’t do this to me now.”

You know his answer before he utters it, “Don’t you do this to me now.” You hear a click of his tongue; a poised beam plays around your lips. “Alright. But.”

He snatches your legs from under your body until you’re flat on your tummy; you grunt just a bit. Not expecting the soft, little, “Do tell me if I do too much.”

As if…

He knows his limits. But the constant, caring pleads still always grip your heart; so you nod.

“Okay.”

Simultaneous with a fond slap, that word is the last verbal sign of his presence that you receive for a while. Whatever follows is a pure testing of limitations; of jumbling up your senses.

Because the moment Jungkook lifts your ass to his face, his tongue is already out. Experimental at first, of course, patient. He takes a second for languid kisses and soft necking, fingers exploring the inside of your thigh as if to soothe your restlessness.

And it helps. Your limbs shake a bit less, your mind focused on where his touches go. Fingertips near your folds. Lips kissing around your pussy. Then, repeating the same brush of his hands as before, but on your other leg, moving inward. 

Despite the first taste he already got, he’s suddenly changed his tactic; and you’re greedy. Mewling in tiny, quiet sounds, barely realising that they’re coming out of you. You repeat his name over and over, but it never quite tumbles out in its entirety.

So you keep it at moaning, eyes closed, so infinitely relaxed.

He moves back, gently asking, “All good?”

“So far… do more, please.”

It’s what he always waits for. You know. Jungkook has a fetish for your pleas, and the tiniest fragment of your beseeching voice is usually enough for him.

Like now.

Encouraged, he pushes your shirt up to your tits, halting right under them. He touches your naked stomach, brushing your belly button, grazing a palm over your lower back and straight to your ass.

The tongue ghosting around your sex finally dares a step forward. Gets a little taste of what’s to come. Circles around your folds, then to your nub; spit gathered on the tip, never too hard, oh-so-mildly — and maybe that’s what makes it even worse.

The lack of any force. How pleasant it feels. And you let him know — respond with a desperate, unheard sound, goosebumps sprawling over your skin.

Jungkook discerns it as a signal to go on; to do more. His nose buries between your ass, pushing his tongue in a little further, alternating between licking and kissing and collecting spit. Your lust shoots to the sky; you twist and move, but he holds you in place with a single hand.

And when he disappears, you regret it immediately. You hear him say, “Hey, hey… Don’t you want me to fuck your brains out, sweetheart? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Mmhyes, yes, please.”

“…Then stop moving.” His nails are harsh against your waist, and you whimper. “The more you behave now,” he leaves a kiss on your butt, loosening his grip around your waist, “the harder I’ll go later.”

“…Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles. What an ass; leaving you physically and mentally covetting, and then enjoying your reactions.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, biting a little, stroking your hips, holding onto your ass cheeks.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can voice at this point. You don’t have any power over your body; can’t lift it off the mattress. “Love it.”

“Perfect.”

And then, everything seems to happen faster.

Arousal and orgasm have already built from his advances, and he gives you the rest when he starts drawing circles around your pussy again. Heightens your senses, slurps and drinks you up. Every single time it feels like he’s learned something new; you swoon at the attention to detail.

What might he be looking like right now?

Perhaps he’s biting his lip. Maybe his eyebrows are furrowed, usually tell-tale signs of either him enjoying his meal or him enjoying his meal.

“Shit,” you mumble, but you don’t think he hears it — too busy sucking at your folds, adding a finger to the mix.

Sometimes, the licks are generous, wide-tongued; sometimes, he focuses on each part individually. The insides, the clit; how you sound, how you wind.

There’s truly an utter craze you feel for this man; no matter which hazy or soft or delicate situation, he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. Like a match made in Heaven. Knows what he’s doing.

Because he knows you. Because he studies you. Observes you.

Sex is only one instance of his attentiveness.

And perhaps that’s the whipped thought that pushes you over the edge eventually. Maybe that’s why the moment passes so quickly and explosions blind you all of a sudden. Why your face glows so hot, sweat collecting over your upper lip.

It must be.

Because as he stimulates you for another minute, your sensitive cunt submits, the knot in your lower stomach unwinding. He unties it fully, eliciting a stirring feeling that makes your pussy flutter.

“Holy shit…”

You only register your voice when the peeping in your ear stops. Your voice is still damped, the world around you vanishing a bit; except for him. Always except for him.

And.

You also notice that your fingers are hurting. Did you dig them into the sheets too hard? Tug too hard? You don’t know… but their pads are almost numb.

Jungkook’s mouth is still there, though lighter now, and his finger is slightly slapping your cunt, encouraging you to keep letting go. Catching you on his tongue.

And then… it’s over. You remain quiet.

You’ll be a mess for the foreseeable future; or at least, the upcoming one or two minutes. Your back and neck are already covered in a sheen of sweat; it’s so unbearably hot, as opposed to the recklessly approaching cold outside.

Remaining like this, you let him kiss your body through your orgasm, delicately soothing the pain his fingers caused across your ass. Hovering above the small of your back, he asks, “Can you move?”

“Not yet. But…” You scan the spot next to the pillow until you find the lube, throwing it back to him at last. “I can watch.”

No objection. So you turn around.

When you finally meet his gaze again, having started missing it, he’s already unbuckling his pants. Right there, towering above you, looking directly at you. Jaw chiselled, lips swollen.

You decide to spur him on; bring the tie between your covered tits before gentle fingers grasp them deftly. Rolling your digits around their outline before squeezing them. There’s an instant reaction: The hard bite of his lip, the rushed discarding of his clothes.

And fuck, he’s beautiful. So pretty how he despairs bit by bit, only letting his pants make it to his knees before his cock has sprung out. A true monster, bloodshot like this, further growing as it twitches and jerks… blue veins wanting to be licked.

But it’s lube-day, and neither of you can wait.

So you let him make a fist around his thickness, stroking it and momentarily letting out a groan. His chest seems to deflate, shoulders dropping as he jerks himself off once more, squirts some lube into his palm, and returns to his intentions.

“Good,” you praise, watching his cheeks grow rosier, “wish you could go all out.”

“I can’t.”

You know. You know, because he’s storing all his patience for what’s to come. With and for you.

Breath stagnating, you watch a drop of sweat trail down between his tanned pecs and then into his shirt; fabric sticking to his skin. He doesn’t notice it, dazy as hell, wiping his tip clear of the precum. Every damn time you’re in disbelief when his cock grows in size, firmer and rock hard.

So many veins adorning it as it rises to his belly button; you’re sure you’ll feel them against your walls, too. You get on wobbly knees, hair already a mess, both of you still in your soaked white dress shirts.

Jungkook’s mane is falling apart much as yours, messier now, but soaking him in so much more sex appeal. There are no boundaries to his beauty; it transcends your understanding.

Enough of watching, you mentally capitulate a minute later. Too many moans and clipped vocals fill the room, whiny once, deep later; so you float up once your body allows, targeting his cock straight-forwardly.

You only deliver one surprise kiss, helping him out as you drag your tongue along the tiny slit. He reacts, caught off guard, voicing, “Oh—”

But against his possible expectations, you don’t continue. Instead, you drag your hand along his cock only twice — up and down, feeling the smooth skin, the slippery lube, the hardness underneath.

And then, you order, “Sit. Please.”

“What?”

“Here,” you point to the headboard, on your knees, kissing his sides and up his chest until you reach the open button. “Sit down for me.”

He pauses. Waits for a moment, touching your cheek when your face aligns with his. And when you keep your begging, soft gaze intact, he huffs out a broken laugh, and states, “Not sure if I can trust you to not kill me. But…” A kiss to your left eyebrow. “Anything for you.”

And whatever happens next, passes by fast.

How he obliges, dick dangling in front of his body, waiting for ruin. How he hisses a little when the sweat-drenched back touches the cold headboard. And how you adjust your body, soon sitting in reverse, facing the closet.

Floating over his cock, straddling him, spreading your pussy with your fingers. He stutters behind you, grasping for words, but silences when you move and wiggle your ass a little, only dropping a few inches until your cock can prod your entrance.

And that’s all you do. Multiple times. Practising restraint, focusing on the closet, blinking rapidly. Perhaps you’re more patient this time, because from behind, you hear another sharp hiss, and then a somewhat agitated, but endlessly turned on, “The hell are you doing to me?”

“Nothing,” you promise; the jest costs you all your energy, “what are you talking about?”

“You’re so funny, aren’t you?”

His words are accentuated by sudden grabs of your ass. One or two pinches. You should’ve known. But despite his impatience, he never forces you down onto his cock. Lets you do.

“I’m not trying to be,” you argue, aligning yourself with him gradually. Preparing yourself mentally and physically. Leaking to no end. “You’re just delusional.”

“Must be. Too good to be real.”

If you had it in you, you’d laugh. But the approaching sins and the image of his affected expressions fog your brain. Your body burns, your lower tummy tenses; your muscles feel heavy as you loom over him, and you only endure another moment.

Because soon enough, your thirst overpowers every other thought; the weight of your desire drags your body down, thankful that he’s keeping his cock upright. And then, just like that… so easily, no resistance detected, you slide down.

His tip splits you open first, eliciting an immediate sensation. New every freaking time; like the craze he fucks your mind into space with wipes your memory each time.

“Hnnngh, this is just…”

Whatever it is, there’s no word yet invented for it. So you give up right away, squinting your eye shut until you see dots and forms, breath stuck in your throat. The lack of regular inhales muddles your mind, and you feel further heat rise to your cheeks.

“Go— slow,” he pants behind you.

Of course he’s not all the way in yet. No matter how much it feels like it; you could keep going and going. Hard and monstrous, burying inside you, no end in sight.

The filling feeling catches you off guard each time; the way he leaves no room inside, causing butterflies in your stomach, wandering straight to your pussy. A ridiculously perfect phenomenon, like a key to its lock.

God. You’re overspilling.

As soon as he’s bottomed out, you relish the feeling of his skin against your ass for a moment, registering how his fingers sneak to your flesh slowly. And then, you angle your body forward, clutching the sheets before you start moving.

You keep your pace slow. Put all your intention on delicate motions, all the way up with a whimper, and then slamming back down with a gasp. The farther you go, the wetter you get. Until you’ve probably left a shimmering liquid all over his cock, gliding too damn easily.

“That’s… that’s new,” Jungkook mutters. At least that’s what you think you hear. “Gotta do it again.”

And you’re not even done with this time. But you understand — oh, you fucking understand. There’s something about not yet seeing his face but imagining all of it. How fucked out he must look. How red the apples of his cheeks must be. How sweaty his hairline is.

You grip the sheets tighter, legs closer to his, head between your shoulders. All you manage between the heavy breathing is a high-pitched, ”Jungkook—”

“Yes. Yeah, baby. This is…”

“I know. I know, keep talking.”

Which is an unfair command. He can think as much as you; you can barely comprehend letters, even less put them into actual words. But somehow, he still mutters whatever nonsense he can think of.

“Gotta do it again,” he repeats as you fasten your pace.

“Why always play such an angel, huh?” he asks as you moan and whine.

“When you’re a… a fucking demon. Literally,” he declares when you blow out breaths, letting out a crying sound.

He feels glorious inside you. Solid and gorgeous. He holds your ass cheeks in a tight grip, the strength nearly bruising when you let a hand wander back between your legs, grazing his firm balls.

When you turn around to check briefly, slowing your motions, he looks up, meets your eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t gazing at you directly at all; and you imagine there wasn’t much to see other than a bouncing mane anyway.

What he’s actually so distracted by must be…

“How’s it… it look?” you ask, circling your hips, feeling every vein, as predicted.

“It looks…”

Must be art.

Combined with his love for your ass, he must be enjoying the view; at least judging from the constant kneading and spreading. Allowing a direct, front-seat show of his cock appearing out of you, disappearing inside of you.

Glistening. Sucking him in. It must…

“Looks so fuck—ing insane from where I sit.”

The swear word is interrupted by a millisecond, breathy as hell. Allows a glimpse into how delirious he might already be, possibly faring worse than you. Impatient, seeking more.

And you do know your Jeon Jungkook well.

Because not even another breath later, his body that slid down halfway, bolts up. You feel the shift clearly; it pulls you backwards along with him. Only, you realise the movement isn’t the only source straightening you so fast.

First and foremost, it’s the freaking hand. Covered in letters and more ink, tugging at the dangling tie and following it up to the slowly unravelling knot before… abruptly snaking around your neck. Fingers right under your jaw, lifting your head.

He tugs you in until your back collides with his chest, and to your chagrin, you notice that neither of you has gotten rid of those stupid dress shirts. You won’t be able to wear them again without drifting to this memory…

Sleeve open, he wraps his arm around your body, just under your tits, and whispers, “Why… drive me mad like this?”

“H–huh?”

“So far away. Weren’t you ffffu—” The messy zero you’re drawing with your hips interrupts his string of thoughts, and he spends a second finding it again before he finishes, “Weren’t you far away long enough?”

Shit…

This isn’t just an affair. This isn’t temporary. Your brain still can’t quite understand that you’ve actually occupied this man’s heart.

That your gestures and touches aren’t a fleeting dream, but blissfully real. That you’re his, and that he’s yours.

He’s right. You were far away for too long.

So you sneak your arm back, around the back of his neck and pull him closer by his hair. His lips brush your cheek and then retreat to your ear. Nibbling for a moment. Kissing it.

You don’t know what to focus on — on the way his teeth light up your nerves, or the way his hand moves down your shirt and bra, and up your body. Soon taking your tits captive, squeezing hard, pinching your nipples.

“Move a bit,” he orders, though you don’t really have to.

His hand remains on your neck, so he pulls you forward; guess he’s sick of the shirt, too.

“You too,” you murmur.

“Yes. Patience, love.”

No. Fuck no.

Is it the nickname or his actions that empty your head this time? You don’t know. But you react.

Moaning, but it soon transitions into a yelp when he jerks up suddenly, balls deep. Your voice breaks, and you’re breathless; grateful when he unbuttons your shirt, dragging it down your shoulders.

Helping him however you can, you pull at the clothing almost aggressively, over your hand until it’s stuck there. Sporting a shirt paw, you hear Jungkook laugh behind you, peppering more kisses to your shoulder as he says, “Ah… take it easy. You’re with me tonight.”

One quick pause, and then, “You’re always with me. No rush anymore, okay? Yeah, baby?”

He aids you out of the shirt and tie with tender pecks. Thoroughly affected when you only nod so softly, eyebrows kissing. He unclasps your bra swiftly, breathing against your neck as he bares your body once and for all, putting the garment aside.

And then his forefinger moves along your neck again, only barely touching over your vocal cords; feeling your gulp before he journeys further down, back to your tits. Probably leaving scars; his nails are reckless today.

“Wanted to see those pretty tits so bad,” he says, though he doesn’t halt here — tiptoes south to your pelvis, and then to your clit. “Been thinking about this all day.”

Really? 

So each of these touches consume his thoughts every damn moment of the day, too?

“You wanna see them… properly?” you wonder. You haven’t moved in a bit, lost in him, mentally tracing the lines he draws on your body. “‘Cause I wanna see you.”

“Mmmmhm. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Then I’ll…”

You don’t speak further; busy with your further advances. Your pussy feels lonely the moment you let him slip out. You’re terribly wobbly on your knees, your thighs visibly shaking as you turn around.

Jungkook holds a hand towards you, a safety net in case you tip over. He holds your wrist gently as you move over the mattress; never more than now are you glad that his isn’t as soft as yours back at the house.

Keeping your balance, you straddle him again, back in a similar position, albeit finally facing him now. And your eyes roll back just the moment he fills you up again.

Your legs are exhausted; the moment you start moving, you barely make it far enough, and Jungkook notices immediately, whispering, “My baby tired?”

And when you nod, he holds you tight, wrapping you in his arms, and—

“Hold– hold onto me, okay?”

You do. And then — he thrusts up once.

When your head falls, his eyelids drop a little, nose touching your jaw as he says, “I could fuck you all goddamn day.”

“Do it… you can now.” His head descends to your chest, mouth open. You’re not sure what you’re opting for, but you still call his name, “Kook…”

Repeatedly lunging in, he collects the words he needs to say, so irresistibly frenzied when he vows, “I’m yours. Okay? And… I need you to stay. Am yours, baby.”

Out of nowhere — or maybe not. Maybe these very sentiments were swimming in his eyes all the time; you could just not see them yet.

Lips a hair width apart, you opt for one single kiss, only a ghost touch. You tell him, “Promised the world. Will promise it to you… too.”

“Good.” His nails scrape your back, and you tug at his hair. A moan tumbles out of him, transforming into words as he holds your body in place, pumping into you, “Fuck, you– feel so good. Just you. So, so good.”

“Ngh, I—”

“I know, I can… can’t breathe, either.”

He kisses your shoulder, the skin flaming under his mouth. Although late, you imitate his prior gesture, peeling off his intruding shirt as smoothly and fast as you possibly can. It’s been a wall between you for too long now; you need to see those pretty tits, too.

And once the buttons open and the shirt flies, you finally bask in the toned beauty. Soaked chest, brawny, chocolate chip nipples as hard as yours. Soon pressing into you, lips thirsting for you, slamming against your mouth.

The fever rises, the temperature akin to lava. Your sounds are desperate and wanting, and you hold onto him for dear life. And before you know it, you’re not claiming your throne anymore.

Suddenly, you find yourself floating for a moment, and then sinking into the mattress, and then curling your hands into fists and him slamming into you harder, deeper, all the way in...

Fuck.

Towering over you, he spreads your legs wide, temptingly licking his thumb before it presses down onto your swollen clit. One jab. A second. Another and another and another.

“Yes. Yes, please—” you beg and yell, letting him pound you into oblivion.

The first hint of stars already grace the darkness behind your eyelids, but then Jungkook starts delivering rapid, light slaps to your nub. He’s chasing your high as much as you are; you know. The chaos unfolding doesn’t hold him back from observing your reactions.

Only focusing on his own end of pleasure when you’re done.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you cling to his arms, his hands pushing into your waist. And it takes just a moment longer. And another second. Several more shoves, the curve of his cock dragging along your walls and your sensitive spot.

Thoroughly drenched, both of you, as he drives all of him into you. Parting your legs whenever they attempt to shut again. And the universe finally expands, a million celestial bodies dying and imploding, much like you and…

Suddenly, you’re off the cliff.

Falling into a deep ocean. Or the vast night sky. You don’t know — you don’t feel real.

All you know is that your thighs and ass are wet. That you ruined yet another sheet. That Jungkook is out of breath, fucking you through your high, ensuring that you come back to him only bit by bit, so, so slowly.

Gentler now, you feel his body subside, down to you. His skin is glowing with sweat when your eyes crack open just a slit, though they instantly drop close again when he kisses you once more.

He does it only softly this time, as if he’s trying it out. Gauging your reaction. And you do reciprocate the touch, even if weakly. You’re still too gone to look at him properly, but that doesn’t deter him from casting another spell in your heart.

Because his words reach every fibre of you. Butterflies swarm your stomach as he says, “I still can't believe that you’re staying. You did this… you fucking did this—”

“Why not? Wh–why can’t you believe it?”

“Because you’re staying with me. You stayed with me. And…”

Somewhere, it stings. That he’s surprised by constant company. By someone not leaving… by someone worth all his affection glueing themselves to him. And yet, you understand.

That’s a pain the two of you share.

He stares through your gaze, as if he’s frisking for something specific. With each passing moment, it’s like he’s realising something new, yet unable to really verbalise it.

Like something’s burning on his tongue.

But all he does whisper is, “How do I ever stay away from you now, huh?”

“Don’t.” You touch his face, and he doesn’t waste a second to lean into your touch, kissing your palm. “Please just don’t.”

“Won’t be able to… And it sucks that—”

He frees your face from your stick hair strands, still moving inside you. His own tresses hang into your forehead; his thumb touches your lower lip.

“That I can’t be with you every damn second of the day. I mean…” He leans in. Pecks your eyelids; your heart bursts. “What if I can’t move an inch from you?”

You keep staring. Unable to answer. Keep looking and drinking in every emotion laid bare in his confessions. Your misty mind feels calm; not as heavy as hours ago.

And you’re woozy; so indescribably giddy when he adds, “You… you mean so much to me.”

Damn. Damndamndamn.

And you’re fucking obsessed with him. Want his kiss on you all the time; words tattooed on your brain, etched into your soul.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh— yeah?”

“Can you…” You gulp, drooling at the thought, and then spitting it out at once, “Finish in my mouth.”

“Shit,” he exclaims, though the word is more a maniac laugh than anything else, “you know exactly you— you can’t say this to me.”

You know. Because any image of his cock ramming your throat empties his head.

Once more, he mumbles, ”Damn it,” before he’s picking up on pace. You move your hands over his broad shoulders, soon curling your fingers in to hold tight — it’s what the situation suddenly requires. Because gradually, his hips slam into you faster.

The dull sound of his thighs meeting yours repeatedly is lewd, volume increasing when he starts jackhammering into you. Your rhythmic, breathless cries become irregular and broken, turning into screams, and you feel a droplet escaping the corner of your eye.

Throat dry and jaw aching from the parted mouth, you keen from the sensitive feeling inside. You’re so full. So invigorated. Holding onto him tight, so you don’t crumble.

And just as you yell out a dozen curses, Jungkook, voice raised, states, “Fuck, fuuuck, gonna come, babe, f— open your mouth—”

You do. Instantly, tongue out, choking because it’s so much harder to breathe like that. Jungkook trembles over you, lips wet; his arms threaten to give out, letting his body nearly collapse on you, but just a moment before he does, he pulls out.

Hurrying, his knees dig closer to you, cock and ass right above your face as he holds the length between strong fingers. Secured in his palm, he strokes himself over you, glancing into your hungry eyes.

“Pretty girl,” his other digits raise your head by your chin, and his body is swinging, unstable; shoulders high. “My sweet baby… You can’t just…”

Pinching your chin fondly, he digs his cock into your mouth, still pumping the base and touching his balls. You raise your head to not suffocate in the process, and he lets your chin go to grip your hair, lifting you halfway just in time before—

His load finally spills. All of it. So much of it. Hot and sticky, thick as the ropes shoot straight into your throat. You nearly gag, keeping yourself together, swallowing diligently as he empties his balls.

There’s fucking buckets of it, shit…

You close your eyes, focusing on breathing, and once he’s done, you close your lips around his cock. Still hard, although slowly softening, you lick the remnants of his arousal and whatever’s left of you. The tastes mingle, and your head spins…

And then, he pulls back. You’re beaten, gulping, smacking away the saltiness.

Still overwhelmed from the taste, you let your head fall back onto the pillow; but your fingers still seek his touch. The mattress next to you flattens again as his knees retract, and soon enough, laying down beside you.

Both of you are too done in to speak, even less to move. So you let a few minutes pass. Then, you find his fingers, entangling them with yours; waiting a bit more.

And only when your heart rate calms a bit, you stir, hearing him suggest, “Quick shower?”

You smile. The kisses aren’t over yet.

For a while longer, the profuse heat lingers.

The radiator is off, and some of the windows were open when you came home. And despite choosing to stay bare after the shower for some more, you don’t register any of the cold yet; you’re sheltered, safe and so, so warm.

Jungkook’s fingers keep trailing up and down way after you’re done, lips planting generous kisses to your scalp and face. He paves his way to the corner of your mouth and then up to your eyebrows; and when he reaches your nose again, you lift your head abruptly.

Chasing his kiss, even if for just a second, a hand on his cheek and shoulders rising. Occasional giggles and smiles, tickles and pinches keep you busy temporarily; you don’t know how much time passes, nor do you care.

You only snap out of your daydreams when his kisses gain on urgency, tongue diligent. A palm creeps dangerously close to your ass, threatening to slink to your beaten sex.

But your reaction is quicker than his sly attempt, and you say, “Wait— no. Can’t do it again.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Of course.” Damn his shoulder shrug. You tap his pelvis before you wrap a leg around his waist, teasing, “I didn’t feel the twitch at all.”

He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But it’s not my fault that you’re so stubbornly sexy.”

“Stubbo—” You giggle mid-sentence, imitating the shake of his head. “I hope you know I’d let you tie me down and do whatever the fuck—”

“My god. Stop saying it like that.”

“—but my body won’t let me yet. I also still stink.”

“Stink?” He shifts dramatically, burying his nose between your tits. His voice is muffled when he asks, “Do you?”

“Stop. You’re so weird,” you scold, but the word is drenched in laughter; you forcefully lift his head again. “We still need to change the sheets and the shower was quick. Do I not?”

“You kinda do. Like cherry blossoms.”

“Shut up.”

“What? Sue me for telling the truth. My girlfriend smells like cherry blossoms.”

Oh… oh?

Wait.

Your mouth shuts tight.

Did he…

The beam that spreads on your face is almost embarrassing; surprise, joy and affection conjoin, your guts twisting. You take a breath. Feel the sparkles in your own damn eyes; tender gaze directed at him.

And the freaking flutter in your heart; the temperature in your cheeks. Do these things ever stop?

The words sink in slowly; and Jungkook takes the time to ask, “What?”

“You… you haven’t called me that yet, have you?”

He’s perplexed. Guess even to him, it was a Freudian slip, because his eyes are wider than ever. He waits, thinks for a moment; then admits, “Uhm. No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, I… like the sound of it.”

“It’s… it’s true. You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” His eyes smile before he does; unrestrained devotion in them. “My baby?”

He says it so innocently, so sweetly that you can’t help but coo. Teasingly, you pat his cheek, telling him, “I mean I hope I am. Considering I’m moving in with you.”

“Yes. You are. Of course you are.” 

“…Girlfriend.” Sheepishly, much like a teenage girl, you keep your twinkle intact, still feeling the lasting gleam on your face. You must be reminiscent of the sun and the moon. Emboldened, you start, “Then… boyfriend. Can I ask you something?”

The term elicits similar glee in him, teeth out, grin bright. He waits wordlessly with sparkling eyes, and you touch his lip, asking, “How do you feel right now? About all that?”

“I feel… I’m in disbelief. You’re moving in with me and just. Somehow, even saying it feels surreal.” He sighs, searching for words. “I’m in disbelief and crazy for you. That’s all I know.”

Falling deeper and without an end is possible. Jungkook has taught you that; still does.

“…I was so scared you wouldn’t like me doing this,” you confess.

“What? Saying yes to being with me all the time? Sounds horrible.” He laughs. “I’m happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy, too. Okay?”

“I wasn’t for a while, you know? You make me feel good. Take me by my word and give yourself credit for it.” He needs to. He might have doubted his role in everyone else’s life so far, but his value to you needs to be clear at all times. “Not just now, Kook, but, you always make me feel good. I hope you know that.”

“I do. This time, I do…” Content, you smile; until he stalls for dramatic effect, mouth open to indicate something to come. Your beam expands to exhilarated laughter when he squeezes your ass again, adding with another snicker, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make my favourite munchkin feel good?”

“…There’s more than one?!”

Hmm…

That’s what you’d been yearning for all this time.

Because there’s something so vulnerable about your elation; the enlivened titter. About your newfound feelings. About these very first phases of a sensitive relationship. Something serene.

And the meaning behind your words keeps changing with him; carries much more weight, and makes you feel so much lighter. As if levitating on cotton clouds.

Girlfriend. Boyfriend.

Peace reigns supreme and for a while you’re hopeful enough to doubt anything could disrupt it. Even the world is quiet when you look out the window.

September isn’t yet harsh enough to cover all above pitch black, but it’s still dark grey and drab. The sky still somewhat illuminates the unruffled room through the tilted window.

But just when tranquillity reaches its peak, your phone vibrates on the bedside table; you flinch.

The screen’s shine overshadows the faded monochrome of the world. It’s unwelcome, intruding — and once you lean over, holding the blanket over your chest, you realise that the message is just as unsought.

Mom [7:12PM]: We need to talk. Mom [7:12PM]: I’m still at Charmante for another hour and a half.

…At this time?

Did you leave her this desperate?

“What is it?” a dulcet voice asks from behind.

You hear the bed creak a little, his body cold without yours. Despising the distance, he puts a gentle hand to your shoulder, planting a kiss right next to it; when you lack his desired reaction, he asks again, “Everything okay?”

“Hm?” You barely tilt your head, eyes still glued to the words that you’ve already internalised. You cover his hand with yours. “Yeah. Just. Look.”

You hold the phone into his face; the penetrant white floodlights his skin. The warm gold shines in the glow, his lips drier than before. They move as he reads, and then, they close, giving way to a hum.

The initial silence suggests that he might be thinking the same as you — to bail. To shut the phone again, slide it to the edge of the bedside table and drop back against his chest, above his heart.

But you should know Jungkook better; he won’t discourage a familial reunion, praying for a better outcome than he ever had. He’s always spoken for your relationship with them — thinking back, he has never truly badmouthed your mother.

So you’re not too surprised when he hands you the phone back, careful to not turn your mother’s two marks blue, and suggests, “Maybe you should go.”

You sigh. You don’t want to. It’s too early for confrontation; time hasn’t passed, and the issue hasn’t yet marinated. Then again, the problem might only grow if you postpone this.

But your heart is biased, angry, refusing to oblige to her demands one more time. So you ask for yet another confirmation, “Right now? But I…”

You turn back to him, shaking your head slowly, troubled. He props his head up, eyes staring down to you as you lay flat on your back, hands folded under your breasts.

“Give yourself closure, babe.”

“I got closure.”

“No,” he strikes back, fingers lifting to your jawline. He touches it lightly, brushing it delicately, “Actual closure. To finish this. And she deserves it, too, you know? She’s still waiting there, angel.”

“Jungkook, you…” You click your tongue, gaze swerving to the unlit ceiling light and then back to him. “You’re too good.”

“I’m sorry.”

You smile, and he throws a palpitation-inducing twinkle back. You know he’s right — it must have been a shock for her after all. More or less double-crossed by her own daughter, humiliated in a public setting — her brain must be frying.

Reluctantly, you stretch your arm to the side, tapping for your phone, and roll your eyes at Jungkook playfully when you open the message to type back. His body floats down, lips planting a barely-there kiss to your collarbone.

You [7:14PM]: I’ll be there in half an hour.

“Alright then…”

Your body lifts off the mattress with the idlest of movements. The afterglow might die once you’re there, but you guess you need the confrontation–fight? Argument?—to ensure more, blissful nights.

This time, you don’t bother with your clothing as much as you did when you prepared for the press conference. You slip into the first best jeans you find, throwing a cosy pullover over your torso.

Busy with the rush, you don’t notice that Jungkook isn’t standing behind you in his usual grey joggers but in jeans, too. He’s fiddling with your car keys, stuffing his wallet into a pocket, and you stare wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation.

And once your digging stare pierces through him, he reciprocates it with similar confusion, half his hand still in the pocket as he inquires, “What?”

“What are you doing?” you ask, gesturing up and down his body.

“What do you mean?”

The back and forth of questions leaves you further bewildered, and you step closer, softly snatching the keys out of his fingers as you say, “Babe… It won’t take long.”

You don’t think he quite understands — it seems that to him, it was a given this entire time that he’d accompany you to your work building. But when it seeps through, his expression changes, more relaxed.

His head tilts, blinking slowly as he assures, “I won’t let you go alone.”

“Kook—”

“It’s honestly not a big deal. You said it won’t take long, so I’ll wait outside.” He shrugs, forefinger at the nape of his neck, scratching. “Plus, I’ll just get bored here alone.”

A warm flutter engulfs your heart. You wonder how couples spend days, months, years together without burning up every moment during their togetherness. Because you don’t think you’ll ever get over the fire he sets ablaze in your lungs — how does one get accustomed to affection like this?

You don’t know.

Maybe you don’t need to know.

Not more than what his eyes say, at least.

“What did you do all the time I wasn’t here?”

His grin is playful, but there’s tender truth in his words, “Something any guy waiting for you would do,” big brown irides meet yours, fingers fiddling, “counted the seconds until I could see you again.”

Your laugh is sudden before you ask, “Is that a quote from SpongeBob?”

And the joy holds on as you leave the apartment and rush down the flight of stairs. The short comedic journey to your car is distracting — most of reality only dawns on you when you step into the car.

Reminiscent of the last time the two of you drove over to a confrontation — just a little after his vacation; just a bit before the heartbreak.

The streets are quieter and emptier at this hour, the repose enhanced by the gentle drizzle. It’s significantly darker than when you arrived home, though it hasn’t been too long since you drove this exact way in the opposite direction. Two hours?

Maybe it’s the cloudy, almost black sky, accompanied by the hushed sound of the rain that’s amplifying your fears. Because the calming ambience from a minute ago worries you the closer you get — this once, you’d rather bask in sunshine and daydreams.

But no.

Hope is on your side; you’re done worrying, right?

As you sit up straight in your seat, Jungkook glances from you from the driver’s seat, eyes shooting to and fro between you and the street. His lips part as he operates the wheel with one hand, using the other to wrap around your fingers.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, squeezing once before he lets go, brushing over the back of your hand and gripping the wheel again, “there’s just so much she can say. You made a decision as a full adult and she’ll have to accept it.”

“Yeah.” You follow the streetlamps and their warm radiance, redirecting your focus on the next as you pass each. “I hope so.”

The ride home was different; you were filled to the brim with energy and adrenaline. Your legs were putty, so he insisted for you to freeze on the passenger’s seat, reluctant to hand you the keys to drive.

You were waiting for the streets to end, to shut his door behind you, and to breathe and sigh through a sleepless night with him. The anticipation, combined with the aftermath of the press conference made you restless — you wouldn’t stop gnawing on your thumb.

And he didn’t interrupt your thoughts, let you flick through them until he finally looked at you at a traffic light. Raising the back of his digits to your cheek, assuring, “It’s okay, angel.”

Maybe the breathy tone and the hundred promises wrapped into one reassurance prompted your reaction at his place at all.

Jungkook turns into your work street, and you hold your breath. Your heart knocks violently against your ribcage, disabling a proper thread of thoughts. Which is a shame, because you really wanted to draw a collection of snappy remarks you could retort in there.

Instead, you merely look at the entrance far at the end of the street, unmoving as Jungkook moves into a parking lot and kills the engine. You blink; then blink some more. The gulp, you think, is audible in the small space of the car.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.

“No… I don’t think she’d want that.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning forward to pinch your chin between two fingers. He moves your head toward him, eyes a liquid, wavy ocean at night. Affectionate. “She’s your mom. Despite everything, I know she loves you.”

“I don’t know…”

“She does. I saw it the night I picked you up and I saw it Monday morning, too. So.” The head tilt, the soft curve of his eyebrows, the care in his pupils — they’re a healing bandage around your heart. “Don’t be scared.”

He leans over the centre console armrest, still holding your face in his grasp, and presses his lips just barely, sweetly to your wrinkled forehead. You think the muscles react immediately, temples relaxing.

For a second, he lingers, and then he pulls back a fraction, looking at you from an inch-wide distance, and whispers, “Don’t be. I’ll be here all the time.”

Right — armour-clad, like a knight. You finally nod, a weight dropping off your heart. You cement his smile deeper into your mind; a coping strategy in case things escalate in there.

Once more, you squint at the entrance doors, though barely visible from here. Hand on the handle, you say, “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, call the police.”

Jungkook tsks, eyes rolling with badly hidden amusement, ordering, “Just go. Will be here.”

Yes. Breathe.

He’ll be right here when you come back. And it’ll all be over then.

The building feels sinister, empty like this. Nothing of the busy and lively mood remains; the lack of the chatter and footsteps drenches the entrance hall in gloom.

It reminds you of horror movie locations; you can’t help but hesitate as you walk in.

Especially today, the silence is unbearably odd; the press isn’t lurking anymore, isn’t swarming you anymore. You don’t want to imagine how hard it must’ve been to convince the reporters to finally leave.

You sigh…

In less than a day, they’ll have today’s highlights printed in newspapers and posted; feasting. Big, bold headlines will narrate the words you uttered; of course they will. With your family relishing a local celebrity status, the media would be damned if it didn’t make any profit out of you.

For the first time, however… you don’t care. You inhale.

And as you walk past the glass walls and up the stairs, clutching your work keys, you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to run away from this place anymore.

You’ve liked your job since you started, no doubt, despite your initial worries and fears. But the thought of losing against the world, or of losing him terrified you. Maybe you were too naive to fight those who wished you harm mere months ago, freshly out of college.

But now that you realise that you won’t be roaming these hallways in a couple weeks, that you have dropped the mic in a way they won’t be able to pick it up to hurt you again, you feel relieved. 

Feel a sense of responsibility. Like an adult.

Okay.

She told you she’d wait in an unoccupied office on the first floor — you usually frequent it with Zara, sifting through theories and changes. You wonder why your mother didn’t settle on her own office — then again, you imagine it must hurt to suffer defeat in the very room where she’s supposed to reign.

As you reach the room, your fist lifts to the door. Though you soon realise that it might be entirely unnecessary, judging the slight gap and the soft noise from within. So you gently push the ajar door open, met with a tired figure behind an imposing desk.

She’s lost in thought, but as you enter, her gaze slowly ascends, her posture reclining. And you see it immediately.

The usually cold eyes, now brimming with disappointment and sorrow.

Her eyes flit, as you assume unintentionally, into a corner. She dodges a simple greeting when you mumble a timid, “Hi,” and you drop the formalities right away. Don’t even attempt to sit — stand there, towering in front of her, not intending to stay long anyway.

And it seems her thoughts and intentions align, because she refuses to beat around the bush, a weary voice asking, “Why did you do that?”

“Mmh… You’re asking like I shouldn’t have.”

“Because you shouldn’t have.” Typical. Her point of view will always be her only truth. You listen on, but can’t help but tense. “Your father and I built this for you, and we intended to forward it to you. You know that.”

You don’t like that tone; you never have. It always ran over your spine as a shiver, weakening your knees. Even today, you’re conditioned to buckle just a bit. You exhale.

“Mom, have you ever heard yourself speak? You’ve never even remotely tried giving me anything else that way,” you complain, leaning to clutch the chair with one hand, the other gesturing around the room. “You built this stupid empire for yourself and kept it intact for me, so I can continue your work.”

You huff out a mocking breath, shaking your head just a little. “You never even asked me. You just told me to do it all.”

Her voice is sharper when she responds, “We didn’t hand it to you to make you suffer, for god’s sake.” She’s irritated, eyebrows deeply furrowed. “Christ, you were supposed to have a good future.”

“Yes, and I will! I’m happier than I have been all summer. Do you even have any idea what happened during that time?!”

You pause. She doesn’t answer, clearly sorting out a hundred answers.

Because a lot happened — most of it a direct effect of her or the media’s bullshit. Of course she won’t be able to pick out just one single thing.

So you explain, “Did you even understand that Jungkook broke up with me because of the thing you pulled with that dumb journalist?” You spit the word like a curse, grimacing. “And that he avoided me because he thought he was ruining me?”

You try to make it sound as ridiculous as you can muster, wondering if the realisation is dawning on her. 

“Did you even notice how I didn’t come out of my room for da—”

“Just why,” she interrupts, eyes shutting tight in disbelief and agitation, palms toward the ceiling, “would you jeopardise your life and emotions because of him?”

Jeopardise. Holy fuck.

She has a whack understanding of villainhood.

“Because he’s important to me! You can’t even imagine how hurtful it is to only be talking about work to you. You never ask me if I eat or sleep enough. You didn’t even give me a graduation present. He did! But you wouldn’t know!”

You think back to the lamp in your room, the one she has never seen — remember the dark ceiling, the aurora and stars projected to it. The touches that followed.

“He’s unbelievably important to me, Mom. Okay?”

“You’ve been with him for just a while.”

You grit your teeth. It’s like talking to a wall; a daycare child would catch the sentiment better than her.

“Yeah,” you say, scoffing, “and it makes me embarrassed for you, because I’ve known you my entire life and you never cared this much. Like, fuck, even Dad did.”

Her jaw clenches as you swear, nostrils close to flaring as you concede more pain, “Jungkook actually makes me feel human.” There’s a sting in your eyes. You blink it away. “I’ve been feeling like a person, which just… made me understand that—”

You gulp, your throat tied and your head heavier now. You wait, shrugging. Then—

“That I can receive affection, too.”

Your friends are your first memory of care; barring them, you only had a faint idea of what devotion entailed. Learning what it means to be genuinely important to someone had been on your bucket list — this year, you ticked it off.

“I just hate that he had to glue me together first for me to understand.”

Because she broke you first. The contrast couldn’t be more crystal clear.

She doesn’t dig your monologue. Her countenance fills with different shades of ridicule and embarrassment, shreds of anger thrown into the mix. Filed nails tap against an open folder, the other hand rubbing her forehead.

“You sound ridiculous,” she derides, “you can’t throw your future away because of love. It won’t pay your bills.”

“I’m gonna be a manager, though. I’ll pay my fucking bills. And Jungkook is working his way up, too.” Your latter statement gains a sceptical stare, followed by a skyrocketing eyebrow. It satisfies you. “He is. He’s getting his own part at an exhibition. We’ll be fine.”

She frowns, mouth already agape as she psyches herself up for another answer, and you already roll your eyes, prepared to interrupt.

“You—”

“You were so grateful last weekend,” you argue.

“Because you almost killed yourself!”

“No! If you’re so worried, then call! You could’ve called and asked where I was like mothers do. Made sure I was well and not drunk out of my mind!”

“Stop it,” she stands, her voice as damaging as a serrated knife. You flinch as she charges for you, and you breathe out, ready for a slap — but her body halts in front of yours. “How do you expect to run from this just by switching to another company? Novaura’s still mine, too.”

No…

You hold your breath. Straighten your back, hands sweaty as your nails dig in. She’s been predictable half her life; not always quite vile. But you know what she’ll say next, and you know it’ll be the most odious thing she’s ever uttered.

“And I could keep you here if I wanted to. They’d throw you out if I told them, too.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink, scorning, “You’re serious?”

A breath of laughter escapes your chest, and you shake your head in disbelief. You’re done.

You press your lips into a thin line before smacking them, nodding in faux agreement before you say, “Okay. Go ahead. But if you do, I won’t shut up this time. Today, I was being nice. I praised you, and none of my nice talk was actually deserved.”

Choosing your words carefully, you pronounce every syllable as if explaining molecular biology. She listens, not spitting an answer immediately.

So you challenge further, “You want to throw me out? Do it. It’s your reputation. I didn’t say anything wrong at the conference today, because it’s my right to choose the career I want. You’d be abandoning your own daughter if you pulled this through.”

You have her attention. Her lips stay sealed.

“And when they ask me,” you continue, eyes now fiery; you’re so done. So, so done. “I will let them know that you did it out of spite. Try finding an excuse why you did when we’re there. I won’t be at any disadvantage.”

You press into your palms one more time, relaxing your jaw, and opt to turn and walk away. Hurling one more glare towards her, you spit, “I have a degree, just a reminder.”

And that should be it.

Pride unfurls across your chest, warm in your stomach as you take long strides out of her office. You hear the quiet call of your name, suddenly desperate. But now that you’ve said your part of the truth, you don’t turn around anymore.

Only shut the door behind you hard; shutting all she’d hoped for with it.

Despite the satisfaction still bubbling in your stomach, you can’t shake the clump in your throat and the anxiety in your heart. The post-fight adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your fingers shake.

There’s discomfort in deserting your own mother; the irrational fears were to be expected. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know, you know. But your organ still thumps like drums, and you lift a hand to your chest. A vain attempt to calm your breathing.

And then… something miraculous happens.

The brisky gust of the evening brushes your cheeks; the bright lights of the city contribute to your sudden peace. They’re a reminder that the world is far wider than this damn building. Than her.

But more than anything, your worries dissipate when the strolling figure grows in your sight. As you walk the short distance to your car, you feel your heart lighten — your forehead and temples relax.

He has his hands on his waist, chin slightly raised as if watching the stars that hide in the city sky anyway. His steps are small, and his eyebrows calm. He looks serene.

And once his hands slide into his open jacket’s pockets, he looks down the street again, surprised when you’re mere steps apart.

“Ah,” he voices, one palm already out as he stretches it toward you, “barely fifteen minutes. I was about to come in.”

Deep sigh in, you let his arm pull you in his embrace, swiftly wrapped around your torso. He smells like fresh clothes, after-rain, and vibrant, like the lights in the sky.

Your arms sling around his body with an urgency, and you muffle your voice against his chest as you ask, “Already?”

“Already?” he repeats, though dragging the word more than you did. His arm squeezes you once as his other hand escapes his pocket, too, stroking your head. “Those weren’t days? I swear I felt myself ageing in there.”

Your fist thumps against his chest lightly, and you giggle against his sweater. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes slowly unfocusing, you rub the zipper teeth of his jacket between your fingers, softly mumbling, “Thank you for being here. You’re the best.”

You feel a movement over your head; he’s lowering his chin to your hair, still caressing your head as if lulling you into sleep. And it’s working — you feel drowsier by the second.

But then, his chest rumbles as he hums, cautious as he asks, “Are you okay?”

Are you?

You’re about to start a new life where you desire, with whom you desire. Finding permanent residency in his presence the way he finds it in your thoughts.

A few more steps, and you can make yourself home. Not in those rooms, but in him. Because that’s what he is.

A blanket, a radiator, the comforting voice that soothes and heals. Worshipping you within the same four walls every single day.

You’re not just okay — you’re craving.

Leaving his warmth and scent, you lean back and look at him. His eyes are as big as you’re used to, awaiting an answer, genuinely curious. Your heart threatens to burst; the sting is painfully sweet.

“Yeah,” you answer, touching the purple sweater, “I promise I am.”

Because. Because that’s all you ever wanted.

It’s over. You’re going home — you are home.

You can’t remember whether it was your fingers clawing into Jungkook’s shirt or his hand brushing through your hair that kept you in the sheets twenty minutes longer than anticipated.

The plan was to snooze once and get into a routine with divided work. One prepares breakfast, the other makes the bed and cleans up before leaving the apartment.

But it seems that so far, your routine has consisted of lazy mornings. Tired hums. Quiet, hushed and slightly hoarse good mornings and entangled limbs.

You pressed between his shoulder blades as he strokes your head, planting kisses on your temple and your forehead.

“Slept well?” he asked today. Another peck in between. Then, drowsy and sighing, “Is the mattress okay, by the way? I like the firmer ones better since they’re good for your back, but I know you had a softer one, so if you need…”

“No, not at all,” you promised, warm and safe under the covers. “This is perfect.”

No… the softness wasn’t needed. Your muscles were so relaxed, you were sinking into the bed anyway. Sleeping a dent into it. At peace as his nails gently scraped over your scalp, massaging and caressing.

He could’ve lulled you into sleep like that; and his voice served as soft, white background noise. The words he used. The honey sweet tone. The past tense in what you had, and what you have now.

If you hadn’t been so lethargic, you would’ve floated through your chores. But when the clock ticked too dangerously fast and brought your working hours sickeningly close, you decided to eat out instead.

You always fool around at breakfast too much — stretching it longer than it needs to be. A café was, surprisingly, the smarter, more time-efficient option.

And a great opportunity and excuse to explore the places near you. Jungkook promised there was an amazing bakery nearby, and you trudged along, tummy rumbling, now that you weren’t in bed with him and satiated anymore.

“You’re sure you’ll be at home by the evening?”

You gather the remaining crumbs of your pastry with the pad of your thumb, waiting for Jungkook to slurp the last of his coffee. He nods, soon answering, “Mhm. I won’t be at work for long. Might come home before you do, actually.”

“Okay,” you suckle at your thumb, shoulders relaxing as you stare at the drizzle outside. The day started out grey. “And then tomorrow, I’ll be off work by the afternoon, so I should be able to bring more things over from the house.”

Tired from the morning, your eyes remain on the customers trudging in and out of the café. They shake the water drops off their umbrellas, or sigh at the prospect of stepping out into the rain again. 

Their expressions aren’t quite dispirited, but… perhaps a little dim.

You raise a side of your lips in empathy, and then continue, “And then on Saturday, I’m getting the truck to the house, for the rest of my stuff.”

“Babe,” Jungkook interrupts, pausing to smack the coffee’s taste away. His hand slides over the table, wrapping his fingers around three of yours. “Let me come with you tomorrow. You’re already doing too much.”

“Absolutely not. I won’t drag you there unless I absolutely have to. Besides,” your voice is soft when you lean forward, raising your entangled digits to your lower lip. “You’ve been busy plenty, too.”

And it’s true.

He’s been taking care of the apartment and cooking dinner these days. Organising documents with you, so you have whatever needed to change your address and whatnot. Doing small purchases for the household and vacating some of the closet to make place for your stuff.

Two weeks have passed since the press conference — and Jungkook has been a pillar of strength and sanity as much as you have been his. You communicate each night, regulating finances, dividing roles and sharing comfort.

You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed or felt a relationship as symbiotic as this one… and you’re just starting out.

His thumb brushes over your fingers, still reassuring you, much as you expected, “I honestly don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” you argue, “we still have a lot more to do. Save your energy for that. I’d still love these deco vines for the living room, remember? Let’s get them together.”

Your words are breathy, as if you’re being reborn. A breeze of refreshment — and he feels it, too. There’s something about the thought of simplicity livening up your bustling days.

Mundane tasks, like shopping for casual things together.

Groceries. Decoration. Plants.

With all the planning of switching work and homes, the two of you have been incredibly breathless. You even told him about a meeting at your new place today, a discussion about trivial matters, general know-how and preparation you need to do.

The sliver of stress is visible in your eyes — you’ll be seeing the other managers today. And you’re nervous about it, unsure what vibe the meeting might set.

But despite the stress, you’ve been as bright as Venus in the night sky. He understands. If anyone does, then him.

Because the idea of strolling through Ikea's tableware department is balm to his mind. Your laughter sounding through its hallways, half your body leaning over the shopping cart, because you surely seem like the type to do so.

His voice is as gentle as the mizzle outside when he promises, “We’ll get anything you want.”

“Really?” Your smile is radiant, cheeks glowing as you press the lightest kiss to one of his knuckles. “Sounds good to me.” 

Time passing has always been a bummer. Despite the quiet noise in the café, the clock ticks as if in a deafening volume, a reminder that you need to let this hand go soon.

Sometimes, you do worry. About the attachment, and the healthy obsession with him. And on the other side, about every moment he worships you, and every second he misses you.

How there’s discomfort in being apart, even if for mere hours. Maybe that’s why he holds you so tight at night. Or why you’re constantly itching to get home.

Perhaps there’s a lingering fear that your time separated brought, a sneaking anxiety of being dragged apart again.

Yet, instead of dwelling in improbable what-ifs, you breathe in the air of the room, direct your senses away from the clock and toward the increasing patter of rain against the window panes. 

You squeeze the fingers around you harder, delving into one last soft conversation as you ask, “You’re at lunch with Joon later, right?”

“Yeah, he promised me burgers today.”

“What for again?”

“Because I’m his favourite staff member?” Jungkook lifts your hand to your mouth when you open it, shushing you with your own fingers. “Don’t say it. I am his favourite staff member.”

“‘Kay. Understandable.”

“You know…” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but the soft drop of his gaze, fingers fiddling and toying with yours betrays him. He’s still so delicate around you. “If you want, you can join.”

“Oh. Mmmh,” you think for a moment, but then click your tongue, insisting, “it’d be weird, I think. Dunno if he’d want it.”

“I would want it.”

He always does.

Yearning. Obsession. A humane way of falling in love.

You feel like a person. No matter how odd the phrase might sound in your head, the painful truth behind it is undeniable. You feel like a person.

“Okay,” you reply, slowly reclaiming your hand, reluctantly preparing to leave. “I’ll see if I find time and energy during my lunch break.” You halt, unblinking, before you look back at him with squinting, uncertain eyes. “Totes Bag Street, was it?”

The sudden, choking laugh erupting out of Jungkook is a surprise. If his coffee cup wasn’t empty yet, he’d still be sipping, probably ruining the white, silky shirt you’re sporting today.

You actually mean it, don’t you?

His trademark laugh is high-pitched, melodious, though a little more controlled in the public space, but the flashing of his teeth and his dimples implies genuine joy.

You already know: the lighthearted banter has become a hallmark of your connection. Doesn’t get old. Heartwarming — albeit right now, very confusing to you.

So you cock an eyebrow, questioning, “What?”

“Babe,” he simply mutters, hands coming together in a mock prayer. “Shit, you’re so fucking cute.”

He lowers his head between his shoulders, torso shaking, and you pull his palms apart again to dig with another, ”Hey. What?”

“Boats Track Street. Not Totes Bag Street,” he corrects, endeared by your wide eyes. The back of two of his fingers grazes your temple, and then down your face, before playfully pinching your chin. “You’re so cute. And a dummy. I mean it.”

“You’re a dummy,” you reply, forcing your face back and out of his grip. “Besides, that’s a pretty stupid name.”

“To be fair… I agree.”

A hesitant smile spreading on your face, your gaze wanders to the clock at the opposite wall again. The beam drops a little, giving way to a small sigh.

“It’s okay. I’ll probably be busy anyway… will join you guys another time.” You shove the chair back, getting off with a fatigued groan and a hand rubbing your tummy. “And I feel a bit weird today, too. Shouldn’t have eaten before bed because I’m feeling the effects right now.”

“Ahhh, I told you. No worries. I’ll make you something light tonight. And some peppermint tea.” His hands wave you goodbye, making a begone motion. “Go for now. The longer you stay, the worse the next hours will be for me.”

“Dork. You must survive.”

You huff, eyes rolling at the dramatics, and push your bag behind your body before you lean into him. A hand on his cheek, you watch his eyes close, setting your lips onto his.

The two-second long goodbye peck remains just that before his fingers, pushing against the nape of your neck, tug you in again.

Against your lips, he mutters, “Eat, okay? Call if your stomach bothers you. Anytime. And don’t be nervous. You’ll have fun.”

And before you can answer, he kisses you again.

Once, and then twice more. Your guts somersault, even when he finally lets you go. Your lungs feel dry all of a sudden.

All you have left in you is to nod. For your wobbly legs to step away. Looking back a few more times until the door opens, the bell chiming, your transparent flower umbrella spreading over your head.

Jungkook watches as your careful steps wander away, your head never lowered like every other passerby’s. They’re hiding from the rain, but you’re staring up, observing the movement of the clouds before your focus falls on the road — and a minute later, you disappear out of his sight.

His chest and muscles relax, a quiet laughter still tumbling out as he repeats, “Totes Bag Street.”

The sky may be colourless. The people might look into the world dimly.

But despite the rain tapping against the window, no inch of you is painted in a dismal, drab grey. You’re the brilliant, gleaming sun.

The location of your new job isn’t as fancy as the area around Charmante. The building certainly isn’t made of reflecting glass throughout.

There’s wood and actual walls; not every door opens with a chip, but a key, and the luxuries are limited. Compared to your old building, this one is humble, but it still oozes wealth and success — guess that’s what a subsidiary looks like.

The meeting room for today is somewhere on the third floor. Your mind races as you fix your clothes in the elevator, throwing regular glances into the mirror to guarantee that your hair sits as perfectly as three seconds prior.

You breathe deeply, exhale through a rounded mouth. Whether it’s this meeting or something you ate, your stomach does not feel great.

As the nerves start kicking in, you think of Jungkook’s hand in yours and the everlasting smile. You use him as your safe place; close your eyes for those few seconds that the elevator floats up.

And it works. Feels like an oasis, calm and lovely.

That is, until the bell pings, forcing your eyes open. You stare up at the number, nearly stepping out until you realise that — you’re not on the third, but on the second floor. Were you supposed to halt here?

No. And there’s nobody outside, waiting.

Until, someone is.

Rushed steps move to the elevator, a nice but stressed voice urging, “Ah! Keep the doors open, I’m coming!”

Strange. Oddly familiar voice.

You can’t say why, but you already prepare a polite smile, trying not to let the ticking seconds stress you out. Rationally, you know you’re not late, but the time passing messes with your nerves.

And it seems it doesn’t get better when the figure finally rushes in, pressing the already lit number 3 before he says, “Good. Just in time.” Looks back at you, delighted as if he expected you somewhere around, and adds, “Ah! Hello!

It takes a moment. Then another.

One more until you figure out who he is, why you feel like hurling and how maybe, just maybe, he might be heading to the same room as you — as another new manager of Novaura.

You blow a raspberry at the boxes in your backseat. 

Deciding to at least take your favourite box up with you, you leave the rest here for now; you don’t want to bug Jungkook yet. You can heave it all upstairs on the weekend, in peace.

It’s only moderately heavy — but with both your hands busy, the task is a hassle. You secure it under your arm as you close the door of your vehicle with your hip, clutching the phone previously tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

You straighten your head, reflexively looking up to Jungkook’s apartment window. To your apartment window. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue just yet.

Somehow managing to open the entrance door, you sigh into the phone, giving Taehyung a relieved, “I’m finally back home.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung voices, and you imagine his full lips in a line, tiny nods serious, “how’s it feel? Knowing that this is where you’re gonna be for the foreseeable future?”

“It feels… quiet.”

“What, he bore you to death like that?”

You giggle, taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase; though slightly irritated by the slowly and constantly slipping box. You heave it back up.

“Absolutely. You’ve no idea, really.”

Taehyung laughs, but your joke doesn’t stick for long. You feel bad immediately — even in a playful tone, your heart knows nothing for Jungkook but praise. You guess that’s how kindness affects people.

And your brain stays mean, prolonging your pout — because it conjures pictures of a crooked smile, wrinkles around tender eyes, a tilted head as shoulders rise when the laughter reaches its peak…

A sting jabs your chest.

The longing is unbearable, and you’re barely another level from the apartment. He’s waiting for you on the other side of that flat’s door, and you know his pupils will widen in his dark brown eyes the moment they fall on you.

“No, that feels horrible to say,” you correct, shaking your head. You pause in the middle of the staircase for a moment, gaze fixated on a dirty spot before you shake your head once more. “You know Jungkook. If he’s not joy personified, then I don’t know.”

And it’s true — despite his own demons, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone spread this much comfort.

“I just meant that my mind’s been quiet. And a lot more peaceful. Not a hundred worries whirling around anymore,” you tell him, your steps upward slower now.

“Just ninety-nine, huh?”

You smile. “Maybe. But he’s not one of them.”

Dull background noise interrupts your thoughts; Taehyung doesn’t respond to you, but reprimands Yoongi in a distant mumble. He’s been doing it since he called, covering his phone to argue with his friend.

Apparently, Yoongi had been with him for hours before you picked up Taehyung’s call; they’ve been settling the rest of the arrangements, scurrying through paperwork. The apartment you considered is entirely their adventure now, but you aided in anything they needed.

Which basically just meant clearing things with the landlord and then answering his new tenant’s million questions. 

As in — how were you thinking of decorating it? Why were you going to take it? Did you calculate monthly costs including rent, water and gas? You didn’t mind, because Yoongi might be one of the most polite people you have ever met.

But it seems he’s reluctant to return to his dorm’s lonely walls, too.

Because Taehyung values alone-time, and Yoongi hasn’t granted it for hours. You feel kinda bad for Yoongi. And while the younger man attempts his hardest to maintain the gentle tone, you hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“I’ll drive you home after this, ‘kay?” he tells Yoongi; you snicker at the groan that returns. “You got this, bro.” Attention back to you, a murmur of your name. “Anyway. Everything should be good now.”

“I’m glad. That was… quite something.”

A euphemism, really. The handful of visits weren’t fun; not to mention the stuff you had to get over with for your own move. And then all those calls. You needed minutes upon minutes of preparation for each of them. One hell of a businesswoman, you are.

“No, say it as it is. ‘Cause it knocked me the fuck out. You guys really had to drag me into this.”

You feel guilty about making Taehyung your spokesman here; but as an already residing individual of the building, he was a great support in this matter. 

“We— love you,” you tell him, inhaling deeply between your words. You rub the dirt off your soles on the welcoming mat and hold the box tight, not opening the door yet. “Tell your forehead to feel kissed.”

“Nah. You’re gonna upset Eun.”

“Why? Eun and I are more in love then the two of you might ever be. She’ll choose my side.”

“Ha. Fair. Whatever.” His voice doesn’t carry an ounce of solemnity. Once again, you imagine him pulling a face, waving your statement off. “Enjoy your life. Your voice has been echo-y forever. Also, don’t forget to talk to Jungkook about what we discussed.”

Ah… yeah. There’s more than just one thing you need to clear, actually.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” you confirm, though arguing, “I’m surprised you haven’t done it yet.”

“You do it. I know he’ll like hearing it from you better.” He pauses to answer his friend; you don’t even know what he said. “Okay. I’ll go grappling with Yoongi then.”

“Good luck.”

“Buy me sushi.”

One last laugh before you cut the call.

The clicking sound of your keys turning in the lock is music to your ears and balm to your feet. You skip the threshold with a relieved release of air; the apartment smells like diffusers, so warm compared to the declining temperatures outside.

You don’t hear a movement until you get to your knees, seating the box next to the shoe cabinet. As you start working on your jacket, you register a shuffle from the living room, but no voice — Jungkook said he’d be home before you. Perhaps he’s painting; or gaming.

A short text message during lunch assured him he could start dinner without you; deep down, however, you understood he wouldn’t listen anyway. And the obvious lack of aromatic scents wafting from the living room proves it.

You don’t enjoy eating alone — and he knows.

Clearing your throat, you announce your arrival, bent as you take your shoes off and rub your aching heels for a moment. You wish you could float. Offer them reprieve.

Stumbling in the anteroom, you wait for a greeting, but it seems he didn’t hear or notice you. You lick your lips, standing straight, and then speak into the hallway—

“I swear I don’t have a foot fetish,” a short pause — nothing, “but can you massage my feet again today?” You wait. Not a word comes back. So you joke, “Actually, just massage my whole body? I don’t mind. Need some hands-on relaxation.”

Subjectively, you think you’re hilarious. You giggle on your way to the living room, cheerful despite the jam-packed day — but your laughter ebbs down soon. Because he’s standing in the middle of the room, lips pressed into a tiny smile, head lowered, hands in his pockets.

And right in front of him, a timid woman in a coat. Blinking at you.

Your eyes dodge her gaze immediately. It’s an impolite reflex, heart pounding as you watch Jungkook’s hand lift to his forehead, hiding behind his bangs as he rubs. When he looks at you again, there’s an equal amount of worry and amusement in his expression.

“Shit,” you mumble, another mishap, and you continue cursing internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then, “I’m sorry.”

She looks like him. Same sweet aura, short hair, big eyes.

Her right digits are wrapped around the fingers of her other hand, mouth shut tight, though smiling. She knows less what to say than you, and the moment stretches and stretches and does not end and—

“Hi,” you finally murmur, bowing slightly before you cringe. Too much? Not enough? You clear your throat again, and then introduce yourself quietly. “You must be Mrs. Jeon. I… I didn’t know you’d be here or I would’ve come earlier! I’m very sorry.”

Are you rambling?

How horrid. You’d feel so uncomfortable if you were her.

Only, she barely showcases any sign of displeasure or irritation. Despite striking you as an introvert, her movements soon prove confidence — the type to know what she’s saying or doing, but in a humble and gentle way.

She unfolds her fingers and lets them dangle, soon moving up to clutch the strap of her bag. Looking between Jungkook and you once, she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, as if to promise that there’s no reason for any tension.

You sigh when she speaks, “Oh, it’s alright. I didn’t stay long and I need to go in a minute anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I was going to leave ages ago, but,” she points to her son with rolling eyes, and the man in question shrugs in faux guilt before she speaks on, “that one wanted me to see you for at least a second. I wanted to meet you properly… prepare dinner and all, but. It’s still nice to meet you.”

Her eyes are kind, taking you in; if you could guess, you’d say she’s… excited. Urging to finally speak to her son’s girlfriend.

She moves a teeny tiny bit, as if opting to offer her palm to you, or to— maybe hug you? But maybe she realises the timing, or sees your terrified expression, because she holds back for now politely.

“I see. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” Incredible how you spoke about initiatives just this morning, rambling in the office until someone had to interrupt you for their own turn. Now, you can’t get a word out. “But, I… I am still sorry I barged in so rudely.”

She grimaces, moving closer to you with a waving motion, “You didn’t barge into your own apartment. It’s all good.”

Jungkook doesn’t interrupt much; doesn’t interfere with his own jests and statements. They mirror each other so much, though. In the way they smile, and in the way they talk.

Even the manner in which she places her hand on your arm, reassuring you, delivers the same warmth. You tense for a moment, not quite expecting the touch; but it’s motherly. Soft. 

A new emotion floods your heart, but you can’t decode it. Too many thoughts streaming in, brain working overtime to come up with a full sentence without stuttering, without those dumb hesitation markers that your studies taught you to avoid.

And maybe you’ve succeeded — only, the clump in your throat, accompanied by a strange twist in your stomach builds a barrier now.

Her touch feels… good.

“Do you… would you like to sit?” you ask, voice softer by an infinite amount. “I have a variety of tea here, and you could choose one. If you…”

You want to talk. About whatever. Not the slip occurring a couple minutes ago; maybe you just finally want to know who made Jungkook the man he is today. It wasn’t necessarily his father, was he?

Somewhere, this incessant, constant comfort derived from. But.

“I’d like nothing more than that,” she admits, “but I have massage therapy in a bit, and should get going. An adult’s back.” You laugh, and she gestures towards you with an open palm. “Oh, don’t you work in an office? Take care of yourself, too.”

“Not just an office, Mom,” Jungkook interrupts, inching closer until next to you and rubbing your back, proud, “she’s a manager. She walks around a lot, so the problem are,” he nods toward your feet, “these.”

True. Just today alone, your heels made it feel like you ran a marathon. Learning about each corner and wandering around that building drained you.

“Ah… I thought so,” she says.

You blink in faint confusion until you realise. Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, brief but telling, and his mother smiles in awkward amusement. Hell.

Your blood shoots back into your face, warming it thoroughly, and just before you can opt for another apology, she says, “You have him to take care of you. Make him spoil you! You do, don’t you?”

Her voice changes the moment she faces her son, a little strict but all in good fun; her eyes squint and he exclaims, “I do!” the moment you defend, “Oh, he does! He definitely does.”

She seems to like this. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, similar to the one you already know; perhaps she’s just as endeared as mothers–usually?–get, realising their children are happy and settling.

“We take care of each other,” you tell her then, and she responds with a content nod.

“Good. It’d be a shame if not. Taught him how to treat people.”

“He knows for sure, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll ever need to worry about that.”

You’re careful with your gestures, your smiles, your movements. Even though she’s made clear as day that she’s not to fear, you still shift your entire focus on the delivery of your words.

If you weren’t, you’d be more lax. Looking through the room, exchanging glances with Jungkook. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d notice that he’s playing with the ends of your hair.

And you’d see the way he looks at you.

With those barely blinking, calm eyes. An ocean of fondness in them, a light, lost smile around his face. As though you’re soothing him, pumping oxygen into his lungs.

You don’t see any of it; but his mother does. And you register the drift of her pupils, the minimal upward movement in her eyebrows as she shoots a glance at him — then back at you.

But when you follow her gaze to him, he’s already snapped out of it, clearing his throat.

“You should go before you’re late,” Jungkook reminds her, removing his hand from your hair, “I’ll go spoil her as you taught me, Mama.”

“You better. Pressure’s on.”

He smirks, lopsided as he slings an arm around her shoulder. She’s so much smaller than him. “Tell Dad Hi from me.”

A slight drop of his lips. He doesn’t look at her but the ground. Tell-tale signs of a distant ache, hidden behind an attempt to find a cure.

The sting is palpable, right in the middle of your heart, but it dissipates bit by bit as he smiles at you again. Genuine once more, back to where he was only five seconds ago.

You nod at her, one last, non-verbal confirmation that you feel cosy here. There’s something inarguably sweet in her instant care. How she instantly roots for your happiness. How she’s pouring all her empathy into you with a single look.

A stare that usually understands someone else’s pain; and then hopes for eternal peace for them.

She doesn’t even know you — does she? You wonder if he ever did speak about you.

“Okay then. Tell me if you need anything,” she says it to Jungkook, but promptly turns to you, promising you, “you can, too. Of course.”

“I will. Thank you so much.”

Purse lifted further up her shoulder, she starts a move toward the exit, already starting to wave you goodbye before she suddenly stops. Looks at you, and blurts, “Oh, and— has he uhhh…?”

She starts the sentence with hesitation, ending it with uncertainty and a look over her shoulder. You follow her eyes, barely catching him throwing a warning sign. His eyes are ripped open, head delivering tiny shakes, but he returns to normal the moment he catches you staring.

Okay. Something happened there that you’re not part of.

But that you’re supposed to be part of? You don’t know.

You’re curious, though. Already aware of what you’ll be pestering him with tonight.

She shuts up, letting out a short, tiny breath. Her small, sweet fingers curl just once before she releases them again, and she flattens her coat, nodding.

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” she declares.

“You should stay for dinner next time, though!” you offer.

“Of course. I’m eating with my husband after the appointment, so he’ll probably already be waiting, but. Next time for sure. And you should come, too, someday.”

Right. 

It doesn’t stop. It’s permanently odd hearing someone talking about that man other than Jungkook. Shouldn’t be, because she’s the closest and dearest individual to him, sharing a home and marital bed. But…

It’s like people don’t quite feel real from stories until one actually faces them. His mom’s subtle, harmless words about her husband make him feel realer, and Jungkook’s issues with them.

But most of all you wonder — why has he never visited here? You wish he had. You wish he would sometimes. But she didn’t even suggest bringing him with her next time. Or how his father would be delighted about a visit, too.

It doesn’t seem to faze Jungkook. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t let it show. Or — worse. Has he gotten used to it? His father’s absence, or the term that defines their relationship.

Because he nods, a soft smile as a son usually throws at his mother. Casual but loving. He says, “Won’t keep you here then.”

Jungkook kisses her head at the door, and she stuffs her hands in her coat, politely bidding you goodbye.

You watch as she approaches the staircase, still waving when she turns around one more time. You sigh in relief — she was friendly. No panic. You didn’t fuck up entirely.

And despite the last moments of gloom that the mention of her husband evoked, you hear Jungkook’s chuckle resonate once the door finally closes. His steps move toward the living room, his shoulders shaking.

You nearly slide down the closed door as you watch him, head falling back before he falls into a wholehearted laugh. You imagine deep, multiple crinkles around his eyes, mouth wide in joy.

Eyebrows kissing, you follow him inside, nearly bumping against him when you realise he’s standing in the middle of the room, body still shaking from the chortle. He’s facing the ground, and you hit his arm from the back.

“Shut up,” you only order, opting to walk away.

But he turns to you, a hand around your elbow; he can barely breathe when he assures, “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop. Sorry, I just—” He sniffles as you look at him, sulking and trying his gloating not to make you laugh, too. “What were you doing?”

“That’s not funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny! I’m serious.”

Which he clearly isn’t. The smile is too infuriatingly wide, and the tug at your arm too affectionate. He’s amused and you hate–love?–that you are, too. You keep the act of agitation intact for another moment.

But pieces of you break, your heart a melting mess when you watch his eyes nearly close, nose scrunched up. His shoulders rise — they always do whenever his laughter increases, bunny teeth protruding and the mole under his mouth a magnet to your lips.

And when he raises his hands to your face, cradling it, and speaks, you lose it entirely.

“What were you even saying, munchkin, huh? You’re such a little idiot, you know?” he playfully scolds, squishing your cheeks; peppering kisses on your skin and your lips; barely allowing you a moment to talk.

“And you’re—” you say between tiny kisses, distracted by the childlike, muah-ish sound effects that accompany his pecks, “so mean.”

“And you are the sweetest thing to exist.” The lovingly aggressive touch vanishes from your cheek to be replaced by sudden pinches; your protests are high-pitched, and unfortunately, enhance his statement. “Okay, okay. Come on.”

He flicks your chin as if to provoke you further, but dodges all your teeny tiny rage to come when he moves past your body. Warning abandoned, his fingers tweak your ass as he targets the kitchen, and you yelp, instantly slapping a hand over your butt.

“Freshen up and let’s get to dinner. And hurry. Gotta give you hands-on relaxation later.”

“You’re the worst, I mean it.”

But his evil snicker isn’t.

He might make your hackles rise, and test your patience the way he used to so long ago. Back when you’d seek him out in a miniscule dorm room, eyebrows furrowed just to see him a bit longer after class.

You’re always baffled how your foundation still stands; after all the shattering and agony and stings that fractured your heart. Only now, you’ll be surrounded by the bicker every hour of the day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Living through an odd day at work, driving around town and embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend’s mother makes one dizzyingly hungry, you realised. Stress didn’t let you eat properly today.

Even now, there’s something you need to reveal to him — but the moment you sit down to eat and crack the first joke, you don’t have the heart to. And then, combined with the rush still lingering from the awkward, wholesome interaction before, and the shift in mood, you soon do the worst:

Forget about the issue.

Your eyes meet the bottom of your bowl sooner than preferred, your stomach still seemingly as empty as before. Whatever magic Jungkook seasoned the dish with, you want him to sprinkle it on your tastebuds every day.

Jungkook is sipping on his water when you suddenly look up and place a hand on his bicep, shaking him for attention. A guilty Oh slips out of you as you watch droplets roll down his chin, and he tries not to choke as he puts the glass back on the table.

“Babe—”

“I’m sorry!” you exclaim, thumb wiping at the fluid dampening his chin. “Just. Can we have more? That helped with that sickness all day, and… I’m still hungry.”

Along with the lack of appetite, you assumed the stress and the constant overworking dragged the feeling of illness and stomach ache throughout the day, too. Jungkook keeps warning you about burnouts — doing a thousand things at once, you’ve been thoroughly burdened.

But honestly. Maybe it was just hunger for a real meal.

“Oh? I'm so glad it helped then! And sure,” he responds. “Go ahead, there’s enough for like four people.”

You blink. “And you?” He shakes his head, patting his full tummy, attempting another try at drinking. You argue, “I’m not eating alone, though!”

“Angel, I’ve had like two portions. I'll be full until next dinner.”

“Lame!” You shift on the couch, half of your ass holding you onto it, “And if we found ways to burn it off?”

“…Ah?”

“I mean… You like working out. So just work me out.”

“Shut up. You’re impossible.”

You’ve long given up — you’re not an ass. You would never force him to eat or not to eat, unless he hasn’t in hours. But you also need a foolproof way of amusing him.

Which, despite his very unimpressed expression, you know you did. His lips still twitch.

Sombre, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he shakes his head. You pat his strong thighs, standing from the couch with a hungry groan.

“Fine. I’ll go heat up some for myself then,” you announce, but Jungkook’s shrill alarm bells ring immediately, his body jumping off his seat.

“Not the microwave.”

“Jungkook—”

“Not! The microwave. Just toss it in the pan and heat it up there.”

You tiptoe to the kitchen just a little faster, playful as he hurries after you. You spend your seconds explaining why the microwave won’t explode; how tickling you won’t change anything; how you’ll break something if he doesn’t stop.

But most of all, you spend your seconds allowing him to chase away all sorrows you carried for so goddamn long.

Shut up. You’re impossible.

His prior agitation truly wasn’t one at all.

Because despite your obvious jests, the calories lost on the couch rob you of all sanity at last. A hand in your hair, a body pushing yours down, free fingers roaming your sides and your legs, and lips never separating from yours.

He doesn’t strip you off a single piece of clothing. Doesn’t dig a hand underneath your shirt, focused on how your mouth feels, how his name rolling off your tongue sounds.

The eyes he stares into are vivid and bright, and he uses up all his power to not let them kill him. Your body wraps around his like the most tender of all embraces; he doesn’t need you bare for it, no matter how blank the thought leaves his mind.

Only needs the proximity. The tongue touching his, the nails testing his shirt’s quality.

You miss most of the movie that he suggested, eating each other up, a fist around the hem of his shirt until he nearly falls off the couch and wakes you from your dream. You giggle and joke, spending the second half of the film yawning, sipping the peppermint tea. 

Jungkook uses the quiet time for whispered conversations; massages your feet as you pleaded for, repeatedly asking for your comfort.

The moments aren’t anything big, in theory. You’re not in a fantasy novel, not throwing a ring into a volcano. You’re mortal and here, surrounded by humane domesticity and drowning in casual conversations.

Yet — even though you’re not living through spectacular adventures, you’re breathing through special moments nevertheless. Because not a single second spent with him feels mundane, after all.

Sometime as the ending nears, you let your legs fall, pulled close to Jungkook by your hip. You don’t quite understand when or how he does it, but miraculously, you land half on his lap, ass barely on the couch and cheek pressed to his temple.

Jungkook pushes a hand against your thigh, heaving you up further and moving you until you’re comfortable. There’s a light groan, followed by a feathery kiss to your jaw; and you wrap an arm around his shoulder to hold on, shifting even closer.

Your touchy warmth isn’t new to Jungkook; but it seems that the changes in your lives made your inhibitions disperse. Like you broke the bars trapping you so far.

Because the increasing clinginess feels carefree; you don’t overthink your movements tonight. Even before, there was lightness in your interactions; how you’d breathe in his presence, compared to when the world intruded.

The difference was still never quite veiled.

He saw it when he called from so far away all those weeks ago, staring at the distress in your face through a device — versus when he returned to your world.

Or just recently, when you stood on that tiny stage, talking down to reporters — as opposed to when you whispered for him to get you home.

Your shoulders always dropped in relief the moment you stood in his soothing radius. And yet—

There was quiet discomfort in your eyes. And today — today he doesn’t see that usual steam frying your brain. Your smile isn’t burdened; you’re weightless, like you’re breathing.

Overwhelmed and endeared, Jungkook gulps. The pricking needle rods his heart, simultaneously flicking the wounds. He could cry.

He watches you busy your fingers with his shirt, unable to put his thoughts into a coherent string of sentences; so he only says, “You’re so cosy today.”

“Hm? I’m always cosy.”

“Mmmh… a bit more tonight.”

Your forefinger traces the outline of his pecs over his shirt, and you nod with a hum before you declare, “That’s because I’m trying to establish a healthy balance.”

“A healthy balance? How so?”

“I need to be nice, because you’re not.”

His eyes follow your finger’s slow movements, so his voice is soft, barely concerned. But his brain can’t quite compute as he asks, “I’m not nice?”

“You’ve always been mean, actually.”

He laughs. Taps your thigh rhythmically, close to your butt. “How am I mean to you?”

“Like,” you press your palm flat in the middle of his chest, looking at him. There’s a crease between your eyebrows, the slightest hint of a pout on your lips. “You ass could’ve answered when I came home. You didn’t say anything! Or did you really not hear me?”

Oh.

Ogling into your anticipating, subtly piqued eyes, he suppresses a laugh. His lips form a thin line, but the glow in his dark eyes betrays him. Your hand lifts a little, ready to spank his pecs, but you close the gap again as you grant him another chance.

“Hey, if you tell me you didn’t hear, I’ll let it slide.”

You’re well aware Jungkook graduated as the best of his year in Teasing You, and holds the degree proudly to your face every day — but you also know he’s honest.

So you’re not surprised when he admits, eyes mischievous, “I heard you.” Your slow blinking, the scolding gaze are hilarious to him; he looks unspeakably pleased. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

Now you do slap his tits.

“And you didn’t expect me to say that shit?!” you reprimand. He wraps his arms around you, his laughter a deep, genuine emergence from his chest. “I’m an idiot, in case you didn’t know.”

“Of course. I do know,” he suddenly deadpans. Wow. That couldn’t have come any more naturally. “I know you well, baby.”

“And yet…”

He waves your concerns off, hand soon returning to your back to pull you closer. “She’s chill. I knew you were gonna amuse her right away.”

��Oh god. You planned this… Wait. You didn’t shush her when you heard the door open, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at you. And then… is he…

Is he zoning out?

“Jungkook,” you call again.

“Hm?” He stares at you beguiled, as if utterly distracted by whatever. “Sorry. Can’t hear you—”

“You so can. We’re alone and I’m speaking loud and cl—”

“Nah, you’re just so pretty. I can barely focus.”

“I hate you.”

But you don’t.

He doesn’t need to spell his intentions out for you to understand. He might be testing your patience, but there’s a hidden meaning in his words that he can’t hide as well as he intends to after all.

Because you know he just wanted you to be yourself instead of playing a different role; just like he has never pretended in front of your parents. He knows you’d try extra hard for him — but he needed you to come in and receive affection as the person that you already are.

Guess whatever you blurted was the first impression he wanted to leave of you.

“So,” you start after a moment, back to tapping his chest, “do you think I did amuse her?”

“Oh, she loved it.” Of course she did. You could see the Jeon-esque endearment in her eyes the moment you stepped into the living room. Humbles you. “She’s gonna adore you, too.”

“Ah. Like you adore me.”

Jungkook’s response arrives in the form of a long, semi-damp kiss, delivered to the corner of your mouth. You grimace, torso moving backwards at his gentle force. He adds another Mmmhhh to the gesture until you’re nearly falling off his lap, pushing him away again with a giggly, “Stop!”

He leans back with a content sigh, eliminating more of the distance between you until his head almost rests against your chest. But when you speak again, he looks up into your face.

“Hey. Your mom was saying something as she was leaving. What was it again?”

“Uhh…”

His pupils roll up in thought, one shoulder already rising to shrug, but then it drops again before he voices, “Oh… Yeah…” A break in thought; then, “I figured you’d be busy with everything going on, so I was being reluctant about asking. Didn’t wanna put you in a difficult position.”

You wait. He speaks on, “But my cousin’s getting married next month, and I’m invited.”

There’s a beat of a pause, and you anticipate, already sensing a presentiment before he spits it out—

“And you are, too.”

Hold on.

Weddings. More often than not, weddings happen in big places, filled with a great number of guests. Of friends. And… of family members.

If what he’s suggesting isn’t a hallucination, it means that’d be how you’d step into the battlefield. Attempting your best to be yourself, to charm his family with whatever strategy.

Is he thinking of the same thing?

Because you’re speechless.

You close the mouth you only now notice stood agape, trying not to show the bubbling exhilaration too blatantly. That’d be your first joyful event together.

Oh god.

You might squeal; faint of nervousness. If you could, you’d press your fists to your lips and stomp your feet and twirl your hair and—

“Wait… You want me to go to a wedding with you?” you finally ask instead, keeping your voice in a normal pitch.

“Only if you feel like it.”

“And… and you?” you inquire, wide eyes looking into his wider ones. He’s nervous, too. “Do you want me to?”

“I… yeah. I do. I really, really don’t want to go without you, actually.”

Shit.

“Where is the wedding?”

“Yeah, see, that’s why I was afraid to ask. You’re so busy and your job’s so new. But we’d—” He hesitates, as if scared of rejection. Clicks his tongue, evaluating his words. “The thing is that we’d have to drive all the way down. It’s back at home.”

You need a moment. Back at home; you’re home. Meaning, it’s not here.

Meaning, it’s in his hometown. Meaning, you wouldn’t just meet his family, but walk through a place of memories and deeply rooted, nostalgic affection, too.

Which is… such a huge fucking thing.

Especially for a girlfriend.

Eun always says it doesn’t do bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend to big events such as birthday parties or weddings. It’s disadvantageous for the pictures, she claims. Who knows how the future might play out?

But Jungkook isn’t concerned with these issues. Jungkook wants you all the way down there, lurking on streets with him that he grew up on; tripped on; played on.

These are places with core remembrances. So easily expanded when more are added to them in later years; and so easily shattered when hearts break.

But a heart breaking is not an option, is it? Not anymore.

“You’re… taking me to your hometown?” you ask. You immediately realise the choice of words, and don’t hesitate as you add, “I mean. You’d be taking me home. You’d like to—”

“Is that—” he interrupts, suddenly unsure, “bad? Did it change your mind? You don’t have to, I promise.”

“No. I actually might cry.”

His expression momentarily softens, a big, clear Awwwh written in it. Gentle fingers brush your hair back, observing the vulnerability in your eyes. But shit, you mean it.

You could cry.

Because you talked about this so long ago.

Back when he was miles away, yet so deeply settled in your heart. Sneaking his way into your head, eating you up inside. When he broke off a piece of you and took it with him as he left, no relief for weeks on end.

And when he came back, he promised he’d take you with him one day.

Is that it? Is that now?

“Fuck,” you curse under a quiet laugh, confused by the burning in your eyes.

Jungkook’s hand brushes over your cheek, eyebrows slightly cocked. He might not have expected you to react with such… emotion. You hadn’t either.

“Hey,” his voice soothes, “don’t cry. It’ll be good. And if it’s not, or if you don’t want to, we can just stay here and never go again.”

You’re gonna sob. How did you deserve him?

Of course you want to go. Of course you’d make the best of it. No fibre in you wants to reject his offer.

In fact, you’re already daydreaming. Because…

How’s it gonna be? Will you see more stars there? Will his family like you? His Dad like you? And what are weddings with boyfriends like? Will you be seeing him in every flower in the hall, in every kiss the couple shares?

“No,” you say, “I’ll go. I will go because you’re too obsessed with me to leave without me.”

Jungkook chuckles immediately, but not speaking before rolling his eyes, “And you’re a brat.”

You wait a moment, smiling in unison with him, and then ask, “Honestly, I… I’d love to. Can I just still ask…” You’re curious; but you also want to keep feeling that warmth. More tranquillity from his words. “Why would you not go without me?”

He doesn’t stall.

“Because it’s such a big event, and… so far away. I don’t want to leave you here. And the thought of being at the most lovey-dovey place without my favourite person sucks.”

You’ll freaking screech.

“Jungkook!”

Half of the name is muffled when your lips drop to the crook of his neck, back uncomfortably arching and face heating up. Your ass threatens to fall back on the couch, legs still over his, and he hugs you close as he snickers again.

He shakes your body gently, trying to lift your face. Calling your name when your breath tickles his skin, asking, “Are we embarrassed?”

“No.”

But when you look at him again, your smile is wide enough to freeze your muscles in place. He shakes his head, flooded with aching joy, and makes sure again, “So you want to go, yeah? Don’t need time to think or something? It’s okay if you do.”

“As if. I really wanna go. I’m gonna make this,” you touch his collarbones, then your own, “work.”

He smiles. Grants you a short break to organise your thoughts. And while what you query next shouldn’t come as a surprise, it does introduce a delighted shift in mood.

“What am I gonna wear?”

Jungkook puffs out a breath.

You don’t notice; your focus drifts, directed to the carpet. You mentally scurry your closet, quietly trying to recall appropriate attire for weddings. Which is odd, because you should have the entire catalogue of your and every other place cemented in your mind.

“What do I wear?” you repeat, back to looking at him, barely allowing him a moment to think. “And don’t say anything would look good on me. Serious answers only.”

“You know a question like this prompts nothing but unserious answers from m—”

“Kook—”

“Okay. I mean, you have such pretty dresses. Lemme just choose one and we’re supplied.”

It’s an easy idea; fair enough. Only, you’re barely listening, earning a side-eye from Jungkook when you say, “I should buy a new one.”

Which still doesn’t deter him, though. “Cool. I’ll go with you then.”

“Or will I seem overdressed?”

“It’s a wedding, baby. Overdress like hell.”

“And… if I’m underdressed?”

“You’re still gonna be the hottest around!” he exclaims, and you flinch just a little. He’s not truly agitated, but there’s playful frustration in his voice, a grin around his lips. “Don’t worry about the dress, okay? It won’t stay on you anyway.”

Jungkook expects you to react with similar scolding, using it to hide how timidly flattered you actually are. But you’re too fired up, restless in his grip as your voice grows shriller, “I’m so. Fuck, I’m so excited!”

“I am, too. But…”

His palm moves up and down your back, one eye squinting shut as you start swaying a bit, pumped with serotonin. Like a thrilled child. You’re so…

He lowers his gaze; you might just see the heart eyes otherwise.

“Okay, hey,” he tries again, calming you as his fingers grasp your wrist. “Should we go to bed for now, though?”

You wait with your answer, relaxing your body. Stopping your elevated sounds, you draw the deepest breath in history, and then breathe out a whispery, “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Good. Oh.”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t actually been to the bedroom yet, right?”

“Oh…”

True. Since you came home, you only conversed with his mother, then rushed to take a shower as she left, still filled with prickling and nervous emotions. And then you hurried back to him, starving, eating, watching TV.

And now you’re here.

Was something different about the bedroom, though? You don’t think so.

“You’re right,” you tell him, “no, not really. Just to shower. Why?”

“Just…”

“…What?”

“Okay. Hold onto me.”

“Hold ont— oh, f—”

You gasp for air when two strong arms replace his soft hands, settling under your kneepits and around your back. He shifts dangerously on the couch, moving forward before he starts to lift with a self-motivating grunt.

“And— off we go.”

You sling your arms around his neck immediately, hiding, letting out a panicked, ”Be careful, I’m sli—”

“All good. Relax.” His arms wrap more properly around your limbs, and you dare to listen. Allowing your legs to dangle, you let him carry you calmly, breathing air through O-shaped lips. “Good girl. I won't just let you fall.”

“You better not.”

“No. Just wait.”

He looks at you with a comical grin, throwing a kiss into the air and down to you. Using your feet to kick the door open, he halts at the threshold; for a second, he looks… up.

And just when he finally enters the room, you quietly follow his gaze. The question as to what to wait for gets stuck in your throat when you realise what it is he needed you to see.

Holy shit.

the chapter isn't over yet – much to go!! tumblr just doesn't allow more than 1k blocks/paragraphs. apologies for the scrolling, but i promise it's worth it :'D here's the rest! <3

[gggoldfinch]

can we have like, a paragraph, or anything from chapter 16? Of cemetary gates? a snippet? pls?

u rn 🤨

JKJKJK I love when you guys ask for this. Yes you totally can get a little smth lmao, as always 😉 Gonna try to avoid too-big spoilers for Plot Things because this chapter is gonna have Some Stuff in it that I don't wanna give away just yet, but I desperately wanna give you a juicy teaser... so I must choose wisely...

Snippet below the cut:

---

“Do you think I’m angry with you?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know. Yes. I don’t know.” You suddenly cough, choking on your tears. It hurts to keep your eyes open. “I keep doing everything wrong. I’m terrible. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“My girl, I am not angry with you. You are not terrible.” He reaches out and wipes tear tracks away with the pad of his thumb. “We all do things we regret sometimes. Maybe it is not a good idea for you to have so much alcohol…?”

Your brows arch up, creasing your damp forehead. It’s hard to think straight when the dread is eating away at your insides. Adrenaline has eaten away at your intoxication and now there’s no way of concealing what you had drowned yourself in wine to forget. You glance to all the dark corners of the room, skittish like a prey animal.

“I am worried, though,” Copia continues. “You have been acting strangely all evening. Out of character, for you.”

Those words click in your head like the final puzzle piece falling into place. Realization sinks like a stone in your battered stomach. A hand unconsciously rises to your throat, covering the column of flesh as if it could protect you from some imagined enemy. You honestly haven’t felt like yourself since your meeting with Imperator. You’d chalked it up to fear and stress, and irrational behavior seeking relief, but something has been off. 

Sickness rises in your esophagus again. 

“It’s not the wine,” you rasp, eyes distant and glassy.

Copia tilts his head sideways to get a better look at you, a questioning look on his face. “What?”

[toytulini]

new cure for migraines: just bonk your head on a metal beam pretty hard, apparently?

(THIS IS A JOKE DO NOT DO THIS)(as in the reccomendation is a joke. this joke however was sparked by me having a migraine all day today at work and then near the end of my shift accidentally hitting my head on a metal beam and then i didnt have a migraine anymore. wild lol)

[duckymcdoorknob]

hey hi um so you can ignore this or delete this if you want or if you dont have the time to write it or if your requests are closed but ive been so stressed lately like im about to drink bleach r smth, i have to do so much homework and finish my late projects over Christmas break cause ive been having a really hard time doing it so like. could i request Akaashi, Iwaizumi, and Kuroo comforting a reader who hasn't slept in days cause of that situation? if this is too much go ahead and delete!! sorry if this is a bother!

Anon I love you, you’re heard and noticed.

I’m so sorry this took so long! I’ve been through hell and back since you’ve requested this, and I wanted to make sure I was in the right headspace.

You’re doing fantastic. Your favs are here to give you some comfort and reassurance!

I did a best friends in college since you didn’t specify romantic, or what year of school 💀💀

CW UNDER THE CUT: reader is very overloaded, and very irritable. Mild cursing as per usual. Food mention! Usage of platonic pet names!

𝐾𝑒𝑖𝑗𝑖 𝐴𝑘𝑎𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑖

Detail oriented and very observant, Akaashi cursed himself for not noticing your rapidly declining health.

He was extra suspicious when you had stopped sending him TikToks. (If you don’t use it, just plug in some other social media :D)

He couldn’t lie, knowing something as small as a childish Internet video made you think of him was the best part of his life.

He shot you a quick “You okay?”

You’re usually quick to reply to him. This time around?

No response…

He decided he was going to grab you your favorite frozen treat from the little shop inside his dormitory.

Making his way to the door, Akaashi wondered what had been happening to you.

As his hand reached up to turn the knob, two gentle knocks threw him off course.

He hurried to open the door…

There you stood in front of him, eyes red and sunken, prominent eye bags accentuating your tussled hair.

“K-Keiji…? I… I need help.” You muttered, quiet as a field mouse.

“Wh- (Y/N) what’s been going on? You haven’t been answering me and I got worried.” He replied urgently, ushering you inside his dorm.

“I can’t do it anymore… S’toomuch.” You note, sitting gently and politely on his couch.

“Do what anymore, honeybee?”

“Work… I’ve been doing nothing but for three days.” you replied sheepishly, instantly regretting sharing that fact.

“T-three days?” You had never seen Akaashi so flabbergasted, “As in 72 hours?”

“I’ve fallen asleep against my will a few times, so it’s more like 60 hours.”

“Oh dear, that won’t do at all. Can you tell me what you’ve had to eat over the past few days?

Instead of being able to say “a few things here and there,” your body shook as sobs bubbled up in your chest.

“Oh!” Akashi exclaimed, rushing to sit next to you and engulf you in a gentle hug, “Don’t worry about a thing… I’m gonna take care of everything.” He whispers, rocking you back and forth gently.

Keiji kept you safe in his arms as you released your tale of woe, hiccups and choked syllables escaping by the second.

The boy gently ran his hands along the length of your arms, whispering reassurances.

“But (Y/N), you have to get some sleep.” He begged, resting a hand on your knee.

You pulled your face through your hands as you melted back down into a fit of tears. “I’ve tried, ‘Kaashi” you whimpered, “My eyes just hurt s-so badly.”

“S’okay, no need to worry.” He whispered quickly as a warm smile overtook his features. “Just let it right out.”

Akaashi took you by both of your hands suddenly, squeezing reassuringly, “Hey…”

“…H-Hi.”

“Do you trust me?” He inquired softly, brushing his thumb along the base of one of your own.

“With my life, Keiji.” You ushered a whisper in response.

The boy found himself smiling slightly at the comment. He could cross that bridge later, it was his duty to ensure your safety and comfort.

“Okay. We’re going to try something that sounds a little…” Akaashi squinted his right eye as he tried to find the correct word, “Bizzare.” He finally finished. 

You found yourself amused as he tripped over his words, “Keiji at this point, I don’t care if you dangle me from the ceiling. I just need to get to sleep.”

“Well it isn’t quite as farfetched as that, but it’s up there.” He replied, with a gentle chuckle to follow.

“Alright, hit me.” You say tiredly.

“Okay so…” he began, “Do you have any round cotton pads on you? If not, I have some in my cabinet, but it seems that the best outcome is to not leave your side at the moment.”

“You can go. M’not gonna fly off the deep end again in a mere forty five seconds.” A giggle emitted from you after, quite possibly the sweetest one Keiji had heard in his life.

So, the boy padded through his dorm to the kitchen area. He grabbed four round cotton pads, a small bowl, and something else…

When he returned, your eyebrows immediately furrowed as your mouth fell open. “I’m sorry, what are we going to do with that?”

“This” he began, is going to get rid of the stinging in your eyes.”

Akaashi prepared the small bowl on his bedroom floor, pouring a liquid inside and dipping the pads in.

The liquid?

Milk

“I’m still confused as to how this helps.” You said, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“Well.” Keiji chimed, as if he was preparing for this his whole life, “Y’know how when you eat super spicy food, you drink milk to get rid of the spicy taste in your mouth?”

“Mhm.”

“Well this gets rid of the spicy in your eyes.”

You couldn’t help but burst into giggles at his awful analogy, and the nonchalantness of his delivery.

“What?!” He asks with a slight flush on his face, “It’s the best way I’ve got to explain it to you!”

“Ah, it’s perfect.” You chimed, preparing yourself as Keiji placed two milk-soaked pads onto your sore eyes. “One more quick question though.”

“Rock me, Amadeus.”

“Why four of them?”

“Oh (Y/N).” Akaashi said chuckling, placing two cotton pads on his own eyes, “You’re my best friend. D’you really think I’d make you do weird shit like this alone?”

And it was at that moment that you realized that you didn’t need anyone else in your life…

𝐻𝑎𝑗𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝐼𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑧𝑢𝑚𝑖

Hajime absolutely loathed how he didn’t find out himself.

He hadn’t noticed. It was actually Oikawa who brought it up to him. 

“Say, Iwa.” The brown haired setter bounded up to his best friend, “D’you see anything off with (Y/N)? They don’t seem like themself lately.”

Iwaizumi was taken aback. He hadn’t noticed anything different about you…

Or so he thought??

When the three of you gathered in Iwa and Oikawa’s shared dorm, Hajime mentally facepalmed.

He finally saw what his roommate was talking about.

Your eyes looked like they would burn off if you closed them. He could see the visible bags under your eyes painting your face a displeasing gray. Worst of all, you were shaking.

When Oikawa left to make some popcorn for the three of you, he decided to pounce on the subject.

“Hey (Y/N)” he whispered, “What’s going on?”

“Wha? Nothin’ M’fine.” you replied sleepily.

“Don’t bullshit me. Both me and Shittykawa can see it.”

You immediately sighed and pulled your head through your hands. “M’just tired, Haji. Nothin’ too major.”

“Yeah that’s about as believable as Oikawa’s girlfriend from Europe.” He replied scoffing, “What is happening?” His tone was darker and more sincere.

“I told you I’m tired, and I am. I haven’t slept in two days for crying out loud!” Your eyes widened and you immediately slapped your hands over your mouth.

“(Y/N)! Two days?!” Iwaizumi’s voice was raising a little bit.

“Yes! It’s not very sleep inducing to have work In every class and a whole project to re-do!”

Iwa watched in defeat as sobs began to bubble up from your chest. He rushed to hug you, sitting next to you on their shitty dorm couch and pulling you into his chest.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so well. No one could do what you do.” He whispered as he ran his hand along your head.

“H-Haji… m’so tired.” you replied through your cries.

“I know, honey. I know.”

“I’m sorry…” you whispered.

“Hey.” He held your hand and tilted your chin upward to meet his eyes, “You have nothing to be sorry about. You can’t control this, but you’re doing damn well dealing with it.”

You smiled wobbily and buried your head into his chest once again.

Hajime hummed a simple song as he continued to run his hand along your head. He rubbed your hip with his thumb as well, keeping you securely in place.

“Jesus. What happened to th-“ Oikawa’s judgemental voice suddenly sounded.

“ZP-“ Iwa hissed through gritted teeth, bringing one hand up to shush his nosy roommate.

“Ohhh.” He whispered, nodding. “Come get me when you’re ready to watch Ferris Bueller.”

“Actually… (Y/N)’s burnt out from their course work. I was hoping we could all work together and get it finished?”

Oikawa bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance, “Oh alright.”

Hajime smiled and nodded to say “thank you”

Oikawa rolled his eyes and smiled right back.

When you finally sniffled for the last time and looked up at Hajime with happy eyes, he grinned back at you.

“Ready to get some work done?”

“No.” You mumbled in reply.

Iwaizumi chuckled at the childish tone in your voice. “C’mon, we can get this done easily.”

“We-?”

When you looked up, you saw Oikawa sitting behind their small wooden table. He had numerous colored pens, highlighters, pieces of paper, and the infamous bowl of popcorn placed upon it.”

“You guys!” you whined, not wanting to disturb them, “I’ll be fine!”

“No you won’t. You’re gonna come back and complain and I just want you to be happy when we watch my favorite movie.”

“I-“ you knit your brows together, “You have a point.”

“That was pretty backhanded, Shittykawa.”

“But it worked, no?”

So you, Iwa and Oikawa sat around the small wooden table, each taking an assignment to knock out.

You of course took the essay, Iwa took the project, and Oikawa took your English busywork, since mans has to be a god at linguistics.

After just a mere hour, every assignment was finished! And now you and your friends could watch your movie peacefully.

As you cuddled up to Hajime, you silently thanked him, and sometimes not silently, during the entire movie.

𝑇𝑒𝑡𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑜 𝐾𝑢𝑟𝑜𝑜

As angry as he was to be the only one to discover you needed help, he pushed his beliefs away so he could rush to your aid.

Kuroo had always been your study buddy! He had been since the second week of your first year.

However, he noticed your attendance to the weekly group study sessions was seriously lacking.

He wasn’t mad whatsoever, just… a little disappointed to not see you anymore.

As odd as it was, he studied and did homework with with your weekly group mates.

The most unfortunate part? They didn’t even acknowledge your absence.

“Oh, (Y/N)? They said they had to finish up some work. They’re in their dorm.”

That was all he needed to know in order to check on you.

When he buzzed your cell, the texts were unanswered and the calls went straight to voicemail.

That was a red flag for him.

That’s when he knew something was clearly wrong.

He found himself running aimlessly toward your dorm room, ignoring the questioning by the study group, the disgusted looks of confusion by the other students he narrowly missed.

He had to make sure you were okay. This wasn’t like you.

When he arrived at your dorm room, he knocked gently, but quickly. “Hey, it’s Kuroo. Open up please!”

When no reply came, he called louder “Hey! Open up!”

Still no reply…

“I really hope you’re not naked!” He yelled, using his copy of your keycard that you had given him for emergencies.

When Kuroo opened your door, he had his phone In his hand, ready to call an ambulance. He was expecting the absolute worst.

So, needless to say, he was a little taken aback when he found you at your desk, typing away miserably.

You had clearly not moved from the spot in quite some time. Your hair disheveled and your eyes so heavily bloodshot. He figured they must be so sore from looking at your computer screen. The bags under your eyes were evident and raising his suspicions

“Hey…” you mumbled, not moving your eyes from your the screen.

“Jesus, (Y/N), you look like hell.” He squatted down to meet your side at your seated level.

“Sorry.” You mumbled sotto voce.

“Hey…” he gently grabbed your arm, “What’s going on?”

When you finally unpeeled your eyes from your laptop screen, you saw him looking at you sympathetically.

“Please, (Y/N). I just want to know how to help you…” he whispered, rubbing his thumb along your forearm.

“Nothing’s up.” You replied without any passion in your voice, your bloodshot eyes gave you away however.

“(Y/N) don’t lie to me.” Kuroo demanded, still squatted rather impatiently at your side.

“I’m just a little tired and have a lot of assignments due.”

“Like what?”

“Three for Chem, one for English, two physics, one for Algebra and finally that huge project for Anthropology? Yeah I had to re-do it.”

“And you’re a little tired?” Tetsuro stood to his feet and turned your spinning chair to face him directly, “When’s the last day you remember sleeping?” He asked sternly, narrowing his eyes.

“Don’t berate me!” You yelled in a hushed tone, your voice slightly cracking as you stood up. “You think I did this to myself?! I didn’t choose to assign 4 different classes worth of work. I didn’t choose to short circuit my hard drive, I didn’t choose to procrastinate or anything like that, and I certainly didn’t choose having to stay awake for 50 goddamn hours straight!”

“Two days…” he mumbled in disbelief, “you haven’t gone to sleep in two days?”

“NO, Tetsuro! I haven’t! And I’m clearly fucking EXHAUSTED!” You cried out, subsequently dropping your face at your tone. “K-Kuroo… m’sorry…”

“It’s okay, I know how tired you are.” He replied with a sympathetic smile, “What’s left that’s due tomorrow?”

“Uh… I’ll check.”

You sniffled as you dug around your desktop, looking desperately for your planner.

“I- I don’t…” you finally squeezed your eyes shut and started to cry gently, continuing to rummage around the desk. “I can’t-“

“Hey, hey, hey, hey.” He hugged you from behind, his warm body wrapped securely against your shaking frame. “You’re alright, take a minute. Shh, Shh. It’s okay.”

Kuroo rested his head on your shoulder, and rubbed your arms gently, as he muttered subdued reassurances.

“You’re doing so well and I’m so proud of you. No one puts in as much care for their craft as you do. You put in absolutely extraneous amounts of effort and you deserve a break so desperately.”

“B-but I can’t stop.”

“You have to, (Y/N). You don’t realize what you’re doing to yourself.” He said in a soft tone, “You’re shaking like a scared puppy and you’re cold as ice. Safe to assume you haven’t had a morsel of food in that time period either?”

“Nothing other than some snacks here and there.”

.”Here’s the deal, (N/N).” He began, resting his hands on your shoulders, “You, or both you and me, are gonna go lay down in that bed and you are going to go right to bed. I’ll work on some of your assignments or pull some research for you. How does that sound?”

“Kuroo, your own homework-“

“Is done.” He cut you off in a high voice, squeezing your hand. , “Monday’s study group remember?”

You let out a fond breath of air and nodded hesitantly, “Okay… I Um… I’m gonna sleep… I want you with me though, you’re very warm.”

The black haired male chuckled and led you to lay down in your bed, his large frame lying near you and holding you securely in his arms.

“Don’t be afraid to rest. Everything will work out in the end.”

As soon as you drifted off asleep, the night owl himself went to your desk and finished some of your work as he had promised.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[seriouslysnape]

To the Limit

__

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Slight smut. Use of safeword. Language.

Request: Hi! Can u make Severus × Reader when the reader use the safe words for the first time because idk maybe it's too much for the reader that day or smth else you like..Thankyouu 💕💕 love ur writings btw ❤❤

A/N: Here we gooooooo. Reminder, everything is consensual.

Word Count: 2,947

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.”

__

Severus has always been flexible in the bedroom. Yes, Severus Snape is versatile in the sheets and has more love making skills than you originally would’ve given him credit for. Sex with Severus can range anywhere from slow and careful where praising your body is his main objective, to fucking you so mercilessly that stars are dotting the back of your eyelids with each hard thrust.

Sometimes, you don’t have to establish what kind of theme your sessions will take on. If Severus comes home angry from a long, obnoxious day then you very well know that a rough fucking will get it out of his system. When you’ve just watched one of your favorite romantic drama Muggle movies that have sent you into tears, he knows that something more unhurried is in order so you are reminded of how much he loves you.

Other times though, there isn’t really anything that determines the kind of sex you’ll be having. If the mood is right for both of you, then you often will just figure it out from there. 

Severus’ return on Friday night from a long week of classes was coated with his desire for you. You could practically feel the hard sexual tension radiating off of his whole being. From the moment he walked in the door, you knew what tonight would hold for the both of you. More than likely, it’d be a whole lot of rutted fucking and orgasms until neither of you had any stamina left to give. Normally, a seed of excitement would be planted and begin to grow in your core at the thought of being touched by him, but you didn’t feel it this time. 

It had been a bad week to put it simply. Work was weighing you down and you had taken more hits than you were used to in a five day time period. Exhaustion had riddled you, and stress has gotten the best of you. Emotional breakdown was the only way you could describe how you were feeling. You really weren’t feeling up to what Severus wanted to do. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him when his hands and lips were on you, moving to all his favorite places on you.

His voice was silky smooth in your ears as he uplifted you with how he had been thinking about you all day, and how he wanted to be with you when you weren’t around. It wasn’t Severus’ fault that you had a bad week, and it surely wasn’t all his fault that he was this turned on. The way he gripped your legs with his strong hands was an indicator that he wanted to go well into the night, which your tired state wasn’t a fan of. But you loved Severus, and you always wanted him to be happy and well pleased. So you figured you could handle a couple of coarse rounds to satisfy him.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Once access was granted, Severus leapt onto you without hesitation. A tornado of clothes being removed whirled around the room, your shirt and pants ended up on complete opposite sides of the room. Hot and unruly kisses were shared, marks were left on your necks, and no part of you went unattended. 

Admittedly, the first orgasm was actually enjoyable. Severus’ fingers were knuckle deep in your needy cunt and pumping vigorously as he found all the best spots. The strenuous activity melted some of the week’s stress from your conscience, your mind being stripped of all your worry as it clouded with ecstasy. Severus thrived off of the moans and noises of delight that he was drawing out of your throat, perfecting his movements to give you an even stronger release. Severus worked you to your finish as you came around his fingers, slicking them with arousal and relief. 

He left lazy kisses over your breasts while you took a moment to recover, preparing yourself for the next round that was undoubtedly on its way. Tiredness had plagued you long before Severus had even walked through the door, and you had suddenly been robbed of even more energy, so you were confident that you might not get a proper orgasm this second time. But the moment Severus slid you onto his dick and stretched your walls the way only he knew how to, you knew that you were going to cum whether you felt like you could handle it or not.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You loved seeing Severus so enraptured in waves of pleasure and gratification, but you were beyond fatigued. Still, you bounced up and down on his lap over and over again, your already sensitive clit throbbing with each rub of his fingers. Severus’ other hand guided your hip movements to meet the way he thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot just right.

When you came this time, your sound of release was more of a strained cry than a content sound. Severus didn’t seem to notice, since he was too focused on the intoxicating feeling of filling you with his own finish. You popped off of him before he was even emptied out, the rest of his fluids landing on your inner thighs. You fell onto the bed next to him, your breathing much heavier than usual. 

You were totally tuckered out with absolutely no hope of another round. Your muscles ached and your bones were wiped out. Although, you felt a queasy feeling of despair when you saw that familiar look of lust in Severus’ eyes. He spoke lowly, his voice echoing in your ringing ears.

“I’m not through with you yet, love.” He purred.

Usually that would’ve sent a whole mess of arousal through you, but you were too worn out. But Severus usually didn’t last more than three rounds, so this would for sure be the last one. You thought you could push through so he could at least get his release, but this third go round wasn’t a good feeling for you at all.

With your arms above your head and the pillowcase below your head in your fingers’ death grip, you turned your head to the side to fight through his persistent hard fucking into you. On a better day, you’d be all over this and relishing every moment. But now your eyes were screwed tightly shut in discomfort, for each time you opened them Severus would only be able to see the whites of your eyes. The thumping heartbeat in your ears was deafening and your entire body was stiff and rigid, but not in a good way. You wanted to tough it out so at least Severus could finish, but it was just too much for you tonight. 

You had to tap out.

“Polyjuice!” You squeaked out, your voice raspy.

In an instant, you saw any expression of lust wiped straight from his face. He pulled out the millisecond that the word registered in his head, his face stricken with worry and concern at the first time use of your agreed safe word. Severus’ heart dropped at your whimpers of displeasure, his brain reeling and raking over what had gone wrong. 

“[Y/N], what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked frantically.

“I-I just...”

Shaky breaths and uncomfortable whines were the only noises you could seem to make. You sat up from where you were laying down, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face as you began to cry. Your emotions were all over the place, and it didn’t help that you were overstimulated and overworked. Severus went to pull you to him, but withdrew his hand. Upsetting you further would absolutely crush him, but he needed to know that you were okay.

“Can I touch you, darling?” He whispered out.

The yowl of approval was enough for him to feel fine with carefully wrapping his hand under your arm and dragging you across the mattress to where he was kneeling on the middle of the bed. He pulled the covers over your skin to keep you from getting cold from the loss of heat from being active. You buried your head into his bare chest, your tears leaking and falling down his skin. 

“I’m sorry, Sev. I’m really sorry.” You sobbed, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin.

“No, no, no. Don’t ever be sorry for telling me to stop when you’re not comfortable,” He reassured; “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

The shake of your head brought relief upon him, but he was still worried. He rocked you in his arms until your sobs died down enough to where you were coherent. Severus was getting ready to ask you once more what was wrong, shifting you so he could see your face. When moving you, his hand accidentally brushed against your swollen, sensitive clit and you wailed out pathetically. Severus’ pale face went even whiter.

“Oh, my love...I worked you too hard, didn’t I?” He queried.

Severus would always admit that sometimes he’d get into the zone and completely drown everything else out. He wouldn’t really be able to tell how hard he was pulling in and out. It was rare, but from time to time you’d have to ask him to soften his thrusts or slow his pace when he got too rowdy. But you had never asked him to stop completely until now. He feared that he had seriously pushed you over the edge this time.

“It’s not just that.” You confessed with a sniff.

Severus had drawn your head back to gaze into your bleary eyes. The tear tracks being swiped away with his thumbs as he cradled your face. 

“What is it then, sweetheart?” He asked with wonder.

A fresh set of salty tears pooled and fell down your cheeks, but for a different reason.

“I’ve had a horrible week. Nothing has gone right,” You explained croakily; “I wanted to make you feel good and I thought it might make me feel better...but I’m just exhausted and I couldn’t handle it tonight.”

You fell apart into another set of choking sobs and gut wrenching cries, prompting Severus to bring you back into his chest. He stroked your skin and left kisses so light that they were ghostly. 

“It’s alright, angel. I wish you had told me before that you weren’t feeling up to it,” He consoled; “You’re worth so much more than sex. I want you to tell me sooner next time if you’re uncomfortable.”

Your nod of understanding offered a wash of comfort over him that you were calming down steadily. He hated that this happened. He knew that was the whole reason for your established safe word for when things went south or things got dicey. He just never thought you’d ever have to use it. He felt absolutely terrible. 

“I’m sorry, Sevvy. I really wanted you to get off, I just-”

“Please don’t apologize for this. This is my fault. I should’ve seen how tired you were and how I was being overly hard,” He said; “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

The sniffles from your nose had increased as you tried to flush down all the drainage from your crying. Your tears had stopped as you sat up from his body, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. The red blotches in your puffy eyes were pinging at Severus’ already guilty conscience. He saw the littered hickeys across your neck and breasts, and how your lips were swollen from his severe kisses. He had rocked your burnt out body to the max.

“I’ll tell you what. How about we go get cleaned up, and then we can get into bed. Then you can tell me about your week if so wish.” He suggested, cautiously guiding you off of the bed.

“I think I just want to get a bath and get some sleep.” You said, barely able to stand on your wobbly legs.

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.” He smiled softly, hoping it’d offer you some kind of solace. 

Severus ran you a hot bath, filling it with all of your favorite scents and smells. Your stance was still despite your shaking legs, and you seemed to be staring off into an endless trance. You slipped into the tub when it was ready, sinking down just below your nose under the bubbles. Normally, Severus would be sitting across from you or you’d be snuggled up on his lap, but he wanted you to have some space for a bit. You were honestly too tired to object. 

He simply casted a charm to freshen himself up, finding and selecting his favorite pair of sweatpants and soft shirt for you to change into. Your eyes were closed, and you had just begun to drift off to sleep when he re-entered the bathroom, changed into some casual day time wear, despite how late it was.

“Here are some clean clothes for you, pretty girl.” He remarked, setting the folded sweats and shirt on the end of the tub for you to get when you got out.

You only gave a light nod as a response, your eyes following him as he stood awkwardly. He was unsure of what to do for you now. He thought that you might want the bedroom to yourself for the night, which was fine because he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he had pushed you so hard anyway. He placed himself on the floor by the tub, sitting with his legs criss crossed over one another. It was quiet in the room, the only sounds were the occasional gentle splash when you moved your leg or arm. His eyes were still full of worry, and he was kicking himself big time now.

“I’m so sorry...” He breathed out, running his fingertips dragging leisurely your damp arm that you had resting on the ledge of the bathtub; “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sev. I promise.” You responded, wishing he wouldn’t take this so hard.

When it came to you, Severus took everything to heart. There weren’t many things in the world that made his heart beat with a purpose. You were the single person that allowed him to want to get up in the mornings. The thought of hurting you was enough to break him down. If he could have it his way, you would be indescribably happy with every passing moment of every day. He never wanted you to feel anything other than joy. 

But he knew that life would never allow it.

Your eyebrows dipped when you noticed his attire, wondering why he wasn’t in his own sleepwear. It was much too late for him to go anywhere.

“Where are you going?” You questioned, your voice thick with weary.

“I’m going to go back to the school. I have some grading to do.” He half-lied.

It was true that he did indeed have a stack of papers to be assessed, but that wasn’t the real reason why he felt like he wanted to leave. Severus Snape grading on a Friday night when he had the opportunity to be cuddled up with his lover? He’d choose you every time.

Now you felt bad for causing him to scurry off. You wanted him there with you regardless of what had happened.

“Severus,” You called out tenderly, reaching for his face; “I don’t want you to leave.” 

A genuine look of doubt flashed over his features as his head lulled into your hand.

“I think it would be best if you got some good sleep tonight. I’ll just be in my office so if-”

“Stay with me. Please?” You requested, the thought of sleeping without him was disheartening.

A sigh of awe expelled from his chest. He couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes and slightly pouting lower lip.

“Okay, okay.” He agreed.

“I think that some boyfriend snuggles will make me feel a whole lot better.” You spoke rather cheekily.

He hummed affirmatively. The sound of nestling up with you was impossible to turn down. He took your hand from his face and kissed your palm gingerly, holding the warm skin to his lips for a brief moment. He eventually stood from the floor, but stopped when you held your arms up.

“Help me up?” You asked with the first genuine smile of the evening.

He chuckled, obliging and lifting you effortlessly from the tub. The warm towel was heavenly as you dried off, changing into the clothes that Severus had left for you. Severus went and changed as well, laughing to himself when he exited the closet to see you already curled up. 

The sheets draped over him easily when he laid next to you, waiting for you to nuzzle up to him. He held you close and flush to him, thanking his lucky stars that you were okay.

“My sweet girl...” He hushed out, noting that you were just seconds away from falling asleep; “I love you.” 

You mumbled out a sleepy “I love you” in return before drifting into a deep slumber to snooze off the night’s drama. Severus, as expected, didn’t sleep much that night to ensure that you were sleeping soundly and comfortably. He still felt dreadful, even after you had told him over and over that he didn’t hurt you. The weekend to follow was filled with Severus doting and cherishing over you every chance that he had, trying to make up for what had happened. You were the light of his life after all.

And he prayed that he’d never see that flame go out.

[katiea03]

hellu! a friend led me to your account and i wanted to req smth right away! i'm a girl who loves hurt comfort so can you do smth with tsukki and kenma where reader doesn't like sitting on their lap or getting carried because she doesn't want to squish them?? thanks bby ❤

❣︎Reader Scared To Sit On Their Lap❣︎

Thx you sm for the request! This one hit home as this is lowkey a insecurity I have but I had a lot of fun writing it! 👁👅👁

❣︎Warnings❣︎: Weight,suggestive

❣︎Genre❣︎: Hurt/comfort, lil fluff

❣︎Featuring❣︎: Tsukishima, Kenma, Oikawa

❣︎A/N❣︎: This is my first official request and I’m really excited how it came out! I/ve never written a scenero or hurt/comfort before but i really liked it! I threw Oikawa in with the other two because of how perceptive he really is. I feel like people forget how smart Oikawa is so he gets a lil love. Am I really starting to become an Oikawa simp maybeeee ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Probably for the first time ever, Tsukishima Kei was clingy. You were hanging out at his place after school as you usually did but today you couldn’t help but notice how tightly Tsuki held onto your hand, or how he would use your head as a resting place for his more often. You obviously weren’t opposed, just surprised by his sudden change in character.

You looked through the kitchen for snacks when Tsukishima hugs you from behind. You jump a little and turn in his arms to see him with his signature smirk that made your knees weak “What’s gotten into you today?”

He looked at you amused “What do you mean?”

He rests his hands on your hips , “You’ve been very touchy that’s all.”

“You don’t like it?” He looks as if he’s about to pull away. You pull him in quickly before he has a chance to pull away. Resting your head on his chest,

“I never said that. I think it's really nice.” You take in the fresh scent of his hoodie.

“Oh yea?” There’s a faint smugness to his words that you recognized instantly

“Yea.” And before you knew it, you felt yourself being lifted up. Panic rushed through you and you tried your best to squirm out of his grasp,

“Put me down! Please just put me down.” Tsukishima could sense the gravity in your voice and put you on the kitchen counter.

“What’s wrong Y/n.” He could see the uneasy look on your face and wondered what he did wrong. You stood silent, not making eye contact with him.

“Babe what is it… did I hurt you?” You remained quiet. Tsuki didn’t want to push you to say anything you didn’t want to, but he was concerned.

“If you don’t want to say anything that okay bu-“

“I’m worried I’ll break you…” Your voice came out shallow. Tsuki almost laughed, not because what you said was funny, but because of how ridiculous the notion was, “What do you mean?”

Still not being able to look at him, you croak out, “I’m scared I’m too heavy for you.” At this point you’re trying to hold back tears. You’re weight has always been such a huge insecurity for you, and truly having to admit it was almost embarrassing.

Tsuki cups your cheek, forcing you to look at him. He had no idea you felt this way, and he wasn’t too sure what to say so the kitchen was almost awkwardly silent. You were about to pull your face away when he tells you,

“Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?” You snap your head to look directly at him. That wasn’t the type of response you were expecting.

“I love you, and no matter what size you are that won’t change. But no, you won’t break me, I’m almost 6’4.”

You choke out a laugh and wipe the tears that brimmed at your eyes,

“Yea but Kei, you’re built like praying mantises!” Tsuki poked you before throwing you over his shoulder and carried you to the living room. You shrieked kicking your legs as genuine laughter escaped your lip.

This would be the first night you would be spending the night at Kenma’s place. He’s spent countless nights at yours but you finally asked to spend the night at his.

Stepping out of the shower, hair wet, and wearing one of his hoodies, you go to look for him. Along the way you inspected his apartment more. There was nothing too special about it, it wasn’t the neatest by any means but you could tell he tidied up a bit before you came. You passed by his living room and saw only a couple photos. He didn’t look too enthusiastic in them but a small smile laced your face seeing him with his friends and family.

You quietly make your way down the hall to his gaming room, and with a soft knock, you creak open the door. Kenma was intensely staring at his computer screen with his huge gaming headset on with his hair messily pulled back. He couldn’t hear you come in but he sensed your presence and turned his head to you.

He softly smiled at you and slid off one side of his headset to hear you properly.

You walked behind his chair and peered at the screen , “So what are you playing right now?” Kenma focuses back on the game and mumbles, “ Rainbow…”

A minute or two goes by of you just wanting his hands rush across the keyboard. His face stayed as neutral as ever, the only indication of stress was the tiny crease that bunched in between his eyebrows. He wins another game and takes off his headset while waiting for the next round to start. He pulled your hand around to sit you into his lap but you backed up and settled on sitting on the arm of his chair. He could see how uncomfortable you were and peered up at you.

“What’s wrong?” You sat a little straighter, “Nothings wrong Kozu.”

He looks up at you unconvinced, “Y/n”

You crossed your arms and try putting on your best face. Unfortunately for you, Kenma knew them all.

“Tell me, what is it?” He took one of your hands in his, softly rubbing his thumb over your palms. You searched his face for any way out of this inevitable conversation you landed in, but to no avail. You sighed and stared intently at the screen in front of you.

“What if I’m too heavy?” What you asked didn’t process in his head for a moment. But when it did, he instantly pulled you into his lap without warning. You go to stand up but he wraps his arms around you, holding you down. You hide your face in his polyester t-shirt feeling extremely self-conscious. You slowly feel yourself calm down and you get yourself more comfy on his lap.

“See you aren’t too heavy.” Kenma is a man of very few words, but as he ran his fingers through your wet hair, you couldn’t have felt more safe and loved.

The next match started and as he slid on his headset (only one ear had it on), you stayed there watching him play. You felt yourself doze off in probably the most comfortable position you had ever been in.

Oikawa was going on about another ridiculous alien conspiracy documentary and was begging to watch it for tonight’s Friday movie marathon. He already had his ‘stylish’ purple alien socks along with his even more ‘trendy’ neon green space martian shirt (according to him of course!). He was already comfy on the worn down couch he owned with tons of blankets.

You come out from the kitchen wearing a big t-shirt of his with the popcorn and set it on the coffee table.

“Oh my beautiful Y/n, what would I do without you?” He sits up on the couch with his head in his hands.

“Probably starve and die.” Oikawa opens the blanket waiting for you to cuddle on the couch with him,

“Rude, but you’re probably right.” He pats at his lap and you come closer to the couch, nervously taking a seat next to him rather than sitting on his lap. You turn on the couch looking for the remote when Oikawa outbursts,

“Ummm excuse me?” He has a hand on his heart with an exasperated look on his face.

You turn to him pretending to be clueless but as you play with your fingers, Oikawa knew something was wrong.

“Shawty, is my lap not good enough for you?” He puts on his best fuck boy face to try and make you laugh- and it usually did, but not this time. He drops the act and pulls your leg onto his.

“Spill, what’s going on?”

Not a sound comes from your lips and you just continue to look down at your lap.

With an extra dramatic sigh he wipes fake tears from his eyes, “ If you're not gonna say anything, I’m gonna have to assume you have terminal cancer.”

You shoot up with wide eyes,

“No!” With that Oikawa throws his head back laughing and you can’t help but laugh too. Eventually the laughter dies down and Oikawa has his serious face again.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?”

It’s quiet for another moment before you actually speak, “I don’t really wanna talk about it babe.” Of course, Oikawa wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

He takes both of your hands in his and kisses them both gently.

“Y’know you can tell me anything.” He was genuinely a little hurt that you felt like you couldn’t talk to him about whatever it was.

“Yeah I know, it's just-I .” You took a deep breath as you felt the tears sting your eyes. Oikawa waited patiently,

“I just feel like I’m too heavy for stuff like that.” Small tears began to stream down your cheek, but Oikawa wiped them away before they could fall too far.

Oikawa’s heart broke wiping away your tears. He had no idea you were dealing with this. He feels the tiniest bit of futile guilt. Despite it not being his fault, he wishes he could’ve done something to make you feel better about yourself. He kisses the top of your head before telling you,

“You are beautiful exactly the way you are, and I’m gonna prove it to you. I promise you.”

You feel your face go warm at his promise to you as he easily lifts you onto his lap. He pulls you into a deep kiss, and as your lips connect you feel the worry and anxiety melt from your body. His kisses trail to your collarbone and the collar of his shirt falls down one side of your shoulder. He leaves a sweet kiss on the edge of your shoulder,

“I don’t care if it takes all night baby.”

He looks up at you with such adoration, you know what he was saying was true. The way he looked at you made you feel beautiful inside and out.

Oikawa was true to his word, and made sure to worship you like you deserved.

[dearest-kibble]

yan kenma who has you locked up in his apartment- it’s been some time and you’ve given up escaping but you know he live-streams so you kind of start living small clues that you’re there in hope someone will figure it out? but instead of a viewer kenma finds out; and instead of stopping you he just decides to taunt you and play along to the point his viewers make it an inside joke- the emotional rollercoaster that would be? he wouldn’t have to punish you- the crushing despair is enough alone

This is so deliciously fucked up I love it,,, thank you anon, Kenma hits so different. I love him thank you so so so much. i am working on so much,,, thank you for being patient with all my uhhh lateness? this kinda became something a little different than the prompt but hopefully thats good?

Kenma Kozume x Fem reader

tw: Typical yandere-ness, humiliation? Sexism? Mentioned stalking, (If im missing anything please let me know my brain isn’t functioning rn)

You’re sitting on his lap, camera angled so that no one’s view is obstructed by your body, but so that all his views can clearly see you. You’ve been here so long, any hope of leaving, ironically, has left you. But, the thought crept slowly, surely, deeply into your brain and hasn’t left. You turn around on Kenma’s lap, straddling him and you’re sure the live chat is going a little crazy at the thought of Kodzuken having someone in his lap while he streams and he’s probably going to tell you to get off soon, but you’ve got the chat’s attention, and you are going to work with it. You tap Kenma’s cheeks, slight squish on them and you know he hates that it’s on camera all the same, you drum three fingers on his cheek, smiling at him for the camera as your fingertips meet his clammy skin. He doesn’t tell you to stop so across his cheek you swipe your thumb three times as tenderly as possible. As you stand from his lap, you pat his cheeks, three times delicately. You look into his eyes, still as calculating as when you met him, a deceptively warm amber with the tiniest hint of frustration (and somewhere inside, you know it’s probably with you but you can’t care.)

“I’m gonna sit on the couch, ‘kay?” You call softly, hoping you were subtle enough with your plea.

“Oh, okay,” And you think you’re free before he calls a “Wait! Come back for a little.” You’re even halfway to the couch before the words rope you back in. He beckons you to lean down, and whispers into your ear. “I noticed you trying to sign to get out. Morse code isn’t as subtle as you think, you might as well just ask them to get you out,” You chance a quick look towards chat.

“Was that morse code?”

“Holy shit! Yeah, I think that was SOS.”

“You think they actually need to get out or it’s one of those ‘my bfs terrible’ jokes?”

“You see the way they were straddling? Def not a hate my bf sorta thing.”

“See?” He’s still whispering into your ear, game forgotten in lieu of what might be called humiliation.  “They won’t believe you because you want to be here. Regardless of what you say, you would’ve left already if you didn’t.” He smiles at you and affectionately pats your head. Like he’d pet a cat. The idea is still in your mind, though perhaps a little shallower. You glance at the chat once more, someone is still talking about it, but Kenma pushes you away with a “I’ll get you when I’m done, okay?” You end your night on the couch with Kenma. He smiles at you and puts your legs on his lap.

The next livestream is two days after the last one. You have something planned once more, hopefully more effective.

“I’m playing minecraft today, I could set up your computer, and we could play together?” His small smile is back. And though a kind gesture, all you can think about is how easily you could make a point.

“Okay!” The earlier plan is immediately forgotten, and thoughts of what you could do in a game, fills your mind. “Will I have a mic?”

“No, I can’t have you telling them can I?” And it clicks, because of course he’d taunt you. But it’s like your brain grew claws that cannot lose their hold.

“Will I have a camera?” And you know the answer, but Kenma might still surprise you. You’ve already had one shock tonight, maybe you’ll get another.

“No. Sorry. You have chat though.” He pats your head again, ruffling your hair. “I’ve already got you set up, c’mon.” He tugs at your hand, pulling gently.

“Thanks Kenma.” He’s put another computer across from his desk on a much smaller table made for playing cards.

“You’re all set up.”

“Yeah.” He clicks the mouse a few times, waves at the camera to his right. “Can everybody hear me?” He waits a few seconds for chat’s response. “Chat is saying yes, so let’s get right in?” He smiles sheepishly to his camera.

“Hi everyone, I’ m Kodzuken and today we are,” He pauses to look at you with honeyed amber eyes. “Playing Minecraft with my partner.” He nods in your direction. You just open the minecraft tab, the only shortcut that seems to be on the computer.

“It’s a LAN server, click that, okay?” So you click it and say nothing. You start to go through the motions of chopping a tree, making sticks, making a crafting table. Kennma is narrating what he does, and you’re not even sure where he is in game until you're knocked back and turn your mouse to look at him.

“Yeah, I know - she should be relying on me.” He’s responding to something in chat, he’s gotta be. You type a quick,

“What’re they saying?”

“Oh, that my girlfriend shouldn’t be so independent, you rely on me - I'm your boyfriend.” Kenma says it so casually, so acerbically that you immediately take off sprinting from the forest in game.  

“She has these bouts - you saw them last stream - where she likes to try and ‘get away’.” Kenma laughs softly; little glockenspiel notes falling from his mouth. “It’s a really cute joke honestly! Anyway, I’ll put my minecraft bed next to hers later, right now...” You stop paying attention and start planning how you’d try to get your point across more clearly. You could make signs, say “Get me out!” Like Kenma suggested.

“Hey! He looks over the screen at you, piercing eyes staring right through you. “Don’t go off on your own, we’re staying together alright?”

“No.” He’ll have to deal with chatting, possibly hearing you by himself. And you continue through the coded forest. It goes pretty smoothly, though you’re sure Kenma is trying to find you, you’ve already created a mine for yourself, and made a little sign with instructions that reads: “Get me out!”

“Her voice is quite cute, isn’t it? I’ll get to hear it for the rest of my life.” He continues humming out yes’s and no’s to his audience that sit captivated in a land of blocks and pixels.

“Hey, I’m going to use the restroom, is it alright if my girlfriend takes over for me?” He stands, and waves you over into his chair that’s been made for gaming and padded with red accents. He watches you with his cat-like eyes as you sit down and pats your head. “I’ll be right back Kitty, behave.” And you hear his soft footsteps get farther away and the creak of the door twice before you finally look at chat.

Woa, Kudzu got lucky huh?

“Please,” You don’t sound nearly as someone might think you would. You’ve been here too long. “Get me out of here?”

Sure sweetheart, just come over to my place first.

“Just - get me away from him please!”

Girls are so whiny huh?

Hey man, its funny at least amiright?

“It’s not a joke -”

She’s really committed to this bit huh

Damn iim staartin to feel bad for ken

Me to :(

“I’ve been here for year and I don’t want to-”

Wow. what an ungrateful bitch.

Ikr? She’s got a bf and everything and she wants to get out?

“No- it’s not like that - he stalked me for months I-” And the familiar desperation you thought hoped beyond all hope that you had lost bleeds back into your voice all repression surfaces like the tide in your eyes.

Oh fuxxx we made her cry.

relax bet she’s just on her period or smth

“I am not!” A bubble of snot pops from your nose and mucus drips uncomfortably to your lips. “I just-”

What could you want that you don’t have.

“My house! My job! My friends!” And your voice breaks

She wants to go back to a job?

Crazy lady huh.

She wants friends when all she really needs is a man? smh.

“Kitten, what-”

“Leave me the fuck alone!” It’s an outburst that you’ll regret later, for one reason or another. But for now it’s a small comfort to speak your mind. With your voice wavering and congested, you choke out a “Let me go home.” Kenma’s eyebrows furrow but his eyes are still the calculating, cold amber they always are.

“Shh shh, it’s okay.” Instead of the quick pats he’s so fond of, he strokes your hair and massages the nape of your neck like he’s picking up a kitten who's gotten into a fight. “I’m going to cut the stream, okay?”

Who’d want to leave Ken, he’s cutting the stream short to help his gf.

…….yeah

I feel bad.

“You should. Please don’t make her cry.” A few clicks later and the stream cuts. “Do you want me to upload that one?” To get your message out? You’d do anything.

“Yes please…” Someone will have to see it. How miserable you are.

“Then it’ll go up, okay?” He pats your back twice, and he stands again to sit at the computer. Out of the blue he speaks again. “They’re right.” No no no no no. “I’m lucky, i’m so glad you're here with me and that you won’t leave.”

“I will get out!” The proof of your white hot anger is breaking the dam built in your throat.

“Where will you go? Your friends don’t know where you’ve gone, they won’t be happy with you coming back unannounced.”

“My parents-”

“You can rely on me, you don’t need anyone else.”

“But I-”

“Shhh kitty, you’re overreacting let’s get you to bed, you’ve had a stressful day.” And so he walks you back to the room you share that's covered in pictures, and he tucks you under the covers and dries your tears with a blanket. He whispers words to you, faint little nothings about games he’s going to play that you’ll enjoy watching and little bits of trivia about what “Kuroo” is up to. Eventually you fall asleep, with his hand in your hair and a chair pulled up close so he can stare. You both know it but no one will admit, some part of him will always enjoy how you lose hope so quickly.

--

once again! This should not’ve taken so long,,,, and it kinda deviates from request but! there we are! also,,,, you can’t tell me that like,,,,,,, kenma hasn’t been at least exposed to incels and or like,,,, really sexist guys he streams on twitch or youtube or something so- also thank you anon,,, i really like this one

[leviaju]

𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢  𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚢!

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯, 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴, “𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵?”

“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘮?” 𝘈 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.

“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

ꜱᴀᴛᴀɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ɴꜱꜰᴡ

5.7ᴋ+

incl: choking, more degradation than i was expecting tbh, collars and cat ears!, gagging, he’s also kinda possessive, thigh riding, pet names, so much porn oh god i am a sinner, plus some wholesome satan moments, as well as some wholesome brotherly bonding between satan and luci

hey guYS!!! i haven’t read satan’s birthday event so this could end up being totally OOC buT i wanted to write smth for my nerd boy ;;;;;;; also this ended up being way longer than i expected,,, i wanted 2k at most and just porn,,, but i got caRRIED aWAY

anYWAYS it’s all under the cut! hbd bby boy muah

this was also highkey inspired by this photoset by memjioof on twt,,,,, so,,,,,,,,,,,,

Satan was never a fan of his birthday. It was a reminder of his origin, where he came from, and he wasn’t happy about it. Not at all, when everyone is in his face indirectly reminding him that he’s not his own person, that he’s simply an extension of someone else.

‘Never a fan’ is an understatement. Satan very, truly, genuinely, hated his birthday.

That is, until you came along.

In all honesty, Satan dreaded this day more than any other. He’d hoped that you’d just not find out, that he could bypass this day in peace and not have to worry about any frivolous displays, which all became inadvertent reminders that he’s not his own person. 

Satan’s also not an idiot, though. He’s seen you sneak around, whispering to his brothers as the days continue to pass. He’s watched as you’d stop conversations with them abruptly, looking like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. It worried him at first, that you were going behind his back and keeping secrets, that you were being dishonest with him and seeking others to make up for what he lacks. You’re too genuine for that though, he knows this. If you were looking for others, you’d ensure to tell him first and to put an end to whatever the two of you had together now. His anxieties were completely quelled when you began not-so-subtly asking him if he was interested in any new books or charms. Instead, they were replaced with a completely different feeling.

‘Excited’ was a name for it, but it didn’t feel quite right. ‘Nervous’ also worked, but there were a few gaps it didn’t fill. ‘Anticipation’, maybe… or perhaps even ‘restlessness’. Regardless, Satan began feeling jittery whenever he thought about it, whenever he thought about spending his special day with you. It was.. different. New. For the first time in millennia, Satan found himself feeling something other than complete and utter apprehension towards the celebration of his birthday.

Could it even be called a birthday? He was never born, unlike his brothers. Hell, for a good portion of his life, he couldn’t even do anything, only watch through the eyes of the man he loathed the most.  And yet…

He found himself filled to the brim with joy at the thought of spending this day with you. Only you.

In fact, surprising even himself, he’d taken you for walks in the city, watching the gears turning in your brain as you silently pondered what to get for him. He felt damn near giddy, stringing you along like this, watching your eyes light up whenever he showed interest in something. It made him really happy to see you care so much for him. Of course, he did his best to hide it, but even he couldn’t deny that this was the happiest he’d ever been at this time of the year.

And his brothers were terrified.

Usually, when this time began to roll around again, Satan’s already short fuse became even shorter, he was a powder keg about to explode at any given moment. He’d lock himself in his room, and if anyone were to disturb him, they’d have to be ready to bear his wrath, unchecked and untamed. Satan had never once celebrated his birthday after the first time the brothers all tried to plan a surprise party for him, and in one fell swoop, he destroyed the decorations, as well as the room with it. 

Yet… Satan was happy. And smiling. Even humming as he cooked, which never happened. 

“L… Lucifer…” Mammon pushed the door of his older brother’s room open, stepping in like a dog with its tail between its legs. “I dunno what’s going on, but--”

“I know.” Lucifer was sitting at his large desk, elbows resting on the fine wood, hands entwined with themselves. He let out a long sigh, taking a moment to think.

Mammon walked in a bit more, only taking a quick moment to scan the room for valuables. At the feeling of Lucifer’s piercing eyes on him, however, he diverted his attention.

“Well, what do we do? Last time we had a party, it didn’t really… end up well.” Mammon winced at the memory. He’d had to prune his wings constantly for weeks after that, lest he never fly again.

Lucifer closed his eyes for a moment, the usually unmovable demon looking rather shaken. He’s contemplated this a lot, and Mammon knew it was really worrying his brother when he moved over to sit on the edge of the mahogany desk, and Lucifer didn’t say anything. The room was silent, almost too silent, and Mammon began to fiddle with the feather charm attached to his belt.

There was the sound of yet another sigh, and Lucifer’s eyes caught Mammon’s once more. The latter froze.

“I… I may have an idea.”

Mammon sensed his impending doom.

-

Satan knows when his brothers are scheming, but for once it seems he’s not included. Irritating. 

Even so, they’ve been leaving you two alone much more than usual, so he couldn’t find it in himself to complain all that much. Now, with your head in his lap as he reads a tome, he finds it doesn’t bother him at all.

“Hey, Satan?” Your voice pulls him from his book and he looks down to you, a soft expression on his lips. His fingers, rested in your hair, massage your scalp gently. You hum. 

“If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Satan laughs quietly, setting the tome down to give you his full attention. You’ve been asking questions like this all week, and he knows exactly why. Nevertheless, he humours you. A warm blush dusts his cheek as he prepares his answer.

“You.”

Short, simple, but truer than anything he’s said before. He can’t help the growing fondness in his heart as he watches you pause, taken aback by his answer, before the most loving of smiles graces your lips. He’s so, irrevocably, in love with you.

“I-- uh,” you stutter, and he laughs. “That’s not fair! Besides, wouldn’t you like to have a book more? Or maybe something more entertaining...” You trail off as you think, but the red on your cheeks gives away your thoughts easily enough. Satan’s lap grows cold as you lift your head, but his momentary disappointment is whisked away when he watches your face get close to his own, your noses near millimetres from touching. Your eyes are trained on his, studying closely. His own crinkle with joy.

“Nope, not really. A book can entertain me for a few days, but you could entertain me for a lifetime.” Once again, Satan laughs wholeheartedly as you huff, pulling away from him and crossing your arms. You’re so fun to tease.

“But really, I don’t want anything other than you.” His voice quiets to a murmur. “It’s kind of embarrassing to say, but it’s the truth.” Satan’s cheeks are the beautiful shade of red that you’ve come to love, but the look in his eyes is earnest and genuine. Despite still being just a bit frustrated at his incredibly unhelpful response, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips. Satan meets you halfway, smiling into the kiss.

“You’re the worst,” you mumble, feeling his breath against your lips. He chuckles quietly. 

“I know.”

-

Satan’s glad that his brothers have been leaving you alone. As the day of interest approaches, however, your attention gets more and more divided, until he realizes that the only time he sees you is during meals.

“____, would you like to--”

“Sorry brother dearest, I already called dibs!” 

Satan watches with disdain as Asmodeus takes your arm, already pulling you away. An apologetic smile crosses your face, your lips shaping an “I’m sorry” before you’re pulled out of sight. Satan grumbles, fists balling up so tight that he can feel the sharp pain of his fingernails digging into his palms. Everyone who was left in the dining room quickly made their way out, save for Satan and Lucifer, the former who’s doing his best not to burst, and the latter who’s watching him carefully.

“What do you want?” Satan asks flatly, eyes shifting from the doorway to his eldest brother. Lucifer stands from his chair, adjusting his sleeve collars.

“Nothing. My apologies. I’ll be out of your way.” Lucifer’s reply comes out a lot more genuine than Satan had expected, and he’s pulled from his anger to watch Lucifer leave the room, completely aghast. It takes Satan’s usually quick mind a few moments to actually comprehend what just happened, and even then he still just kind of… stands there.

He walks to his room, still in a bit of a daze. He runs into none of his brothers on the way there, with the plan to read throughout the night. With you gone, he has no other way to relieve his stress.

-

Satan would never admit it in a million years, but the knock on his door makes him jump, nearly throwing the novel to the other side of the room. He was too invested in his book. A quick glance at his clock tells him it’s midnight, and the sudden interruption, as well as the lack of you over the past few days, has culminated into a wave of anger that causes him to stomp towards the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges as he swings it open.

“What the fuck--”

“Happy birthday, Satan!” Your smile immediately disarms him and gives him pause, his body a statue as you snake your arms around his waist. He has to pry his hand from the doorknob, now dented in the shape of his fist, before he can reciprocate.

“Sorry if I scared you,” you murmur into his shoulder, squeezing him gently when his arms wrap around you. You lift your head, smiling brightly. Satan doesn’t seem to remember the anger he’d felt mere moments before.

“You didn’t,” he hums, before placing a kiss on your forehead. “I’m glad to see you, feels like it’s been a while.”

“Sorry.” You let go of him, much to his dismay, but he watches happily as you make your way into the room with a familiarity similar to his own. You plop yourself on the bed, before opening your arms and looking at him expectantly.

“I don’t have a present,” you begin, a slight blush dusting the highs of your cheeks, “but if you’d like, I can stay up all night with you doing whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want, hm?” A mischievous smirk crosses Satan’s face, but morphs to a genuine smile when you nod hesitantly. “I see. I want you, then. All night long.” His voice lowers as he draws closer, and he can hear your heart speed up. Satan climbs onto the bed and watches as you stiffen, but lays down next to you, taking you into his arms. Your face is against his chest, and you can feel him trying to steady his breath.

“Couldn’t help but want to tease you, sorry,” he chuckles, and you lift the covers over both of your bodies. The room is silent but comfortable. The two of you get comfortable in each others’ arms, and Satan sighs happily.

You pause, lifting your head to look up at him. He meets your eyes, curiosity in his gaze. 

“... Seriously? This is it?”

Satan laughs, his entire face lighting up. Your chest aches. When he calms, he raises a hand to cup your cheek. 

“This is it. I’ve… I’ve missed you all week.”

You hum, placing your hand on his. He closes his eyes for a moment.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper.

Soon enough, you hear as his breath slows and steadies itself. For a bit, you watch his face, a truly open, vulnerable expression that only you get to see. A gentle kiss is pressed to the corner of his eye, before you snuggle up close to him, allowing sleep to take you over.

-

Morning comes too early, Satan thinks. And yet, with morning comes alertness, and when he’s alert he can watch you, cuddled up against him closely, so maybe it’s okay.

He also watches as consciousness slowly sneaks its way into your bones, your eyes crinkling as you try and will yourself back to sleep. He breathes out a laugh. Eventually, your bleary eyes open and meet his, and the sleepy smile on your face is enough to fill his heart for the rest of his life.

He hopes he can see this every morning.

-

The two of you stay in bed pretty much all day, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. Satan is much softer than usual, which is saying a lot, and you’re absolutely eating up all of the attention. As the hours fly by, however, eventually you glance at your D.D.D. and sit up in a panic.

“What’s wrong?” Satan sits up as well, glancing over at you worriedly. 

“I’m hungry!” You seem a lot more panicked than usual, and Satan’s brows furrow. He hums thoughtfully. “It’s dinnertime, you know? We’ve only eaten snacks all day!”

Your laugh is a bit too forced, and Satan immediately knows what’s going on. He grumbles.

“Are you actually hungry?” He asks, situating himself so he’s right in your face. You meet his eyes, and the worry on your face disappears. 

You nod.

“Mhm,” you smile, pecking his nose before standing out of bed. Satan groans dejectedly but eventually climbs out as well. “Fine, fine,” he relents, pulling on a shirt. “But we’ll come right back after, okay?”

“Okay!” Your smile compels him to write sonnets. That has to wait, though.

Eventually, the two of you make your way towards the dining room. As soon as you’d left the bedroom, you’d been jittery. All of a sudden you’d stopped talking and Satan squeezes your hand reassuringly. He knows what’s going on, but for your benefit, he keeps quiet. The two of you turn into the dining room, and he’s genuinely surprised.

“I know you don’t really like celebrating your birthday,” you start, your voice shy. He wants to kiss you right here. “But I hope this is okay!”

The dining room is filled with his favourite foods, all lined up on the large table in the centre. Better yet, his brother’s are all sitting quietly. Even Beelzebub, who seems to be drooling over the food. Best of all, Lucifer is nowhere in sight. Satan smiles, before taking you to the table, pulling out a chair for you before sitting down beside you.

“Happy birthday, bro. Figured ya wouldn’t wanna celebrate, but ______ insisted,’ Mammon smiles nervously, but the look on Satan’s face reassures him. The tension in the room eases at once, and Satan hums.

“If that’s the case, then I guess just this is okay. Thank you.” As soon as Satan reaches for the food, everyone else begins to eat. Beelzebub, who felt like he was being tortured, grins happily as he fills his plate and stuffs his mouth. You glance over at Satan, and the smile is still on his lips.

“I have one more surprise for you,” you say quietly, leaned in towards him. “But I promise you’ll like it.”

“Oh?” Satan laughs quietly, lifting his fork up to your lips. You take a bite of the morsel on the end of it, and his smile grows. “I can’t wait, then.”

-

Your heart is pounding as you make your way towards Satan’s room, having separated from him after dinner. You’d mentioned you had to grab something from your room, and the box was now clutched in your sweaty palms. It’s not that you and Satan had never done anything like this before, but it’s the first time incorporating other… elements into it. You hope he likes it. You’re sure he will, but there’s a part of you that continues to worry regardless.

The door to Satan’s room opens before you get to knock, and your eyes open wide. Satan can’t help but laugh, apologizing for startling you. His attention is quickly captivated by the beautiful box in your hands, a lovely, luminescent green bow on the top. 

He tilts his head, but you walk in without saying much. He shuts the door behind you, and watches your form curiously.

“Do you mind if I open your present for you?” The nerves in your voice are enough to start to worry him, and he simply nods. You make your way over to his bathroom, taking the gift with you, and Satan is left incredibly confused. He watches the door to his bathroom close, and he sits on the bed. He was rather excited for tonight, but the way you’re acting has him feeling nervous. As soon as you step out of the bathroom, however, he understands exactly why you were so quiet.

“Happy Birthday,” you smile gently, an arm crossed over your torso. Satan swallows hard as he looks you up and down, and is completely overwhelmed for a moment. Your breasts are so lovingly hugged by a white lace brassiere, ribbons in the back keeping it snug to your torso. Your matching underwear is attached by garters to thigh-highs, the elastic at the top squishing your thighs just right. Satan licks his lips, craving to hold you. That’s not what captured his attention, however. No, what truly got him excited was the cute cat ears adorning your head, the same colour as your hair, and the bright green collar tight around your neck. You stand there nervous but excited as Satan drinks in your appearance, and the muscles in your thighs tense as he begins walking towards you.

“I’m not one for birthdays or presents, but...” one of Satan’s hands comes to rest on your waist, sliding down to tease the top of your underwear. The other hand coasts up your arm, before he slips two fingers under the side of your collar, tugging gently. “... This is a more-than-welcome surprise.”

Satan feels as if he could devour you in one bite. You look downright delectable, and a part of him is overwhelmed. Where does he start? He’s typically one to savour his meals, especially when they’re as delicious as you, but he also wants to have you as many times as possible. He looks into your eyes as he contemplates, watching the wavering of your irises, and he can’t help himself when he leans down into your lips, still tugging onto your collar.

The hand on your hip grips you tightly as Satan claims your mouth, and you sigh into the kiss. This whole thing was pretty nerve-wracking, but his response is more than happily received. A breathy moan leaves your mouth as Satan bites down on your lip, withdrawing.

“Now, my pretty little pet. Will you allow me to indulge in my present?”

-

With the way Satan is treating you, you could almost believe it’s actually your birthday, not his. With your back on the bed, your hands tangle into his hair, his fingers just barely brushing against your most sensitive area as he licks and sucks on your clit. Already, your body is covered in hickies, from your jawline to all the way down your left leg, where the garter has been torn off and the thigh-high ripped apart and laying in threads on the floor. Once again, his fingers push into you, coated in arousal. His lips pop off of you, and you whine.

“What, pet, have I left you wordless? You’re being so good for me,” he smiles, and if your slick wasn’t coating his chin you’d almost believe he’s being genuine. Still, he thrusts his fingers into you, and you have to gasp for air before speaking.

“S-Satan,” you sigh, your hands moving up to grip the pillow beneath your head. He’s been teasing you for what feels like hours already, and all he’s done for himself is take his shirt off. You crave to feel him, crave to touch him, and yet he won’t let you. Satan laughs, withdrawing his fingers from you to put them to your lips. You open your mouth and he sticks them in, humming happily when he feels you cleaning his fingers diligently.

“What? It’s my birthday, isn’t it? I can do whatever I’d like with my present.” Satan chuckles as you look up at him imploringly. He presses his fingers farther into your mouth, down your throat, and makes sure you gag before pulling them away. 

“You haven’t even let me do anything to you yet.” You sound almost as if you’re pouting, and Satan can’t help the pride that flares up in his chest. You’re so good to him. “Please, wanna make you feel good.” You’d squeeze your thighs together, but Satan had lodged his body between your legs. He takes a moment to think, before smiling.

“Make me feel good then, kitten,” is all the permission you get before he pulls away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Quickly, you get up, legs trembling. His fingers and tongue have edged you enough to get you desperate for relief, and yet you still wish to make sure he’s taken care of. Satan can’t help but smile at the thought. You manage to make your way off the bed and between his legs, hands shaky as you undo his belt and pull his pants down.

Satan is hard, incredibly so, and you feel more parched than you ever have in your life. Quickly, you pull his cock out of his briefs, and the freedom causes him to suck in a breath through his teeth. Usually, this is where you tease, where you lick at the head of his cock and don’t take him in until he’s damn near begging, but this time you do so without prompting. You ease your way down to the base and Satan’s hand, careful of the ears adorning your head, makes its way into your hair, tugging on it to guide your head. When your eyes flick up they see he’s already watching you, and you take him as far as you can go. Satan allows you to pull back, but soon enough he’s guiding your rhythm, fucking your throat quickly. The sounds filling the room are nothing short of sinful. 

“Fuck, pet,” he gasps out, head tilted back. Satan is doing his best to stop from moaning, but he can’t help the grunts that leave his chest as your hot mouth moves around him. His grip on your hair is almost painful, and you can feel your throat growing more and more raw each time he fucks into you. “You’re so fucking good for me, aren’t you? You-- ah-- are just doing whatever I want.” Satan curses once more, heaving breaths. Your hands, placed on his thighs, feel the muscles in his body tense, as do yours. Fuck, you want to cum. You don't even notice that you’re wiggling your hips, seeking any kind of friction.

“Mm, kitten,” he moans, and his hips stutter for a moment. Tears fall from your eyes as he forces you down to the base, and it takes everything you have not to gag. You moan around his cock, and he chokes out a breath. You tap on his thighs after a few seconds, and he pulls your mouth off of him completely, panting hard. “You’re so obedient, doing exactly what I want.” His hand moved from your mussed hair down to your cheek, which he strokes gently with his thumb. 

Satan takes a few moments to calm himself down, before guiding you up and onto his lap. His cock, wet and dripping precum, is pressed against both of your stomachs.

“You’re still so wet for me, kitten,” Satan laughs, feeling your slick against his leg. His hands move to your hips and press you down against his thigh, and your air leaves you quickly in the form of a breathy moan. He flexes his muscles as he slowly grinds you against him, and you grasp desperately at his shoulders. “Did you get off on me fucking your throat? Hm?” A shiver runs up your spine as his nails press crescent shapes into your skin.

“You perfect little slut,” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. Despite the composure he pretends to have, you can tell by the way that his lips desperately claim yours that he’s feeling just as needy as you are. You scratch down his back and he moans into your mouth. “Just for me, mm?” His kisses trail down to your neck again, where he bites down gently on your skin. Between his words, his thigh grinding against you, and however long he spent edging you before, the coil in your stomach has grown incredibly tight. 

“Satan, I--” You cut yourself off with a desperate moan and he snickers, licking at the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Cum then, pet. Cum on my thigh like the beautiful little slut you are.”

Your stomach grows unbelievably tight, and once again you feel him laugh against your skin. One of his hands comes down to begin quickly rubbing your clit in circles, and that’s all it takes for the coil in your belly to snap. There’s a moment of calm, relief, before your orgasm crashes into you, and you desperately hold onto Satan as he presses you down onto his thigh once more. You cry out something that he supposes is his name, but your voice is too coated in pleasure for him to actually make sense of the words. He lifts his head to watch your face, before leaning in to meet your lips once more. You’re gasping for breath, which makes it difficult, but he enjoys it even more because of that. 

“Perfect… you’re so beautiful.” The look in his eyes is nothing short of loving as he begins manoeuvring both you and himself properly onto the bed. You’re still a bit hazy from the intensity of the orgasm, but you manage to take his hints. Soon enough, you’re rested on your knees and elbows on the bed, and Satan is pressing kisses to your ass.

“You’re dripping down your thighs, pet,” he hums against your skin, using his fingers to collect some of your arousal. Without warning, he plunges his fingers into you once more, and you gasp out a moan.

“Satan, please, I…” Your voice trails off as you breathe in, short on air. Your cunt clenches around nothing as you wiggle your hips, hoping to goad him into finally filling you up. It’s all you can think about, he’s all you can think about, and you’ve stopped caring completely about pride. 

“I, fuck Satan, I want you so bad.” You feel him pause, and the smile that crosses your lips is unintentional. “Please, baby, please fill me up with your cock. Please, I-- I want you so bad, want it so bad.”

That seems to be enough to get what you want. You hear Satan move behind you, and soon enough the tip of his cock rests against your slick opening. Both of you let out a shaky breath, and you can feel Satan lean over you. Once again, his fingers hook onto your collar and he tugs, cutting off your air supply just enough to fully grab your attention.

“I’m going to take you now,” he hums, slowly pushing himself inside. “Gonna mark that pretty little cunt and make it all mine. Gonna make sure no one else wants you afterwards, because you’re going to smell like me, inside and out.” To emphasize his words he pushes into you completely, and you cry out at the feeling, squeezing around him so deliciously. He pulls on your collar harder, and you gasp for air. Satan wastes no time in starting a relentless pace, hitting the deepest parts inside of you. His grip on the collar loosens when you get lightheaded, but he never lets go. That mouthwatering press against your throat has you tightening around Satan, and he grunts out. He’s about to speak when you grind back against him, meeting his thrusts, and a muddled string of words leave his lips instead.

“Fuck,” you can tell Satan’s composure is slipping, and your body sings with anticipation. The room is filled with your moans, his panting, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Satan uses his free hand to pull you up off of your arms, raising your torso so the two of you are kneeling. In this position, he can fondle you so much easier, and he fully takes advantage of it, massaging your breast harshly and tugging on your nipple. You cry out after a particularly rough thrust, and once again feel the pleasure pooling low in your stomach. Satan bites into your shoulder, and the hand that was pulling on your collar moves down to your clit once more, rubbing you just the way you like it. 

Satan grunts and your body jerks, the pleasure becoming damn near overwhelming. “You’re so fucking slutty,” he groans, and you know that he’s not trying to keep up appearances anymore. His cock thrusts into you faster, harder, and you feel your body grow impossibly tight. “Gonna breed you, gonna claim you, gonna make you all fucking mine.” The words are forced out, pants and moans interspersed throughout. He growls, directly in your ear, and you’re so close, so damn close.

“Gonna make it so that no one else wants you.” Satan curses loudly, and the sound is music to your ears. You can’t think at all, and the only thing spilling from your lips are moans and garbled versions of his name. “Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes out, and that’s your breaking point. Once again you feel as climax overwhelms your body, and your mind is filled with nothing but thoughts of Satan. His thrusts, rough and erratic, have completely lost any sense of rhythm. In your pleasure addled brain, all you know to do is egg him on, get him to feel as good as you do.

“Please baby, f-fuck, Satan, please. Fill me up.” His fingers move back up to loop around your collar and he pulls hard, just as you were about to speak more. Your words stop abruptly, and the sounds of you trying to speak push him over the edge. Satan’s hips stutter, before pausing completely. Warm cum fills your insides and you sigh at the feeling, almost relieved when Satan lets go of you. You fall onto your hands on the bed, bones feeling like jelly. He takes a few moments to regain his composure, before pulling out with a low groan. You collapse, exhausted, and he laughs quietly.

“You did so well for me, kitten. You always do,” he smiles, dropping his body onto the mattress next to you. He knows the two of you need to get clean, and he knows that his sheets should be washed, but he’ll do that in a bit. For now, he takes you into his arms, your bare skin hot against his own. You sigh happily, eyes closed.

“No sleeping yet, beautiful. I haven’t indulged in my present to the full extent.” His smirk is mischievous. Maybe you can go for a few more rounds. It is his birthday, after all.

-

Many hours later, Satan finds himself clean, fully dressed, and on the way back from the laundry room after dropping his sheets off. The House of Lamentation is dead silent, and Satan is still on a high from his birthday present. How could he not be? He’s fully satiated, relaxed, and happier than he’d been in a while. Not only that, but you’re waiting for him in his bed, curled up in his sheets, smelling like his body soap. He has every single reason to feel over the moon.

Except something weighs on him. It’s easy to ignore for the most part, but when he passes by the library and hears the slow, melancholy melody of a song he knows all too well, he stops. 

Ugh, fuck, okay... fine.

Satan groans to himself as he walks into the library, making his way to the large door on one of the walls. He knocks gently, and when he’s met with no answer, he enters anyway. Pride be damned. 

Lucifer looks over, surprised by having a visitor and even more surprised by who it is. He doesn’t speak, only watching as Satan enters the room, taking only a few steps in.

Neither of them says anything, watching each other, waiting for someone to make the first move. It ends up being Satan, who sighs.

“Thank you. For today.”

Lucifer is taken completely aback. Placing his hand on his chest he sits up straight, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what--”

“Shut up.” Lucifer’s anger swells for a moment, but he takes a deep breath to calm down. Satan doesn’t seem to care. “I know you helped _____ with all of this. It was probably your idea to begin with.”

Lucifer doesn’t reply, and that is enough to confirm Satan’s suspicions. He runs a hand through his hair, before crossing his arms.

“So… Thanks. I’m going to bed now.”

Satan turns on his heels and begins walking out the door, but is stopped when Lucifer calls out, his voice warmer than Satan has ever heard.

“Happy birthday, brother.”

Satan stands in the doorway a moment, looking at the floor. Once again, he sighs.

“Go to bed. You look like shit,” he replies, before shutting the large office door behind him. He almost, almost, misses the sound of his eldest brother’s laugh bouncing off the walls.

Maybe birthdays aren’t all that bad.

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

it rlly do b a sad girl hrs type of time 😔 been rlly busy & stressed lately, just want to b held vibes sO I bring u coming into the jazz bar after being in a slump all week n as u settle in front of soonyoung & he asks u how the day’s been with his signature smile u can only smile weakly in return. he immediately notices smth’s off n reaches across the bar to take ur hands n look into ur eyes questioningly as u shake them off. The whole ride back to ur apartment after his shift - (1/2) 🐥

he can’t help but b concerned n keeps glancing at u. once ur inside n settle on the bed he’s kissing u gently as u begin to sigh n relax into his arms and he nervously asks if he can try smth different today. rather than the desperate passion n hands on each other ur used to he kisses softly down ur body n cradles u, an unsaid whisper and care of how precious u r to him behind each touch - (2/2) 🐥

Chick. Chickie sweetie *deep breath* how, my dear sweet chickadee, do you manage to fuck me up in the best way possible every time you send asks for this au?

I AM IN SAD GAY GIRL HOURS AND YOU DO THIS TO ME THE E M O T I O N IT H  U  R  T  S

Bruh

Girl

Hold on i need a minute

Right, okay.

Listen the way you just don’t wanna tell him. Like your friends are like “Girl you go to that bar a lot should we be concerned? Are you getting plastered there all the time? Is it time to worry?” And you like you tell them it’s all good and you’ve just made friends with the people there because you’re honestly afraid to admit to anyone, let alone yourself and certainly not to him, that Soonyoung isn’t just a fling. That he sets your whole ass heart and flame and he’s your sunshine and you’re fucking terrified that he won’t feel the same way. At this point you know it. You know the L word is right there on your tongue and if you say it the whole thing is gonna come crashing to the fucking ground so you're just gonna torture yourself because at least you have some part of him and that’s better than nothing.

I am listening to sad gay music yall someone stop me why do i do this to myself????

It doesn’t stop you from going straight to the bar at the end of a shit week. Just being in front of him makes you feel better, even if you’re not as flirty as usual. And the poor boy is so distracted all shift that Minji let’s him go half an hour early because he’s so off when you’re so clearly upset but won’t admit it or tell him what happened that week to make you so upset.

He’s so gentle as he ushers you out and you can’t figure out why it hurts your heart so damn much that he’s being so sweet. Your week was shitty on it’s own but now you’re in your feelings and just s a d. And he speaks with you gently all the way to his place, trying to make you smile and only succeeding a few times. He takes your hand to bring you inside and why does that make your heart ache? Why are you feeling so much heartbreak?

And when you get inside you just throw yourself at him. You’re kissing at him and pulling off his clothes and for the first time he seems hesitant. Still, he stumbles to the bedroom with you. But by the time you’re both down to your underwear you start murmuring that you want it rough but you sound choked up and he gets more concerned. He finally grabs your wrists and holds your hands down and asks you to look at him.

He’s about to ask what’s wrong but the something in your face looks like that question might just break you. He asks if he can do something differently. And you’re caught off guard but agree. He tells you to just lay back and relax and you try, falling into it more and more as he kisses down your body and settles between your legs.

For the first time he’s slow. He never hurts you but he’s never usually gentle and it makes you feel so relaxed and cared for. You let your fingers run through his hair as he eats you out, trying very hard to swallow down all your feelings. He’d bring you to climax on his tongue and would have kept doing if you weren’t pulling him close and murmuring that you want him.

He’d be so slow as he pushes into you. He’d rest his forehead against yours and hold you and you feel so safe and warm and like everything is right in that moment as he rolls his hips into you. And he looks you in the eye, his lips parting as if you say something and before he does something in you breaks.

You start to break down, holding him close with even more desperation than he’s used to, different desperation. Not like you need to cum, like you don’t want him to leave. He wouldn’t move from inside you but he would hug you so tight against him and tell you it was alright, cuddling with you and telling you to let it out and you can’t hold back the tears.

They flow and flow until they finally stop, like you couldn’t find any more if you tried. And he looks so sad and you can’t figure out why because you don’t know how ability broken you look. He’d only pull out of you then, telling you to wait for a moment. He’d run you a bath and help you there, not asking you to talk. He’d clean you off and give you some of his clothes as pjs and tell you that you didn’t have to leave tonight.

And you agree numbly, no idea where to start and not sure you even could. Your complicated web of feelings is only getting more complicated. He would pull you against his chest and wrap you in his arms and rub your back as you fell asleep your heart at once haling and breaking in two.

[the-fandom-fuckup]

A bit more for that modern fantasy au I teased a bit ago

Character designs n stuff are slightly based off the official halloween n fantasy ending arts, plus whatever else I wanted to do, so Kiri is a dragon shifter here, Baku is a werewolf, n Ochako is a witch.

There'll probably be a hint of a/b/o dynamics here for weres n shifters, n the idea of alpha!Kiri n alpha!Baku has stuck to me like glue, so that's a thing here also

There's no real plot for this, just these three being dumb n pining, and everyone around them rolling their eyes n dealing with it lmao

I've thought about jobs n first meetings tho, n came up with this. Kiri's a firefighter (along with Tetsu, who is also a dragon shifter, bc I love him and their bro-bond), bc big fire resistent boy running into fires to help people just makes sense. Also I really like the thought of him in the uniform

Ochako works as a self defense instructor with Gunhead at a small gym in town, probably helping people with magic items n stuff on the side for extra cash or smth, I dunno. She might wanna move into a more magically dominant field one day, but she likes the environment of the gym n the regulars that come in n chat between classes. She's also very good at what she does n has put many assholes in their place after they've scoffed at "the cute little girl you have here".

Baku is a "park ranger", n I use quotations bc that's the only title he could really give himself to have any authority over the land he owns. He gives himself more leeway than what some laws may grant, tho tbh if you're coming into his territory with intent to harm those in it, you're lucky to walk away at all just sayin'

He runs an escape park of sorts for weres n shifters to run around during full moons and other times they need to shed their human skin, personally owned so he can avoid all the bullshit regulations n "safety procedures" found in bigger places that try offering the same thing, but ultimately make the shifting process shittier than it needs to be. And words gets around so it gets super popular super fast, n people of all ages come by

Tbh the thought of a teeny tiny wolf, like 10y/o at most running around Baku n trying to get him to play, nipping at his ankles n calling him the pack alpha is really what settled the debate on whether he should be an alpha or omega. And the added image of Baku rolling his eyes n putting on his toughass act but not really minding it as he gets them moving with a tap on the ass, muttering "Fuckin told ya squirt, I'm not your pack alpha. Now find someone else's ankles to bite at, I'm busy", makes me feel really nice

For some first meetings, tbh Kiribaku probably happens first, n they meet when Kiri n Tetsu accidentally trespass on Baku's territory bc they're new to the area n found a big ass lake to soak in during a flight over town, like dude!! Fuck yea that could fit both of us easy, man I haven't soaked in my big form in forever lets go!

And ofc if the giant shadows overhead hadn't tipped him off the security sensors would've so Baku's like who in the FUCK!! N storms off to confront them bc you don't just come on his land like that. That's how people get fucking hurt you dumb assholes 😤😤

N Kiri n Tetsu are mostly just minding their own business, settling down into the lake like aw yea that's the shit, almost passing out bc they'd just had a long day n the water was so cool n the fish eatting the dead skin n shit off their scales was so relaxing. They don't even realise they'd drifted into a light doze when they hear furious snarling n harsh sniffing coming their way, n barely have enough time to get up before Baku comes tearing shit through the trees

And like. Kiri n Tetsu know that they're big boys. Their full sized dragon forms are huge n there's not much out there that scares them, but nobody likes coming face to face with a snarling werewolf, standing in their territory without any warning that you maybe shouldn't be there

Despite the hostile intro, it doesn't take much for the misunderatanding to be cleared up. There's a lot of apologies from Kiri n Tetsu n a lot of irritated snorts from Baku, but they get straightened out. Baku tells them what kinda show he's running n Kiri inatantly get sparkly eyes like dude!! You do that all by yourself?! That's so manly bro you gotta let us help with that

Baku snorts like you don't have to make empty offers if you wanna use the grounds, I don't refuse people unless they pose an actual threat to the others. You guys aren't dangerous, just stupid. N Kiri goes hey rude, but also it's gotta be a lot dealing with all that on your own. We can at least watch out from above, keep an eye on shit or whatever bc face it man, you may be great but even you can't be in multiple places at once.

And the only reason Baku ends up agreeing is bc they pester him about it until he's well past irritated, n he's figured out the only way to shut them up was concede. They can't be there fulltime anyway consudering their professions, but they're sure to help when they can

Kirichako meet at the gym. Kiri's buying a membership or smth bc you gotta keep the stength up bro! Can't be slacking when you're the difference between someone living n someong dying y'know? Ochako's either in a class or dealing with some hothead, her furrowed brows n puffed cheeks distracting Kiri n reminding him of a chipmunk before bud says smth he can't hear but has Ochako seeing red. It doesn't take long for him to end up on his ass n Kiri's just stuck watching, jaw dropped n heart eyes as Ochako tells the guy he can either fix his attitude or find somewhere else to go

Kiri turns to Tetsu like dude holy shit did you see that?? N Tetsu's like yea bro everyone saw it, n Ochako comes up to them like sorry about that. We have a no harassment policy here that some people overstep, n it sucks that we get people coming in that need it enforced but unfortunately it's pretty common.

Then, bc she's still a bit sour, she looks them both dead in the eyes with a fire raging behind hers like if that's not smth you think you can handle then you might as well save us all the hassle n leave now. N they're both like no way that was great, totally understandable, just tell us where to sign

And while she came off as kinda aggressive during their initial meet, Kiri's quick to find she has just as much sweetness to match her bite. He watches her between sets sometimes n sees how kind n gentle she can be with the younger classes that come in, how she doesn't single out people who struggle n instead moves to help n provide tips without making a huge deal of it

She's also one of the first people to come running when someone gets hurt, he finds out. He'd admittedly been more focused on her sparring with Gunhead than he'd been on the super heavy equipment he was using for his reps, n managed to look over at the perfect time to get flustered n drop it directly on his foot. The resounding crack was loud enough to catch quite a bit of attention, tho he knows the equipment is more likely to be damaged than his foot

Ochako doesn't even hesitate to run over n levitate him to take the pressure off of his not broken foot, going "oh my god are you okay?? Someone clear that bench please, he needs to get off his feet now!" N Kiri does appreciate the concern, as embarassing as it may be, n tries to tell her it's really not a big deal, thanks for the help but honestly--

N she rounds on him like say that one more time n you'll be dealing with a broken nose instead, now sit your ass down n let me handle this!! Kiri can't even reply with anything other than a quiet okay😳😳 bc he's always thought her determination was super admirable, but being this close n seeing it burn in her eyes so intensely is taking it to a whole new level n he has no clue how to handle it

Kacchako meeting is kind of a hybrid mix of the other two combined lmao. Baku owns a pack house where he lives with Deku, then later with Kiri, Tetsu, Mina, Kami, n Sero, but he's so busy with the park that he's hardly ever home. N since Ochako's kinda embarassed about her tiny ass appartment, they usually hang out at the pack house to talk over magic studies or gossip over whatever's happened recently. At this point Baku n Ochako have heard of each other but never been around at the same time

Which causes a problem one day while Ochako's in the kitchen making tea when Baku comes home. He'd had a stressful day warding off poachers or smth, n his rut's just a few days away now, so when he opens the door n is greeted with a slightly unfamiliar scent it sends him into a daze, where he stalks to the kitchen before he even knows that he's moving

Ochako knows tho, can hear the low growls and deliberately quiet steps creeping behind her, setting her on edge bc ohhhh my god, someone just broke into Deku's place holy shit!! And when it gets close enough to barely feel hot breath on the back of her neck she's flinging herself into action, all muscle memory as she gets a few quick jabs into Baku's gut. It knocks the question outta his lungs, getting out a choked "who the--" before her magic kicks in and she's picking him up n slamming him down with his weight returned for maximum momentum, body slamming the following "fUCK!!" out as well before she placed her weight on him to keep him down. She gets right in his face demanding "who are you?! How did you get in here?!"

And when he can breathe again Baku snaps back like "who tf am I?!? I live here!! Who tf are you?!?!" And like, she's still in fight mode so she's looking him over like hmm, so this is Bakugou. Then she realises wtf she's doing n goes oh my god it's Bakugou!! N she's jumping off him and apologising so fast that she's barely saying words, trying to take his hands n help him back up but getting swatted away bc you've done enough touching don't you think??

And yea, Baku's kinda pissed. Being attacked in your own house does that to anyone, let alone a pre-rut alpha. But also, he's kinda impressed, bc he can count on one hand the amount of people who've gotten the drop on him like that, but he'd rather die than admit it out loud. So he just huffs at her with a final "try that shit again n I'll kill you", n stalks off to his room, having more important things to worry about right then than who's fucking around in his kitchen

((His rut decides to be completely unhelpful that time around, his alpha brain locking in on the faint perfume she'd left on his shirt while tossing him around and how perfectly it mixed with his own scent, as well as the shirt he nabbed from Kiri's laundry basket the night before. He rubs the scents of these strong potential mates all over his den, knots his rut aid with his face plastered to the shirts then uses it to scent the shirts even more, drunk off of how well their scents all mix together. He's rightfully embarassed during the end when he can start thinking properly again n throws both shirts to the back of his closet to be forgotten about--as much as his alpha fights him on it--n moves on to his business like normal.

Tho if he tries to be home more often when he knows Ochako's coming around, n spends more time in Kiri's space, nobody's mean enough to comment on it. At least, not at first.))

Man I have many feelings about this, but I'll leave it here for now bc I could go on forever

[ryuijsakamoto]

I just would like to take a moment to talk about my fave headcanons i have for all the characters

Akira:

he is the most OVER DRAMATIC bitch on this earth

he definitely did theatre at some point in his life

after his arrest he sometimes gets really nervous and has trouble conveying his words. he stumbles over them and cant convey his point well

ann and haru like to braid his hair sometimes

when he was younger he faked not being able to see so he could get glasses, it didnt work tho

so hence now he wears fashion glasses

he had braces in middle school

there is One(1) picture of middle school akira. One

he 1000000000% believes in ghosts and has since he was a child

aliens though? not real.

takes lots of selfies when he moves back and sends them to his friends often

biggest flirt but if u flirt back with him he. Dies cannot talk his face is fully red and hes hiding behind his hands

takes every opportunity to visit his friends 

claims hes not a sap but futuba swears she saw him crying over a handwritten thank you card from ‘’that one arcade kid names the kind or smth’’

Ryuji:

when he was a kid he has a fluffy mess of hair similar to akiras and it was the cutest thing ever

he needs reading glasses but no one knows because hes embarrassed by them

he likes to doodle on papers, hes not an artist but he likes to make dorky quick drawings in the corner of his paper

he has trouble focuing sometimes and likes to tap his foot silently or draw lines on paper to help him focus

calls yusuke and akira pretty boy by habit, it started as teasing but then it just became a Habit

he keeps every gift his friends give him and therye very dear to him

he has akira help him dye his hair

when one of his friends is gone / in danger he doesnt dye his hair again until he knows theyre safe

his mom sewed his purple jacket for him herself

he likes to cook and bake

he hold his bros..bro come cuddle me...he very affectionate with his friends and casually touches like hugs, hands over shoulders, etc.

sings to himself when hes alone

Ann:

she has a pretty popular instagram account

she has really bad handwriting

like ryuji, very affectionate 

she loves beanies and wears them especially in the snow

likes to make pointless arguments with ryuji sometimes, stuff like is water wet?

likes to curl her hair over breaks, thinks it looks cute

she loves to watch sappy romance and drama shows / movies

she stress eats

hates when people attack her friends on her instagram 

she has pet fish 

she picked up gardening from haru, its only a small plants and she forgets to water it sometimes but shes trying her best

Yusuke:

he is secretly a sucker for cutely decorated sweets

he had a small anime phase, not that he told madarame, but he has a box full of his old anime drawings and he will Never show them to anyone

he, like ryuji, sometimes drawes in the corners of his papers

unlike ryuji his are more detailed n not as dorky, its usually a detailed flower pattern or something of the sorts

he straightens and dyes his hair

his room? full of art pieces and posters u cannot see his original walls

he always has his phone on dnd and forgets to check it for days sometimes

he has 5 pairs of the same shirt, each one for a different occasions (they all look the same though...we dont ask why)

when he gets too worried over his art and stuff usually his friends will drag him out of his room and make him go eat with them

his friends pictures in his phones are hand-drawn little sketches he did

when hes concentrating really hard he puts his bangs into a ponytail so they dont fall in his face

so clumsy. he trips over everything

Makoto:

got through school before highschool without having to study

is not good with change

loves cute plushies and clothes

is Tired please give her a break

when Sae notices shes overexerting herself she makes sure to leave some of makotos favorite food and a small note for makoto on her bed

she just loves her sister very much

actually really likes spicy foods

u mention around her youre having trouble in school? not getting enough rest? forgot your lunch? Mom Mode Makoto activated

when shes alone she can curse up a storm

likes to play poker

is really good at talking to people and keeping up frienships

after highschool she is always busy u wanna hangout? she has 2 available days for the next 5 months

Futuba:

she has braces. she despises them

a very picky eater

sometimes she falls back into her old habits of hiding and isolating herself, when that happens shes learned to text someone and they sit outside her door and talk to her untill shes feeling better

cries easily, especially over characters and shows

has a phantom thieves fan account

when morgana and akira move away she gets a cat plushy because she misses her friends

shows everyone so many fun online things, discord? they have s discord gc because of her

akira has to remind her to drink water and fix her posture too much

wants to cosplay

shes really nervous for her first day of school but joker texts her all throughout the day even if he got in trouble for it

surprisingly a morning person

Haru:

she Runs on caffeine

likes to spoil her friends, yusuke spent all his money again? heres enough to get home and also buy a 3 course meal 

works at a plant shop even though she doesnt really need to because she loves being around plants

plays piano and cello

touch starved pls hug her PLEASE

likes to fish

cutest laugh please protect her

also dabbled in acting, though hers was more classical stuff like shakespear

she loves golf and swimming

knows how to fight and will do so if needed

she bullet journals

Akechi (in general + if he got to stay with the pt):

actually doesnt have a strong opinion on pancakes, just was really feeling like eating pancakes that day when he overheard morgana

he loves the praise he gets but the spotlight is exhausting

shido told him long hair didnt look good on him once so now he refuses to cut it out of spite

loves to watch gordan ramsey, thinks its hilarious

Bottles up his emotions like crazy

actually really caring towards his friends, always checking up on them and making sure theyre taking care of themselves

loves shit talking his dad, esp with ryuji haru and yusuke who join him and shit talk their own father figures

he wears colored contacts

writes poetry, no one knows this though

cannot back down from a bet, tell him that he wont eat that spoonful of wasabi? hes choking it down with tears but at least he proved you wrong

kinda very incredibly petty

a big fan of mythology, he looked into it after getting his loki persona

loves movie dates with the phantom theives

[sector-i-closed]

Okii then vampy sangie request where he might be a bit stressed and his pet notices and says “take it out on me” or smth like that. And then he fucks her (him being dom) which makes him feel better! But it ends in cuddles because im sofffftttttt for aftercare

Vampire!Yeosang and pet!Reader

Warning: Smut, unprotected sex and choking and it's short

"Oh~ oh fuck~!" Your eyes rolled back in pleasure at the force of your master's hips snapping into you, the head of his cock repeatedly ramming into your g spot and causing you to squirm at the pleasure that bubbled up inside of you.

"M-master~!" You yelped out before being silenced by Yeosang's fingers wrapping around your throat, regulating the intake of air that your body received with each pant that you gasped for.

'Take it out on me~' You had suggested with an innocent smile when you noticed your master's unease after arriving home from work earlier in the evening.

'Are you sure? You have no idea what you're in for darling...' Was the answer that chilled your blood.

Undoubtedly you had no idea in the least as to what you were in for as you clung to the edge of the table, whimpering and reveling in the feeling of having your g spot abused so good.

"Your pussy is so greedy for my cock, I guess this fucking was what you was really wanting. Don't come yet, not until I tell you to." Yeosang ordered gruffly, pushing his hard cock even deeper inside of your wet heat.

"M-master I can't hold b-back..." You choked out, your lungs burning from the lack of the air that you were starving for. Your legs trembled as you tried to not think about how close you were, your gut clenching tight as your pleasure built up even more.

"Come with me, pet." Yeosang mumbled, thrusting into you until you were coming on his cock, creaming on his length as weightlessness overwhelmed you.

"So good~..." You whimpered, feeling the hold that he had around your neck loosen.

"Ah~" You moaned as your vision was still blurry from the tears that slipped down your face. Yeosang slowly pulled out of you, watching eagerly as his cum dripped from your hole while feeling a sense of gratification that it was you that he filled with his release and he couldn't imagine doing it with anyone else.

"Are you okay baby? I didn't hurt you did I?" He asked as he pulled you to his chest.

"I'm great~..." You giggled, still feeling high from the orgasm that you had experienced. Yeosang pressed his lips against your forehead and helped you walk to bed, noticing that you were limping a bit.

You purred happily as you lied down, allowing your master to wrap his arms around you from behind and hold you close to him in a loving way.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He murmured, still feeling high and unable to completely comprehend what had just happened.

"I'm fine." You mewled, leaning into your master's chest and feeling satisfied.

[2ugars]

ੈ♡˳ high school senior!hyuck + soccer player!hyuck all in one!!!!

ps - the high school that i’m basing off their high school is mine, which is an international american curriculum high school that has like . a very small hs population.

a lovable and troublemaker senior who interacts quite a lot w his underclassmen — a bit too much than what’s probably considered necessary

he’s always been loud n friendly even before senior year but for some reason it? sky-rocketed?

like

u would expect seniors to stop tryin to make friends n stuff because they’ll have to leave for college at the end of the year nyways……

but NOPE

donghyuck’s a whole other species so he. .

makes friends .

A Lot of them

some of them r accidental on the other person’s part

there was this one time where hyuck forgot his pencil case and he was asking around

and some guy in junior year was like Here u go!!!!give it back to me after school or smth :)

as promised,, donghyuck Forgot to give it to him after school but he DID give it back the morning after w a bunch of teabags

donghyuck: some tea 2 relieve ur stress! also !!!!!!!      U r invited to my bday party :)

donghyuck: and my future wedding

donghyuck :D

junior: Whjat

hyuck’s that one senior who somehow knows everyone’s names?

he’s crazy

the type to say people’s names whenever he converses w them

he does it to seem closer nd to put them at ease? in a way?

has a unique handshake w 75% of the high school population

how does he remember all of that

muscle memory???????? who knows at this point

someone raised their hand during class and he flinched in his seat because he Really Wanted To Do The Handshake w them

he wouldn’t call it popularity, how a lot of people know him

“they’re just . familiar w me,” he would tell jeno

“that’s called popularity u idiot”

“n .   No”

it takes him a while to let it sink in that he IS popular but he still doesnt like to call himself that since he thinks it’s awkward nd a lil off-puttinng

so he just calls himself annoying in the end lmao

“i realized,” he rells renjun one day, “that i’m most likely the most annoying senior ever. more than mark was, even, and that’s saying a lot!”

renjun hums to show that he’s listening when, really, he’s not

“it’s the perfect plan,” donghyuck continues. “i get all of them to love me this year, and when i leave, the entire secondary school will have no choice but to mourn my absence—“

“was that your plan all along?” jaemin interjects with a laugh

“of course not. the kids love me without me having to try much. but it’s a pretty good plan! i could pass it down to chenle, or something.”

renjun later tells chenle to continue to never listen to hyuck

chenle, although puzzled, agrees

hyuck’s in varsity boys’ soccer as midfield

what u would call a hidden leader

was originally appointed captain by the coach but turned it down almost immediately

Hates disappointing people

especially people who are depending and relying on him

he isn’t sure he’s ready for that much weight, being an official leader

however when the ream found out he turned down the position of captain, they made him vice-captain next to sunwoo

donghyuck: “i won but at what cost”

mood maker of the team

screams a lot on the bench in the times when he’s pulled from the field to take a break

“U GO FELIX”

“LOOK AT MY BOYS GO!?!??!?!?!”

“OOF them THIGHS”

“JEEOOONNGGGIIIIINNNN that’s my little boy. Wow. i think im tearing up”

does this not only in games but in practices !

hes quite a chatterbox

please shut him up

i’m kidding please don’t

“look alive guys!!!!!! last one to run ladders buys sushi!!!!!!”

usually ends upbeing the last one

he says he does it on purpose

he’s lying he hates running ladders

“SPREAD OUT I NEED YALL LIKE A SMOOTH LAYER OF BUTTER ON TOAST! THAT MEANS NOT CLUMPED!”

he joked that if it weren’t for soccer, he’d be on the cheer squad

won mvp in junior year and the sportsmanship award for three years running

NOT ONLY DID HE WIN SOME SPORTS AWARDS.......

HHE ALSO WO N!!!!!!!!the hearts of the middle school boys’ soccer team

it’s because he’s the coach assistant during the ms soccer season

he started coaching in his freshman year

surprisingly gets shy when the boys, in all their wide-eyed awe n wonder, call him Coach Donghyuck

“nnnnnnnNNNNNOOOO O OO O  Dont say that call me hyuck instead omg plwase.  NO SIAN DONT CALL ME COACJ NO”

to hyuck’s confusion and jaemin’s pure delight, hyuck’s managed to steal the hearts of the middle school girls’ soccer team as well??

he took some chopsticks from the school cafeteria because he forgot his own at home

when he finished eating lunch, he didn’t want to go all the way to the tray drop-off since it was so far from where he and the dreamies sat

and renjun’s being more annoying than usual that day and is purposely making hyuck to hurry the HECK up so that they could do some modern language homework

of course, hyuck is lazy and doesn’t want to walk that far, renjun, gosh dan g it

so he goes to a middle school girl he’s had a few random, short convos with in his bus and... .. .

“hi louise! is it okay if i place my chopsticks here for you to take it to the tray drop-off?”

the young girl startles but at the sight of donghyuck, she smiles brightly. “oh, hi, coach!”

her greeting sparks up excited hi’s and hello’s from the other girls that donghyuck acknowledges with a smile of his own

(he doesn’t bother correcting them about the title)

(he knows that no matter how many times he’ll gently scold them into not calling him coach, they’ll still persist without fail)

(so he takes it in, albeit reluctantly and with his ears turning red every time)

“that’s totally fine!” louise says.

“thaaank you!” he sings, placing it neatly beside her plate. “you’re the best. see you in practice!”

and honestly

the reason why the middle school girls love him is because he stayed after school to study one day

and when he was done, he watched one of their games that was on the home field

he was on the sidelines shouting encouragements and generally just . Screaming his lungs out

you could probably imagine how the opponent team wa s thoroughly confused as to who the boy was and why exactly he was shrieking bloody murder

after the team won, he walked over to their team huddle and, after asking permission of their coach, gave them high fives and praised them and gave them light-hearted pointers before giving them a huge HUGE smile

yeah

apparently that’s enough to have a whole armada of boys and girls willingly take your chopsticks to the tray drop-off after lunch

he likes to brag about it every once in a while

anyways hyuck is just

a really good and nice senior

who the underclassmen respect and appreciate lots

when the seniors graduate, hyuck hides his tears by laughing so much

like it’s kind of concerning how much he’s laughing renjun thinks the boy’s going to choke on his spit at this point hyuck please sto p laughign

NOTHING FUNNY IS EVEN HAPPENING HYUKC PELAS E

like hyuck started laughing when the closing speech of the graduation ceremony begun

the boys thought it was because he probably farted or heard someone else fart since he was trying so hard not to make a sound

liek all you could hear coming from hyuck was wheezing and little hiccups

and jaemin, who was sitting next to him, had to pinch hyuck’s thigh constantly with how violently he’s shaking with silent laughter

hyuck was covering his face the entire time and jaemin, widely grinning, finally pried his hands away

only his grin slowly wavered when he saw the other boy’s face

jaemin: “oh”

renjun: “what do you mean oh? the teachers are looking at us, we might not even be able to graduate if he keeps laughing, shut him u—”

there wwere tears staining hyuck’s cheeks and snot was basically running down his nose and he was laughing like a maniac and oh no, he’s losing it, renjun get tissues, what the actual HEK

the closing speech ended with a new tissue box emptied and a tissue rolled up into hyuck’s left nostril

the others were crying, too, but they were smiling

jisung approached them with wet eyes and the same awkward stance where he keeps his hands clasped in front of him and hyuck tearfully joked that he looked like That Meme and made jisung cry instead of laugh and chenle started laughing because of it but ended up crying too

HAHAHAH THE SE BBOYS BEIN CRYBABIES (imcrygin too at the thought of this i love ht em. s o mmmcuhhchl)

hyuck couldn’t help but pull the dreamies into a hug before he gets swallowed by their arms, affections, and surprisingly, their smooches

“ABOUT TIME Y’ALL PUNKS RETURNED MY LOVE”

[petersvibes]

never can say goodbye pt. 1 - peter parker

anonymous asked:

Hey! Can I request a Peter P. Imagine where he and y/n where bff and one day they got into a huge fight because he was always late and she didn’t knew why (because of his spidey duty) and Peter said smth in the fight that made y/n cry and run away and then she didn’t talked to him for 3 weeks and you can make a fluffy end? Thank u❤❤❤❤❤❤

description: peter’s been acting strange and it starts to drive y/n crazy. (platonic relationship through and through)  

song: never can say goodbye - the jackson 5

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: language 

author’s note: yes i name things after songs it’s a thing. send me songs you like. sorry if she doesn’t exactly run away and i might not write a part two because i’m dead inside lol.

Peter isn’t and has never been good at lying. 

You learned his tell when you were about five. His uncle Ben felt it was necessary for the two of you to learn card games, ranging from poker to go fish. Both of you picked up these games relatively quickly, and soon you were rushing home after school, trying to outsmart each other for hours. Out of all the games you learned to play, and even the ones the two of you made up, you had a particular affinity for ‘Cheat’; for against Peter, you could win every time. And ever since he those initial few games, he’s done the same thing. If Peter’s lying, he looks you dead in the eye, but he always swallows.

Peter would only lie to you on occasion, though. Like your twelfth birthday, when he tried to throw you a surprise party that you learned about three weeks beforehand. It was amusing really; watching Peter pretend he wasn’t rushing off to party supply shops, or talking about you before you entered the room. The delighted look on his face when you walked into the party was too adorable to even consider thwarting and to this day, you had never had the heart to tell him you knew all along. 

But Peter is not a liar. In fact, he’s so innocently honest that at times, it drives you insane. As you grew older, you somehow grew closer to the point where you could tell each other anything. To Peter, lying to you is practically impossible. Or, at least it used to be. 

As the clock strikes midnight, you feel your heart stop as your anxieties start to better you. You’ve gone over every possible reason he could have to not be in your room, right now, taking you to the art exhibit that he swore he’d take you to tonight, as he’s made up countless excuses the weekends previous. 

Peter must be dead. 

He must be dead, because that is the only way you could possibly be okay with him ditching you like this. You convince yourself that he’s been hit by a car, or shot, or something along those lines. For the twelfth time that night, you press his contact number on your phone, even though you know at this point, you won’t get an answer. Again, you are redirected to Peter’s voicemail. Frustrated with his cheery prerecorded message, one that features your voice teasing him at the end, you fling your phone across your room, not even cringing when you hear it collide with your wall. From somewhere far away, your mother yells at you to stop pacing but you ignore her, practically wearing tracks into your rug.

You feel like you’ve been watching your life from the outside for the better part of a year now. Peter, your best friend since birth, sneaks around behind your back, whispering with Ned like you’re not even there. He disappears without a trace, only to site stupid excuses like grocery shopping with May or helping find his neighbors cat. As if you don’t know you can’t have pets in your own damn building. You are just so sick and tired of being treated like an idiot by the one person you once thought respected you the most. 

Finally, you rip off your jacket, accepting the defeat as if you didn’t already know this was bound to happen. In tears you didn’t even know were streaming down your face, you angrily get ready for bed, glancing at your memory board adorned with pictures of you and Peter throughout the course of your friendship. You feel nothing but woe when you see the picture of the two of you taken on the first day of kindergarten, one that always used to bring a smile to your face. That relationship feels merely fictional now. 

With a thunderous thud that interrupts your train of thought, the fumbling teenage boy occupying your mind stumbles in through your window, landing in a heap on your floor. You simple glare at Peter as he stumbles back on his feet, his chest heaving in the process. He flashes you one of his dorky, sheepish smiles, but it does nothing to ease you in any way. 

Peter starts to walk towards you, but you step back, a frown spreading on his face. “I’m sorry I’m late (Y/N) but I-”

You scoff and he’s silent, asking yourself, and some higher power, if he’s truly being serious. “Late?” You repeat, your words looming with humorous undertones. “You were supposed to be here at five. It’s fucking MIDNIGHT!” You scream, knowing for sure you’ll be yelled at in the morning. He approaches you again with open palms as a sign of peace, but for the first time in your life, you genuinely want to punch him. 

“You’re always late Peter! I don’t think you’ve shown up for anything on time in the past three months!” You argue, wishing you could force him to see your seemingly obvious duress. 

He bites his lip. “It’s the Stark Internship. I’m busy.” He says, slowly, but just as you knew he would, he swallows. You roll your eyes, infuriated by Peter’s audacity. 

You sit down on your bed, groaning as you rub your fingers through your hair. “Don’t you dare lie to my face, Peter.” You cover your eyes with your palms, your head throbbing from the stress. He doesn’t even bother trying to defend himself, his head hanging in shame. 

You place your hand on your chest, looking at Peter through your tearing up eyes. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. “I just want you to be honest with me Peach.” You plead, the old nickname sounding foreign as it rolls off your tongue. “Why won’t you just talk to me?” 

He stands there, with clammy palms and slouched posture, and he almost gives up. His Spider-Man suit is still under his normal clothes, and all it would take is just the removal of his sweater in order to give you any form of resolution. The lying, the sneaking around, it’s growing tortuous and he hates it. But still, in the back of his mind, plays the memory of what happened with the Vulture. And somewhere in there, is the imagined scenario of an even more menacing villain that would use you to get to him. The concept of you getting hurt in any way, especially because of him, is the most terrifying thing he can think of. 

Peter folds his arms over his chest, his expression hardening. “Because you don’t mean anything to me anymore (Y/N).”

Your mouth gapes and you feel like he’s quite physically ripped a piece of your heart out his chest. The shock you feel from his words is so sudden that you almost wonder if you’ve been plunged in the middle of your worse nightmare The tension in your room is held taut by the force of his words; the air thick and choking. It’s in those moments you’re staring incredulously at his look of conviction, that you realize that the once kindred friendship between you and Peter has disintegrated with a simple sentence.

He leaves before you can see him swallow. 

[bangtan-spells]

Taehyung Scenario: When Times Get Hard.

Request: Can you please do a scenario where V is married and as we know he likes children& he wants to have one but after many tries he and his wife found out that she cant have children and she refuse to adopt one!i want smth angst but romantic,maybe v buy a lil pup after some time?Thank you girls,kisses!💕

Genre: Angst / Fluff.

Your hands were trembling and your stomach had felt better, you were arriving home and you knew your husband was already there, maybe hoping for some good news, some light for the questions you had been having, why after so many years and tries without any kind of protection you had not been able to get pregnant. The first months your doctor had said that you were just stressed about the pregnancy process, that you just wanted it too much and that you should relax and let it happen naturally, so Taehyung and you had done just that and waited, but it had been a total of two years and there was no baby in your sights.

You were worried, and you knew Taehyung was too, both of you wanted a family and with the passing time you felt like that wasn’t going to happen and it was heartbreaking. You clutched your purse, your tests were buried somewhere inside. You had gone to an obstetrician expert in fertility to know what was going on, Taehyung had gotten everything faster than you because his exams were easy, and everything was alright, he was happy and hopeful ever since he knew it and you bit your lip, taking a deep breath and closing the front door behind you.

-Babe? - your husband’s voice reached you, he was clearly waiting for you. Taehyung appeared at the receiver and went for a hug, you wished he didn’t notice your trembling just yet.

-Hi Tae - your voice was raspy and you freed yourself from his arms, making your way towards the living room while he followed you closely behind.

-I ordered Thai food for dinner, thought you might want some - he was eyeing you curiously, you nodded, taking a sit on the couch to not go around the place nervously. -What’s going on? -

Taehyung was by your side in an instant, sitting next to you and passing his arm behind your back. You didn’t want to look him in the eyes, you didn’t have the strength so you focused on your coffee table instead. You knew you had to tell him right now, this was as good of a moment as any other and you doubted you or him would ever be fully prepared, so it was better to end with this.

-I had a talk with the doctor, he’s got my results - you gulped, clasping your hands together in a sheer attempt of grounding yourself, one of Taehyung’s hands held your forearm softly.

-And? - Your eyes moved to him for a brief moment and then you looked away, feeling the lump inside your throat growing to the extent of asphyxiating you.

-I can’t…- Your voice broke and you choked with the first tears that shook your body violently, bringing your hands up to cover your face while you broke down right there.

Taehyung tried to soothe you but you were crying so heartbreakingly between his arms, out of nowhere. -You cant what babe? is alright…- he ran his palm up and down your back but it did nothing to calm you down.

-I can’t have them, the doctor confirmed it today… I…. I can’t have babies….- you shuddered again, doubling over yourself with sorrow and Taehyung felt the reason of your despair.

His hand stayed frozen midway while reaching for your back again, the rest of his body was frozen too, you weren’t looking at him and his breath got caught somewhere between his throat and his lungs, suddenly the ground beneath him wasn’t that steady anymore, his tongue was like cement inside his mouth with the harsh reality of these news. He finally moved his hand to the small of your back but it wasn’t even a second after that and you stood up, walking away from him because your future was crumbling and you didn’t know how to handle it.

You didn’t expect this possibility, you wanted to stay strong for each other but it was affecting both of you badly and none of you could ignore it. This didn’t fit the plan, you were both expecting to see little versions of yourselves running around the house at some point so now with you not being able to carry a child of your own you felt defeated. The house felt empty even if all these time it had been just the two of you but just knowing that there was going to be exactly just the two of you forever made you feel so alone.

The atmosphere around had changed and you feared your relationship with your husband was going to change too. Taehyung was sitting on his usual side of the bed,  he was wearing sweat pants and nothing else and he seemed relaxed but there was the tiniest frown on his forehead and you knew he was thinking or maybe reflecting on something. You were sitting by his side too with a book in hand that had done nothing to take your attention away from your current situation and you felt so apart from him, afraid to ask what was on his mind for the fear of it being about the adoption issue. Taehyung had come to you about the possibility of adopting a baby, or a few of them, he was so into family, yo had known it since the moment you met but you hadn’t wanted to do it and so you had dismissed that idea and you could see he was troubled with that.

-I jus don’t get it…- Taehyung said suddenly, you watched his hand balling into a fist over the sheets and you didn’t need to wonder anymore, he was thinking about the adoption. It was really late at night already, you knew both of you were tired and the only light on in the bedroom was the one of your nightstand. -I try to but I just… it’s not like we are not enough by ourselves, you know we are but I thought, perhaps, that this wasn’t a bad idea -

Taehyung moved his eyes to you, he was sad, he looked the saddest you’d ever seen him and it hurt, it hurt more than you could put into words and you wondered why was destiny so cruel with you. You placed your book aside, moved  on the mattress to surround your husband with your arms and let your head rest on his chest, sighing with Taehyung’s warmness.

-I’m sorry - you whispered and closed your eyes, you were sorry for too many things all at once so you just let him take it as he wanted and needed.

-Me too… I know- One of his hands carded through your hair gingerly and he sighed, pressing a kiss down on the top of your head, his other hand taking a hold of your waist and he accommodated both of you until you were laying down comfortable as one.

Bit by bit and after months passed, you started to go back to normal, at least to the same rhythm that you had before. Maybe it was that you only needed time to heal the wound, because this was a wound for both of you, nobody could ever say the contrary and you treated it as such.

Taehyung had kissed you deeply before going out after lunch and the memory of that kiss still made your knees feel weak, your love was still there, burning bright, alive and strong and you had decided to cherish that everyday.

Around five hours after that Taehyung called you and said to meet him at the little park three blocks away from your neighborhood, so you made your way there after putting on a long cardigan over your dress. You waited on the place he told you to and before you were about to call him again to ask where he was because you couldn’t see him anywhere, a puppy collided on your legs. You looked down at it and it was the cutest you’d ever seen, with a beautiful caramel blond fur, it was a golden retriever pup.

-Oh hi…- you crouched down to greet him and it did a few jumps, earning a laugh from you. Then Taehyung was crouching down next to you, all smiles and joy.

-It is cute, isn’t her?- he took the pup on his arms and handed it to you, you enveloped her with your arms and smiled at your husband.

-It is  - you caressed her fur with your fingertips, enjoying the sensation of it. -the owner must be looking for her -

You noticed the puppy had a yellow collar but no medal with a name or information. Taehyung laughed and his arm surrounded your waist so he could hug your side. -Or maybe she is the one looking of her owner -

You looked at your husband with curious eyes and Taehyung took the chance to steal a kiss form your lips.

-I want  to tell you something Y/N - he cleared his throat, kissed your lips a second time and fixed his brown eyes on you, they were filled with tenderness and honesty, so Taehyung. -We are already a family, you and I, you are everything to me no matter what -

Your eyes watered down with his words and you hugged the pup a little tighter against your chest. You nodded, Taehyung was everything to you as well, he’d always been and he will always be, but you needed to hear those words from him; he was your husband, your lover, your light, your family.

-Thank you…- your voice wavered a little and Taehyung nodded, you’d wanted to say something else, more than just thanks but you couldn’t, and you were sure Taehyung noticed that.

-I know these past months have been rough, but I believe that for as long as we are together, we can make it through - Taehyung kissed your temple and caressed down to your cheek with his lips. -Just that now, we will have company -

He smiled and his eyes fell on the puppy between your arms. so you understood why he said she was the one looking for her owner, her owner was you. -Is she ours now? -

Your husband nodded, caressing behind her ears. -Her name is Hope -

You couldn’t have imagined a better name for her and Taehyung’s hand met yours on Hope’s fur. Now whenever you looked at her, you could know it, you could remember it, even if it was hard and things went down, dreams could be made again as long as you were together, as long as you had hope.

[br0ther-theloops]

Take it Away (My Blood, Sweat and Tears) -- Yoomin, Fem!BTS

Rating: Teen and Up

Ship(s): Yoonmin

Warning(s): brief mention of blood (if you squint), female bts

Jimin has had a rough time with her period, but Yoonji is there to help ease the pain.

here is the link to the fic on ao3~~~

WARNING:

This entire story is centered around the fact that a character is on their period. If talking or reading about menstruation makes you uncomfortable, then I suggest you make your way toward the 'back' arrow, or the 'X' in the corner of your tab. Thanks!

So this is my first contribution (if you can call it that) to the BTS fandom, and of course, it's a sex swap. I just love girls so much.

I can't tell you what exactly inspired this because I honestly don't know. I thought it would be cute for bts members to take care of one another when they're on their period, and instead I wrote up 3k+ of essentially angst. Sorry. It was supposed to be cute ;;;;; 

I changed the names of almost everyone because min freaking yoongi technically has a canon feminine name for his female persona, so I was like asdfghjkl;;; So here are everyone's names, in my opinion, if they were feminine;

Jin (Kim Seokjin): Kim Seojin

Suga (Min Yoongi): Min Yoonji

J Hope (Jung Hoseok): Jung Hyeonsuk

Rap Monster (Kim Namjoon): Kim Namju

Jimin (Park Jimin): Park Jimin

V (Kim Taehyun): Kim Taehyeon

Jungkook (Jeon Jeongguk): Jeon Jeonghye

(also rated t because im positive i swore like twice in here or smth)

Jimin had not been doing well all day, and it was evident whatever it was kicked her ass hard because she was sitting out during practice that day—Jimin never sat out during their practices. It was hard for the other six to not coddle her and just watch silently as Jimin curled up on the couch with her back to them, curling up in a ball and just holding herself. She told each of them on separate terms the day before, Hyeonsuk and Taehyeon finding out first when she woke up to stained sheets. It wasn’t common for them to get their periods; between the dancing, dieting, and medication, their natural menstrual cycles happened less frequent than what was “normal”. It was the grim reminder that they are all, in fact, still humans.

A few of the coordi unnies made their ways in and out of the dance studio throughout the duration of practice, tugging with them water, juice, and snacks to give Jimin as they watched over her for a moment or two at a time. Jimin would thank them softly before balling up again so no one could see her—so no one could see the tears streaming down her cheeks from the cramping in her pelvis, or how pale her face was from the nausea sweeping over her in waves. Jimin looked terribly pitiful, and it killed Yoonji to see her like that.

There was nothing she, or anyone else in their seven-member ensemble, could do to ease the feeling for Jimin, especially not when they in the middle of making sure the dance to their upcoming comeback was without flaw, and it was upsetting to think about. Yoonji would find herself staring longingly at Jimin’s back through the mirror, wishing she could scoop her up and take it all away. Hers had always been worst, leaving the dancer and singer mostly stagnant for a day or so, a stark contrast to her usually excitable personality, and though Yoonji had been noted as the group’s mood setter, seeing Jimin in that state left them all in a somber mood.

Dance practice ended hours later for the members to go about their usual schedule, though it started out unsupervised while their manager drove Jimin back to their dorm for some rest. Yoonji retreated into her studio and slumped down in front of her soundboard and desktop with a sigh, rubbing her face in a stressed attempt to stir her mind away from the young singer’s fragile, sick state, but Jimin was always on the rapper’s mind. Their feelings toward each other had not been a secret between the two, cuddling on the couch and holding hands in the privacy of their dorm, and the others did their best to keep it a secret from the world and their company—even though Yoonji said to hell with it several times that day because she wanted to kiss Jimin over and over again to help make her feel better at practice.

Yoonji should be finishing the songs for her mixtape, she should be pulling up the programs on her laptop to run through the mixes to make sure they were what she wanted, but instead she leaned further back in her chair and ran her fingers through her faded mint hair—which was more or less a platinum mass of gummy strands—mind staying on the young singer and her wellbeing. Was she going to be at the dorm by herself, suffering all by her lonesome? She could imagine Jimin curled up on her bed, hugging a pillow with a heating pad covering her groin and abdomen area, shoulder length orange hair splayed out around her head like a ray of light. Yoonji could imagine how beautiful she looked though pained, her makeup free eyes clod and plush, pouting lips pressed into a firm line as she tries to act tough...

Yoonji grabbed her jacket as she stood to leave her studio, pulling out her mobile to phone her manager. If she couldn’t focus on being productive in her studio (her studio of all things—curse you, Park Jimin), then she would be productive elsewhere.

  Jimin was miserable. How could she let herself get like this? Her unnies had no problem when it came to practicing with her periods (even though she knew that was false. She has seen Seojin crying in the bathroom during her cycle when they had practice), so why couldn’t she just suck it up and just practice too? She felt a sob catch in her throat as she closed her eyes and held the heating pad tighter to her stomach in an attempt to dull the pain some. Her pelvis throbbed and contracted in anger, maybe in revenge for suppressing her body’s natural cycle, and pain stabbed at her uterus like it were a game. This had to be some sick game…

She gulped down the sob as best as she could, but even her own saliva was making her nauseous, and her head swayed, and oh god, their choreographer was probably going to yell at her for missing the entire review session and fuck, she’s going to have to make up so much. She could feel tears starting to make their way down her cheek as the negative thoughts bombarded her. Jimin felt disappointed in herself for sitting out and letting this get the best of her. She felt disappointed for showing her weakness when they were so close to a comeback—god, what would they think of her? What would Yoonji think of her?

That was honestly what Jimin felt most ashamed about; Yoonji had to see her weak, which is something she could never be proud of. Jimin took pride in being strong when things got tough for their group, and that was something Yoonji admired her for. She was so weak today, though. Would Yoonji want to look at her again? Would Yoonji still want to be with her when she was nothing but a cry baby at practice?

There were a series of soft taps against the wooden door of her room. Jimin blinked slightly and turned her head toward the door, wondering if she had imagined those taps. She sniffled slightly and lifted one arm to wipe at her face.

“Y-yeah?” her voice croaked unpleasantly.

When Yoonji opened the bedroom door, the first thing she took in was Jimin’s small being on the bed resting overtop of the comforter, cleaning her face with the smooth skin of her forearm. Though her lips were red and swollen, most likely from crying, and half of her face was hidden behind her arm, Yoonji felt her heart sputter and slam against her chest, throbbing at the sight in front of her. Aphrodite had nothing on the beautiful Park Jimin. It took a beat for Yoonji to stop drinking in the beauty that was Park Jimin and licked her lips slightly. It took another beat for her to open her mouth and choke out a ‘hey’ before the younger looked up to take in the figure in front of her.

Jimin’s small eyes glistened with wetness in the dim natural lighting entering the room as she stared up at Yoonji, who, in turn, stared right back at her. Yoonji could just look at Jimin for days and conjure up a few dozen albums worth of songs. Her beauty was inspiring—even now with tears staining her cheeks and lips puffy from sodium passing over them.

Yoonji smiled softly—Jimin looked so pure like this—and lifted up a bag of goodies from a local convenient store, the slight rustle of plastic sounded over the younger’s sniffles and huffs for a brief moment. “I got you some stuff.” 

Jimin whimpered pitifully and threw herself back down against her pillow, not before Yoonji caught a glimpse of her giant frown and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She opted not to say anything as she made her way to the bed carefully and sat next to the singer, and her heart broke as she watched and listened to this child weep. Oh, how she wished she could take the pain away from her. How she wished she could make Jimin feel better. Jimin clutched at the pillow her head rested on as she cried, embarrassed that Yoonji was seeing her like this, embarrassed that Yoonji felt like it was her duty to take care of her. She really was weak... 

Yoonji carefully rubbed at Jimin’s lower back and watched as she sacked slightly at some of the tension being released in her back, and she leaned down press a kiss onto Jimin’s side, humming lightly. She wasn’t going to pry at Jimin open up, but she wanted her to know that would be there if she felt okay enough to talk to her. She was in a fragile state then, and Yoonji didn’t want to push her and be the reason for more tears.

“W-why are you here, Unnie?” Yoonji blinked at Jimin’s question, sitting straight up to look at the singer whose gaze remained trained on the bedding beneath her, and the elder’s mind raced with different interpretations and answers to the simple, yet heart breaking question—what exactly was she asking?

“Sh-shouldn’t it be obvious?” Yoonji asked carefully as she reached up to run her fingers through the tips of Jimin’s hair.

Her shoulders hunched in response as Jimin hid her face, and the elder tried to calmly swallow the lump forming in her throat at the thought of her royally messing this—whatever they were—up. Neither of them put a defining mark on their status, so it was hard to distinctly refer to the other as their girlfriend, but they didn’t care. They didn’t care because when Jimin reaches for Yoonji’s hand as they wait back stage, Yoonji squeezes it back; and when Yoonji comes home late from the studio, Jimin is always waiting on the couch for her, smiling and opening her arms for cuddles after particularly grueling sessions. In a way, what she was doing now, combing at Jimin’s hair and holding a bag full of various chocolates and snacks was Yoonji’s way of wanting to take care of the younger…Because she—

“Y-you shouldn’t have to take care of me,” Jimin whimpered through soft sobs, though everything was partially muffled into the pillow.

Yoonji gulped, her throat drying more at the sounds coming from Jimin’s mouth. Poor, poor Jimin. She opened her mouth to speak, to rebuttle, “Jimin ah, it’s not like that—”

“Y-you or any of the other unnies should’t have to take care of me…” she sniffled and wiped at her eyes and nose. “I-I’m supposed to be strong and take care of myself. I shouldn’t be like this, and yet, here I am! Being so weak and so selfish…”

Yoonji hated how broken Jimin sounded as the younger trailed off until her voice just stopped working, like she let the entire world down and now carried that burden on her shoulders and chest. She could feel her heart breaking bit by bit at each crack and strain of Jimin’s voice. Jimin had always been regarded as one of strong members when it came to emotional and mental stability, always being to the one to go to when situations got tough. Yoonji had to admit, it was one of the things that allowed her to fall fir Jimin, but what made her fall hard was the fact that Jimin wasn’t always like that. Jimin had her moments of vulnerability where she needed assurance, and it made Yoonji’s heart swell whenever the younger would turn to her for guidance. Jimin was so small, so gentle, so fragile. Yoonji just wished she could stop beating herself up over those rare moments of weakness.

Yoonji shook her head and scooted toward her head so she could lean over to press a kiss to Jimin’s cheek. It was a soft, timid kiss, careful to avoid further upsetting her. Jimin sniffled and leaned into the kiss, turning her head to look at Yoonji, who was pulling back and smiling lightly. Jimin had a look of vulnerability plastered over her typically gummy smile exterior, and as she blinked up at Yoonji with her wide, teary brown eyes, the elder felt herself melting into a pile of goo. How did Park Jimin, of all people, have this power over her?

“Jiminnie…” Yoonji’s voice was soft, matching the fragile atmosphere, and she rubbed at Jimin’s shoulder, dropping another feathered kiss against her skin. From this close proximity, she could see the flush on Jimin’s cheek and the slight smile trying to tug onto her trembling lips. Yoonji couldn’t tell if she was smiling because of the kisses (because Jimin loved it when Yoonji kissed her cheeks and shoulders and every inch of her being) or because Yoonji called her ‘Jiminnie’ (because Yoonji only called her that when she felt the most in love, and it would leave Jimin swooning).

Jimin turned her body some, hand moving to hold the heating pad against her pelvis as she exposes more of herself to Yoonji, shivering at the feeling of the elder’s cold hand cupping her warm cheeks. She felt safe, comfortable, but it didn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from jabbing at her esteem. 

“Jiminnie,” the elder started again and noticed how Jimin swallowed slowly as her gaze wandered all over her face, hands aching to touch Yoonji, “I’m here because I want to be.” Jimin opened her mouth to protest, a whimper leaving her throat before Yoonji hastily continued. “I’m here because I know you’re beating yourself up over this.”

She watched the younger close her mouth and avert her gaze as if she were ashamed. Yoonji caressed her cheek with her thumb to let her know that it was okay…Jimin was okay.

“I-I shouldn’t have sat out today…” Jimin’s voice was delicate, quiet. Yoonji was sure if anything else made noise she wouldn’t have heard what Jimin said.

Yoonji shook her head and continued rubbing her thumb over her cheek, feeling the slight swelling of acne beneath the padding of her finger. “No one is mad or even remotely upset at you for sitting out.” Yoonji smiled lightly at her, her grin matching the love dripping from her gaze. “We would have made you sit out anyway if you tried to push yourself too much. You’re human, Jimin. A woman.” Yoonji leaned down to gently knock her forehead against Jimin’s, humming. “I know you don’t like being like this…” she pulled back slightly when Jimin started whining and had moved to start pushing her hair away from her face. “You’re not weak for being like this, and I’m very,” she pressed a kiss to Jimin’s forehead for emphasis, “very proud of you for letting me see you like this.”

Jimin sniffled in response, hot tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes, as she watched the face hovering over top of hers. “W-why?” her voice came out hoarse. “I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be up helping with the dances. I’m not supposed to be like…this…”

The elder sighed softly and rested her head against Jimin’s shoulder, this stupid, love sick smile hanging loosely on her lips. “Yeah, but…” she put the bag from the convenient store on the group and moved to spoon Jimin, wrapping an arm around her waist, “even I can’t be strong all of the time. You don’t have to be strong all the time, especially when you’re on your period, baby.” she moved locks of orange hair out of the way so she could kiss the back of the younger’s neck. “This time sucks…It’s hard and you feel gross, I know. You’re brave, Jiminnie, really. We’re all proud of you.”

Yoonji heard soft whimpers and sniffles coming from the younger, but Jimin’s hand came up to cover hers, squeezing it lightly.  She hummed softly as Jimin’s leg slide back between Yoonji’s, and the younger curled herself back against her as she calmed down. There were no words exchanged between them, and there didn’t need to be, not when Jimin felt so loved and so nice in just Yoonji’s arms. Her arms were always safe, warm, and it felt okay to be weak and vulnerable. Yoonji made her want to knock her guard down. Jimin wanted to take off her armor and shed her skin to show the elder everything she had to offer. She wanted to strip down and watch Yoonji trace and count every blemish and mark because she was so in love with her, so in love with Min Yoonji, the soft, bad ass rapper of their group.

Jimin held the heating pad against her as she turned over to face Yoonji, who welcomed her with a gentle smile. The elder reached up to wipe at her cheek, and the gesture was so pure, but it made Jimin’s stomach flutter. So much so, she couldn’t stop herself from curling her fingers into Yoonji’s shirt and pulling her into a kiss. It was a soft, but needy kiss, and each time the younger’s mouth touched hers, Yoonji could feel her breath leave her. There was something euphoric, relieving about kissing Jimin—like all the tension in the world vanished without a trace.

There was nothing better than Jimin’s lips; how her pillow soft, puff ones fit so nicely over top of Yoonji’s own smaller ones. It was nice that they were so used to exchanging these touches that they knew when to move, to pull back and start again. Each kiss in itself was like a touch of heaven, and Yoonji was on a cloud, soaring high until Jimin was there to ground her, to catch her, to love her. She pulled back to give Jimin a wide grin and let her own hand curl behind in the younger’s faded orange hair, to which made Jimin let out a small whimper as she opened her eyes to look at Yoonji—but she was smiling. There was an actual smile (a closed mouth one, but a smile nonetheless) on Jimin’s face, and the elder was ecstatic.

Jimin hummed and leaned forward to nuzzle her nose against Yoonji’s, loosening her grip on the elder’s shirt to hold her waist instead. Jimin was so in love, it was sick, but being in love with Yoonji allowed her to see the completely sappy side event the fans didn't get to see. What an honor, really. She pecked her lips a few more times before letting out a soft moan and adjusting her hips, pain shooting through her pelvis area like a missile.

Yoonji sat up some and grabbed the bag from earlier. “I got you some chocolate and chips. I also got you that milk drink you really like and some…” Yoonji was rifling through the bag as she spoke, and Jimin couldn’t help but to laugh out of love as she watched her.

“Unnie,” Jimin said softly, and the elder frozen for a moment before looking up at the girl she was so in love with, blinking in confusion as Jimin grinned in triumph, “I’ll only accept all of this if you tell me you love me and cuddle me for the rest of the day!”

Jimin laughed more at the seemingly unamused look that immediate told hold of Yoonji’s face. It was comical, this whole thing and how they were with one another, but they were so in love. There was no rhyme or reason why they worked so well, or why they put up with one another. Yoonji set the bag in between them and leaned down and put her arms down on either side of Jimin’s head, caging the younger beneath her. To Yoonji, it didn’t matter because they had each other—even if they never put a name on it.

“You already know I do,” and she sealed it with a kiss.

this is unbeta-ed and cross posted onto ao3