#ps: there are technically way more

[newtafterdark]

It is hard to make your personal Gender™ pinboard when you're also gay as hell - so an overlap with what kinda guy I'm into is simply unavoidable.

Some of these left bigger impacts throughout my life than others, but it's not visually shown. Those specifics are for me to know & for you to scratch your head over. ;]

[doomxdriven]

——— if you want the power, then let it flow through.

[ggukivrse]

JUST THIS… TWICE? | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff

word count: 8.3k

warnings: more porn but with a tiny bit more plot :0, swearing, explicit sexual content, car sex, kissing, making out, oral (f. receiving), again he’s very cocky but can we blame him, breast play, multiple orgasms, banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk's actually a menace but lowkey down bad, the ending deserves a warning (i’m sorryy), let me know if i missed anything!

notes: thank you SAURR much to my bae j @tranquilreign for beta reading!! (i’m still giggling at all ur comments pls :3) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so so appreciated. enjoy reading my angelss <3

ps. READ PART ONE HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You wake up to the dull throb of sunlight pressing through your curtains and the sharper ache between your legs.

It's not unpleasant — just a lingering reminder. A hum under your skin, like a bruise you don’t mind touching again and again.

You blink slowly, your eyes gritty from sleep, mouth dry, brain hazy in that half-dream state where everything feels like it could be made up. The heavy comforter is kicked down to your hips, your legs tangled in each other, and for a second — just one — you think maybe it was a dream.

But then you shift, and your thighs protest, and it all comes back.

The couch. His fingers. His mouth. The way he looked at you like he’d already had you a thousand times in his head. The things he said — low, teasing, mean. The things you said back. Your stomach tightens, breath hitching as your body tries to replay it too fast, too much.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will your brain to shut up.

You don’t usually let people sleep over. Not like this. Not in your bed, under your sheets, in your space.

But Jungkook’s always been the exception to things. It’s not new, waking up with him in your apartment. He’s been here for movie nights that turned into sleepovers, for hangovers that turned into late mornings, for heartbreaks that turned into shared pints of ice cream and shit talk.

You’ve seen him in your space more times than you can count. But never like this.

You breathe in slow and exhale even slower, eyes fluttering open. The room is still, the air thick with the kind of silence that begs to be broken but doesn’t quite want to be. You shift again, turning onto your side, and your eyes land on the shape beside you.

He’s lying on his stomach, one arm thrown across your pillow, the other tucked under his chest. The blanket’s halfway down his back, exposing the mess of tattoos curling across his shoulder and the dip of his spine. His hair’s a wreck — pushed off his forehead, flattened in the back — and his lips are parted, soft. He looks young like this. Calm. A little too good for your peace of mind.

You stare at him a moment too long.

And then you very, very carefully roll onto your back again.

You feel like you’re in a minefield. Like one wrong move will detonate something you're not ready to name.

You slept with your best friend.

Not just slept. Fucked.

Fucked him like you meant it. Like you’ve wanted to for longer than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

You exhale again. A sharp, quiet puff of air through your nose. Maybe if you stay still long enough, he’ll just keep sleeping. And you can sneak to the bathroom. Or back in time. Whichever’s easier.

You’re not panicking. Not technically. You’re just… thinking. Overthinking. Remembering how you sounded begging him not to stop. Remembering how he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. Remembering how, when it was over, he held you like it meant something.

You feel his warmth next to you, steady and real. His leg brushes yours, his knee nudging slightly against your calf, and your whole body goes still again.

You wonder what he's going to say when he wakes up; if he'll still smile at you like he did last night — like nothing about this is complicated. Like your world didn’t tilt just a little off its axis the second he kissed you back, like he wasn't allowed to and never planned on stopping.

You should feel weird. You should feel guilty. Or ashamed. Or something more than this weird, electric calm.

But mostly, you just feel like you don’t want to move.

His breathing shifts — subtle, but enough that you know he’s starting to wake up.

Your heart trips a little.

He shifts, and the arm he’d slung over your pillow curls slightly in, fingers brushing the back of your hand. He lets out a groggy hum, the noise half in his throat.

You freeze, eyes still closed.

“Mm,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

You swallow. Your voice doesn’t come right away, caught somewhere behind your tongue. When it does, it’s soft, a rasp. “No idea.”

He exhales. Shuffles a little closer. You can feel the heat of him now, bleeding through the sliver of space that still separates you. A moment passes. Then another. You brace for it — for the tension, the shift, the stammered joke to smooth over the jagged memory of last night.

But all he says is, “Damn. My back hurts.”

You blink, startled by the normalcy of it. “You’re not supposed to sleep like that. You looked like a crime scene victim.”

“Sexy,” he mutters, eyes still closed. “That’s what I was going for.”

You huff a quiet laugh. And weirdly, the knot in your stomach loosens just a little.

Another silence stretches. But it’s not bad. Not heavy. He makes a small sound as he shifts again, propping himself up just slightly on one elbow. You don’t look at him, not yet, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“How do you feel?”

You hesitate.

He waits.

You turn your head slowly toward him, and finally meet his gaze. His hair’s a mess, his eyes still sleep-warm, but there’s something sharper under the surface. Not regret. Not even nerves. Just… attention. He’s watching you the way he did last night — carefully. Like you matter.

You chew your lip for a second. "Sore," you eventually say, voice quiet.

He smiles. “Good sore or bad sore?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want a Yelp review?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “I mean, if you’re offering. I’d love a star rating.”

You stare at him for another second. Then you snort, burying your face in the pillow. “You’re such a dick.”

“You didn’t mind last night.”

You groan, muffled. “Please don't. It's too early for this.”

He laughs — really laughs — and you feel it wash over you like a warm breeze. He’s not weird about it. Not cagey or distant. And maybe it’s a little disarming how himself he still is. Like nothing’s changed.

Like everything has, but it’s fine.

He shifts again, flops onto his back beside you with a loud sigh and an arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover and this smug at the same time. It’s honestly kind of impressive.”

You glance at him, lips twitching. “Your ego’s going to explode.”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “Can you blame me? I mean, damn.”

You roll your eyes and toss a corner of the blanket over his face.

But your heart’s still racing.

You don’t know what you were expecting — some awkward shuffle out of bed, a strained goodbye, maybe even him pretending it hadn’t happened. But he’s still here. In your bed. In your space. Making you laugh.

Just like always.

Your fingers brush against his under the covers. Neither of you pull away.

You stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting yourself breathe. Letting the silence settle between you again. It feels different now, not loud with questions or demanding anything from you.

It feels like… him.

And maybe you’re not ready to ask what it means yet.

But for now?

This doesn’t feel like a mistake. Not even a little.

You’re standing outside your office building, arms crossed and scowling.

The sidewalk’s sticky with the leftover heat of the day, and there’s a cluster of your co-workers behind you laughing about something you’re not a part of. Their voices blur into the honks and hum of Friday traffic, and all you can focus on is the time.

Jungkook is two minutes late.

You know how stupid it is — two minutes. But today, even two seconds of anything feels like too much.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the back of your neck damp with sweat, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder in just the wrong way. Your phone sits heavy in your palm. No new messages. No “almost there.” No “sorry, traffic’s ass.”

Nothing.

The week has wrung you out like a wet towel. Every day, some new tiny disaster: deadlines moving without warning, your boss micromanaging you like you’re an intern again, and a meeting yesterday where a client talked over you so many times you wanted to crawl under the table and scream.

You’ve barely slept. Your eyes are scratchy. You snapped at someone in the break room this morning because they made a passive-aggressive joke about your “resting bitch face.” And now, Jungkook is late. On your day. Friday. The one consistent thing in your life.

Every Friday, he picks you up from work.

It started almost a year ago, after a breakup left you crying into your salad at your desk. When Jungkook had texted you to come down that day, you'd expected takeout and tissues. But instead, he’d cranked up the music in his car and driven you to a late-night ramen spot where you ended up laughing so hard you nearly choked on your noodles.

It became tradition. No matter what kind of week you’d had, no matter what mood either of you were in — Friday nights belonged to you two. You didn’t even have to plan anything. Sometimes it was tacos in the car and talking shit about your co-workers. Sometimes it was video games at his place or walking around the city until your legs ached and your cheeks hurt from laughing.

He always showed up. Early, even.

But today, the sun is setting in your eyes, and he’s late.

You tap your foot. Then stop, because that’s annoying. Then sigh loud enough to get a look from a passing stranger.

You grip your phone tighter, squinting down the street. Still no sign of his car. Your thumb hovers over the call button.

Three minutes late now.

Your stomach twists — not from worry, but frustration. Because this — this quiet, unnecessary delay — is the cherry on top of the shit sundae that has been your entire week. And you hate that it’s him. That even Jungkook gets to be a part of the unravelling now.

You lean against the metal pole of the bus sign, letting it bite into your spine. A bead of sweat slips down your back. The sun is way too bright for this hour.

Your phone buzzes.

Finally.

You snatch it up like you’ve been waiting for a lifeline, and there it is:

Kook 🍜: here in a min

You glare at the screen. Then type:

You: You’re late.

Kook 🍜: exactly 3 min. that’s barely anything

You: You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to castrate you.

Kook 🍜: bet you'll still get in the car

You don’t respond.

You just shove your phone back in your bag and take a breath that doesn’t do anything to help.

Jungkook’s car pulls up slow, music low, window already halfway down. He’s in that stupid black bucket hat he always wears, curls pushed out from under the brim. You catch the grin he’s wearing before he even says anything — wide, lazy, like he’s proud just to have found parking.

He leans over and calls out through the window, “Damn. Which poor intern did you kill today?”

You glare at him.

His smile falters a little, but he keeps going, still trying to crack you open like usual. “I mean, you’re kinda glowing with hate. It’s kinda hot. Very—”

“Jungkook,” you cut in, sharp.

His eyes snap up to yours.

You immediately hate how sharp your voice came out. You look away, fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

“Sorry,” you mutter after a beat. “I just… I’ve had a fucking awful week, and I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now.”

There’s a pause. Just the hum of the engine and a soft beat coming from the speakers — some song with a lazy bassline and breathy vocals.

Then he shifts. You hear the click of the lock before he leans over to push the door open for you. “Get in.”

You do. Without arguing.

The cool air hits your face the second the door closes, and you let your head lean back against the seat. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just starts driving, hands loose on the wheel, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth like he’s thinking.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks eventually, softer this time.

You shake your head. “Not really. Just one of those weeks where everything goes to shit in slow motion. Work, people, the world. My brain. I think I hate everyone.”

He hums. “Cool. We can start a club.”

You huff a laugh, just barely. But it’s something.

He glances at you sideways, like he’s measuring how far he can push. “So when do I get to punch your boss?”

“I’m serious, Kook.”

“I'm serious too! I’ve been doing push-ups.”

You snort, against your will. “You do three push-ups and call it training.”

“First of all, way more than three. Second, the form was perfect. Don’t disrespect me in my own car.”

You smile — tiny, fleeting — but it’s the first time today you’ve felt even remotely human.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you murmur after a second. “Even if you were late.”

“Exactly three minutes,” he says, defensive. “And I was texting you while driving, which is dedication. Illegal, but dedication.”

You glance over at him. He’s wearing his usual all-black like he’s trying to look tough, but the corners of his mouth are soft. His grip on the wheel is loose. Familiar. Like this is just another Friday, like nothing’s changed since last week.

But something has. You feel it.

You clear your throat. “Can we just go back to mine? I kind of want to curl into a blanket and pretend I don’t exist.”

“Nope,” he says instantly.

You blink. “What?”

“I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of plan?”

He just grins, eyes still on the road. “You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes. “I swear to god, if this ends with me getting roped into karaoke—”

“No karaoke,” he says with a laugh, holding up one hand solemnly. “I promise. You’ve suffered enough.”

You sigh and let your head fall against the window. The glass is cool against your temple, and you let your eyes slip closed for a second. “I’m serious though, Kook. I really don’t think I have the energy to be around people right now.”

“No people,” he assures you. “Just us. Little detour. Nothing dramatic.”

You peek one eye open at him. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being nice.”

“That’s what’s weird.”

He smirks. “Okay, that’s fair.”

You fall quiet again. The road noise fills the silence, the gentle whir of tires and the low pulse of the bass. It’s soothing in a way, the way riding with him always is.

Your fingers drift to your lap, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t ask again about your week. He just drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift, fingers tapping to the beat of the music.

You glance at him again.

He looks good when he’s focused but relaxed. The way he hums along to the music without realising. The way the light paints the side of his face gold as it streams through the windshield. You feel it crawl up your chest: that annoying, warm pressure. That thing you haven’t named yet.

That thing you’re starting to feel more often when he’s near you.

And it’s so stupid. So inconvenient.

You stare out the window, try to shake it off.

He turns down a street you don’t recognise.

“Seriously,” you say, finally. “Where are we going?”

He just grins again, eyes still forward.

“You’ll see.”

You’re parked at the top of a hill you didn’t know existed.

Below you, the city stretches out — tiny glints of light catching on glass and metal, and cars threading through the streets like slow-moving ants. It’s not some tourist lookout spot. There’s no crowds, no fences or coin-operated telescopes. Just a dusty turnout on the side of a winding road and a view that makes you feel like the world finally shut up for a minute.

It’s quiet up here. Real quiet. Even the music in the car has been turned down to a soft background hum — just instrumental now.

You’ve got a milkshake in your hands, condensation slipping down the side and catching on your fingers. It’s thick and rich, the kind that takes actual effort to sip through a straw. The sweetness coats your tongue, dulls the bitter edge that’s been living in your chest all week. In your lap is the discarded wrapping of a burger so good you had to ask where the hell it came from.

“I’ve literally never heard of this place,” you say around a mouthful of fries. “Is this one of those ‘secret menu, don’t tell anyone or they’ll kill you’ joints?”

Jungkook grins around his own bite, sauce already on the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. The guy who owns it doesn’t even do social media. Total off-the-grid.”

You nod like that explains the magic burger. “They probably sold their soul to the devil for the recipes or something.”

He laughs, mouth full, and leans over to wipe the sauce off with the back of his hand. “You okay now?”

You pause.

The question isn’t heavy. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it — just stares out at the view like he’s asking casually. But you hear the real version underneath. You always hear it with him.

You take a slow sip of your milkshake before answering.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

And for once, it’s not a lie. Your body still feels wrung out, your muscles sore from being tense for too many days in a row, but something about this — about being here, with him, with real food and fake silence and a breeze that smells like clean air and french fries settles something in you.

You glance over. He’s sitting back against the driver’s side door, one knee propped up. His hat’s on the floor somewhere — he'd thrown it off after complaining about the heat — and the curve of his neck is exposed just enough to distract you when you look too long.

Which you are. Looking too long, again.

“So,” you say, casually. “How many women have you brought up here to seduce with mystery burgers and pretty views?”

He snorts. “You’re the first. Most of my dates prefer the classic ‘come over and watch a movie, but don’t actually watch the movie’ route.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Such effort.”

“Right? I’m kind of romantic like that.”

You toss a fry at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his tray.

He doesn’t flinch. Just picks it up and eats it. “Thanks.”

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs on your lips.

The air settles into a rhythm again. You chew slowly, the kind of silence between you that doesn’t need filling. It's never been hard, being around him. Even now — after everything — you find yourself slipping back into the easy groove of just existing next to him.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, but you don’t reach for it. You don’t even want to know.

You glance over at him again.

He’s still working on his burger, brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve it. Like he’s mad at how good it tastes.

It should be funny.

It is funny. But your heart stutters instead.

You don’t laugh. You just watch.

The way his lips press together before each bite. The little crease between his eyebrows. His jaw, flexing with each chew. The thick column of his throat when he swallows.

You’ve seen him eat a thousand things in a thousand places. Messy tacos. Gas station snacks. Instant noodles straight from the pot. But somehow, this moment feels different.

Or maybe you do.

Something in you has been tilting all week.

You’ve been tired, angry, brittle with exhaustion. But under it — every time he texts you, looks at you, shows up — there’s something else rising. Warm and low.

You’re not sure when being around him stopped feeling simple.

Maybe it was that night. Maybe it’s been creeping in longer. But it’s louder now. Clearer. It fills your throat and sits behind your ribs and presses up against the edges of your self-control.

He licks ketchup from his thumb.

And you can’t stop staring at his mouth.

He glances up and catches you looking, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

You blink. Swallow. Try to think of something else, anything else, but your body’s already too aware. Too wired.

“Would you hate me if I did something?” you ask, voice low.

His head tilts. “What kind of something?”

“Would you?” you repeat, ignoring his question.

He puts his empty milkshake cup and spare tissues into the paper bag you got the food in, then puts it on to the dashboard of the car before meeting your gaze again.

“You know I could never hate you,” he says, voice casual.

Your pulse stutters.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers fist in the front of his shirt and you’re moving across your seat, crashing your mouth into his.

It’s not sweet or delicate.

You kiss him like you’ve been holding it back for weeks. Like you’ve hit your limit and there’s nowhere else for the feeling to go. Your teeth scrape his lip. Your noses bump.

He makes a startled sound, hands finding your waist instinctively. You pull back a bit, heart hammering in your chest, and for a beat, neither of you move. He just stares at you — wide-eyed, lips parted — like he’s trying to memorise this exact second.

His mouth opens and closes for a second before his lips are on yours again, chasing your mouth like he needs you to breathe.

Fuck. You weren't actually expecting him to reciprocate.

Then again, you hadn't been thinking at all.

"This is a horrible idea," you mumble.

Jungkook smiles into the kiss. "Mhm. Terrible."

But neither of you stop. You're not sure you could even if you tried. Jungkook's an addicting man, especially when he's kissing you like this.

You grunt into his mouth when your knee hits the centre console, frustrated — not at him, not at this, but at the fucking layout of his stupid car.

You pull back just far enough to say, breathless, “This car is the worst possible place for this.”

He’s panting a little, lips flushed. “You’re the one who launched yourself at me.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your position to try and get comfortable, but your impatience only grows with every second that your lips aren't on his.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pushing your hair out of your face. “This is so—”

“Hot,” Jungkook cuts in, his hand sliding under your shirt to palm your waist. His touch is warm. Steady. “It’s hot.”

You pause. Look at him.

His gaze is on your mouth again and his hand flexes against your skin like he’s trying to stay in control. But you see it — how much effort it’s taking.

And that…

Yeah, that does something to you.

With the help of his hands, your weight sinks down into his lap, both knees straddling his thighs.

The position isn’t comfortable — your head almost knocks the ceiling — but it’s better than before. Your mouths press together again, desperate.

Your tongue slides against his, your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and he pulls you tighter like you might disappear if he lets go.

One of his hands snakes up your back, under your shirt, fingers splaying across your spine like he wants to map it. You grind down against him, slow and deliberate, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth. “Do that again.”

You do.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to taste everything you’ve never said out loud. You lose your balance for a second, your body leaning into him, your chest flush with his. His hand slips up to your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp, resting his forehead against yours.

“Shit,” he says, voice wrecked. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?” you murmur, mouth still grazing his.

He laughs — short, breathless. “Because I’m gonna break the gearshift with my dick if we keep going.”

You laugh too, the sound getting lost between the kisses you press to his jaw, his neck, the line of his throat.

His fingers dig into your waist. “You’re evil.”

You bite his earlobe gently. “You like it.”

He groans, the sound full and needy, and his hands are on your ass, dragging you harder into him, his hips rolling up to meet yours.

You both freeze at the contact.

Your breath catches. His does too.

You pull back to look at him. His eyes are blown wide. His lips are red. His chest rises and falls like he’s run a mile.

His mouth breaks from yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.

“Backseat,” he says, voice a little raspy.

You blink, still breathless. “What?”

He grabs your waist again, eyes dark with lust pooling in his pupils. “Backseat. Now.”

You don’t question him this time.

You clamber into the back with far less grace than you’d like — knees catching on leather, thigh knocking the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn let out a pathetic chirp. Jungkook laughs behind you, but it’s breathless and reverent, the kind of sound that makes you feel seen. Wanted.

You fall into the back seat, legs tangled, heart hammering, your skin hot beneath your clothes. Before you can even fix your hair or adjust your position, he’s climbing in after you.

His body slots over yours, knee between your thighs, hands bracing on either side of your head as he dives back in.

You fist his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer as his mouth breaks from yours and moves lower — along your jaw, down your neck. His lips are soft but relentless, nipping at the skin just below your ear before sucking hard enough to make your hips buck into him.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head falling back. “You’re—god—”

“Still not tired of me?” he murmurs against your throat.

You grip his shoulders, legs falling open to make room for him between them. “Shut up.”

He huffs a laugh against your skin, but he listens. Fingers move to your buttons, surprisingly nimble despite how wrecked he looks. He doesn’t tear anything. Doesn’t rush it. He undoes each one slowly, as if he’s unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting way too long to open.

As each button pops free, his mouth follows — kissing down the newly exposed skin between your breasts, over the curve of your ribs. His hands slide beneath the fabric, pushing it open until your chest is bared, and hooks a finger beneath the centre of your bra, tugging it down and out of the way until you're fully exposed beneath him.

He pulls back to look.

And when he does, he breathes your name.

Low. Like a prayer.

You watch his eyes drag over you, dark and worshipful. One hand cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, lazy circles while the other grips your waist, holding you steady as your back arches into him.

He leans down again, tongue flicking over your nipple before his mouth closes around it — sucking just hard enough to make your toes curl. Your fingers fly to his hair, anchoring yourself in him as his teeth graze sensitive skin and his free hand teases the other side, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat.

“Kook—” you breathe, hips shifting beneath him, desperate for friction.

His mouth drags away with a wet sound. “Yeah, baby?”

The pet name sounds dangerous in his voice. Too natural. Like it belongs.

You don’t even call it out. You just say, “Need more.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

He drops one hand between your thighs, pressing it there over your pants with firm, maddening pressure. Just enough to make your breath stutter. His mouth is back on your chest, and his fingers start moving — slow at first, then harder, more purposeful, dragging against the seam of the fabric like he knows exactly how to push you to the edge.

He does.

And you’re already spiralling, body burning under his touch, chest heaving, lips swollen, the back seat of his car too cramped, too humid, too perfectly wrong for what’s happening.

But you’ve never wanted anything more.

Your head drops back against the seat, a soft moan catching in your throat as Jungkook keeps working you over through your pants, his fingers circling you like he has all the time in the world and none of the patience to waste it.

“I swear to god,” you pant, “if you don’t get these off me right now, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

He laughs, still panting himself. His mouth presses hot and open to your neck, teeth grazing skin that’s already buzzing. “Bossy tonight, huh?”

“You started this.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” he mutters, breath warm against your collarbone.

He shifts down your body and you feel him fumble with the button of your pants, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“I can do it,” you say, breathless. “You’re slow.”

He blinks up at you, eyebrows raised. “Oh? I’m slow?”

You undo the button in one motion, zipper halfway down, and shoot him a sarcastic smile. “There. Congrats.”

He smiles, wide and wicked, and in the next second, he’s got your pants halfway down your thighs, your panties bunched right after. “Cool. I’ll just use my mouth then.”

That wipes the smugness off your face in an instant.

You freeze.

“Kook— wait, no—”

He pauses, glancing up at you from where he’s knelt between your legs, hair falling into his eyes, hands gripping your thighs with intent. “Did you just try and say no to that?”

“I mean…” You squirm, thighs twitching under his touch. “Last time was already— like, I came. A lot. You don’t have to do the whole… y’know…”

“The whole what?” he asks, voice dangerously innocent. “The part where I make you forget your own name with my tongue?”

You glare at him. “Don’t say it like that.”

He smirks, leaning in until his nose brushes your inner thigh. “Say what? That I’m gonna eat you out until you’re dripping into the seat?”

Your whole body jerks. “Jesus— Kook.”

“That’s not a no.”

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and warm. Then another. And another. Higher. Closer.

“Didn't get to do it last time,” he murmurs. “And I’ve been thinking about it. All fucking week.”

“You think about this?” you ask, trying for teasing, but your voice wavers as his mouth brushes closer to your core.

“Every night.”

Your breath catches.

“Every time I jerked off, it was to the sound you made when I had my fingers in you. You remember that?” he asks, dragging his mouth up until he’s just hovering over you, warm breath ghosting across your heat.

You nod, because you can’t speak. Your fingers are curled tight into the edge of the seat. Your thighs twitch.

“You remember what you said? ‘Please, don’t stop,’” he mimics, voice low and mocking. “But now you wanna tell me to stop this?”

You open your mouth to fire back some bratty reply — but then he presses a single, firm kiss against your cunt.

Your brain blanks.

Your hips buck.

“Fuck— okay,” you gasp, voice breaking.

He grins like he’s won a bet. “Knew you’d cave.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot and slow at first — just one long lick from bottom to top that has your eyes rolling back. His hands pin your thighs apart, anchoring you in place as he buries his face between your legs.

His tongue is obscene. Soft and firm in perfect rhythm, flicking over your clit before sealing his mouth around it and sucking hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cry out, hips stuttering up into his face, but he just groans against you.

“Fuck, you’re so messy already,” he mumbles against you. “Is that for me?”

You’re beyond words.

Your fingers snake into his hair, anchoring yourself as he eats you out like a man with something to prove. He moves with precision and hunger, memorising your every twitch, every gasp, every breathless curse.

“God, Kook—” you pant, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re such a fucking overachiever.”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin slick, pupils blown. “You gonna dock my grade if I make you come too fast?”

You glare down at him, chest heaving. “You’re insufferable.”

He presses a kiss to your clit, slow and sharp. “As if it doesn't turn you on."

You can’t argue. Not when he dives back in, tongue sliding over you with maddening confidence, his nose bumping against your clit as he hums.

The pressure builds fast.

Too fast.

And you know it’s coming — the kind of orgasm that starts at your toes and climbs like a fuse to the rest of you — but you don’t care.

You come hard, shaking through it, barely aware of the sounds leaving your mouth. Everything goes white-hot for a second — your grip in his hair, the tremble in your thighs, the pleasure that pulses through you.

You’re still gasping, thighs trembling, when he finally pulls back. His lips are slick, his chin wet with you, and he looks fucking wrecked.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You good?” he asks, cocky and a little breathless.

You shoot him a look. “Do I look good?”

He smirks. “You look like I just rocked your shit.”

You scoff, weak but grinning. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He kisses your inner thigh, then leans up, mouth dragging over your ribs as he moves back over you. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Your hands slide under his shirt as he settles above you again, dragging it up over his toned stomach until he gets the hint and peels it off. You press your palms to his chest, warm and solid and slick with sweat.

Then your hand starts moving lower.

Jungkook freezes above you, eyes flicking down to where your fingers are tugging at his waistband. You smirk up at him.

“My turn?”

“Your turn to what?” he asks, voice already hoarse.

You shift, nudging his hips up so you can start pulling his jeans open. “You think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?”

He groans — actual, full-bodied groan — as you work the zipper down and slide your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

But the second your fingers wrap around him, he grabs your wrist.

You look up, surprised. “What?”

He’s panting now, jaw tight, brow furrowed like he’s holding on by a thread.

“I can’t.”

You blink. “Can’t what?”

“I— fuck, if you put your mouth on me, I’m not gonna last.” He grips your wrist tighter, not pulling away but not letting you move either. “And I need to be in you first.”

You raise a brow, amused. “What happened to all that stamina you brag about during Mario Kart?”

He glares, cheeks flushed. “That’s different. You don’t suck me off during Mario Kart.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Don’t joke right now,” he grits out, pushing your hand out of his boxers with an almost painful kind of restraint. “I’m serious. I’m already dying.”

You pout, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach just to be a brat. “So needy.”

His eyes narrow, before moving back onto you.

You squeal as he pins your hands above your head, his body crashing into yours, mouth crashing against your neck.

“I’ll show you needy,” he growls, voice thick and dark.

Your heart kicks hard in your chest, and you’re smiling — giddy, wrecked, turned on beyond belief.

“You promise?” you whisper, voice almost mocking.

His hips roll down into yours.

“Oh, baby. I promise.”

The second his hips grind down again, dragging against your soaked heat, you feel your breath punch out of your lungs.

He lets go of your wrists and shoves his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free himself, cock flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. You reach for it instinctively, wanting to feel him, stroke him slow just to tease — but he swats your hand away like it’s nothing.

“No,” he growls, leaning in to press a kiss to your collarbone, rough and reverent all at once. “You had your chance.”

You open your mouth to argue, to push his buttons just a little more — but the head of his cock nudges your entrance, and whatever snark you had queued up melts into a gasp.

Jungkook groans under his breath, burying his face in the crook of your neck like the restraint is killing him. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, gripping his shoulders, nails digging in. “Wonder why.”

He shifts his hips, just a little, dragging the thick head through your folds. Not pushing in yet, but slicking himself up with you. You moan despite yourself, arching into him, your body desperate to be filled.

“You ready?” he mutters, voice ragged.

You look at him — really look at him. His hair’s a mess, stuck to his forehead. His lips are kiss-bruised and red. His abs flex as he holds himself up over you, barely restraining the shake in his arms.

And you’ve never wanted anything so badly in your life.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pushes in slow, thick and stretching, and your breath catches at the burn. Your back arches. One hand flies to the window for leverage, the other fists in the back of his neck.

“Jesus,” Jungkook groans, barely halfway in. “You feel— fuck— you feel insane.”

You laugh, short and winded. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Yeah, and I meant it.”

He bottoms out with a curse, hips flush to yours. For a moment, you both just breathe — heavy and ragged, bodies locked together, the air thick with sweat and want.

His movements are slow at first — just a shallow roll of his hips that drags his cock along every nerve ending inside you. You moan, legs tightening around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

“Faster,” you breathe, already twitching around him.

He leans back just enough to watch your face, eyes locked on yours like he’s chasing every reaction. Then he picks up the pace — slamming into you with long, deep strokes that have the car rocking.

You cry out, snapping your hand up to press against your mouth. “Kook— fuck, don’t stop.”

He laughs — laughs, breathless and wrecked. “You think I could?”

Every thrust punches a gasp from your lungs. You can’t think. You can’t do anything but hold on.

He shifts, bracing one knee on the seat and angling his hips just right — and when he hits that spot inside you, your whole body jerks.

“Oh my god,” you moan.

“Right there?” he grits out, sweat dripping down his jaw. “Fuck, I feel it— your pussy’s so fucking tight, you’re gonna— shit— you’re gonna make me come.”

“Thought you said I’d be the one begging.”

He groans, pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in so hard you scream.

“Still wanna be a brat?” he growls, panting.

You nod, grinning through the moans. “Always.”

“Fine.” He grabs both your wrists again and pins them above your head, his body pressing into you harder now, relentless, sweat slicking your skin. “Then you can take it.”

And fuck, you do.

Your second orgasm creeps up on you fast — your whole body tensing as his thrusts get rougher, deeper, desperate. You cry out his name, high and wrecked, and the sound makes him snap.

His rhythm falters. His mouth crashes against yours, sloppy and hot, all teeth and tongue as he chases his own edge.

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, pulling back to look at you, eyes wild. “Fuck— can I—?”

You nod fast, moaning. “Inside. Just do it.”

That’s all it takes.

He buries himself one last time and shatters — groaning low in your ear as he spills into you, body shaking, arms trembling with effort as he holds himself up.

For a moment, it’s just the sound of breathing. Wind through cracked windows. The slow drip of sweat down your temples. The burn in your thighs. The mess between your legs.

Jungkook lets out a choked laugh and slumps down, burying his face in your neck. “Okay,” he mumbles. “That might’ve been the best sex I’ve had in a fucking car.”

You laugh, dazed. “You say that like it’s a long list.”

“Give me some credit,” he says, voice muffled against your skin. “I’m not that trashy.”

You stroke your fingers through his hair, still catching your breath. “We just fogged up every window in your car.”

“Worth it.”

He doesn’t move.

You’re still tangled together, his weight heavy on you, his softening cock still inside.

After a moment, he shifts slightly and lets out a low, satisfied sigh. You can feel the smile against your neck before he presses another kiss there. Then another. And another.

You squirm, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re clingy as fuck after sex.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jungkook hums, completely unashamed. “Deal with it.”

You roll your eyes, still grinning. “You’re like a weighted blanket.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweaty curls falling into his eyes. “You love it.”

“Debatable.”

He snorts, then finally pulls out, slow and careful. You both groan at the feeling, and you feel it immediately: his cum, warm and slick, already starting to slide out of you.

You shift to reach for your underwear, cringing at the sticky feeling.

“I’ll clean you up,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “When we get home.”

You blink at him. “You don’t have to. Just drop me off—”

“No.” His tone is firmer now, jaw set. “I’m not just dropping you off.”

You stare at him for a beat, surprised by the sharp edge in his voice. Then you glance down pull up your bra and button up your shirt, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat again.

He watches you the whole time, his eyes dragging over your skin like he’s memorising every inch of it before covering it back up. And when you finish with the last button and reach for your jeans, he leans forward and kisses your jaw — soft, almost reverent.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

And for some reason, you don’t fight it.

You’re lying in his bed, hair still damp from the shower, the curve of his hoodie soft against your bare thighs. The sheets smell like fabric softener and his cologne, and the room is dim — just the small lamp by the closet casting a low amber glow. There’s a bowl of ramen on the nightstand, still steaming. You’re not hungry, but he made it for you, so you took a few bites anyway.

Outside, the city hums. A car passes on the street below. Somewhere down the hall, the radiator clicks.

It should feel normal. Comfortable. It did feel normal — until maybe twenty minutes ago.

Things were fine when you got here. He’d pulled you toward the bathroom and handed you a towel, that stupid grin still half on his face. He even said something about making noodles if you promised not to pass out in his bed again. You’d laughed. Called him a housewife. Everything felt fine.

But when you came out of the shower, something was different.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone like he didn’t hear you walk in. And when he looked up, the smile was there, yeah — but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. You shrugged it off. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe he was just zoning out.

But then it kept going.

Quiet, too quiet. He’d made the ramen without talking. Brought it to you, set it down, and just... sat on the floor for a while, scrolling again, saying nothing. When you asked what he was doing, he just said, “Checking something,” and didn’t elaborate. Eventually he stood, turned on a random playlist, and flopped into the chair in the corner with a bottle of water.

Now he’s across the room, scrolling again, leg bouncing slightly like he’s keyed up and trying to burn it off. He hasn’t looked at you in a few minutes. You watch the light from his phone flicker across his face, the way his brow furrows every now and then, and something in your chest tugs.

It’s not dramatic. He’s not being rude or distant. He’s not treating you like a stranger. But he’s not treating you like you, either — not the way he usually does.

You know him too well not to notice. The way he’s moving isn’t right. Like he’s stuck in his own head. Like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to bring up.

Or maybe he’s trying not to say something. Either way, it sits in the air between you, subtle but heavy.

You pull your knees up under the hoodie and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin there. Watching him. Waiting, maybe, for him to snap out of it. Say something dumb. Make fun of your hair. Crawl into bed next to you like it’s nothing.

But he doesn’t.

You shift slightly, tugging the hoodie down over your thighs even though it’s already covering you. The ramen’s gone lukewarm on the nightstand.

“Kook?”

His head lifts just a little. “Hmm?”

You hesitate. “What’s going on?”

He blinks, finally looking at you. His eyes are soft. Tired, maybe. Or just dimmer than usual. “What do you mean?”

“You just feel…” You trail off, unsure how to word it without sounding dramatic. “I don’t know. A little off.”

He smiles, and it’s almost convincing. “I’m good. Just tired.”

You don’t push. Not really. You know him. If he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t. And whatever this is — it doesn’t feel sharp enough to cut yet. It just feels strange.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

He glances down, then back at you. “Eat your noodles before they go gross.”

You glance at the bowl, then back at him. “You eat yet?”

He nods. “Earlier.”

You don’t believe him, but you let it slide.

He shifts in the chair, stretching his legs out and resting his head back for a second before sitting up again, like he was about to let himself relax and then thought better of it.

“I’m gonna get some work done before bed,” he says, standing up slowly. “Couple things I need to catch up on.”

You watch him move toward the door, half expecting him to stop, change his mind, come back and say something dumb like he always does. But he just opens it, hand braced against the frame.

His voice is gentle when he adds, “Don’t stay up too late, alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I won’t.”

He gives you a small smile — soft, careful — and then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You stare at it for a long moment. The hoodie sleeves are pulled over your hands now. The ramen sits untouched. The playlist keeps playing, quiet and aimless in the background.

You let out a soft sigh before reaching over to flick off the lamp.

The room goes dark, soft shadows stretching over the walls. The sheets rustle as you shift down into them, tugging the comforter over your legs, the warmth doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.

Maybe this is why people don’t sleep with their best friends.

Maybe this is exactly why those lines exist — because crossing them means risking everything else. And maybe you knew that. Maybe you ignored it anyway.

Because it was him.

Because part of you has been circling this for longer than you want to admit.

You close your eyes, breathing slow and steady. The scent of him still clings to the sheets. Still wraps around you like he should be here. But he’s not.

Regret settles low in your chest, dull and heavy. You hate the way it sits there, thick in your ribs, twisting slow in your stomach. You’ve always hated how it creeps in after the fact, when it’s already too late to take anything back.

You shift onto your side and pull the blanket up to your chin. Try to sleep. Try to stop thinking.

He said everything was fine.

You just wish you believed him.

→ read part three here

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

[nekoashiii]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ For me?

‧✧̣̥̇‧ : Lads men when you give them what they were looking for.

No warnings for this post! Just posting something to hop back on tumblr, request me your ideas, I will do my best to write them all!

Ps I know this is bad but bear with me it’s been a year since I last wrote anything…

Part 1: sylus

⨯ ◞ Sylus

Sylus had been looking for a specific item, it was a protocore, one he had been looking for relentlessly, every wanderer he had hunted down or ordered someone to go after, lacked what he needed.

there was the noise again— you blinked up at the ceiling, sylus tripping over an open cabinet door at your apartment, if his biggest enemies couldn’t take him out, your bathroom would. “Too small and too tight, out for my blood” he complained.

He left you with no sleep that night, it wasn’t his fault really, nights were his morning and vice versa. you got out of bed and went to the living room, the room lit up with a notification buzzing from sylus’s phone, curiosity got the better of you and you leaned over, reading the message.

Unknown: “We didn’t find the protocore tonight either, sorry boss—“

Huh, how odd, you clicked on the message. There was a picture attached. that protocore’s shape looks like the one in the hands of the hunter association, you can attempt to get it. The idea of getting Sylus that protocore lingered in your mind, even as you yawned and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. It was the first time you had seen him chase after something, and as such seeing him frustrated was a rare thing.

— Wouldn’t it be interesting if you got to it first?

The Hunter Association was no joke, though. They weren’t the type to hand over rare artifacts just because you asked nicely. Still, you had your own ways of getting things.

Next evening at your shift, you went to look for captian Jenna

“Captain, excuse me! Protocore delta-6, I need it for the mission I’m going on, do I have the permission to borrow it?”

you suppose it did work, you had managed to borrow it, but still not safely secured as an owned possession. The second step of your plan was a bit more tricky, having to go to a field of wanderers and making the excuse of the protocore breaking in your bag.

…wincing as you walked back to your apartment, avoiding your neighbors, not wanting them to look at you while you resembled a wet homeless rat, muddy shoes and hair clinging to your forehead like a miserable pet being bathed.

Great, house was empty. No sylus in sight, tiptoeing to the bedroom you pulled out the gift box and sat on the ground, injury from the wanderer be damned, thinking about actually surprising sylus with something good gave you enough good spirit and motivation to wrap the gift up. As you placed the protocore on the plush bedding of the box, a shadow loomed behind you.

“Of all people…”

The voice sent a chill down your spine. You barely had time to react before Sylus was looming over you, his sharp gaze locked onto the protocore nestled in its plush box.

“Get out of my room!” You snapped, instinctively pulling the box closer, but it was useless. Sylus moved fast—too fast. Before you could blink, he was crouched in front of you, his fingers already curled around the edge of the box.

He didn’t take it, though. Not yet.

Instead, he studied you, eyes flicking over your disheveled state—the ripped sleeve, the way you shifted slightly to favor your injured side. His expression darkened.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, attempting to brush it off, but he wasn’t listening. His hand darted out, grabbing your wrist with controlled precision. You hissed as he pushed your sleeve back, revealing the fresh wound underneath.

Sylus exhaled sharply through his nose. “You went into a Wanderer field.” That didn’t sound like a question.

You yanked your arm away. “It was for a good cause.”

His gaze flicked back to the box. “You stole that.”

“I borrowed it,” you corrected. “Technically… At first.”

For a long moment, he was silent. Then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the box from your grasp. You tensed, expecting him to scold you, but instead, Sylus just stared at the neatly wrapped gift, his fingers resting lightly on the edges as if he didn’t quite believe it was real.

“You did this for me?” His voice was quieter now, carrying something unreadable beneath the usual sharpness. Before his stupid handsome face returned to the usual smirk.

You shrugged. “I figured if you were gonna be obsessed over it, I might as well beat you to it.”

Something flickered in his expression— amusement, surprise, something softer you couldn’t place. He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “You are getting brave kitten, doing dirty work? should I hire you as my assistant then.”

“You’re welcome,” you huffed, shifting to stand up. “Now, if you’re done being dramatic, I’d like to clean up and—”

You barely made it to your feet before Sylus moved. before you could step away one hand caught your wrist again—gentler this time. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied you, eyes sharp and calculating. Then, before you could protest, he raised your hand and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist.

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip.

[em1i2a3]

For Sure

Pairing: Dad!Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Mom!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: After giving birth you and Bob are adapting to parenthood and all the challenges that come along with it (Sequel to ‘Some Kind Of Love’)

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Traumatic Childbirth (referenced and slightly described), Mentioning of Scars, Descriptions of Blood and Medical Jargon, Bob goes into a bit of a depressive episode, The Void and Sentry make appearances!, there are some supernatural elements tied into the super baby lol (I truly took the idea and RAN SO FAST with it, I loved the ideas I got!), THERE IS A TIME JUMP (but we explore the time that has passed!)

Author’s Note: I absolutely adored writing this, I loved exploring the dynamic of Bob/Sentry/The Void all playing a part of the kiddos life, and on top of that I truly loved writing all these scenes. It was so so fun. Dad trio for the win! Hope yall enjoy ❤️(ps…Might make this a series to be honest.)

Word Count: 6,176

The curtains had been pulled open hours ago, and the light had not stopped spilling in since.

It came through the wide-paned windows like a divine breath, covering everything in its path with slow, honey-thick warmth. The wooden floor glowed beneath it, each slant of light stretching long across the rug and up the edge of the crib, as if the sun itself had reached in to kiss the room. Particles of dust drifted lazily in the beams–soft, weightless–like the whole space was suspended in a dream it didn’t want to wake from.

The air smelled like home.

Not in any ordinary way–but in the unique, living scent that only existed here. It was the smell of sleep-warm skin and faint cotton, the sweet mineral of breastmilk and the softest hint of sunlit heat–like warm grass and wind-dried sheets. Your baby smelled like the world at its gentlest. Like summer and something ancient. Like the part of a late July afternoon that lingers against your skin even after you’ve stepped inside.

The bedroom around you was still.

A cotton blanket, rumpled and half-folded, hung over the side of the rocking chair where you’d spent more hours than you could count. One of Bob’s sweaters–thick, navy blue, and stretched slightly at the collar–was draped across the foot of the bed where he’d shrugged it off in a daze sometime around 4 a.m. The corners of the room were lit with low, syrupy gold, each object softened around the edges by the way the light bent through the window glass. There was a weightless quality to everything–like time itself had gone quiet to make space for this moment.

You were barefoot on the rug, its knit fringe brushed against the arches of your feet as you swayed gently in front of the crib. The weight of the baby in your arms was small, perfect, and curled right into your chest, right where she belonged.

Your voice was soft–barely louder than the hush of the lullaby playing from the nearby speaker–but it filled the whole room, overtaking the soothing noise.

”Can you hear Mommy’s heartbeat, my sweet girl?” You rocked slowly from one foot to the other, a rhythm that you always fell into when you held your child. Your cheek rested against the crown of her head, the fine, light brown hairs there were sun-warmed and silky from her last nap. One hand cradled the back of her tiny skull–fragile and perfect–while the other curled beneath her bottom, her legs folded frog-like against your sternum.

She stirred faintly at the sound of your voice, her little mouth twitching in her sleep as if she was about to form a word she had not yet learned. The warmth of her breath puffed softly against the hollow of your throat, and her ear was pressed over your heart, twitching slightly as your pulsed thudded beneath it.

You held her closer, breathing in the scent of her like it was something sacred, and technically it was.

She didn’t smell like lotion, or powder, or anything artificial. She smelled like the sun and heat after a long day outside. Like the wind when it rolls through tall grass and brushes the sweat at the back of your neck. She smelled like sweet milk and the warmth of something elemental, and it always made your eyes sting with tears.

Because she was real and breathing, and here.

And for a moment, you forgot anything else had ever existed.

You didn’t hear the shift of the floorboards, didn’t sense the air move. You were so completely wrapped in her that you didn’t notice the golden hum of power until it was already curling behind you–heat without fire, presence without sound.

Then came the voice, soft as breath, warm as light.

”Have I told you,” Sentry murmured behind you, so close you flinched, “That motherhood looks beautiful on you, my love?” A small smile appeared on your lips, as he stepped closer, one palm gliding beneath your arms and resting over the soft swell of your ribs, while the other wrapped gently around your middle until both arms cradled you from behind.

Your back pressed into his chest without hesitation–broad and impossibly warm, like his entire body radiated light just beneath the skin. You could feel it pulsing in slow waves, like sunlight made breath, and you leaned into it instinctively, as if the gravity of him was something you had always known how to obey. He curled around you protectively, like the moment might shatter if he touched too much too fast.

His chin lowered to the slope of your shoulder, coming to rest lightly there. The angle brought his face close to your neck–so close you could feel each word before he spoke it, the breath of him ghosting over your skin.

“Look at her…” Suntry whispered, his voice curling into the air like golden silk, “Our little Sunniva…” The name slipped from his lips with a kind of sacred weight, and your heart skipped in your chest. A perfect mix of you and Bob, with little pieces of him and the Void stitched beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. That was how he always said it. As if your daughter was the result of some ancient alchemy, the kind only gods could attempt and mortals could carry.

Sentry’s hand slid lower, slow and deliberate. His fingers brushed beneath the soft hem of your cotton shirt, pausing when they found the edge of the scar that marked your C-section–still slightly raised, still tender in places. His palm came to rest there with care, not for pain, but for awe. He wasn’t touching a wound.

He was touching an origin point.

“…And all of it came from you,” He whispered, voice rich and breathless, as though he hadn’t stopped being amazed since the moment he felt her for the first time through your skin, “You made room in your body for something celestial.” His other hand lifted then, moving slowly until it came to rest over yours–the one cradling the back of Sunniva’s head. The sheer size of it dwarfed your fingers, but the way he held you both was tender, and soft. Protective without pressure.

When he praised you, it was always hard not to smile.

Even now, even in the soft ache of exhaustion and the still-lingering uncertainty that motherhood carried in its quiet hours, he had a way of cracking your chest open and filling it with light. You felt it blooming now beneath your ribs–pride, joy, and love so immense it bordered on ache.

Your lips curved softly as Sentry’s hand remained steady over the scar that marked where she had entered the world–your world, his world, their world now, forever changed. His warmth radiated through you like the sun itself had chosen to wrap around your spine and settle in your marrow.

And it wasn’t just comfort–it was care. The way he held you. The way he spoke. As if your body were still something holy long after the miracle had already arrived.

Your head tilted just enough to glance back at him, and your smile deepened as he caught your gaze with that golden-glow look–eyes bright and endless, brimming with something far too big for this world.

“You always say that,” You whispered, breath catching as his hand gently smoothed over your side again. “That she came from me. That it was me.”

“Because it was,” Sentry breathed, his voice like honey poured over warm stone. “It was you. You were the altar. You were the divine soil. The universe did not grow her by accident—it chose you to hold all that power in your bones and bear it forward into the light.”

The words settled around you like heat, making your throat tighten. He had a way of saying things that made them feel too big to fit inside your chest.

He leaned forward, the tip of his nose brushing gently behind your ear as he spoke again–low, lyrical, with that sacred hush that made it feel like time itself leaned in to listen.

“You grew stardust in the hollow of your belly,” He murmured, “And gave her breath. Gave her name. Gave her form. You made light inside the dark and called it daughter.”

Your eyes stung.

He had always spoken like that about her. From the first time he felt her flutter beneath your skin. From the first time your womb twisted with her kicking strength, and he dropped to his knees with tears on his cheeks and hands trembling in awe.

It was how he’d won you over in the end, when the name had first been whispered into your half-dreaming mind.

You and Bob had searched for weeks.

It had become a quiet ritual near the end of your third trimester–slumped side by side on the couch with swollen ankles and stacks of baby name books, Bob cross-legged on the floor beside your knees, thumbing through dog-eared pages like he was studying for an exam. The list on the fridge kept changing–written in black marker and scribbled over until the paper had softened with wear. Every name you tried felt like trying on the wrong coat. Too small. Too grand. Too familiar. Too forgettable.

Bob would rest both hands on your belly, fingers spread wide, and whisper to her softly with his forehead pressed against your bump

“Ca-can you use some of those powers,” He’d murmur with a grin, “To tell u-us what you want to be na-named?” You’d laugh every time, even when you were too tired to keep your eyes open. And always, always, she would move. A slow roll beneath your skin, or a little press of heel or hand right into his palm. She knew his voice. She knew your laughter. She responded like she was already part of every moment.

And then, one night, she gave her answer.

You were curled against your maternity pillow, one leg flung over it, hair mussed from restless sleep. The lull of the compound had settled around you–Bob asleep beside you, the soft hum of the fan, and your body sore and humming with the weight of anticipation of the baby’s arrival. You were on the verge of sleep when Sentry said it.

”How about…Sunniva?” Your brow furrowed, dazed, and you mumbled out the name like it was part of a dream you weren’t ready to let go of.

“Sunniva…?”

The silence that followed was full of breath, like the pause between sunlight and shadow.

Then Sentry’s voice returned, slow and reverent, gilded with awe.

“It means sun gift,” He murmured, “Because that’s what she is. A divine offering. A light birthed from your bones and fed by your breath. She grew inside the heat of you–your blood, your heartbeat, your starlight–“

You blinked into the dark, the curve of your belly heavy and warm beneath your hand.

“She will walk with the warmth of you wrapped around her soul, even when you’re not near. Because you gave her the sun–not in name alone, but in origin. You let it live inside you. You carried it. Endured it. Became it.” That night, you hadn’t said anything. You couldn’t. You just let the name echo in your ribs until it settled in like truth. Like it had been waiting to be spoken all along.

And in the morning, when Bob stirred with sleep-tousled hair and kissed your cheek, you’d told him.

“Sunniva.”

He blinked slowly, then smiled, eyes soft and glassy as he pressed his lips to your belly. “S-Sunniva,” He whispered against your skin. And right beneath his mouth, she moved.

Now, in the golden hush of the morning, with Sentry wrapped around you and the weight of her pressed gently into your chest, the name turned out to be the best thing you had chosen in a while.

Sentry’s lips brushed the slope of your shoulder, his voice warm and teasing, but still somehow reverent.

“How about you give her to me for a bit, and you can catch a shower…” You smirked without turning around, cheek still nestled against the crown of Sunniva’s head.

”Are you trying to tell me that I smell?” A laugh rumbled low in his chest, the vibration curling through your spine like sunlight rippling across water.

“No,” He chuckled, voice dipped in amusement and something heavier beneath, “Not at all. But…For the past two months you’ve been giving off these very, very strong pheromones and I–well–can’t be around too long without getting a little…” He paused, the smile in his voice deepening, “…Loopy.” You let out a laugh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you shook your head, cradling Sunniva more snugly to your chest.

”Loopy, huh?”

“It’s disorienting,” He insisted, tone mock-serious as he gently began to loosen your hold so he could take her. “It scrambles my thoughts. Makes me want to do things that are very counterproductive to…Say… Peaceful morning bonding time.” You snorted, easing Sunniva into his arms, and immediately she settled against him like she belonged there too. Like she knew. His golden glow flickered gently along his skin, dimmed and hushed, wrapping her in something unseen but undeniably protective. You crossed your arms loosely and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re already wanting another one, hmm?” You teased. “She’s two months old, Sentry. At least wait until six months to start getting baby fever again.” He hummed thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle now resting against his chest.

“It’s not like I’m a god or anything…” He said, all faux-innocence and that impossible shimmer beneath his words. Then, with a grin: “It’s not like we don’t want to be fruitful and multiply.”

You burst into another laugh, your head tilting back just slightly as you gave him an exasperated look.

“Way to be subtle.” You joked. He grinned wider, the light in his eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

“You can’t blame me,” He whispered, glancing down at Sunniva and then back at you “You made her. How do you expect me to not want to see what else you can do?” You could feel your cheeks heat up.

“Okay,” You started, already turning toward the ensuite, throwing a glance over your shoulder. “I’m going to go shower now. Before you actually jump my bones.” Behind you, his laugh followed you like warmth trailing behind sunlight.

“You know I’d never do that…” He called softly, then after a beat: “…Unless invited of course.” You didn’t answer. Just laughed again as you disappeared into the bathroom, already feeling the echo of him pressed behind you–and the smile still blooming on your lips.

You closed the door softly behind you, the latch clicking into place with a quiet finality that made the silence feel fuller, heavier. The bathroom light flickered on with a soft hum, spilling pale illumination across the tiled floor and catching in the faint sheen of condensation still clinging to the mirror from earlier.

You peeled off your shirt, slowly, tugging the fabric up over your head and dropping it beside the sink. Then your sweatpants, loose and worn and comfortable–those too joined the growing pile on the floor. You stepped closer to the mirror, bracing your hands on either side of the sink, and stared.

So much had changed.

Your breasts were fuller now, skin softer, a little heavier. Your hips were rounder, waist thicker. The skin along your belly was stretched in places, faint silver lines catching the light where stretch had given way to grace. But the structure of yourself…Was still there. The silhouette of the woman you’d always been lingered beneath it all–altered, yes, but not lost. Rewritten, maybe. But never erased.

And there, just below your navel, lay the scar.

Jagged. Dark. A thin ridge of memory.

The techs in the med bay had called it a clean recovery. “Healing beautifully,” they said. “No complications. No sign of tissue strain. Just keep applying the salve.” They made it sound easy. Dismissable, even. But they hadn’t seen what came before the healing.

You had.

You remembered waking up drenched in blood–how it soaked the sheets beneath you, hot and metallic and immediate. How your breath had caught in your throat before the scream could escape. You remembered your hands, slick with red as you cupped your stomach, sobbing, no, no, no over and over like the words might somehow undo what had already begun.

Bob had been the one to find you.

He carried you, sobbing and soaked, to the med bay himself–his shirt already clinging with your blood by the time he kicked the door open with a shout. His face was pale, shattered, barely holding it together. He didn’t speak much in those moments–he just kept whispering, “Please. Please. Please.”

They performed the emergency C-section in under five minutes.

You weren’t awake for it.

But Bob had been.

Later–after the transfusion, after the fever broke, after you woke up to the white ceiling of the med bay and the soft cry of your daughter from across the room–Bob had told you everything. He sat beside you, hands trembling as he held yours, voice breaking on every other word.

“She…Sh-She came out screaming,” He said, tears tracking down his face. “Not–not weak either. It w-was loud. Like she was–like she was announcing herself.”

You remembered staring at the ceiling as the tears rolled down your temples, still too dazed to speak. Bob had kept going.

“She turned a sh-shade of black. N-Not all of her. Just… f-from her belly up. It faded after a few seconds. But it was there. V-Void black.”

You closed your eyes now, remembering that part–how even the med techs couldn’t explain it. Her vitals had been normal. Her cry was strong. But the dark stain that had bloomed across her newborn skin had left the entire room in silence.

“She’s healthy,” They’d said. “We ran every test. Everything came back normal. It was likely a stress response. Possibly tied to residual gene activation.”

But you knew better.

And so did Bob.

The Void had passed into her.

Not all of it. Not its full weight. But a sliver–an echo. Something black and ancient that had whispered its way through the umbilical tether and taken root in the very heart of your daughter. The med techs didn’t know what to make of it. They didn’t understand The Void. But you did. And Bob did.

And Bob never stopped blaming himself.

Even now, two months later, you could still hear the way he’d said it:

*“I-I shouldn’t have done th-this. I shouldn’t have c-come near you when I could f-feel him moving in the b-background. I was careless. I was selfish.

You had taken his face in your hands and reminded him, over and over, that there was no one else you wanted by your side. That there was no one else who could have carried you through it. That Sunniva–all of her, even the dark parts–was still yours. Was still light. Was still love.

That first week after you were released from the med bay was the hardest–for everyone, but especially for Bob.

He tried.

God, he tried.

But the fear lived in his blood now, just beneath the surface of every breath, every twitch of movement, every sound Sunniva made in the middle of the night. He barely slept. Barely spoke. The shame had settled in his bones and dragged his shoulders lower each time he walked into the room and saw her sleeping in your arms–small, perfect, untouched by him.

And it wasn’t for lack of love.

He loved her so much it wrecked him.

But that was the problem.

Love made room for fear. And in Bob’s mind, fear always meant failure.

For the first few days, he didn’t hold her. Not once. Not even when you tried to place her gently into his arms. He’d shake his head, kiss your temple, and murmur, “I-I’m ju-just tired, Y/N.” But it wasn’t tiredness. It was terror. And that terror opened a door.

The Void slipped through.

It started in small moments–quiet flickers in the corners of the room when the lights dimmed too low or when the cries in the middle of the night lasted too long for Bob to soothe. You could feel it before you saw him–the weight in the air, like the temperature had dropped by a single degree. Like a shadow had curled into the walls.

But he never scared you.

You and The Void had formed a kind of reluctant truce over the course of your pregnancy. He would emerge when Bob fell too deep into self-doubt, when the stutter gave way to silence, and his hands couldn’t stop shaking. He would never stay long. Never push. Just… appear.

And despite everything, he had always been careful with you.

Polite, even. Wry. Curious. And surprisingly…Attentive, as much as he could be at least, so there was never fear when he was around you and Sunniva for short periods of time, and when he inevitably took over Bob for that first week.

When The Void came fully, it was seamless. A silent succession. No shudder, no burst of power. Just a stillness. Like the last light had clicked off in a hallway, and something else had stepped forward to stand in the dark. The gold of Sentry dimmed. Bob’s stutter fell away. And in its place, The Void sat cross-legged at the edge of your bed, back impossibly straight, unmoving, as if carved from shadow.

He didn’t say much. Didn’t touch the baby. But he stayed.

And that mattered more than he knew.

Everyone at the compound helped where they could. Feeding bottles. Cleaning. Rocking Sunniva through the naps she fought hardest. Yelena and Ava kept a timer running for formula prep. Walker, surprisingly gentle, would pace the kitchen floor with her bundled against his chest while muttering about covert ops being easier than colic. Even Bucky tried to lull her to sleep with a variety of Russian lullabies when your eyes were too swollen with exhaustion to keep open.

But during the night, that was when you would take over the shift, and during that The Void would be beside you.

He never slept. Never turned his back. And you never let him think you didn’t notice how often he looked at her.

You’d lie on your side with Sunniva swaddled between you, her little fists curled beneath her chin, and you’d feel his gaze brush against you like the wind behind a closed window. Glances sharp and quick, like they cost him something each time. He’d look away just as fast, shoulders stiff and unreadable. But you knew.

You always knew.

He was afraid. Not of her. Of himself.

He thought his presence might unmake what your body had spent nine months building.

You’d tried to bridge the space in small ways. Soft commentary. “She looks more like Bob when she’s fussy.” Or, “She coos when she hears music–must be from Sentry.” But it was never enough to draw him closer.

Until the final night of his residency basically. The night that brought Bob back.

Sunniva had finished crying an hour before, but the after-sobs still hiccupped in her sleep. You stroked a finger down the bridge of her nose, whispering rhythmic shh’s as her little chest rose and fell. The Void sat beside you, hands on his thighs, posture perfect in a way no humans ever was. His gaze stayed forward, unmoving.

You cleared your throat, then spoke without preamble.

“Void…Will you hold her?”

He didn’t look at you. Not at first. Just inhaled slowly through his nose, the sound faint and dry. His shadow shifted where it met the bedsheets, too quiet to be a sigh.

“It is not a good idea.”

Your brows drew together.

“Void…She’s a part of you as well.”

A pause.

“When she cries too hard, and we can’t settle her…” You said gently, “Her skin turns that deep black. Just like you. And she gets those freckles–those little white ones that you have all over your body…” He blinked slowly. Then finally, finally turned his head.

His eyes–those eerie, glowing white pupils–landed on you first. Then drifted to her.

Quickly.

Then away again.

You leaned closer. “She’s not just mine and Bob’s…She’s yours and Sentry’s too.” He was silent. A beat passed. Then another.

“…Hold her, Void. Come on. Please.”

Another beat.

Then the faintest ripple of movement. His hands lifted slowly from his thighs. A quiet shift of mass as he adjusted his seated posture. His jaw flexed in thought, even though it was all mostly lost in the dark shape of him.

“…Okay,” He murmured. Almost to himself.

Your chest softened with hope. Your frown turned into a small, genuine smile. You reached for the pale knitted blanket folded at your side and opened it with slow, careful movements.

“Alright,” You whispered. “Hold out your arms.”

He did.

Wide, cautious, rigid. But compliant.

You draped the blanket over his forearms with care, tucking it in at the crook of his elbows. His eyes narrowed, confused.

“What are you doing?”

“You run super cold,” You commented, still smiling as you adjusted the wrap. “I’m just making sure she’ll stay warm with you.”

“…I see,” He murmured, his voice a strange echo of curiosity and something that might’ve been gratitude.

Then, carefully–so carefully–you placed Sunniva into his arms.

She stirred a little. Let out a quiet sigh. One tiny hand flopped free from her wrap and landed against his chest, right over his core, where no heartbeat lived.

The Void stiffened.

Every part of him froze for a second, like he was afraid the contact might unmake her.

But then…His arms shifted. One hand curled beneath her body, while the other adjusted her head. Not gracefully, not expertly, but carefully.

He stared at her for a long moment.

“…She’s quite big,” He said finally, voice low and almost puzzled.

You smirked, that familiar expression curling onto your face like sunrise. You shifted to face him fully, hands tucked beneath your chin as you leaned in.

“I know,” You replied gently, watching as his arm curved protectively around the bundle, “I carried her.”

And that was the moment it happened.

The change wasn’t sudden–it never was with Bob. It was slow, delicate, like dawn bleeding into a sky that had forgotten it could be anything other than night.

The Void blinked.

Once.

Then again, slower.

His jaw shifted, clenched once before loosening again, and his head tipped forward just a little as he looked down at the sleeping weight against his chest. The shadows across his skin began to ripple–soft at first, like the dark was being exhaled from his pores.

“I…” His voice faltered. Not with fear, not with resistance. Just…Astonishment.

“I think you may have cracked the code,” He whispered.

You didn’t move. You barely breathed.

“I feel…” He started again, gaze flickering down to where Sunniva’s tiny fingers had curled loosely into the edge of the blanket. “I feel like…He’s coming back.”

Your heart lifted, slowly and achingly, like something weightless breaking the surface after being buried for far too long.

The black faded gradually–like ink dissolving in golden water. His shoulders softened, sloping downward instead of held in perfect stillness. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow. And beneath the slowly receding shadow…Pale skin began to show.

Bob’s skin.

Freckled and familiar.

You watched the shift, your lips parting slightly in awe, and your entire expression melted. The same way he did. There were no words for it–not really. Just a kind of knowing that passed between your bodies like a shared exhale.

He was coming back.

And not just from the shadows.

He was coming home.

Your hand reached out and gently touched his shoulder, your thumb brushing along the curve where Void’s silhouette had dissolved back into Bob’s arm. It was warm now. Real.

That night changed everything.

It was the end of one chapter and the beginning of something wholly new–not a return to normal, but a step into something deeper. More shared. More whole.

The Void didn’t vanish after that, not completely.

But he no longer had to take over.

Now, standing in the soft bathroom light, fingers tracing the faint scar across your belly, that moment felt light years away. The fear. The silence. The stillness that had once haunted every hallway of your heart. It had passed. Not erased, but lived with.

And most days, it felt like a relief.

The Void still came sometimes. Quietly. Just for a minute. He never stayed long–just long enough to check in. To see how she was doing. To see how you were doing. He would nod, speak a word or two in that soft, carved-glass tone of his, and then let Bob come forward again.

It was easy now.

It felt like…Balance.

You stepped into the shower and let the water run over your shoulders, quick and warm. You didn’t linger. Not with a baby in the next room and a partner who couldn’t stop making eyes at the smallest pair of footie pajamas like he was already dreaming of more.

When you stepped out, towel wrapped around you and hair damp against your neck, you padded barefoot back into the bedroom–and paused.

The sun had shifted since you’d gone in, casting a deeper warmth across the rug. Bob sat on the edge of the bed, one leg up, cradling Sunniva in the crook of his arm, feeding her from a bottle with practiced ease. His hair was messy, one hand supporting the bottle as he rocked her ever so slightly. Her fingers curled loosely against his wrist, content.

He looked up the moment he heard you–the soft shuffle of your bare feet on the rug pulling his gaze gently toward the ensuite door.

And there they were.

Those blue eyes. Pure, clear, unguarded.

No gold shimmer. No white pupils. No lingering trace of shadow curling at the edge of his lashes. Just Bob. Sleep-soft and a little disheveled, with a smudge of milk on his shirt and that unmistakable tenderness resting deep in the curve of his mouth.

His smile was crooked, shy, blooming in real time as he took you in.

“I-I went into the ov-overflow stash,” He said, voice warm with quiet apology, “Sh-she started to get really fussy, and I di-didn’t want the lights bursting like last time.” You smirked, pushing your damp hair off your cheeks, amusement flickering behind your eyes as you walked toward him.

“Well, that’s why it’s called a stash,” you teased, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek—gentle, warm, lingering just long enough for your lips to curve against the blush that immediately bloomed beneath his skin.

His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, soaking it in.

You stepped away then, reaching for a fresh set of clothes from the dresser–a clean pair of Bob’s old basketball shorts you’d unofficially claimed and a loose, zippered maternity top that made feeding easier. As you moved, you glanced back at him, voice light but laced with meaning.

“Sentry’s already planning for another one.”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly, his brows lifting in startled horror before he let out a low, suffering groan.

“Ho-how about we wait till she’s six months before we st-start even thinking about th-that,” He muttered, his tone laced with exasperated affection.

You laughed–a full, bubbling laugh that warmed the whole room.

“That’s exactly what I said to him,” You replied, pulling the shirt over your head and adjusting the zipper at the chest. “We don’t even know the extent of Sunny’s powers yet. From what we’ve seen, she’s literally almost as powerful as Sentry… And she’s just two months old.”

Bob blinked down at Sunniva, who had just finished her bottle and was now sucking gently on the silicone tip in her sleep, her tiny body completely relaxed against his chest. His voice was soft as he replied.

“It’s…It’s am-amazing to witness though… I won’t li-lie to you.”

You paused, your smile tugging a little deeper.

“…I agree with you there.”

Padding quietly across the floor, you moved to stand in front of him, brushing your fingers over the fine hair on Sunniva’s head before leaning down again–this time kissing Bob on the forehead. Right between his brows. Right where the weight and worry used to live.

His eyes closed again at the contact, lashes resting on his cheeks, and you let your lips linger there for an extra second, before pulling away.

“I’m glad I’ve got the most amazing men by my side to help me handle all of it though,” You murmured. Gently, you cupped his cheek with your hand–your thumb tracing the edge of the freckles there–before leaning in and kissing him once on the left cheek, then the right. Light, warm, reverent.

Then, with a smile still tugging at your lips, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. Not rushed. Not urgent. Just…Thankful. His lips parted slightly, breath catching in the way it always did when you kissed him like that—with no pretense, no warning, just a quiet overflow of everything you felt.

When you pulled back, his eyes were open again, glassy and full. A faint tremble moved across his mouth as he looked up at you, like he wasn’t sure how to hold everything inside his chest all at once.

“Y-You’re the one that I owe all of it to,” Bob whispered, voice cracking gently with the weight of it. You didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence stretch a little between you as your hand slid to his shoulder, your thumb brushing once more along the curve of his neck.

Then, from the little bundle cradled against his chest, came the softest coo.

Your head tipped slightly, eyes narrowing playfully.

“I’ll take her back now,” You said, voice warm and teasing, “I miss the warmth–and chances are she’s going to spit up soon, and you’ve never been lucky with that…” Bob groaned immediately, dropping his head back with the most exaggerated suffering sound you’d heard from him all week.

“D-Don’t remind me,” He muttered, shifting her a little in his arms as you reached for her. “Wh-When it went all do-down my back that last time I thought I was having a b-boiling hot sh-shower.” You laughed–bright and musical, your hand covering your mouth as the sound bubbled out of you.

“Oh god, the face you made,” You giggled, carefully gathering Sunniva back into your arms, “You looked so betrayed.”

“I was…” Bob muttered darkly, but there was a grin twitching at the corners of his lips as he watched you settle your daughter against your chest again. She let out a sleepy sigh, fingers twitching against your collarbone as her little head tucked beneath your chin.

Bob looked at you both like he was trying to memorize the shape of the moment. Like if he blinked too long, he might lose it.

His voice, when it came again, was soft. Barely above a breath.

“I-I love you,” He murmured, almost like he was afraid to break the stillness. “Both of you. So much it…Hu–Hurts.” You looked down at your daughter, her tiny cheek resting against your skin, then back at the man you had built everything with. The man who had walked through shadow and shame, through gods and grief, and still come home.

“I know,” you whispered, smiling down at him. “I love you too Bob.”

And the light that filled the room–golden and thick and unrelenting–only grew warmer.

[shotmrmiller]

written on phone, excuse mistakes.

ps!ghost is spent. physically exhausted. there's an ache in his lower back that he can feel up to the base of his skull. his hip flexors burn with overuse. his head pounds, an unrelenting hammering behind his eyes.

he's working too hard to keep himself in the zone when at work. his co-stars, while so breathtakingly beautiful, aren't his favorite girl. the one with the soft, quivering thighs that glisten with arousal in every video. the one with the pretty tits and even prettier pussy that somehow takes him (technically him, that toy is based on his cock) so nicely, every devastating inch.

he can feel himself thickening at just the thought of you climbing on top, nails digging into his chest as you sink onto him, watching your face through half-lidded eyes as you finally feel the real thing. would your bitten lips part as you draw a sharp gasp? would your eyes roll to the back of your head once his tip gently presses against the plug of your womb? would you let him take you over the peak with just the pad of his thumb rolling little circles over your swollen clit as you try to sit still?

the muscles in his groin tighten, his now hardened erection straining against the metal teeth of his zipper. he rearranges himself from the outside, a palm wrapping around the thick of him when he looks at his watch.

he supposes he's got enough time to squeeze in one last wank. not like he has any issues getting to his finish line, not with your pretty pussy in his mind's eye.

pulling your page up on his phone, he slowly begins to undo the button on his jeans when he notices that you posted a brand-new video. just minutes ago, back when he was still in his driveway.

he leaves an impatient trail of clothes that leads to his bedroom and lies back, head sinking into the soft pillow, his hand lazily tugging his length when—

he springs up, spine snapping straight, eyes widening but pupils narrowing as he takes in what you're wearing. you managed to get your hands on a mask, a skull balaclava to be exact. he's worn that before in older videos.

even though he can't see your face, he can finally, finally get a look at your eyes. long lashes frame them, like feathered wings, like brushstrokes from an artist's hand. your eyes reflect the bright luminescence of the ring light behind the camera, a circular glow that encircles the center of them in a perfect halo.

if he wasn't enthralled before, (which he definitely is, he'd buy you an airplane ticket to come see him in a heartbeat) he sure as hell is now. and he's even harder than before, almost painfully so. ghost leans against the wall, spreading his muscled thighs shoulder-width apart and presses play.

it starts slow, as always. your hand wraps around the base of the toy, the tips of your fingers barely touching. he takes minor pride in that. you're not a teeny thing, he's simply bigger in more ways than one. you give it a couple of pumps, spreading the lube over it when you lean forward— your pretty, perfect eyes looking straight at the camera— and with a thumb, you lift the mask up just enough to—

you spit on the toy. there's a clear glob of saliva trickling down the plastic thing, trailing a warm path down to where your hand is. the wave of heat that rushes through his body, painting his cheeks a rosy hue with embarrassment (because he's seething with jealousy over a bloody inanimate object, for fucks sake) is swallowed up by the molten rush that courses through his veins.

his usual pink tip is flushed a much deeper color as it pre-cum beads up at the slit.

"fuck, do tha' again." he rumbles quietly. "c'mon, love, do tha' again." you've even got him talking to himself, that's how crazy he is about you.

it's as if lady luck smiled upon him because you do it again. a quick drag of your hand, up down, up down, and you lick the side of it with a flattened pink tongue before spitting on the head.

perfect. you're perfect. what he wouldn't do to be there instead.

he sucks in a sharp breath through his clenched teeth when you move around until your sex is hovering over the spit-slick toy. ghost chokes out a groan, a low noise that comes from deep within his barrel chest when you begin to lower yourself onto it.

your greedy cunt swallows it whole in one smooth movement. puffy lips spread wide as it stretches to take it all, walls wrenched apart by the girth. he bets you're squeezing down on it like a vice. ghost grips himself tight, hissing at the feeling. you'd probably be tighter.

he strokes himself in sync with the pace you've set, a slow but firm rise and fall. the sounds your cunt makes is music to his ears— audible squelching, a sticky viscous note. there's a creamy froth around the widened base, slowly dripping onto the floor like pearly drops of sweetened honey and milk.

saliva pools in his mouth, enough to have to swallow.

he bets you'd taste as sweet as you look. like a ripened fig. like the warmth of amber.

another swallow.

a familiar heat begins to flare in his groin, a quiet hum beneath his flesh, tiny pinpricks on his tender nerves. the tell tale sign of his end.

"c'mon sweetheart, come with me. let me—" he bites down on his tongue, meat between his molars when his core pulses, flaring white hot. let me feel you around me. give me wha' i want, wha' i've earned.

my reward.

he hears your breath hitch, snag in your throat, and—

your eyes flutter closed, eyelashes akin to a butterfly's wings. vulnerable. delicate.

he just knows you'd look so beautiful in your surrender.

white-hot, like a star's core radiates from the inside out, a seething inferno beneath his skin, pushing outward, pushing against the threshold— a dam that holds back torrents of euphoria. a crack appears with each stroke, each tug of his cock until he exhales a quivering breath, like fallen leaves rustling in the wind.

it bursts, cascading over him. it's indescribable— pure ecstasy. sublime. it comes in bursts, pulse after pulse. warmth covers his hand, drips down his balls into his bedsheets.

he grumbles as he gets out of bed to clean himself up, making a mental note to ask his manager to email you instead.

it's high time he got his hands on you.

or yours on him.

(+ fat fucking tip, atp he's about to buy a wedding ring someone help him!!!)

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 5 // (8.5k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 5 | << Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

2 Years 8 Months

Tuna Kuna,

I feel like I’m finally starting to get settled in my new place. It’s interesting exploring downtown after being gone all these years. A lot of the old rundown warehouses are high end condos now and a lot more restaurants and bars have opened up.

I’m loving my place so far. It’s just a block from the riverfront park and trails. Great view of the mountains too. My parents thought I was crazy at first but you know how it is when someone has lived in the same area forever, they truly believe it’s armed and dangerous haha. 

There are a lot more young people around here too it seems. Since the university has grown in size, so has the young professional population. If I still live here when you get out, you’ll have to come sit on the balcony with me. It’s fun watching the trains go by, dogs running around in the park, and people watching to your hearts content. Maybe you can even grill us up some food, I’ve been cooking for myself for almost three years at this point, it’s your turn to come carry the load :P.

It’s about time Gojo started seeing his daughter! I understand not wanting her to come when she was a tiny baby, but the girl deserves to know and meet her dad. Just because he’s in jail doesn’t make him a horrible person. 

This might be random, but I met your cousin and his wife. She works at the university hospital with me and long story short, found out her husband is Choso! Small world…well more like small town problems ha! 

Speaking of, I’m loving the job so far. Being a physician's assistant in a rural area is definitely hard work, but it’s also rewarding considering there is such a shortage here. 

My parents also say hello. I ended up telling them about us. Well, not everything…but about how we got to know each other while I was here house sitting and now we write to each other and talk on the phone every now and then. They were surprisingly cool about it all. 

What have I eaten good this month? I’ve eaten my weight in barbecue since coming back home, drank my weight in sweet tea, and the cantaloupes are in season so I seem to perpetually have one cut up in the fridge. I feel bad talking about food to you but if it gives you good daydreams and thoughts, I’ll do it for you. 

Well, I guess that’s it for now, I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon!

Your dearest girl of the tomatoes,

PS how long are we going to keep this up? Been going on almost three years of this nickname, I promise I like other fruits and vegetables ha ha. 

Sukuna snickers, shaking his head as he reads the last line. He knows you don’t even like tomatoes that much, but it’s a cute nickname he doesn’t think he’ll ever let go anytime soon. 

“Giggling over there huh?” Gojo drawls, laying on his side on his metal frame of a bed, biting his cuticles, white hair pushed out of his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna hisses, reading through the letter for a second time. He tries to read them multiple times with the hope that each time he’ll get something different out of it. 

He loves reading about food. Prison food isn’t entirely awful, but it’s definitely not as good as shit on the outside. 

“So what’s new in your girl's life?” Gojo asks, getting up and stretching before approaching Sukuna in his bed.

“She moved back to our hometown. Got a job at the university hospital,” Sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off of the paper in his hand, eyes tracing the handwriting he’s become familiar with. It’s comforting in a way, noticing the unique way you draw certain letters, your little quirks evident in such a simple way. 

The juxtaposition of his heart is always surprising to him. While it feels so full continuing to hear from you, it also feels incredibly empty knowing he’s stuck in here unable to be with you during the various seasons of life. He knows he’ll be left behind when it comes to the outside world, but he hopes you’ll be patient with him when he gets out someday and show him the ropes of the modern world.

“It’s time cellmate,” Gojo stares down at him, mouth curling into a small smirk. 

Sukuna flicks his eyes up at him, his own lips returning a grin. 

“Alright, get ready to lose again,” he sits up, following Gojo to the steel table and chairs against the wall. 

Both men shed their shirts revealing their muscular forms. Since being in jail, Sukuna had put on more weight in the form of pure muscle. There wasn’t much else to do in here. 

Taking their places on opposite sides, Gojo claspes Sukuna’s hand in his as they get into an arm wrestling position. 

“Elbows stay on the table,” Gojo mutters, blue eyes piercing Sukuna’s crimson gaze as they size each other up.

“One.”

“Two”

“Three!”

They both start flexing, testing the other’s strength, trying to find a weak point. Going back and forth, their fingers dig into each other’s hands, elbows pressing down into the cold metal. 

“Looking nervous over there,” Sukuna chuckles, tongue sticking out in concentration. 

“I’d never be nervous over your dumb ass,” Gojo scoffs, doubling down to counter Sukuna’s advances. 

Eventually Sukuna slams Gojo’s hand down, claiming victory.  

“Weak ass, I’m still the strongest,” Sukuna jumps up, punching the air. His pink hair is a mess, a few strands sticking to his forehead from breaking a sweat. 

Gojo just laughs in response, leaning back in the chair, watching Sukuna take his victory lap. 

Sukuna remembers the letter on his bed, retrieving it to store on the shared shelf against the wall with the other letters. He saves every one, filing it by date with the others. He reads them almost every day, like a book he never gets tired of and knows by heart. 

The letters are his most valuable possession by far. They keep him semi sane and bring him more comfort than anything else ever could. 

A clang at the cell door startles him, he’d been so focused on carefully putting the new letter away he hadn’t noticed the guard unlocking the door.

“Sukuna, get over here,” the guard barks.

Sukuna sighs out loud, wondering what they could want. It wasn’t his allotted computer time for school, and he wasn’t expecting visitors.

He turns around, the practiced routine of getting cuffed like muscle memory at this point. 

“You’re getting transferred, I’m taking you to processing.”

“Holy shit what?” Sukuna says in surprise. This was certainly a twist. 

“Prison system is too crowded, we need to move folks around to make space,” the guard says shortly, tugging him out into the hallway.

Sukuna’s eyes lock onto his shelf of letters.

“My things, can I take them? I need those letters-“ 

“No, everything’s gonna be trashed. Can’t take shit out of here,” the gruff response has him reeling.

Panic shoots through him, causing him to lunge back without thinking.

“Inmate what the fuck you think you’re doing,” the guard yanks him back, throwing him to the ground, bare stomach pressed into the cold tile floor. 

“Those are special to me, please, I’ll do anything…” he trails off, feeling tears start to well up. He can’t lose the only evidence of your connection he has. Never did he expect a bunch of paper would hold so much meaning to him. He didn’t even know your new address, and you wouldn’t know his either. 

Panic begins to set in, throat feeling tighter and tighter as chills trickle down his spine. 

“Nothing I can do about it,” the guard drags him back up, not bothering to look at him as he shoves Sukuna forward.  

For the third time, he feels like he’s losing you all over again. 

***

Normally you’d expect to hear something from Sukuna after about a month, but eight weeks later you were still letter-less. 

He hadn’t called either, which while calls from him were rare, one normally seemed to roll in once a month or so.

Today was not that day though, so you finished drinking your morning coffee on the balcony of your apartment, soaking in the summer rays and feeling the humidity starting to burn out of the early morning air.

Your phone buzzed on the table next to you, seeing it was your group chat blowing up. Some of you were planning to meet up downtown to hang out in the park, so you were just going to walk from your place.

In typical small town fashion, everyone was more connected than you’d realized. Yuki, who was married to Choso, Sukuna’s cousin, was also childhood friends with Utahime, Gojo’s baby mama / girlfriend. Your old friend, Shoko, was also off this weekend so she would be joining you as well.  

Yuki was saying that Choso was likely also coming with his younger brother Yuji, so you were mentally preparing to interact with a crowd of people in a little while. You’d met Choso in the grocery when you and Sukuna had gone together, but he’d dipped from the drug business shortly after Sukuna’s arrest. He’d initially done it for some side money, so not as involved as Sukuna.

You didn’t mind the boys coming, you enjoyed hearing the stories of young Sukuna and it felt good to be connected to at least some of his family during this time. Even though you had no relationship with his parents, the cousins were incredibly kind and welcomed you with open arms.

Little Yuji was just a ray of sunshine while Choso was more quiet and reserved. Sukuna existed somewhere in between, his goofy but intense personality a happy medium.

You sit in silence, distracted by a dog chasing a frisbee across the park, catching it after a graceful jump and trotting back to its owner. The owner rubs the dog's sides and praises it before tossing the disc across the grass again. 

Cute, you think to yourself, impressed with the way the dog always drops the toy at the man’s feet. After a few more rounds, you retreat back inside, cleaning up the counter before hopping in the shower. 

The hot water washes over you, relishing in the sting it brings. Your mind wanders to Sukuna again, racing as it turns over every stone, unearthing unfavorable scenarios as to why he isn’t responding.

Did he get hurt?

Did he get tired of doing this with you?

Was there someone else this whole time?

The possibilities just get more and more ridiculous as you let the water pour down your face. 

He seems so invested in this. Literally three years have passed at this point, why would he still be talking to you all this time if there were others? He didn’t seem like that type considering he was head over heels for you.

He was a drug dealer though, surely that type had girls fawning all over them. 

Especially Sukuna. He’s so good looking and just exudes an air of confidence that would draw in women like a moth to light. 

You shake your head, attempting to rid your mind of the intrusive thoughts. He’s given you no reason to think this way, why was your brain self sabotaging you at this point? 

Try to give yourself some grace, you remember that line one of your friends had dropped on you on a particularly tough night. 

Nothing about any of this is normal, you’re waiting for a man who would go to the ends of the earth for you. Prematurely ripped away from you when you both were wide eyed and hopeful about the world you were about to mold.

Now that scene you’d begun to paint looks nothing like it initially was intended, but the same two subjects were still within the frame, just on opposite ends of the parchment.

Holding onto that same hope that started it all. 

You haven’t cried in a while, but right now a moment of weakness seems to have overpowered you. There’s no point in fighting it, clearly your body is trying to release some of the tension that inevitably builds up over time as this isn’t your first rodeo breaking down in the shower.

What if you both get out and you are different people? People who no longer are interested in the other. All this time wasted like the water swirling down your drain. 

You’re putting so much faith in promises that will have been made ten years ago when it’s all said and done. The world can look entirely different by then.

But the underlying makeup should remain the same. The sun will still rise and set, the ground below your feet will still be solid, down to the atomic level everything will be made up of these little balls of protons, neutrons, and electrons, and gravity will still anchor you to the earth. 

Surely if the foundation of the earth is constant, you could relearn anything because you’d have a firm jumping point.

Your bond can hopefully do the same. It’s all you can have faith in at this point; trusting in the plans and pacts you and Sukuna forged after becoming one together. 

That alone brings you hope, and for now, it’s enough. 

***

“There she is!” you hear Yuji call out from behind you. The sounds of thumping footsteps only confirms his arrival as he appears at your side, diving onto the outdoor blanket you are sitting on.

“What’s up buddy?” you laugh as he rolls into a chaotic crash landing at your feet. The boy is only about 8 years old and has the accompanying energy to match. 

“School is almost over for summer, I can't wait!” he announces, rolling onto his back to look at you upside down.

“Yuji don’t dive onto people!” Choso’s delayed command sounds as he appears in your peripheral with Yuki in tow.

“Oh my gosh can you believe how lame that potluck was at work yesterday?” she giggles as she joins you on the blanket.

“This is why potlucks are so stupid. Workplace is too cheap to just get us food, we still need to do the work ourselves,” you roll your eyes, remembering how there were essentially seven separate packages of grocery store cookies and hardly any real food.

A dessert spread more than a team lunch. 

“Did you talk to Uncle Kuna?” Yuji rolls onto his stomach, pink hair wild and unruly after thrashing about on the ground. 

The breath catches in your throat as you are reminded of the situation. 

“I haven’t sweetie,” you respond, trying to hide the rawness in your voice.

“Why not?”

You feel your face sag slightly, unsure of what to say.

“I’m not sure, maybe he’s just busy,” you shrug.

“He might not want to talk to you!”

“Yuji!!” Choso snaps, grabbing him by the arm to pull him up. “That’s not nice to say to people. Apologize.”

He gives you an apologetic look while Yuji mutters a sorry before dashing off to the playground adjacent to your group.

You just chuckle, “it’s really alright, he doesn’t understand.”

“Yeah well still, it’s not okay,” Yuki scoffs, shaking her head as he bounds away. “Can’t believe that brat is technically my brother in law. No filter on him.”

All three of you laugh, it was pretty wild having a brother in law almost twenty years younger than you. 

“So you really haven’t heard from him?” Choso probes, laying out their own blanket next to you.

“Yeah, it’s been almost two months at this point. I don’t want to worry, but I’m worrying,” you give an awkward giggle.

“I mean yeah that’s not like him,” Yuki agrees, pulling the cooler over. “Beer?” she opens the lid.

“Sure,” you reach in and grab one, cracking open the can and letting the cold liquid trickle down your throat. 

“I hope he’s okay. Hopefully didn’t get in a fight and fuck himself up or something…or fuck up someone else and get in trouble,” Choso adds, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“Hey sorry I’m late!” Utahime appears, dropping the rowdy snow haired toddler in her arms into your lap while she unfolds her chair. 

“Nooooo!” the little girl squirms, attempting to launch herself from your arms while you hold her hostage. 

“Hey. Enough,” her mother says sternly as you release her onto the blanket in front of you. Bold blue eyes just stare back at everyone before she becomes preoccupied with the toys Utahime drops out of the diaper bag.

“Hey mommy, hanging in there?” Yuki asks an exhausted looking Utahime.

“As best I can, she sighs. Being a single mom is not what I ever wanted. Your daddy really picked a good time to go get locked up!” she says to the toddler with a smirk, but you know there’s at least a little truth to it. 

“We were just talking about how she hasn’t heard from Sukuna in over two months,” Yuki says as she rolls a ball for little Akari to play with. 

“Oh, hmm, Gojo actually got transferred a few weeks ago, I wonder if the same thing happened to Sukuna? It took a little while for me to find out about Gojo, but not this long of course.” 

“I’m calling it, he got in a fight,” Choso says again.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Yuki argues back. “He hasn’t had any issues this entire time.”

“Yeah he’s never said anything about not getting along with the other inmates,” you follow up, repositioning yourself to better face everyone. 

“If he got transferred though, that’s a whole new group of people. You didn’t know him before, but he was a literal demon when he was younger. Always scuffling with people, drunk fights in college, and always getting into it when he was a street dealer. Once he became the top dog, it kinda stopped,” Choso explained to your surprise. This part of him had never really come up until now.

“Wow seriously?” you respond, taken aback at his words.

“Yeah. He never like, seriously hurt someone, and he’s seemed to largely grow out of it, but still. Scary guy when we were younger,” Choso leans back on his hands, looking up at you.

“He just was so charming and goofy when we hung out, I can’t imagine it,” you smile, imagining Sukuna with a black eye or two strutting around like hot shit.

“Oh yeah, he’s a great guy at the end of the day. He’d do anything for the people he cares about,” Yuki adds. “In high school Choso got into some shit and since he couldn’t get out of it on his own, Sukuna took out like three other guys on his own. Scared them so bad they never fucked with him again. Most of his fights were justified in my eyes.”

“Unless it was Gojo,” Utahime laughs. “Those two fought all the fucking time. I don’t even think they knew why once they got older. Some kind of childhood rivalry that carried on and probably still does in jail. Could beat each other up and then the next day be best friends. Even in rival drug rings, there was some weird mutual respect between them. Honestly poetic they ended up cell mates.” 

This is what you loved about this group of friends. Everyone went so far back and had an entertaining history with each other. Plus hearing cringey Sukuna stories gave you teasing ammunition for when he got out. 

“Hun I’m sure he’s okay, he’s not an idiot. He knows he needs to behave to get out. I don’t think he’d intentionally jeopardize his future with you like that,” Utahime pats your shoulder in support, giving you an understanding smile.

“I hope so,” you answer, feeling a little better about everything.

“I’m sure of it. Gojo says he rambles on about you all the time. He’s got your letters all securely stored and sorted. Said he reads them all every day.”

You can’t tell if your heart wants to break or swell in response. It’s so sweet that he’s like that, but also makes you feel very sad for him. It must be so lonely in there, you just want to hug and comfort him.

If only he’d let you visit! Stubborn bastard.

The rest of the afternoon is a blast. Shoko eventually joins too after her shift. You are thankful for this support system you happened to find yourself in. It makes everything just a little easier.

***

3 Years

“Fuck, I’m so glad you picked up!” Sukuna’s voice on the other line makes you drop your phone in surprise. 

Four months. Four fucking months since you heard anything from him. 

“Sukuna!! Where have you been? I was so worried!” you sob into the phone once you get it out from under the kitchen table as it took an unlucky bounce. Thank god it didn’t hang up!

“Oh god, it’s a long story. I got transferred, and it took fucking forever to get processed out and into the new place. No phone time and I couldn’t remember your new address of course. Well then I get in there and immediately get jumped by some other inmates. Guess there is some serious hierarchy in this place and they like to intimate the newbies. 

“Unfortunately for them, I kinda laid them out. You see sweets, I can throw a punch or two.”

“So I heard from your cousin,” you snicker, Choso was right all along.

“Ugh, that dick. I’m not like that anymore. Well, except for now, fuck! Not what I meant… let me finish the story!” you can imagine him shaking his head in annoyance.

“Well they fucked me up too. I don’t look too hot unless you’re into that. So I got put into a solitary area more so for mine and their own protection. So once again, no phone or letter time,” he finishes with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh Sukuna, I'm sorry that happened to you. I’m so glad you’re okay though. I was worried sick!”

“Aw you were worried about me tomato girl?” he says in a playful tone.

“Course I was you idiot! I’m always worried about you. Can you just make sure to come back home in one piece?” you huff at him while sporting a huge smile. You don’t even care, just over the moon that he's okay.

“I’ll try, baby. Anything for you,” his velvety voice serenades your ears. You’d missed it so much, hearing it again has parts of your brain firing up that you swear have been dormant the last few months. 

“Good.” 

It’s all you can say, tears threatening to burst from your eyes from happiness.

“Are you crying?”

“Sh-shut up Sukuna!” you stutter, sniffling into the phone as you feel the screen get damp against your cheek. 

His playful laugh sounds from the other side.

“It’s okay baby. It really is. I promise-“

“I'm just so happy to hear your voice, you have no idea,” you force out, trying to regain your composure. You don’t want to waste these precious minutes crying. 

“Me too sweets. My knees practically buckled when you answered. God I miss you so much. It’s okay now though. There shouldn’t be any more fights or shit. They know I’m not gonna fuck with them as long as they leave me be.” 

“I’m glad.”

“How’s the move and new job been?” he changes the subject.

“It’s been going great actually. Pretty much settled at the new job and my new place feels just like home. I missed the slower pace of life here. And the kind people. I’m right where I need to be. Just waiting on you,” you answer him. 

“I know. A third of the way there. Think you can wait the rest of it out?”

“I do. My friends and family have been a godsend. Your family and Utahime as well. It feels less like I’m going through it alone.”

“Tch, you hanging out with Gojo’s girl is so fitting. She’s a good woman though sticking by him through all this. Honestly he is too. You’ll have to meet him when we get out.”

“I heard you all have quite the history,” you giggle.

“With that bastard? Absolutely. It’s all mutual though. I’m better though, in all ways,” he grumbles.

You both sit in silence, daring the other to speak first. Finally you cave, some of the insecurities from earlier rearing their ugly heads.

“Hey Sukuna?”

“Hmm?”

“What if you get out and we’re completely different people and it’s…not the same?” you tremble as you finish your question.

“Then I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over again,” he answers as if it’s the most obvious and simple response. 

“But what if it’s you who doesn’t want me?”

“Tch, impossible.”

“Sukuna! Be serious!” you whine.

“Sweetheart, I am being serious, it would take an act of god for me to stop loving you. Think about it, we only knew each other for a short time and I fell so hard so fast. I don’t fall in love. Never have, thought I never would. But I did, and I don’t regret it for a second.

“Over the past three years, I’ve only fallen more and more. It might seem weird to you considering I’m in jail, but with how you go out of your way to stay in touch and talk to me, how you stay by my side through the bad…so much bad, it means more than anything to me. I can’t wait to spoil you rotten and try to make it all up to you, to show you how you mean everything to me. I don’t think I could ever compare to the devotion you’ve exhibited over the years, but I’m gonna fuckin’ try.”

You have to sit down as the butterflies explode in your gut. Why you? Why was it you he allowed into his life and decided to love so fiercely? One day you’ll ask, but for now you’ll just have to trust him and believe in him, just like he’s believed in you all these years.

“I’ve gotta go in a minute,” Sukuna says after a pause. “I promise to be more in touch now. Still good to talk on Saturday mornings?”

“Yes, one hundred percent. I was worried I’d need to call a different inmate when I stopped hearing from you.”

He gives an amused huff in response.

“You better not!” he whines, “only allowed to talk to me.”

“You’re the only one I want to talk to anyways you goof,” you laugh. 

“Good. I love you tomato girl. Always.”

“I love you too Sukuna.”

*** 

3 Years 3 Months

Sukuna is surprised he isn’t more animated as Hiromi opens the car door for him. Maybe everything still just doesn’t seem real yet, the shock from the morning yet to wear off after being told he was being let out on parole. After mentally preparing himself to be locked up for ten years, having the rug pulled out from under him in the best possible way had rocked him to his core. 

He recalls how he was immediately processed and escorted to his lawyer who thankfully guided him into the parking lot as he was trapped in a state of disbelief.

Everything is overwhelming. The sounds of traffic and cars on the highway was foreign at this point and the wide open expanses of the rolling hills and farmland felt too exposed compared to being locked away in a low ceiling cell with one source of natural light and only one person to talk to all day. 

As they got closer to town, all the changes that happened while locked away were becoming too much to process. A new president, new buildings appearing all over, gas prices that made his eyes pop out of his head. 

Everything was so different, but he prayed that your love for him had remained unchanged. All these other things he could figure out, but you no longer wanted him, nothing else mattered. 

“Can you take me downtown? Jefferson street along the river,” he blurts out to Hiromi.

“Of course. Is that where she is now?”

“Yeah,” Sukuna replies simply, heart starting to race at the thought of seeing you.

The closer they got, the more he truly believed he’d have to ask his lawyer to pull the car over to puke all over the side of the road. Being forced into a life without you for ten years had been scary, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer terror that would follow as he prepares to show up unannounced to the woman he needs more than life itself, not knowing if she’d take him back.

“Want me to wait?”  Hiromi jars him from his thoughts, now parked next to an old brick warehouse fixed up into condos.

Is the damn lawyer thinking the same thing? That there’s a very real possibility of the life he’d built in his mind crumbling before his eyes?

“Nah, I got it,” Sukuna shoots Hiromi his trademark smirk before turning around and heading towards the lobby door.

***

It’s a paperwork day so that means working from home. You appreciate these times so you can get some chores done while you’re at it. Usually you can swing one day a week remote and it really has improved your quality of life.

Moving some clothes from the washer to the dryer, you glance up at the time. 

2 PM. 

Just about two more hours and you’ll be done for the day. You start the dryer, leaving the laundry basket next to the machine so you can collect everything and fold them later. 

Trudging back to the office, you sit down and stare out the window. At least it’s Friday, and with only two more charts to complete, you very much intend to drag out the day until the weekend. 

Just as you begin to start the next chart, your doorbell rings.

Weird, it’s not too common to have anyone coming to your door considering you live in a condo that opens to an interior building hallway. 

Sighing in annoyance, you leave the office and cross the living room, cracking the door to peer out into the hallway.

If you weren’t leaning against the brick wall next to you, you probably would have blacked out and fainted as your eyes reveal what is before you.

Messy pink hair. Tired crimson eyes. Tattoos wrapped around his wrists and painting his face and sharp jawline.

“What the fuck!?!” you shriek as you fling the door open the rest of the way, hearing it slam the wall.

You stand, frozen in the doorway, feeling about five different emotions at once as you try to process what stands before you. Your brain would just have to catch up later though because your legs propel you towards him as you launch yourself into his arms, hugging him as tight as you can. Even though he smells like some cheap, sterile shampoo, to you, it’s the best thing your nose has ever inhaled as you press your face into his toned chest. 

It means he’s here. With you. In the flesh. Why? You haven’t a clue.

Sukuna’s arms hover behind you as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Trying to make sure this is real. Everything he’d dreamed of right here in front of him. He’d walked up to your place, stomach in knots as he tried to prepare himself to face you for the first time in over three years. Would you actually want to see him? Was there the possibility of you living some double life he didn’t know about?

None of that seems to be the case though, and he finally cages you against him, arms wrapped around your back making you feel more secure and safe than you ever have.

All the emotion begins to well up into the form of tears on his shirt as the somatic response leaves your body. Sobbing against him, you twist your fingers into the back of his shirt as your knees become shaky. Sukuna must notice because he hauls you up off your feet and carries you through the doorway, kicking it shut behind him. Once inside, he leans back against the door, supporting your body while you just unleash all the pain from three years.

“H-h-how? Why? What the fuck is going on?” you choke out, finally starting up into the crimson eyes you only saw in your dreams.

“Why don’t we sit down before you hurt yourself,” Sukuna chuckles and that almost makes your legs feel like jello all over again. His laugh. Hearing it in person. It dislodges another piece of the grief inside and has you crying all over again.

“Sweetheart I hope these are tears of joy or happiness,” he lifts you into his arms once he realizes you can’t walk again. 

“Of course they are you idiot,” you rasp out as he lowers you both to your couch, cradling you against his chest before setting you gently next to him.

“I got released on parole this morning. I’m not a hundred percent in the clear, but I don’t need to go back to jail. I have to check in with a parole officer and have some conditions I need to live by for the rest of the sentence, but other than that, I’m out. I can start living my life again,” his smile only grows as he explains, as if finally believing it himself.

You just stare at him in disbelief, all your prayers answered and the evidence is sitting right in front of you. 

“I just can’t believe it. You’re here. We’re together again. Do you still want me? Like want to do this with me? Life together?” you start rambling out the thoughts as they come into your head.

“Course I do. That’s why I came to you first tomato girl,” he melts your heart with the boyish grin you never forgot about.

“I’m your first stop?”

“Mhmm. And my last.”

You launch yourself into his arms again, straddling his lap and studying his face closer as he wraps you up in his arms again. His thumb reaches up to swipe the tears off your cheeks, red eyes boring into your soul, briefly flicking down to your lips before darting back to meet your gaze.

Leaning in slowly, your noses brush, lips trembling as they brush against his. Your fingers run up through his hair, twisting into the fluffy pink locks, blinking in disbelief that he’s really here.

Soft, chaste kisses are shared between you both as you start to re-acquaint yourselves with each other. You feel incredibly nervous, like it's your first kiss all over again, so you pull back briefly so you can catch your breath since apparently you forgot to breathe through all of that.

His lidded eyes meet yours, grinning at you while you feel your face heat up.

“You okay?” he asks softly, tracing small circles on your back where his hands are resting.

“Yeah, I’m just so nervous for some reason,” you chuckle, noticing a slight blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I am too, but it’s okay. You don’t need to impress me. I’m the happiest man alive right now even though it's clumsy and out of sync. It’s with you, and that alone makes this the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again Sukuna,” you force out. He’s being so sweet, but he’s right. Who the fuck cares, you’ll both figure it out together. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you.

“Well let’s practice again hmm?” Sukuna purrs, hand moving to cup your cheek and pull you in again. This time his tongue swipes along your bottom lip, making you gasp in surprise. You can feel the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as your tongue meets his, moving together in a clumsy dance as you re-familiarize yourself with how he tastes.

You giggle as your teeth accidentally clash with his, but that seems to loosen you up a little and you quickly forget about it, running your tongue along his gums and chasing his around his mouth. Finally finding a decent rhythm, your movements become more and more desperate, Sukuna’s grasp on your chin tightening as he deepens the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip.

Your hands start to wander, slipping under his shirt and grazing your fingertips over his rigid abs and chest, feeling every dip and ridge of his muscles as you feel him up. Sukuna groans into your mouth and you feel something hard twitch beneath you, instinctively grinding yourself against him. The pressure on your clothed clit makes you moan against his lips, feeling his hands moving to grip your hips to push you against his erection again, harder this time.

“Su-Sukunaaa,” you gasp, pulling back to glance down, his thick bulge prominent against his pants, you situated right on top of it. Your heart is pounding so fast you think it might burst, feeling the heat rush to your core.

“Hmm?” Sukuna leans back to look up at you, lidded eyes full of lust, “we can stop if you want baby.”

“Can we just…go somewhere else more comfortable? Not my living room,” you mutter, “I’m just not used to any of this. Feel like I’m going through my first time all over again,” you chuckle.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a grin, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips. 

“Of course, your bedroom?”

You nod and he carries you down the hall, setting you down on your bed as he kicks his shoes off before joining you. Laying down your head on the pillows, you pull him back on top of you to kiss you again, hands trailing down to his waist and pulling his shirt up to his shoulders.

“Shirt off?” Sukuna asks, face hovering just above yours.

“Mhmm.”

Sukuna sits back on his heels, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor.

His body takes your breath away. He’s even more muscular than you remember, tattoos snaking down his torso to disappear into the waistband of his pants, the top of his boxers bunched up on his hips.

You can’t help yourself, sitting up to run your hands all over him, shamelessly feeling him up and tracing each trail of ink down his body, not yet brave enough to follow them lower.

“You’re so jacked holy shit,” you whine as you start to focus on his abs.

“Heh, not much to do in there besides endless pushups tomato girl,” he chuckles, eyes watching your hands, clearly enjoying your exploration.

“I wanna take my clothes off, but you’re just so fucking shredded I feel like I’m gonna look like a joke compared to you,” you smirk at him, fiddling nervously with your shirt.

“Baaaaby you’re the most beautiful woman to me. Look, I want you to be comfortable, but fuck I wanna see you. I promise I’m gonna love it,” Sukuna starts to get more of a feral look in his eye, voice a little whiny in anticipation.

“Okay, just like, don’t look okay?” you laugh, not even sure why that is going to help anything, he’s going to see the end result anyways. Standing up, you peel off your outer layers, leaving your bra and panties on.

Sukuna is behaving, looking away from you like you asked. It warms your heart, and that gives you the final push to just take off everything. It’ll be a nice surprise for him.

“You can look now,” you giggle, laying back down.

Sukuna turns around and disbelief hits his face as soon as he sees you.

“Oh my godddd, so fuckin’ sexy,” his eyes immediately focus on your tits. You reach for his hand and place it on your breast, watching the way his jaw tenses up as his eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Fuckkkkk baby. First woman I’ve seen naked in 3 fuckin’ years. Last one too. God I need to get my pants off or I think I might seriously bust all over myself. Well, still might, but all this pressure is killing me.”

You burst out laughing, sitting up to unbutton his pants while he gropes all over your tits, squeezing the plush flesh between his fingers and brushing his fingertips across your nipples.

Sukuna lets go of you momentarily to shimmy off his pants and boxers, finally freeing his cock from its confines, hanging heavy in front of you. You can’t help but swallow hard, no way you can take all that! Sure you have before, but that was when you weren’t coming off a 3 and a half year dry spell.

“Sukuna fuck! You’re so big!” you reach out to fondle his balls before wrapping your hand around his shaft, making his whole body jerk in response. “I fuckin’ want it though, but god you’re gonna kill me with that thing.”

Sukuna inhales sharply as you stroke his length, teeth digging into his lip as he watches your hand work him.

“Oh my fuckin’ god, shit baby, feels so gooooood,” Sukuna groans, thrusting up into your hand one time before gasping, ripping your hand away.

“Shit I’m gonna cum so fast whatever we do, I’m not gonna even be able to fuck you properly, I apologize in advance,” a deep flush spreads to his neck and chest as you notice his tip leaking with so much pre-cum, his whole cock is glistening and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Just finger me real quick Kuna, please, I need something at this point,” you moan, your cunt starting clench around nothing, desperate for some kind of relief.

He moves quickly, pushing you back down into the pillows as his hand caresses your inner thigh, inching closer to your needy pussy.

“So fucking beautiful, all for me,” he groans, brushing his knuckles against your soaking cunt.

“Baaaaby soooo wet already goddamn,” his husky voice says as he drags some of your slick up to your clit, rubbing tight circles against your bundle of nerves.

“Oh my godddd, Sukuna!” you squeal, everything so sensitive but experiencing pleasure like you haven’t in years. Your vibrators were good, but he was better.

Your eyes slam shut, writhing as he stimulates your clit. It’s pure bliss, finally able to be intimate with the man you love, touching you in the way you’ve craved. Then you feel it, a push at your entrance as his thick finger starts stretching out your walls, working you open with shallow thrusts.

“Ah, fuck!” you grimace at the brief moment of pain that quickly gives way to pleasure as his knuckles drag along your velvety walls.

“You okay?” he asks, thrusting slowly in and out, the clicking sounds indicating how wet you are each time he pushes back in.

“Yeah, just hurt at first. Do another,” you force out, the pleasure intensifying as you get used to the feeling.

Sukuna briefly pulls out, the loss of fullness making you needy. He’s quick to refill you though, the burning stretch returning as he pushes two fingers inside, making you grip his arm in pain. 

“Breathe, relax, you’re clenching me so hard, which I’d normally love, but it's hurting you,” Sukuna says gently, not going any deeper, watching you carefully.

You focus on your breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply a few times, trying to slacken the muscles in your pelvis.

“That’s better, keep doing that,” he purrs, talking you through it as he starts to thrust deeper, the pain soon subsiding. Every thrust of his fingers hits a new angle inside of you, probing for your sweet spot. Eventually, one spot has you moaning, arching your chest into his where he settled next to you.

“Hmm baby, right there? Like this?” he hums as he crooks his fingers up into your sweet spot, fingerfucking you at such a grueling pace that all you can do is whine and turn into a writhing mess beneath him. Your vision is seeing stars at this point as he pushes you towards your release. 

Sukuna leans down to pull a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud while his thumb pad presses against your clit.

“Sukuna! Ohh-oh my god, please, don’t stop, just like that! Fuck Sukuna!” you start babbling nonsense as the pool of desire deep within your cunt begins to ignite, causing you to shatter as the orgasm tears through your body. Your fingers rip through his hair as you arch into his face, cunt gushing onto his hand while clenching so hard, sucking his fingers in deeper.

“Oh fuckkkkk, yesss like that baby, god cum all over me. Fuckin’ perfect girl,” Sukuna’s deep voice just makes it all better as he makes sure you are stimulated through every second of your climax. Finally your body stills, feeling his fingers slip out, coated in your juices.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” Sukuna says with a pop as he pulls them out of his mouth, glancing down at your ruined state before leaning down to pepper your chest and neck with kisses, making you giggle as he finally finds your lips again.

“Mmm want you to fuck me Kuna,” you whine.

“Yeah? God baby I wanna fuck you too, been dreaming of the next time I could feel you clenching around me. How do you wanna do this? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not gonna last. Like I’m thinking bad bad, thirty seconds tops,” he gives you a boyish grin.

“Sukuna seriously?” you laugh, not sure if he’s just being dramatic or not.

“I’m dead serious sweetheart, thought i was going to when you were in my lap earlier. Probably even worse than my first time, I’m fighting love this time around too,” he laughs, kissing you on the nose.

“Aww, well I don’t care either way, just wanna feel close to you,” you smile back at him. “We have forever for you to work your stamina up again. Lots of practice in our future.”

“Damn right. How do you wanna do this?”

“Something with lots of skin on skin contact and intimacy,” you respond.

“Alright, missionary it is. Spread’em tomato girl,” Sukuna nudges your legs apart, “got a condom or anything?” 

“Uhhhh no, I have not slept with anyone since you, so I never bought any more” you chuckle.

“Hmph, good. I can pull out-”

“You and I both know you aren’t doing that, and quite frankly I don’t want you to. Fuckin’ fill me up and we can go get a plan b later,” you tease him.

“Girlllll you are….so right though, no way am I gonna fuck you for the first time in years and cum anywhere other than that perfect pussy,” Sukuna growls, lining himself up. He glances up at you one last time and after an approving nod, he pushes his thick cock inside of you.

“Ohhhh my god,” Sukuna collapses on top of you, trembling and shaking as he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you close while resting the other next to your head.

The stretch is intense but quickly subsides as his cock gets slicked up by your arousal. Your heart is so full of love for Sukuna, tears threatening to spill over.

“Look at me,” you pull his chin down, knowing he’s trying to screw his eyes shut to last. When you meet the reds of his eyes, they are full of the same adoration and love you know are in yours, eyes watering as his face contorts to fight back the tears.

Neither of you move, Sukuna bottomed out inside of you while you desperately try to keep yourself from clenching around him.

“I love you,” you whisper, his forehead pressed against yours, every inch of his skin pressed hot against you. It's the most intimate moment you’ve ever had where neither person is moving, but it isn’t needed. All the commitment and hard work you’ve both put in over the years at making this work, being there for each other, and pushing each other to be the best version of yourselves all while physically apart has culminated into this moment of working together one last time to prolong this feeling.

“I love you too. Can’t believe I-ah, I got so lucky to find you in this life. You waited for me, never gave up on me, fuck,” he groans, unable to finish sentence as you clench around him making him thrust once in response.

“Fuuuuuck, I can’t… I’m sorry, I’m-shit, fuck- gonna cum” he starts thrusting his cock into you, his thick tip dragging along your walls as he starts to throb inside of you. Slow and deep, his whole body is shaking as he whimpers just before feeling him spill his hot seed into your cunt.

“Ahhh - shit, I love you,” he moans your name as he pushes himself as deep as he can, cock pulsing as he pumps everything into you, filling you so much that you feel some trickling out down your thigh.

He collapses onto your chest, face buried in the crook of your neck as his breaths are hot on your skin. You run your fingers down his back, a loving caress as you trace the ink snaking down his muscles.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but eventually Sukuna sits up, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling out of you and moving to your side, pulling you up against his bare chest.

“I didn’t get to finish what I was saying when my dick rudely interrupted me,” he chuckles, “but thank you for not giving up on me. I promise I’m done with that life and I’m devoted to building this new one with you. I swear to god I’ll take care of you, you’ll be my equal, my partner, and my best friend and I’ll always put you first. You’ll never be alone again. 

“I love you so much Sukuna. I was ready to wait longer, but I’m never going to complain that you came back early, this is easily one of the best days of my life. I’ll never take for granted the special moments we share together.”

“I love you too. Let’s sleep, I’m so fucking happy that from now on I’ll be waking up to you for the rest of my life,” Sukuna says, positioning himself to spoon you, finally letting his tears silently fall into your hair.

One more Chapter and it will be a happy fluffy epilogue!

<< Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514 @sukubusss @scorpiosugar @kiixonmm @xlilycoco @nina-from-317

[paarksunghoon]

hello omg i love love LOVE deep honey, which is rare cus i usually do not touch fluff at all but smth abt the way u wrote got to me. i was wondering that in case u wanted an idea, u could write abt sunghoon rushing over to take care of his sick girlfriend? :3 just a thought or any headcannons u have on that would do fine but if u wanna turn it into a drabble or fic that's good too, especially if it's a continuation of deep honey

anyways, that is all from me, have a good day!!!

thank you so much :’) for all of my nsfw drabbles and content, I really enjoy writing the softer kind of stories. switched up the request just a little. consider this a token of my appreciation for your kindness. xx

ps this is what I’m imaging him wearing

***

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that nothing good could ever happen when you text someone past 2AM.

Both existential and physical dread consume you the second you open your texts and see a plethora of unread messages due to your current state of being. You’ve been bedridden for what feels like years but it’s only been a few of days. It’s technically Sunday morning and technically you should be fast asleep, especially since you’d taken medication to help you rest throughout the night. But seems like your body has other plans for you.

Tossing and turning won’t do either. Your head feels much better than it has for the past two days. You’d taken two days off or classes because of intense migraines paired with what seems like onset sickness due to it being flue season. Guilt over missing classes and groveling to your professors (even if they extended grace and told you to rest up) ate you alive, only ebbing away when you closed your eyes and slept.

Your roommate has been away because of a family event and what was once a promising weekend full of relaxation and the apartment to yourself is now a time for you to wallow in your misery. You’ve gone through countless tissues and have slept more in the past few days than in your entire life. It feels like your head might as well be cut off with how many problems your eyes, nose, and throat are giving you.

To pass the time, social media distracts you for a few minutes and you catch glimpses of what your friends have been up to. Partying. Studying. Eating at the cafeteria. All of these are mundane events you took for granted because you’d love to be anywhere but rotting away in your apartment. You’d rather studying for a midterm over feeling like you can’t move without losing your breath.

You take this time to catch up on texts as well. There are so many what remain unread by you and guilt crawls up your spine as you begin to reply to everything.

hi riki!! sorry I haven’t replied yet. I’ve been sick all weekend :/ I wish I could’ve gone to jake’s game with u bc it looked so fun ☹️

jungwon ur your cat is so cute omg…please send more vids. also sorry for replying late im sick lol

sunoo I swear to god if you watch another episode without me, I’m gonna beat your ass whenever I recover

yes, mom. I’m resting as much as I can! sorry I haven’t responded sooner. I still feel sick

heeseung do u think sunghoon would be weirded out if i text him right now. pls advise 😁

Heeseung immediately reads the message and the text bubble appears straight away. He’s one of your closest friends in university who always happens to be friends with Park Sunghoon, the guy you’ve been talking to for the past month and a half.

heeseung: Nah not weird. He’d probably like hearing from you

heeseung: He was asking about you earlier today and said you haven’t been talking to him as much

you: looking at my phone made me nauseous :/

heeseung: You should probably tell him that bc he’s been staring at his phone all day

you: soooo it wouldn’t be weird if I texted him out of the blue rn?? usually we don’t like…start conversations so late

heeseung: You’re overthinking. Just text him and if he doesn’t reply then he’s asleep and will text you in the morning

you: I’m scared of fucking it up

heeseung: There’s nothing to fuck up. If he gets mad that you took care of yourself (he won’t be) then he’s the one who fucked up

you: ugh when did u become the voice of reason

heeseung: :)

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard after you’ve opened Sunghoon’s text. You can imagine his slight pout when you think about how he’d react when he realizes you haven’t texted him back, which makes you feel even more guilty than you already are.

You’re not really sure how you started talking to him, let alone befriended Heeseung to the point where he started inviting you to hang out with him and his group of friends. Heeseung had originally been a study partner for a shared class back when the two of you were sophomores. It’s been a couple of years since then and now most of your conversations consist of TikTok jokes and Heeseung having to deal with you pining over one of his friends.

Sunghoon is every bit of cool you can imagine. He was so quiet when you first met him, residing in his oversized sweater since it was approaching the beginning of autumn. Heeseung invited you to a local bar on a Friday night after midterms and said your first drink would be on him if you made it before last call, knowing very well you were likely getting ready to slip underneath your blankets and call it a night.

He was right as always. You showed up wearing jeans and an old shirt with a jacket that was too big for your body. You’d made somewhat of an effort to look presentable since you’d be hanging out with his friends near campus and would rather not look like you’d gotten rolled over by a locomotive. It was there you met Sunghoon for the first time. He was so quiet that you barely heard him talk until an hour into hanging out with him, but that’s when you learned that he was someone you needed to get to know before he’d show you his loud, boisterous personality.

The more you hung out with him, the more you started to picture yourself with Sunghoon, away from the group you started to call your friends too. You’d only see him when Heeseung invited you out or if you bumped into someone else while Sunghoon was in tow with them. Neither of you seemed to cross paths otherwise and even then, Sunghoon was a bit too timid to approach you first and start a conversation.

Part of you wondered if you were ever too bold when you’d get drunk with him and your friends. You were loud, full of laughter and affection that none of your friends were surprised every time you shouted compliments across the tables and declared your love for the little group you considered to be your family away from home. Heeseung had gotten used to it pretty quickly and so did the others, albeit it took a while for their ears to stop glowing red every time you’d pull them into a drunken hug.

Maybe you sent a little too far with Sunghoon, who immediately tensed when your arms wrapped around his shoulders the first time you let your inhibitions down fully. A few beers and shots in, and Heeseung was anticipating your drunken rant about how much you love the little life the five of you had created and hoped that it would continue even after you all graduate.

Sunghoon always looked a bit intimidating with his dark, thick eyebrows and shielded his wandering eyes. He always looked like he knew what he wanted and his grace always made you think twice about what you’d say to him. Although, you knew this was the beginning of an onset crush that wouldn’t remain hidden for long, let alone when you weren’t sober.

So you’d thrown your arms around Sunghoon’s shoulder and told him how happy you were that Heeseung introduced the two of you. While you try not to think about that moment too much, you recall telling Sunghoon that he was slowly starting to become one of your favorite people because of how funny he is when people least expect it. You liked that he was so kind to his friends and that he was so confident in himself, and that you wished you could be a little more like him.

You also said he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. It was a sobering moment because he looked at you like you’d grown two heads and his shoulders felt like they might’ve been pushing you off of his body.

Stumbling with consistent apologies, none of your mutual friends seemed to notice what was happening behind them. You can picture the look on his face when your mind crosses to this moment, how he’d looked at you with bewilderment with his mouth ajar. Sunghoon didn’t say anything and you took that cue to leave him alone and head to the bar, where you hoped distance would make this night seem less tragic than it was.

When morning came around, you were the only person in your shared group chat who declined getting a late morning breakfast due to your embarrassment. Even during the next weekend, when Jake opened up his apartment for a casual hang out, you were the only person who didn’t show up, citing work and study stresses keeping you away from your friends.

Heeseung knew those were merely excuses.

“Cut the shit, Y/N. Are you okay? Did one of the guys do anything to make you uncomfortable?” The worst laced in his tone made you feel guilty for having him think the worse of people he knew before he met you.

“No, nothing like that. I think I’m the one who fucked up and made them uncomfortable.”

“Well clearly not since Jake invited you to his place. What’s going on? Do you want me to come over?”

The last thing you expected from Heeseung was to see him double over in laugher when you explained your predicament, clutching onto your bed like he’d fall to the ground if he didn’t. You’re sure that fit of laugher gave him a new set of abs.

“Sunghoon wasn’t weirded out. He texted me and asked if you were okay.” Heeseung pulled his phone out of his pocket to show you, leaving you in a cloud of confusion. “He probably likes you. Sunghoon’s a natural with girls even if he doesn’t realize they’re flirting with him. I think he likes you too because he’s acting really awkward because he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

That night left you with more question than answers. You considered texting Sunghoon and asking if the two of you could talk, but you didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable and tell him what Heeseung told you in fear of putting your friend in an awkward position. So you let the discomfort settle and braved seeing him the next time one of your friends invited you out.

Which, to no one’s surprise, was the weekend after Jake’s get together. Seoul’s autumn carnival was in its third weekend by the time the five of you were able to find adequate time to ride every rollercoaster and eat until your stomachs caved in. You loved the fair and were the first person to buy an admission ticket. Poor Jay, who wasn’t the biggest fan of big rides in the first place, tagged along with Jake every time he insisted on it. You tried your best to keep some distance between yourself and Sunghoon, even if Heeseung said you were being ridiculous. You’d chosen to stick by him until Sunghoon volunteered to help you pick up the food trays when you lost a game of rock-paper-scissors.

“I’m sorry that I acted weird that night,” he said, cutting the silence as the two of you waited for your order. He didn’t have to explain. You knew what he was talking about. “Heeseung said you felt bad for making me feel uncomfortable but I need you to know you didn’t make me feel that way.”

That was the longest sentence he’d ever said to you, let alone it being the first time he initiated a conversation with you. He watched as you stood with your eyes wide and mouth parted like you wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it.

“I think you just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to say nice things about me. I didn’t realize we were that close because you’d been affectionate with everyone but me up until that night.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I was, uh, flustered.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He averted your gaze and looked at his shoes momentarily before he looked back at you. “I liked what you said. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You laughed at the awkwardness dissipating. “I thought I crossed a line, or something. You just sat there and I thought I fucked up by touching you.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t. I…I liked it a lot.” You tried to hide a grin by keeping your bubbling excitement under wraps failed miserably. Sunghoon smiled too, offering to carry most of the trays back to the table where your friends were too hungry to talk for the next ten minutes.

The memory brings you back to the present where your thumbs hover the keyboard. You start to read back the conversation between the two of you and feel those butterflies erupt in your stomach for the umpteenth time. The two of you have talked about anything and everything. Nothing is off limits. So why is texting him to let him know you’ve been sick for the past few days so difficult for you?

you: hi

you: sorry I haven’t texted a lot in the past few days. I’ve been having migraines and now I’ve caught a cold ):

you: im sorry for texting so late too

He texts immediately.

sunghoon: You don’t have to be sorry. Are you feeling better now?

sunghoon: Actually don’t answer that

Your phone rings.

“Hey,” you say with your phone propped against your ear. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m the only who’s calling you when you’re sick, so I’m technically the one bothering you.” His laugh on the other line makes you smile a little too hard. “I was really worried. None of the guys heard from you so I figured you needed some space.”

“Unfortunately. I had to skip a few classes because it hurt to stand up. I’m pretty sure I’ve slept more this past week than I have in the last month.”

“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

“I feel bad that I haven’t been able to talk to you.”

As if Sunghoon could sense you pouting, he clicks his tongue and reassures you. “It’s fine, Y/N. I’d probably do the same thing. I can’t imagine how much pain you’ve been in.”

“I would honestly rather study and take a million midterms than go through this again. I feel like someone just took their shoe off of my head.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. Can I bring you anything? Medicine, maybe?”

You cough a little. “No, but thank you. My friend dropped off a lot of NyQuil and other stuff to help me. It’s working…kind of. Still feel like shit, though.”

“…Can I come over? To help you with your sickness, of course. I can bring you soup.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You frantically rise from your bed amidst his words and realize there are tissues on the ground and dirty clothes strewn everywhere because of your lack of energy. Your living room must be a mess, too, and this would also be the first time Sunghoon would see you without any makeup on.

“I want to. But I mean, only if you’re up for it. I don’t want to stress you out since you’re sick. I just want to help make you feel better. That…and I miss you.”

Sunghoon’s never been so direct before. Even though the two of you have been talking for a while, neither of you have been so forward about it. Conversations are always subtly flirty to the point where the effervescent feeling simmers just underneath the surface. The two of you have hung out without the rest of your friends and have been alone before, but neither one of you has gone so far as you be so bold about the other.

“I miss you too,” you whisper into the phone.

“Give me thirty minutes. I’ll come with soup.”

He hangs up and with a newfound sense of urgency, you make your bed and throw away any stray trash. You put your dirty laundry in the hamper, which is piled high and untouched. It’ll be a problem for when you’re not sick.

The living room isn’t too bad. You straighten furniture and throw away empty takeout containers and wash a few utensils. The tasks don’t feel as draining as they did a few days ago and you’re starting to regain a little bit of your breath.

True to his word, Sunghoon arrives thirty minutes after he said he would. You open the door and look at him. He’s wearing blue hoodie and sweatpants with specs that make him look significantly more attractive than you’re used to.

“Hi,” Sunghoon says with a gentle smile. “I missed you.”

You bite your lip and blurt out your first thought. “You look really good in those glasses.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “Thank you. Can I come in?”

“Right, right.” You step aside and he follows you into your apartment. He takes his shoes off and places them neatly by the shoe rack.

“I might need to reheat this. I got it from that place near my apartment. You know, the one with the yellow banner?”

“I love that place.”

He smiles at you. “I know. Can I heat up some soup for you?”

When you nod, Sunghoon moves to the correct cabinet and pulls out everything he needs. It astounds you because he’s only ever been to your apartment twice before, both times with your other friends in tow. It dawns on you that it’s the first time the two of you are alone in your space. You’re touched that he remembers where your things are.

He beckons you to sit on the counter in front of the steaming bowl and the aroma of spices makes your mouth water. You haven’t been able to eat consistently in the past few days, surviving on bland foods like bread and crackers to sustain your health because anything else made you feel sicker than you were. The steam feels good against your skin and you dig in right away.

Sunghoon pulls your hair back when it gets close to the rim and holds it for you while you lap up the soup. It seems as though you’re hungrier than you thought because you sit there wordlessly, shoveling liquid into your mouth while Sunghoon watches.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I must look like a zoo animal.”

“You’re sick, Y/N. You have nothing to apologize for. The first meal you can stomach is the best one.” It’s like he gets you. Sunghoon continues to hold your hair back until you’re finished. He washes the bowl and spoon, and puts it back where they belong.

Sunghoon turns around and looks at you under the ambient lighting you and your roommate put up in lieu of the overhead lights. It feels like he’s inspecting you and you try really hard not to think about the fact that you don’t feel presentable in this moment.

“Your apartment feels very you,” Sunghoon says. “I like all of the green furniture and the art on the wall.”

“My roommate picked the decor out but I’m starting to understand why she loves art so much.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, looking at you. “Would you want to go to an art museum with me?”

“I’d really like that.”

Sunghoon pulls you by the hand to your couch and you try your best not to feel flustered with his touch. He sits you down on the cushion and immediately you feel like you need to be hyper vigilant because he’s looking around the apartment and you’re wondering if he can see the messes you see.

“Do you have a blanket? We could watch some TV. Or I could go. I don’t know.”

“Don’t go.” You say it too quickly but Sunghoon’s shoulders relax. “The blankets are beside the couch.”

He drapes it over you, leaving himself to fend for the cold. Although you’re sure he’s pretty warm, you open up the blanket and invite him to share it with you.

This is new territory. You two have just been talking. But Sunghoon isn’t deterred. He slots himself next to you and doesn’t shy away when he feels your arm pressed against him.

“Sorry for the mess. And for, well…” He watches you gesture to your face, which is undoubtedly red with dark circles underneath your eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I still like you.”

You aren’t used to him being so upfront like this. He watches you with easy eyes, the kind of feeling that makes you believe what he says. Sunghoon is pretty reserved when it comes to these types of things and you often find yourself being the one to push him towards his bolder side. But even though you feel flustered by his words and underneath his stare, you like this newer side of him.

“I’m such a mess.”

Sunghoon watches you push your forehead into his shoulder in an attempt to hide yourself from him. He smiles at your antics and loves the feeling of your body on his. He’s been hesitant to do things like hold your hand or kiss your cheek in fear or overstepping a boundary. He doesn’t know what came over him when he held your hair back from falling into the hot soup. He knows very well that he could’ve asked where you kept your hair ties, but helping you when he knows you need it felt like the right thing to do.

Now, he wonders if you’re growing bolder with him too. You let your forehead rest against his hoodie as you take deep breaths. He hears you sniffle a few times and nearly coos at the mere thought of you suffering from your sickness. When you pull yourself away from him, the tip of your nose is slightly runny and your eyes look a bit more red than usual.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

He bites his lip. “You could look worse.” You try not to let your cheeks rise in heat.

“You’re just being nice.”

Sunghoon laughs and shakes his head. He could never lie about how he feels towards you. “Nope. You still look really cute.” He watches the gears work inside your head and locates the TV remote when you don’t say anything. “What do you want to watch?”

“I dunno.”

“C’mon, you must’ve been watching TV while you were cooped up here.”

You shake your head. “Migraine, remember? Felt like my eyes were gonna burst.”

This time, he coos out loud. Sunghoon puts on a show you’ve mentioned enjoying in the past and hopes he chose correctly. You seem to be mellowing out and paying attention to the screen in front of you until you start breathing heavily. It’s not until he hears you try to silence a small coughing fit that he shoots up from his seat and pours you a glass of water.

“Here.” Sunghoon doesn’t let you hold the glass. Instead, he beckons your mouth open by placing the rim between your lips and lets you swallow the water, tilting it up until you’ve consumed all of it. He wipes the excess water from the corners of your mouth with his thumb and looks down at you with concern. “Do you have any tea? I can make you some. Hopefully that’ll soothe your throat.”

“Stupid medicine isn’t working,” you grumble. “I might as well perish.”

“Tea, baby,” Sunghoon says, the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. You almost don’t notice it. “Where do you keep your tea and honey?”

“Cabinet beside the fridge.”

Sunghoon comes back a few minutes later with piping hot chamomile tea with honey. You don’t know how he does it, anticipating your every need and putting just enough honey where it doesn’t feel like you’re stuffing your throat with the sweet nectar. You sip on it slowly as he situates himself back underneath the blanket and keeps his eyes on the television while you try to calm your erratic heartbeat.

Eventually, the episode finished and it’s almost four in the morning when you start to get sleepy. Sunghoon hears you yawning beside him and does his best not to grin like a lovesick idiot when you push your body against his in an attempt to get comfortable. You’re holding the empty cup loosely in your hands when your eyes start to droop and as much as Sunghoon would love to stay like this, he knows it’ll be better for you to sleep in your own bed with your back against the mattress.

“Baby,” Sunghoon whispers. He grabs the mug from your hands and sets it on the coffee table. “I think you should sleep in your bed. You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.”

“But you’re so warm.”

He bites back a smile. “Thank you, but you’re gonna wake up with back pain and I know you’ll be mad that you didn’t sleep with pillows.”

He’s right and you know it but that doesn’t stop you from letting a whine slip past. Sunghoon doesn’t complain when you lean on him for support (or rather, you push your full weight onto him because you cannot be bothered with physical tasks at this late hour). Instead, he holds your waist with his arm and guides you into your bedroom from his memory of coming here a couple times before now.

Despite this, he’s never been inside your room. You’ve always kept the door closed but as he opens it, Sunghoon completely melts at how your bedroom is so utterly you. The dark green comforter hugs your queen-sized bed and a mountain of pillows cover the top near the bed frame. Your desk is an organized mess of notebooks, pens, and highlighters you carry with you during study sessions. Photographs in pretty frames decorate your walls along with posters of your favorite music and films.

He spots a picture of the two of you from that day at the amusement park when Heeseung insisted on taking a photo since the lighting was “perfect.” Sunghoon suspected that wasn’t the case but let him take it anyhow. He always considered that to be his first official memory with you. Knowing you might feel the same makes Sunghoon’s heart flutter.

“Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

His soft touches make you fall much deeper into your tiredness. The mattress below you feels too good to be true as Sunghoon opens the blankets for you to crawl underneath. He watches you carefully as you scoot to one side and make yourself comfortable, wondering if you’re enjoying the side of him that wants to pamper you.

When you’re all tucked in with the blankets underneath your chin, Sunghoon can’t help but lean down and brush a few stray hair strands from your face. He caresses your cheek and holds himself back despite your lips being right in front of him. Instead, he settles for rubbing your soft cheek with his thumb before leaving.

Except, you reach out and grab onto his wrist. “Where are you going?”

His looks back at you in the dim light. “Home, baby. I’ll let you sleep.”

The pout you’re wearing is tearing him limb from limb. “I don’t want you to go home.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “Please…I haven’t seen you at all this week.” Sunghoon hears the strain in your voice and he isn’t sure if you’re awake enough to know what you’re saying. “I-I just want you here with me.”

How could he say no to that?

Sunghoon sits on the empty side of the bed and lets you guide your hand in his bigger one. He watches as you shake your head and he’s about to ask what you mean when you open the blanket.

He feels momentarily guilty when he pulls his hand away from you because he hears you whine again, but he slips off his hoodie to avoid overheating. He’s left in his sweatpants and a loose shirt when sliding into your bed right next to you.

You waste no time and attach yourself to Sunghoon, pushing your body until you’re resting on his chest. He does his best not to let his heartbeat give him away. This is the most he’s ever touched you. At best, he’d brush his hand against yours and waited for the right time to hold it. Today feels like he’s thrown caution into the wind.

Sunghoon puts his glasses on your night table and pulls you close to him, encircling his arms until he finds a comfortable position. Your warm breaths litter his skin and he feels like he could run laps with how happy he is in this moment. You look so cute with your body limp against his. He loves that you’re not hesitant around him anymore and hopes you know just how much he wants you close to him.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sunghoon says in the dark, unsure if you’re still awake or not.

“What’s your secret?”

Your eyes remain closed, eyelashes covering your beautiful eyes and your cheeks are squished into a pout against his chest. He looks down at you like you’re precious cargo and a rare gem he never wants to let go of.

“I really want to kiss you.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, Sunghoon feels you move your head until you press a kiss against his chest, allowing your lips to linger for a few seconds before reverting back to your original position.

“Kiss me tomorrow.”

Sunghoon hears you snoring soon after.

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself. “I can do that.”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[lazylattedgleam]

Okay okay okay! Guys! Lemme rant!

THE FUCKING UNREQUITED LOVE TROPE UGHHHH ITS TOOO TOOO TTOO GOOD! LIKE THE HURT AND THE PAIN IS JUST ANOTHER LEVEL OF FEELING REJUVENATION and my pathetic self CAN ONLY TAKE THIS KIND OF ANGST (ps: would loooove if it ends with comfort tho for my delulu ass)!

TW: Love and Deepspace Non MC FIC rants! (So if you don’t like em please don’t read further! Thank you!)

HENCE WHY I LOVE LADS X NON MC READER FICS! AND BELIEVE YOU ME THERE ARE SOOOOOO MANY FUCKING GOOD ONES LIKE UGGHHH! ESPECIALLY YK WHEN THE MC IS PERFECT AND ALL YOU EVER WANTED TO BE BUT SHES TOO NICE FOR YOU TO EVER EVER HATE HER!

AND THE FACT THAT THE LIs TECHNICALLY NEVER UNDERSTAND THE NON MC READER OR THE WAY THOSE FICS DESCRIBE HOW MUCH MORE LIVELY THE GUYS GET WHEN THEY INTERACT WITH THE MC LEAVING THE READER ASIDE! UGHHHH ITS SOOOO GOOOD!

——————>————————————————>——————————————>——————

Aaaaaaand thaaaaats that :’)

————0————0—————0———

(PS: if you wanna check it out)

LADS x NON!MC Angst

[urcoolgf]

CAN’T FIGHT THIS NO MORE

pairing. bf¡drew && singer¡reader

content. fluff

summary. almost a year later, you && drew are stronger than ever. a newly releasing single, && another album on the way has drew thinking about the future

ever since you let drew listen to your songs from your last album, he’s been all but begging you to let him in—even just a little more—on this album. you, of course, obliged. it’s been amazing having him be a bigger part of your next studio album titled ‘positions’—the name just as suggestive as the rest of the album. although, this wasn’t just a lustful album, it was about the most pure form of love you had ever experienced—drew.

but, before ‘positions’ dropped, you collabed with justin beiber on a single you were planning to release before positions. the song wasn’t on the album, but it felt essential to the lead up of ‘positions’.

‘stuck with u’ not only featured justin beiber, but you even added a little snippet of drew’s voice in the beginning. he didn’t know that yet—while he had been a consistent figure in the making of ‘positions’ he had no clue about this single.

you were torn with how you wanted him to hear it for the first time. waiting until it released felt fun, but kind of shady—like you had hid it from him, which you technically had. playing it from the studio was normal at this point, and you didn’t want normal. you wanted this one to be different. the song was set to release in two days so you needed to think of something, and fast.

almost as if someone was listening to your thoughts, your phone rang. it was your manager.

“hey! what’s up?,” you picked up the phone, a certain cheeriness in your tone.

your manager began speaking as if he was frazzled—which he probably was, “hey y/n. i know it’s last minute, but they’re having an event at the coffee shop around the corner—the one you love–”

which also happened to be the one you met drew at.

“and they had a band, but their flight canceled– blah, blah, excuses, excuses… point is: would you be free to do a little live singing there… like tonight? you can perform whatever songs you’d like. maybe even some snippets from the new album?,” his tone was hopeful, which surprised you because you were never the type to pass these little gigs down—especially in your city.

“of course! i’d love to,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face that your manager couldn’t see, but he could hear it. this was literally the perfect opportunity to expose drew to ‘stuck with u’.

“awesome! alright, i’ll call them back, let them know. it starts at 7pm. talk later y/n,” and before you could say goodbye, he had hung up.

you couldn’t help the almost giddy feeling in your stomach. you were so excited, but you were nervous, too. performing the song as drew’s first listen was risky, but it would be memorable.

drew was currently visiting his sister in the next city over, so you just shot him a quick text.

y/n: meet me @ our coffee shop 7pm i love u

he replied almost instantly– as he always does.

drew<3: I’ll be there. I love you baby🩷 PS Liliana says hi!

drew <3: sent 1 attachment

a soft smile spread across your face unknowingly. you clicked on the image of his baby niece in his arms—the picture clearly taken by his sister—and just like that all your anxiety had washed away. drew was the most caring, amazing person you knew. he was going to love whatever you performed.

tonight was going to be perfect.

—

you got to the coffee shop about an hour early to set up, and meet your manager. you told him you wanted to perform ‘stuck with u’, and he luckily had found another male singer who was willing to sing justin’s part in that short time.

“hey y/n! this is jackson! he’ll be singing with you tonight,” your manager walked up, hand behind jackson’s back, guiding him to you.

“hey jackson! nice to meet you,” you beamed at him. you were excited for tonight, and super grateful your manager found someone on such short notice.

“you too. i’m a huge fan,” he smiled brightly, hand extending towards you. you took it, and shook his hand gently.

the two of you bounced vocals off each other a bit before the host was telling you it was 3 minutes ‘til show time. you peaked your head out into the small crowd—news didn’t spread that fast that you were headlining, but you didn’t mind. you liked the smaller crowds, more intimate. you saw drew sat at a table by himself, looking around for you and checking his watch.

“1 minute,” the hostess whispered to you, drawing your attention from the crowd. your phone pinged, so you quickly checked it.

drew<3: Hey baby I’m here. Where are you?

a sweet message, one that would have to go unanswered as the host began to announce you and jackson. the two of you walked onto the small stage they had set up in the corner of the shop.

as soon as you stepped out, your eyes went to drew—the shocked look on his face, followed by a soft smile. the host let you take over the mic so you could announce the song you were going to sing.

“hi everyone! thanks so much for coming out tonight. i’m so excited to be here, and i know jackson is, too. this first song we’re gonna sing is a new single of mine, releasing soon. so get excited because you’re getting a sneak peak! i wanna dedicate this song to someone special in the crowd tonight… drew, this is for you baby. i love you,” he couldn’t contain the huge smile taking over his face, mouthing the words ‘i love you, too’ back at you.

the slow beat began to play through the sound system they had set up, you requested the original track (with drew’s voice) be played just without the vocals so he could hear that he was part of it.

mmm

hey, yeah

(that’s just for fun)

(what?)

(i’m stuck with you)

drew’s face was nothing short of rewarding. the surprised look was something you would probably remember forever. you just shot him a small, mischievous smile, which he returned with a soft laugh that you obviously couldn’t hear, but you knew what it sounded like.

ah

i’m not one to stick around

one strike and you’re out, baby

don’t care if i sound crazy

but, you never let me down, no, no

that’s why when the sun’s up, i’m stayin’

still layin’ in your bed, singin’

the low octave of your voice, accompanied with the almost sultry look you were giving drew right now was driving him crazy. the truth is—he had gone to his sister’s, but he had left early to make a stop at the jewelry store. you didn’t know it, but a ring was hidden in his jacket pocket right now.

when you had asked him to meet you at the coffee shop where you had first met him, he didn’t see a more perfect opportunity to make you his forever.

i could stay here for a lifetime

so, lock the door and throw out the key

can’t fight this no more, it’s just you and me

and there’s nothin’ i, nothin’ i, i can do

i’m stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

drew’s mind was blown—not only at your amazing vocals which would never fail to amaze him, but at the lyrics. ‘stay here for a lifetime’, ‘stuck with you’. it was like you knew what he was planning.

a few verses later, jackson took over. you only sang some harmonies and backup vocals for him, prancing around the stage, moving to the beat.

drew just watched you in awe. yeah, the other guy was good, too, but you were mesmerizing. you weren’t even singing and he was absolutely hypnotized just by your stage presence alone.

woah

baby, come take all my time

go on, make me lose my mind

we got all that we need here tonight

your two tones worked together beautifully as the bridge took over, and the song hit its climax—the jazzy tune taking over the café. everyone in the place was bopping their heads to the tune, some even throwing some impressed whistles at your vocals.

baby, run your mouth, i still wouldn’t change

all this lovin’ you, hatin’ you, wantin’ you

i’m stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

it was the end of the song, but you extended your vocals, hitting high notes that drew didn’t even know was possible (he did. he had listened to you for the past few months, and had seen you do inhuman things with your voice, but still)

as the song faded out, you simply walked off the stage for an intermission, ‘stuck with u’ playing softly in the background as people moved about. applause and cheers were still booming through the small shop as people ordered snacks and drinks.

you walked over to drew, sitting in the seat across from him. despite you both being famous, no one was really bothering you—which you were kind of grateful for.

“hey baby,” you said softly, warm smile on your face as you awaited his response to the song.

“hey love,” he replied with equal softness. he reached his hands out to take yours which were resting on the table—or at least, you thought that’s what he was doing.

something cold hit your hand instead. you looked down to find a beautiful diamond ring with a small pearl attached to the gem. your breath caught in your chest, looking back up at drew in equal parts confusion and shock.

“drew… wha–,” you began before he cut you off.

“y/n… will you marry me?”

JOIN MY TAGLIST

© URCOOLGF.   est. 2025

TAGS .ᐟ @yktayy9669 @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls @icaqttt @lynoriax @hpboysslut2707 @stoned-writer @angvl3tears

[forgettable-au]

apologies if this has been asked prior, but i have two questions if it doesn't spoil too much :D 1. how different is papyrus' voice from wingdings? since wingdings is a dingbat font that is unintelligible to most other monster species, but papyrus isn't a dingbat font; would his voice sound different? would it sound like how sans heard wingdings voice? would it change in pitch or have a different english-speaking accent? 2. would sans notice the voice change? would he pick up on the fact that his brother seems more outspoken than he once did due to no longer having a language barrier, or would he be completely oblivious? would he recognise papyrus' voice as the same as before or would it give him uncanny valley?

(ps, im the same anon who asked if sans noticed papyrus eyelights- and i think ur au, hcs and theories are so awesome and fun to think about! :3)

Yeah, Papyrus' voice is different! Technically it sounds similar to Wingdings' voice when he was using the default font but more Papyrus like? Papyrus is very loud which definitely makes him sound different, the way you act also makes your voice different--SO YEAH! It's different!

Not really, but he did find it weird, wasn't sure why... And as time went by, he was less and less sure why

Here's another ask where I talk about Papyrus' voice

[wings-of-ink]

Chapter 5 is finally here!

Tumblr crew, please let me know right away if you see any issues with running the game. I *think* I fixed the issue with fonts not changing but I did the upload a different way so I'm paranoid. It works for me though.

This was a big one – do not anticipate your saves working. Such is the nature of a work-in-progress. Some of the code for early chapters had to change. I do apologize, I know it's a lot of content to click through.

I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know if you find any serious problems/errors – especially ones that break the game. I have tested it myself a few times, but I can only do so much on my own. I will be watching Tumblr closely for a bit, so if there are any urgent issues you can pop them into my ask-inbox.

This chapter was written using a different method. Mostly, it worked out for me and helped me find more typos and grammar issues, but I found more programming errors than normal. My hope is that all the major ones have been resolved. A game-breaking issue was found just this morning and took a few hours to resolve (it was a mess so I redid the entire section - peeps, if you see issues in the moment with Zahn let me know because they were my troublemaker, go figure).

A couple of new trigger warnings were added as well, so be sure to peruse the list if you may have areas of sensitivity. In the future, a couple of areas of this chapter may receive options to bypass segments with certain difficult content, so be advised that these do not have a skip function enabled currently.

Coming in the future…

Lunan is taking a break through the end of the year! I will still be monitoring Tumblr, answering questions, and resolving any technical issues of course. But I will not be writing chapter content. Some short extras may be posted in the meantime to Tumblr.

Each chapter will get a passage-by-passage check for typos and grammar issues before the release of Chapter 6.

A chapter skip function will be arranged so you can bypass content you've already read. This will likely be implemented before or with Chapter 6.

The release time for Chapter 6 is currently unknown but estimated for late Spring of 2025 (March-May *ish).

The Patreon will likely start up in January 2025 and will focus on early releases of new content and extras/POVs (including the spicy kind).

Thank you so much for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter and have fun with it!

~Lunan ^_^

PS: Also let me know if you find weird stuff in there that might be from testing, lol. I think I deleted all that stuff, but I am more than a little bit frazzled today and there is a real possibility that I left some garbage behind...

Itch.io Link:

[aclikeairconditioning]

Since I wrote one for reverse verse Edwin, here’s one for Charles. Takes place in Hell, though nothing’s too graphic (still, be warned.)

I had to go through the torture of rereading/viewing this comic to write this (it wasn’t torture at all, this is one of my favorite @technically-human comics. Charles is so precious, and I almost cried while writing this and looking into his face at the same time.)

I will also add @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are because I forgot you last time. I’m very sorry, that was rude of me, I know this is your au too.

When I got to the end I realized that I was ending similarly to the way I ended Edwin’s, so I leaned into that and used the same wording.

(Ps. @technically-human, you have no idea how much of a euphoric adrenaline high your response gave me last time. Thank you so much, and happy belated birthday!)

-

Charles tripped.

Apparently, 70 years of practice became null and void when interrupted by three decades of peace. Safety. Home.

Charles tripped, and was immediately caught up in the storm of people running by, most of whom didn’t pay any attention to the sixteen-year-old struggling to get back up, to keep going, to not get caught.

Charles couldn’t even blame them. He would have, had in the past, done the same.

That didn’t make him less scared.

That wouldn’t make it hurt less when The Conductor eventually caught up to him.

He did manage to get up, though (a minor miracle on its own.) As he prepared himself to run again, get out as fast as he could, try to make up for lost time, a flash of blue in the corner of his eye gave him barely a moment's notice before he was being grabbed from behind.

His first instinct was to fight. To shove off whoever, or whatever, had grabbed him. Punch and claw and fight to leave the other behind in the dust as he got as far away as possible.

He would have, too. He would have, had it not been for the slightly panicked call of, “Found you!” in his ear, spoken in a voice he knew better than his own.

“Edwin!” The name came out more of a gasp, than Charles would have liked. “What are you doing here?”

Because he was here. God, Edwin Payne (just, devout, brilliant, Edwin Payne,) was here. In Hell. The one place that Charles thought he could protect him from, despite the others’ insistence to protect him (and the others newly added to the ranks of the Dead Boy Detectives.)

Edwin, who he had always thought believed, if only a little bit, that Charles deserved the torment he had been sent to.

Edwin, who was here-

“Protecting you, as always.”

Oh.

Oh.

He was here, because he really believed that Charles needed protecting. Who wanted to protect him, despite the Hell forged demeanor, the unspeakable things he had done before they met.

He was here, in Hell, actively going against his God, mustering up a fragile smile for Charles’ benefit.

He was perfect.

He was everything.

He needed to know.

So Charles grasped Edwin by his shoulders, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he made the declaration that could change everything (just please don’t take him away from me.)

“I love you,” He all but sobbed, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth against all odds.

“What?” Edwin asked, taken aback. He blinked, eyes wide with shock. “Well, I- You know that- Me too, of course.”

Charles gave a short chuckle, shaking his head, because he didn’t get it. “That’s not what I meant, mate.”

He sniffed heavily before looking back up into Edwin’s eyes. “I love you. Like courting, sweethearts, holding hands in the park, love you.”

Edwin’s eyes had gotten larger, if that were even possible, panic taking over any kind of control he’d still had. Charles’ heart only sank a bit at that. He could have predicted how Edwin’s deeply moral sensibilities would take this sentiment.

“Charles, I can’t-”

But Charles wasn’t able to figure out what Edwin couldn’t as a burning hand closed over the back of his neck, ripping him away and towards the engine room.

He was taken away to his next death with the sound of Edwin calling his name behind him.

[bagels-and-cream-cheese333]

RAPH FICS.

WARNING: I HAVE A FUCKED UP TASTE IN LITERATURE. A LOT OF THESE COVER VERY SERIOUS TOPICS. READ THE SUMMARY I GIVE OF THE FICS AND READ THE TAGS, DON’T PURPOSEFULLY TRIGGER YOURSELF, PLEASE AND THANK YOU, HAVE A NICE DAY. 

Here I am, giving my concerning amount of ROTTMNT Raph fics to you :) the poll I made got an astounding almost 100% yes soooo I’m guessing y’all want these <3 also PS it is VERY IMPORTANT to read the trigger warnings in the actual fic because I might not cover all of them/forget a couple!!

defective by a_rutabaga - oneshot

defective - a_rutabaga - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Prison Dimension Raph tries to protect his brothers, but just ends up hurting everyone (including himself) in the process. It’s not pretty (I’m lying it’s very handsome I absolutely adore this fic.) I will say that it’s made for the prison dimension turtles AU, which you should TOTALLY CHECK OUT. THAT AU IS INCREDIBLE. TW for body horror, mind manipulation and control <3 and just overall bad things happening :)

Survivor’s Guilt by JupiterJimsBootyyyShaker - multichapter, ongoing

Survivor’s Guilt - Chapter 1 - JupiterJimsBootyyyShaker - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Touches on the guilt Raph has after Leo sacrificed himself, and the consequences of the Kraang. Siiighhhh I adore this fic <3 everything from the overwhelming, debilitating guilt to Raph refusing to leave Leo’s side? Muah. No notes. Perfect. TW for nightmares, vomiting, guilt obv, refusing to eat, and technically self harm in the first chapter.

deep gut by ironAdage - oneshot

deep gut - ironAdage - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Raph’s trauma catches up to him, and he overeats. Again. And again. And again. Or Raph develops bulimia: the fic. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaa…… oh my god this fic was AMAZING. SHOWSTOPPING. PERFECT EVEN. definitely showed me that I have some things Very Very (that’s two verys) Wrong with my brain, but wtv fuck it we ball. This just shows his mental state and everything AMAZINGLY. Ugh it’s beautiful <3 TW for bulimia, shame, the works. 

Hold On, Pain Ends by douchegrayson <3 - multichapter, completed

Hold On, Pain Ends - Chapter 1 - douchegrayson - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Raph deals with the aftermath of the Kraang <3 basically another aftermath fic. AAAAAAAA but BRO. This hurt in the best way possible. Absolutely adore this <3 the ending? WOW. NEVER THOUGHT THAT MEDIA COULD TOUCH ME LIKE THIS. Just go read it guys it’s amazing <3

and then.. we have…..

the quarantine series by somethin-strange - multichapter, ongoing

quarantine - Somethin_Strange - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

An entirely new take on Raph’s experience with the Kraang. Genuinely cannot sing enough praises for these fics, definitely some of the best I’ve ever fuckin read. Jesus Christ guys just go read it I need more ppl to talk to about this <3 and honestly it has something for everyone. It has Leo angst, Donnie angst, Mikey angst, even Splinter and April and Casey Jr. get their moments. Honestly TW for like SO MANY things though, mind control, manipulation, themes of SA, needles, major blood n gore, and probably more since those are just off the top of my head. But goddamn is it good. Check it out.

The Foundation by LotusFlair - multichapter, ongoing

The Foundation - Chapter 1 - LotusFlair - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

This has got to be my (tied) second fav raph author ever because WHAT THE FUCK

this goddamn fic. has messed up my mental state. it is rearranging my brain waves as we speak. I can’t think normally anymore this fic is just BURROWED in there. Basically Raph gets excluded by his siblings <3 <3 not on purpose. But damn. It’s written so well. And then mystic powers go brrrrr and then brain n brawn and then sunset duo and then magnetic twins and baby raph AAAAAAA. My explanation skills are absolute shit but cmon. ITS AMAZING. THE CHARACTERIZATION? ON POINT. WRITING? EVEN MORE ON POINT. TRAUMAAAA?? don’t get me started

Eventful Night by The_Most_Neon_Leon

Eventful Night - Chapter 1 - The_Most_Neon_Leon - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Look guys. I know. I know… only one chapter.. but that will not stop me from aggressively crushing on this fic. I think about it atleast twice a week. I HAD A DREAM ABOUT IT. and chapter two is canonically in the works so <3 basically Raphie has nightmares blah blah comforts Mikey’s there, Kraang angst. Very good fic. Love it. 

ain’t much that’s dumber by rolameny - multichapter, completed

ain't much that's dumber - Chapter 1 - rolameny - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Guys I don’t think y’all understand the sheer amount of illness I feel about this fic whenever it’s mentioned. The brain worms have successfully wormed into my brain. I can’t even pick one solid thing about this fic to focus on because it’s ALL. SO. GOOD. GO READ IT. also this author is the other author tied for my second fav Raph author (take a shot everytime i say author, you’ll end up dead)

and then just every single one of somethin_strange’s raph fics ahem ahem who said that.

One of Them Days by goldenspecter - oneshot

One of Them Days - goldenspecter - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Can you tell my ability to summarize these fics is going down auwjekcmwkjw… anyway. FANTASTIC FIC!!! Love when Donnie comforts Raph <333 Raph with depressive episodes my beloved <333 brains and brawn will never fail to get my brain going vrrooommmmmmm

Several Studies in Scarlet by douchegrayson <3 - multichapter, ongoing

Several Studies in Scarlet - Chapter 1 - douchegrayson - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

Ooooaoahwhwkdkdm this is LITERALLY SO GOOD. I mean everything by douchegrayson is but THIS ESPECIALLY <3 LOVE IT <3 the fourth chapter… definitely hit different. Honestly I absolutely love the idea of this,  it’s always been bouncing around in my brain that Raph was fundamentally different from his bros, but this chapter put that into words in the best way possible. Also love how short it was but how I was able to feel every sentence <3

Anyhow that’s all!! For now. I have like 100 more but I’m getting a lil tired from summarizing them so if the people want a part two then it’ll likely just be same title format, links to the fic, and a copy/pasted summary.

[chahaezii]

I came up with this random fanfic idea while playing Valorant earlier and reading Kana's post, so, thought I'd post it here LOL

ps. in no way am I a professional writer like many of you, so bare with my basic grammar and vocabularies please.. 🥀

"Love, are you okay right now? Are you hurting anywhere?" Jinwoo's voice was soft and gentle, genuine concern could be heard around it as he spoke to you, asking about your well-being. Apparently, you got your period today and started being moody about it. He pats your head as you laid your head on his shoulders.

You shook your head slightly, you don't feel anything as of now but you know you will soon. Every time you're on your period, your first couple days are the equivalent of being tortured. The cramps never go easy on you and Jinwoo knows that damn well too.

"Darling, I know this must really suck for you. How about I treat you with some massages? Or maybe any snacks you'd like?" Jinwoo tries his best to give you some sense of comfort. He knows how much you hate your period, how much it changes your mood and such. He can't do much but he'll try his best to help you in any way he can.

"Some snacks sound good, Jin." You softly spoke to him, it was pretty obvious you were upset and mentally exhausted. You got your head off of his shoulder and he stood up to go and grab a couple snacks, specifically your favorite snacks and even a blanket to keep you warm and cozy.

He got back to you with the snacks and a blanket, he handed you over the snacks and wrapped the blanket around you. He sat next to you on the sofa, staying close to you to make sure you're comfortable. He knows you enjoy having good company around, especially when it's himself.

"Thanks, Jin. I appreciate it, a lot." You wrapped your hands around him, pulling him into a cuddly position. Not leaving the blanket behind while you did so. It was cozy, warm and amazing. You feel as if you wanted to stay there in that very position forever.

Jinwoo couldn't help but smile. He loved seeing you all sweet with him. He enjoys your presence just as much as you enjoy his. He took his hand to softly caress your shoulders, hoping to relax you a little more.

"I'm glad to be here for you. You're my wife after all, no?" You could hear him softly chuckling after he finished his sentence. It really did make you happy just to see this side of him. To hear him be all soft and gentle with you behind closed doors. Others would fear him for he is one of the most powerful S-Rank hunters, but for you? He's just a really loving, caring and gentle husband. You love that about him. How he has a soft spot for you and only you. Sometimes you wonder if he's really terrifying as people say, you never really see him get mad or upset at anything. Well, technically, he hides his negative emotions away from you since he doesn't want to end up hurting you in any way. But you didn't know that. No way is he going to tell you that anyways, it's better off as a little secret according to him.

"Yeah that's right, you're my husband after all too. I love you, Jin. I'm glad you're mine."

Such a sentence sent Jinwoo to cloud 9. He feels as if he's falling in love with you all over again when he hears you speak of such words at him. Realizing how much he loves being called yours. His expression was soft, you could easily tell he was trying his best not to blush. But you liked seeing this sight of him. It's not usual anyways as he always tries to act all nonchalant and cold. But he can't easily mask his feelings when he's with you. You're his weakness, for the better or for the worse. He doesn't care, all he cares about is how much he loves and adores you. You're a piece of him, a piece that completes him as a person. You're his safe place, his one and only. He could never bare to lose you. If he does, he'd burn the world down if that's what it takes to get you back. He'd do anything for you, anything at all.

"I love you too, my dearest."

It's nothing much but I just needed to spoil myself with some wholesome stuff about Husband!Jinwoo 🥀 god i love this man so much i swear it HURTS. <//3

; Heavy inspirations from @heyimkana !! (I love your works so much, please don't explode 🙏)

I was listening to this song while writing <3

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

“ who did this to you? ” prompt with high school james lee? (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

(Ps: I love your works soso much‼️🫶🏻)

I'm such a prompt noob 😭😭 So… the reader gets hurt here, right ? I have written that way. Anyway, let me know. And Thank you for your kind words! ❤️❤️

It was supposed to be a quick hit, one clean jab to knock the enemy unconscious, enough time to retrieve the documents and slip out unnoticed. But alas, a miscalculation. Your back slammed hard against the wall, blood spilling from your mouth, a faint bruise already blooming on the left side of your face.

You regained control almost instantly, thanks to your quick reflexes. You improvised a new plan on the spot, this time, quite literally, to finish the bastard.

And you did. You got what you were sent for, of course having to break the spine of the crew and its leader. Even though, frankly, those bastard deserved it for ruining your face.

It wasn’t late, per se, but it was later than usual. And James always waited for you, even if you were a minute late. Even when he had his own responsibilities to juggle, he had to see with his own eyes that you came back from these reckless missions in one piece.

The swelling on your cheek and the angry black-and-blue bruises made him rush toward you.

“Before you say anything, I got the documents. And yes, I got hurt. So what?” You were bracing yourself for teasing, for James to poke fun at how a “minor miscalculation” left your face a battlefield—even if the mission was technically a success.

You turned toward the apartment, ready to head in, when suddenly he spun you around to face him.

Just one question. Simple. Sharp. Quiet.

“Who did this to you?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I asked,” he repeated, voice cold, devoid of any trace of his usual airy charm, “who laid their hands on you?”

“It was just a miscalculation,” you say, taken aback. “They shoved me into the wall and tried to encircle me to beat me up. But of course, they couldn’t,” you add with a weak smile. It hurt to move your cheek.

“Does it hurt badly?” His voice softened, threaded with concern, and was that guilt?

He ran his knuckles lightly across your bruised cheek. You flinched when he applied pressure, and he immediately stopped. His hands shifted to your shoulders. Then, he pulled something from his pocket, your favourite chocolate.

“Here,” he said simply, handing it to you. “Since Charles Choi barely even says thank you.”

You tried to smile. But before you could fully react, he pulled his hand back, and there it was, the devil grinning, fangs bared in smug amusement.

You lunged to smack him, cursing, but failed. He dodged easily and started demonstrating how you should’ve avoided their attacks, only adding insult to injury. But when he saw how drained you truly were, his teasing stopped.

He pulled you closer by the shoulder.

You wanted to protest, but… it felt nice. Just let go. Besides, he was your boyfriend. There was no need to keep your guard up. You let your head rest on his shoulder.

He squeezed your arm gently. Then, barely louder than a whisper, he said, “I’m going to cut someone’s hand off.”

You heard him. Of course, you did.

You pulled away, frowning. “I’ve told you. I don’t like your methods.”

But he only raised a finger to your lips, silencing you. The cold fury returned to his eyes, the fire, the raw menace of James that people feared. The one who faced enemies like a storm.

“You don’t need to think too much,” he said. “People like that? Just compliance.”

Disgust or flutter, you couldn’t quite tell. You hated his brutal methods. But watching him burn with anger on your behalf… that did something to you.

He cared.

In his own twisted way.

He brought suffering to others so that no one could even think about hurting you.

He was a hurricane to your soft drizzle, leaving the rest of the world as nothing more than debris in your shared chaos 🥀

PS: The last line is inspired by a famous novel. Let me know if you guessed it 😇