#surprise drabble

[hiraethwrote]

Nanami is more of a listener than a talker, and would happily listen to you ramble on and on about anything that would pop into your mind. And no matter how little it really concerns him, he’ll always pay attention to when you explain something so enthusiastically — even if it’s a silly internet trend or drama.

Nanami is definitely not the guy to have TikTok, but would on occasion lift his attention from his book when you’re both laying in bed to quietly watch along for a few minutes.

Nanami is not the type of guy to really form any defining opinion on said internet controversies — except the videos of grooms disrespecting their brides at the alter in their vows. When you tell him about the men who only spew vulgar statements to their future wives, you witness Nanami get incredibly angry, going on a long and serious tangent about how these boys are immature and have no business getting married at all.

Nanami is the type of guy who would spontaneously pull you out of the chair in the calm hours of the evening to slow dance with you around the living room. Sometimes he’d put on some calm and beautiful melodies to play in the background, but sometimes he would just slow waltz without the music, casual chatter filling the void instead.

Nanami is the type of guy who’d pull your feet in his lap to massage them after a long day, without you asking for it.

Nanami is the type of guy who looooves to cook for you, and he does it as often as he possibly can. And when he does, he loves to feed you small bites during the process for you to taste everything.

Nanami is, of course, a respectable man — meaning he doesn’t engage all that much in pda. But he’ll happily walk beside you with your fingers intertwined with his, or he’ll have a tender hand on the small of your back to guide you when has to let go.

Nanami however, has one physical need and that is kissing the back of your hand, which he will do wherever and whenever. Walking the grocery store; lift your hand to his lips. Meeting up for lunch; lift your hand to his lips. Waiting in line for a restaurant; lift your hand to his lips.

Nanami is the type of guy that would love being a girl’s dad. It would be the highlight of his day to come home from work, only to squeeze into one of her small chairs in her bedroom and would put on the most convincing act of sipping tea from the empty cup, a pretty tiara at the very top of his head.

Nanami is the type of guy who would love planning the wedding along with you. He hates the idea of loading all the responsibility on the bride, because he wants to celebrate your love just as much as you do.

Nanami is the type of guy, who once he falls in love, he’s settled.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[califwhite]

Biker!Sukuna whose blacked out Yamaha YZF-R1 you hear from a mile away, sputtering and grunting with nothing but 1000cc of raw power down the highway. The empty night air only echoing the sound back at him which gives the man the most wicked grin under the mask.

Biker!Sukuna who can't shake the feeling of somebody watching him and finally gives his head a little tilt to find your eyes tracing the dark ink running across his exposed arms. Your mouth was even dropped open a little in awe.

Biker!Sukuna who looks around before gliding over to the passenger’s side of your best friend’s car, pressing his ginormous, gloved hand to the window to tease you a little. He chuckles when you press your much smaller hand against the glass where his rests.  

You, eyeing the thick, muscular thighs of Biker!Sukuna, straddling the beast of a vehicle, pelvis pressed into his seat as he leaned forward slightly and strayed from your window. 

Biker!Sukuna who cockily blows you a kiss, bracing himself as he jerks the throttle and speeds off his exit, his bike roaring and coughing flames.

You can barely focus on your book on the way home, plagued by the thoughts of him. And pissed Biker!Sukuna cuts his workout short because everytime he shuts his eyes to push through the end of a set, he sees the face of the pretty girl from the highway. How pathetic.

[wonryllis]

INTERRUPTING THEM WITH A KISS ✶ 𝒽𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇 & 𝒷𝖺𝖼𝗄

﹙ ⌕ ﹚ 𝓅𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌 ㅤ𝑜𝑓. enhypen melting into you like it's a habit. contains fem!r, fluff, lots of kissing, pg 15. wc 1657, approximately 0.24k each. check out the d𝒾rectory? stat requested.

──────𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖����𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

lee heeseung swears he's never found anyone or as a matter of fact, anything as annoying as you. you're like a roach up his ass, the bane of his existence. yet when he looks at your cherry stained lips as you crash into him outside the club— he can't deny: that the idea of them against his own doesn't seem half as bad. probably the alcohol, heeseung convinces himself.

"if you don't get off and at least a hundred feet away from me right now, i swea—" and your lips crash into his. intentionally, to get under his skin? accidentally, because of the shots? who cares! heeseung can literally feel the breath leave his lungs as you move your lips against his.

but you pull away before he can do anything,"shut up jer—" and it irks him for some god forbid reason, alcohol again? oh fuck the alcohol! imma kiss that attitude outta her. not even a fraction of second passes before heeseung is grabbing your jaw and pulling you back into a kiss.

you want to breathe? forget it. lee heeseung is not having it anymore. a chance to put you in your place, he's not letting it slip through his fingers. he does not want to.

"you shut up." the tendencies of an enemy with his deepest desires unknown to him; kissable lips on an enemy is the most sinful and irresistible thing ever. probably why you annoyed him.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

jay's thighs feel warm against your own as you sit still on his lap, his legs shaking subtly while he rambles about some clothes. the tiny smear of vanilla ice cream near the corner of his lower lip, bothering you more and more with the seconds ticking by.

"and then i had to get the pants exchang—" you don't even realize it yourself when you lean in to capture his lips and lick at the sweetness. his own words dying down as he stares down at your face, completely dumbstruck. come on, that's your girlfriend idiot! kiss back! it's probably the twelfth time you both have kissed since you got together three months ago; it's not like he's keeping track of the kisses but... yeah you make him too nervous so, he is.

"b-baby..?" your hands cup his cheeks and he shuts down again. ears burning hot, and lips parted to let you do what you want. if there's one thing jay can't help, it's letting you have your way. whenever, wherever.

it takes him approximately ten seconds to overcome that nervousness and respond to the kiss. mouth closing in on your chocolate flavored lips in a soft and gentle smooch. after smooch. after smooch. the tendencies of a new boyfriend still reeling in; having the girlfriend of your dreams is not something you can get used to just like that.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

jake has been hanging out and around you for months now. it should have gotten easier by this time, he thinks. but no, every look, every conversation, every subtle touch feels like it burns hotter than the last time. are these the side effects of a crush? of getting closer to them? or of behaving normally after accidentally pecking? jake checks all the boxes.

"yeah so it's supposed to go like this. did you get i—" jake looks up from the project files on the desk, his voice and his life dropping down to his ass at the touch of your lips on his. what the hell is happening? are you actually? is he dreaming? jake cannot decide on what he should think. kiss back obviously! what's more to think?!

the kiss is short and sweet, and it doesn't satisfy him. hand immediately grabbing your throat to keep you from pulling away as he begins responding to the kiss. lips engulfing yours in a deeper and longer one, like it's the nth time you are kissing. like he's so used to it, like he's addicted?

“what— what was that?” jake pants out, somehow managing to pull away. his demeanor shifting drastically from the one that had just possessed him. the tendencies of a crush finally getting a taste; once you get hooked, there's no going back. not after a kiss uncalled for like that.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

he has slept once with you, just once sunghoon reminds himself— grounds himself; for he feels way too obsessed with the thought of you for having only had you once in that way. is it normal? probably not. will he do something about it? probably not.

so he acts like normal, tries to. his hands in his pockets as he walks with you to his car, head hanging low even though his eyes keep stealing glances at you while he tells you about his upcoming tournaments. stopping to open the passenger seat door for you, still speaking of his fears of lack of perfectionism.

"there's still parts i need to work extra o—" but instead of getting right in, you get onto your tiptoes and pull him by his collar into a kiss. if a body can function with a disjointed heart, sunghoon swears it's him.

his heart skipping beats in a row and all of a sudden feeling like it's stopped entirely. yet his hands and lips move without a second thought, without waiting for even a millisecond. grabbing you by the back of your neck and kissing you right back, nibbles and suckles and tongue and everything.

"you'll do well, don't worry too much," the tendencies of a one night stand turned friend; it's probably not the best idea to become buddies with someone you slept with, especially if you want more.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗪𝗢𝗢

the hallways are crowded as always, loud and bustling, drowning out your and sunoo’s laughs and giggles. talking about anything and everything while you wait for another friend.

sunoo's known you for a few years now, not a lot but enough to know when something's up. “he didn't check it properly and then.. hey? are you oka—” and he notices it on your face a fraction of a moment before you pull him into an abrupt kiss— mid conversation.

frozen, nervous and confused. yet all he thinks is actually how uncannily decent it feels, almost encroaching a feeling way too good. “i’m so sorry sun. i told my ex we are dating and he looked our way when he passed by and i panicked—” sunoo shushes you all too quickly, regretting not having kissed back properly.

“i get it, we can pretend. i don't mind it,” he doesn't know what comes over him as he proposes the idea, but he definitely expects to get into situations like these. why? he has no clue. he just wants it.

“everything you need to do to convince him, i’m all in,” his gaze trails over your lips, leaning closer unintentionally. another kiss right in the middle of the hallway. the tendencies of a friend offering to help in a non friendly way; fake dating a friend you feel like you could possibly develop feelings for is like digging your own grave.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

four months, seventeen days, twelve hours and probably thirty-six minutes. jungwon’s counting with all he has. this relationship, or whatever is going on between you two; beyond friends and bordering lovers, is bugging him down to his core. it's eating away at him.

“you just called me your friend,” leaning against the elevator wall, hands in his pockets, jungwon tries to behave— be as nonchalant as he can. jealousy? what's that? look me in the eyes and tell me i'm just a friend look.. no he isn't looking at you like that. snap out of it yang jungwon!

“you really think i’m just a friend? after all that we have don—” two steps closer, bodies pressed, eyes locked and your kiss that shuts him up. oh to hell with being normal with you. your hands slide around the back of his neck and his words die down against your lips like kissing you is his second nature.

“boyfriend? you want that label?” the mumbles against his lips, the sound of your soft breaths and the taste of your lipbalm, it's like jungwon is high.

“again.” catching your lower lip between his in a languid nibble. he can't help but keep wanting to kiss you, the ding of the elevator drowned out behind all his thoughts of you. the tendancies of a situationship with obvious feelings; being friendzoned by your girlfriend-to-be gets you jealous, he'll admit it now.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

friends. friends. friends. riki chants internally, again and again. and again. poopy diaper, runny nose, screeching tantrums— he thinks everything unpleasant about you, everything he possibly can. childhood friends ripping each other's hair out, neighbours annoying each other across the bedroom windows, classmates snitching out on each other's crushes. everything that's just friends.

nothing more. never— impossible. riki soothes himself, his mind and heart still jumbling all around after your question earlier, ‘what if we kissed?’ disgusting! right? he's not sure if he's answering or questioning his sanity.

and though the conversation is stirred clear of the topic, both of you nestled on your bedroom floor talking about club applications; his eyes staring right at you, seeming as unfazed as ever, his psychological state is nowhere near willing to calm down.

“what do you think about the drama clu—” your lips don't last even a second on his, before he is pushing you away, like he's allergic to kisses.

“w-what are you doing!” riki exclaims, fingers rubbing over his mouth,”i told you earlier,” and then slowly reaching forward to brush them against yours as he leans back in, involuntarily he insists. “i know but this is, so weird.. i’m not supposed to like it,” soft mumbles and lips grazing. the tendencies of a lifelong friend crossing an improbable line. locking lips with your childhood friend just for a ‘what if’ is the worst plan ever, or maybe not so much.

taglist 。open! @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @ro-diaries @aaa-sia @enhabooks @criminalyun @oddracha @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp

[mrsvante]

Safe & Sound

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, angst, pfp

summery: you waited the last six months for the love of your life to finally come home. and when he finally does with his uniform crisp, with open arms, smile bright—you realize some things can’t be rehearsed. some things break the script entirely. especially the kind of love that arrives shaking, breathless, and swollen with surprise.

warnings: military discharge, birth control failure, unplanned pregnancy, soft angst, lots of crying, oral!f receiving, breast play, fluffy emotional sex, mentions of body insecurity, aftercare,soft domestic jimin 😜, pregnancy cravings, brief depictions of labor & childbirth

word count: 5,819

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i’ve realized i might have a thing for daddy jimin. there’s just something about soft but fiercely protective jimin that gets me going 🤪. and i KNOW i’m not the only one. so don’t judge me, judge your mother. anyways, hopefully you enjoy! i definitely got a little carried away while writing this 🤭💜✨

The sun raked across Jimin’s cheeks as he smiled for the camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook in front of the training facility gates. Cameras flashed, reporters called his name & cheered from behind barricades.

It was a brief blur of gratitude, bows, and polite words rehearsed more times than he could count.

But none of it felt real.

Not the neatly pressed uniform or the click of camera shutters. Not even the company assigned car idling by the curb, ready to take him away from duty and back to the life he left behind.

The only real thing waiting for him, he knew, was you.

His fingers twitched as he climbed into the van, the smile he offered through the tinted glass fading the second the door shut. He blinked out the window, watching Jungkook’s van pull off first, laughing as it fishtailed slightly before catching traction again.

Typical.

Jimin glanced at the empty seat beside him and frowned, just for a moment.

You were supposed to ride with him. It wasn’t like you to skip something like this, especially after so long apart. His last leave was six months ago. Six months without your voice in his ear at the end of each day, your fingers in his hair, your warmth pressed against his side in bed.

You had said you wanted to surprise him. That you had something special planned.

And okay… you were terrible at keeping secrets. Always a little jittery. Always giving yourself away with the tilt of your smile or the too quick shuffle of your feet.

Still, Jimin’s stomach rolled with unease as the city blurred past the windows.

—

The apartment was dark.

Not dim. Not softly lit.

Dark.

The curtains were all drawn tight. The only light came from the blue glow of the television and the soft amber of an accent lamp in the corner. Even from the entryway, he could feel the chill in the air—sharp, unwelcoming.

He set down his overnight bag, toeing off his shoes with a frown.

“Honey?” he called gently, stepping farther inside.

No answer.

Then he heard the sound of a soft sniffle and the flicker of movement from the living room.

He found you bundled on the couch, a blanket pulled up to your nose. Just your eyes peered over the edge at him, wide and glistening. The sweater you wore hung loose around your shoulders.

You smiled weakly. “Welcome home.”

Jimin’s heart swelled and ached in the same breath.

He moved toward you, arms already outstretched. “Come here, pretty girl. Let me hold you—”

You jerked the blanket tighter.

“Don’t.”

His hands paused midair. “What? Why not?”

“I… I’m not feeling well,” you muttered, voice trembling.

Immediately, Jimin crouched beside the couch, his fingers brushing your forehead. “You’re freezing. Why is the apartment so cold, honey? Have you eaten? Are you sick?”

You flinched at his touch.

His brows drew tight. “Hey. What’s going on?”

The look in your eyes, a tortured mix of fear, guilt, and panic, sent alarm bells ringing down his spine. The hairs on his neck stood up like ice.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby?”

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling, bottom lip trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly. “I’m so sorry, Jimin. I didn’t mean to—fuck—I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

His heart stopped.

“What happened?” he asked, voice cracking. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shook your head, rocking slightly under the blanket. “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose—”

“Hey, hey—breathe, baby,” Jimin said gently, kneeling now with both hands on the couch as he tried to see your face. “I’m not mad. I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t promise that!” you cried, eyes wide. “You don’t know what I did!”

He tried to smile, to keep the panic at bay. “Yah,” he said playfully, “Aegi-ah, why are you acting so weird? Just tell me what’s wrong, right now!”

“Don’t yell at me!” you snapped, voice breaking as the tears spilled over.

Jimin’s breath hitched. His expression sobering immediately.

“No—no, aegi-ah, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Shh, don’t cry, please don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry—tell Jimin-ie what’s wrong, yeah? Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He watched your lip tremble. Watched your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.

Then, with shaking fingers, you began to push it off. Your breathing was ragged as you shrugged out of your sweater. And beneath it, round, unmistakable and impossible to ignore was the soft, swollen curve of your belly.

Jimin stared.

Everything around him slowed to a whisper.

You were crying before you could speak, words tumbling out like stones.

“I didn’t know—I swear—I kept taking the pill and I didn’t miss a day. I—I double checked the window every time, but it still—it still happened. I didn’t want to trap you—I’m not trying to ruin your life, I swear, it’s just—do you know how low the failure rate is? It’s like 0.1%—but that’s still me, because of course it’s me—”

“Stop, baby,” Jimin whispered.

But you didn’t.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t hiding it to be manipulative, I was scared, and I didn’t want to do this through a letter or video call, and you’ve been so stressed, and I know this isn’t what we planned—”

“Stop,” he said again, firmer this time.

He surged forward and wrapped you in his arms, gently but completely.

You froze.

Jimin buried his face in your neck, arms locking around you like a lifeline, and whispered, “You didn’t ruin anything. You didn’t fuck up. You didn’t trap me.”

You choked back another sob, fists clutching his shirt.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted softly, “but not because of the baby. I’m scared because you’ve been here… alone… carrying this without me.”

You broke.

And Jimin held you tighter.

“You’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m home. And I’m not going anywhere.”

—

You didn’t realize how long you’d been crying until your throat burned and your eyes felt raw.

The couch cushions had shifted beneath the weight of your grief and Jimin’s comfort, and now you were curled sideways into his chest with his arms around you like a shield. He rocked you without rhythm, just enough to soothe, thumb stroking slow circles against your side.

Your body trembled, and he didn’t let go.

“I hate this,” you whimpered against his shoulder, your voice thick and wrecked. “I’m sorry—I can’t stop crying. I’m trying. It’s just—fucking hormones.”

Jimin chuckled softly, lips brushing your hair. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve had to live with Jungkook during a breakup. I know a hormonal crisis when I see one.”

You snorted, wet and weakly, but the sound made him smile.

He kissed the crown of your head, his voice low. “When did you find out?”

You swallowed. “End of the first trimester. I kept… I kept thinking it was a stress thing. Then I started getting sick every morning. And… my smell sensitivity kicked in.”

Jimin hummed. “And the doctor?”

“They said based on the scans, it likely happened about six months ago.”

Jimin blinked.

Then his brows lifted.

“Wait—six months? You mean…”

You nodded, already burying your face again, your entire body overheating with embarrassment. “Yeah. During your last visit. That morning. On the couch.”

Jimin stared down at you, eyes wide.

And then he burst out laughing.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

He doubled over, wheezing through the laughter, eyes tearing up. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?!”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “We had this running bet in the barracks. Just something dumb to keep morale up. We were all guessing who was gonna come back home to a surprise baby or a panicked voicemail or a crying girlfriend on base leave.”

You blinked at him.

“And what?” you asked. “You lost the bet?”

“I didn’t bet on myself!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “I bet on Taehyung! Taehyung!”

You groaned, covering your face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. I—”

“No,” he said quickly, firmly, cutting through your apology before it could root. “Stop that, baby. No more of that, okay?”

You sniffed, hands dropping slowly from your eyes.

Jimin cupped your face, brushing away the tear tracks with his thumbs. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You made a human with me. Us. You don’t get to apologize for that.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. “I was just… scared you’d be mad.”

He kissed your forehead. “I’m not mad. I’m overwhelmed, yeah. But not mad. Not even close.”

There was a moment of silence. Just the hum of the apartment and the background sound of the TV playing something long forgotten.

Then Jimin glanced down. “Can I…?” His hand hovered slightly above the curve of your stomach.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled, eyes soft and big as he placed both hands on your belly. Spreading his fingers wide, thumbs brushing gently along the swell. You watched his eyes go glassy, his mouth parting like a breath had just caught behind his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered, leaning down. “I’m Jimin-ie. I’m… your appa. Kind of new to the job, kind of scared. But I already love you, so much.”

He kissed your stomach. Once. Twice. Again.

“I’m gonna try really hard not to screw this up, okay?” he murmured, speaking to your skin. “I’m gonna be there. Every day. Every appointment. Every craving. Every weird hormonal meltdown.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“I’ll help pick out the name, the crib, and paint the nursery. I’ll do the midnight bottles. The lullabies. All of it, honey.”

He looked up at you then, cheeks flushed, hands still gently cradling your belly.

“I’m all in.”

Your throat tightened, tears welling again—but this time, for a very different reason. You slid your fingers into his hair, tugging him up gently to kiss you.

And he kissed you like the promise he’d just made.Like a man finally home and finally whole.

—

The kiss deepened before either of you really noticed.

What began as a thank you, a you’re home now kiss, softened with relief and tears, slowly gave way to something hotter, heavier. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair. Jimin’s hands slid from your belly to your waist, gripping like he needed to pull you closer.

You shifted forward until your knees straddled his thighs on the couch, and Jimin hissed beneath you, like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

It hit him then, all at once.

You were pregnant.

You were pregnant.

With his baby.

His breath caught as his hands slipped over the gentle curve of your stomach again, slower this time, more intentional.

He got you like this.

He did this.

You were swollen and round and glowing and gorgeous and his, and he hadn’t seen you in half a year, and now—

“Shit,” Jimin breathed, hips twitching beneath you as the blood in his veins surged south. “Baby… fuck. You’re carrying my baby.”

You flushed, squirming a little on his lap.

“And you’re so sexy,” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck. “You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect, but like this—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned again, hard and straining beneath you now, one hand rubbing slow circles over the small of your back as the other gripped your thigh.

“I made this,” he said in disbelief, voice turning hazy. “We made this. And right here, just like this, is how it happened.”

He tilted his head, nuzzling your neck as he pulled you down snug against the outline of his cock.

“Right here on this couch,” he whispered against your skin, grinding up slowly. “We’re in the same position as when I knocked you up.”

You groaned and slapped his chest lightly. “Don’t say it like that. And don’t talk to the baby about sex right before sex!”

Jimin cracked up, his laugh warm and breathless against your shoulder. “Already a bossy momma,” he teased, licking a slow stripe along your throat.

You squirmed again. “Jimin—”

His breath hitched, and he moaned again at the word. “God, momma,” he whispered, hands smoothing up your back, “you don’t even know what that’s doing to me.”

His tone dropped, growing deeper, hungrier, and you felt it. The shift. The heat. The effect that word had on him. The knowledge that you’d created a life.

His hands were trembling now, moving beneath your shirt slowly.

“Can I take this off, honey?” he asked, nodding to the tshirt swallowing you whole. “I wanna see you. Wanna see what’s mine.”

You nodded.

Jimin swallowed, then lifted the shirt carefully. You helped him tug it over your head, and the second it was off, he went still.

You weren’t wearing a bra.

Your breasts were heavier than he remembered, full and flushed and on display for him, your nipples peaked from the chill of the room and the ache of your arousal.

Jimin’s eyes darkened.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

He cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples as you gasped softly.

“Does this feel okay?” he asked, immediately concerned.

You nodded quickly. “Yes—Yeah, it actually feels really good.”

“Yeah?” he said, kissing the top of your chest. “Can I…?”

You nodded again, breath stuttering as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling slowly, hand splayed against the curve of your back for support. He moaned at the taste of your skin, kissing and suckling with soft hunger, flicking his tongue just right.

You sighed and rolled your hips, your cunt slick and throbbing, grinding right over the thick, hard press of his cock.

Jimin groaned—mouth still on your chest—his hands guiding your hips in a rhythm that made him tremble. Even now, with you straddling his thighs, bare from the waist up and glowing with heat and flushed emotion, Jimin moved like you were the most fragile, exquisite thing he’d ever laid hands on.

He couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmured. “So warm. So soft. Fuck, I want you, baby. I need you.”

You moaned, rocking your hips with more force.

“You’re sure?” he asked, hands cradling your hips. “You feel okay?”

You nodded, breath catching as you rocked against his lap again. “I’m okay. I want this, Jimin.”

He pressed a kiss to your sternum. “Okay, I’ll be careful with you, promise.”

He tugged his fatigues open, button by button, and shoved them down just far enough to free his cock, his boxer briefs dragged down with them. He hissed softly as the fabric peeled away to reveal him already painfully hard. Flushed tip wet, the whole length throbbing from the weight of wanting you.

But the moment your hips lifted, lining yourself up above him, his breath caught for another reason entirely.

He realized something.

You weren’t wearing anything else.

His eyes flicked up, wide. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

You shook your head, embarrassed and breathless. “Anything clingy is my worst enemy right now. Most of them don’t fit anyway.”

Jimin moaned like you’d just told him the sky was on fire.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

And then slowly, so slowly, he guided you down.

The head of his cock pressed at your entrance, and the second your slick walls wrapped around him, Jimin’s jaw dropped open in a silent gasp.

“Fucking hell—”

You whimpered above him, trembling, your body shuddering from the stretch and pressure. Even with how wet you were—soaked, he realized—your walls gripped him like they’d been missing him as much as the rest of you had.

You sank down inch by inch, both of you panting, your hands braced on his chest, his fingertips digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to reality.

Once he was fully inside, Jimin couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, honey,” he moaned. “I’m not gonna last. I swear to God, if you move—”

You did.

You rolled your hips slowly, moaning as your oversensitive body responded instantly. Every clench, every drag of his cock along your inner walls making your voice break with pleasure.

“Jimin—oh fuck—it’s so much.”

He nodded frantically, head lolling back against the cushions. “You’re so fucking soft. So wet—Jesus, baby—how are you this tight?”

You whimpered again, thighs trembling.

“I don’t know—everything’s just so sensitive now.”

And he could tell.

The way your hips moved in slow, quivering circles. The way your walls pulsed around him with every breath. The way you clenched hard at the smallest shift of his body.

Jimin gritted his teeth, trying not to thrust up. Trying to let you ride him, slow and safe, even as his cock throbbed like it couldn’t handle another second untouched.

“You’re doing so good,” he rasped, hands sliding up your sides, cupping your heavy breasts again. “Let me take care of these, yeah?”

You nodded, flushed and already falling apart.

He leaned in, suckling your nipples with devotion. His tongue teasing just enough to send a new wave of moans tumbling from your lips. He alternated between your breasts, worshipping your body with kisses, murmurs, and trembling hands.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Full of me. Taking me like you need it.”

Your hips stuttered.

“I do,” you gasped. “I do need it—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm tore through you without warning, walls fluttering around him, your body tensing up, hands flying to circle his shoulders as you cried out.

Jimin’s eyes flew open. “Holy shit—”

The feeling of your orgasm was too much.

Too tight.

Too wet.

He growled low in his throat, trying—fighting—to hold back, but the way you squeezed him, the way your body milked him for everything he had…

“I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned your name like a prayer and came hard, hips jerking up once, twice, as his cock throbbed deep inside you, his cum spilling into your fluttering heat.

He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you like he’d fall apart without the anchor.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You’re incredible, baby.”

You trembled in his arms, still catching your breath, still half floating.

—

Jimin was still buried deep inside you, your body soft and trembling in his arms, the air thick with sex and affection. But even after coming that hard, he didn’t want to let go.

Didn’t want to pull out.

Didn’t want to be anywhere but right here.

Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you.

“Jimin—” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re still—!”

“I know,” he whispered, voice thick. “I can’t help it. I want you again.”

He stood, carefully, adjusting your weight against him, keeping your bodies connected as he walked—slow, steady steps down the hallway toward the bedroom. His cock throbbed inside you with each step, and you clung to him, laughing and moaning as the movement pushed you deeper onto him.

“Still so full,” he panted, voice shaking with love and need. “Still so fucking perfect.”

By the time he stepped into the bedroom, both of you were flushed and breathless. He lowered you gently onto the bed, his hands never leaving your body, kissing you softly as he finally slipped out of you.

“Stay right there,” he whispered.

He stood and stripped the rest of the way down—tugging his fatigues off with eager hands, discarding the last of his clothing until he was bare.

Then he looked at you. And froze.

You were lying on your back, hair splayed across the pillow, lips kiss bruised and cheeks flushed. Completely naked and bared to him, and you were glowing, round and full with the life he gave you.

Stretch marks kissed your hips and lower belly, silver and gold under the soft light. You moved to cover them with trembling fingers, shame flickering in your eyes.

“Don’t,” Jimin said, voice low.

“I just… they’re not—pretty,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to see—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked.

He crawled onto the bed with quiet urgency, kneeling between your legs, his eyes wide with awe. “Are you serious? These?” His fingertips traced the soft curves of your belly and hips. “These are from me. These are from our baby. These are fucking beautiful.”

You blinked up at him, lip trembling, tears threatening again.

Jimin lowered himself, mouth to your belly, kissing every line, every mark, every soft place that had shifted and stretched.

“I love this body,” he murmured between kisses. “I love how it changed. I love how it knows how to carry something so precious. You’re beautiful. You’re amazing.”

He kissed lower—down to your thighs, your hips, then between your legs, licking up your slit as you moaned and arched into his mouth.

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

And then he was sucking your clit.

His tongue worked in soft flicks, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit with perfect pressure as two fingers slid slowly inside you, curling up and stroking until your entire body shook.

“Jimin—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got you, honey,” he murmured. “Let it happen.”

And then…something definitely happened.

Your back arched. Your thighs clenched around his head. You screamed, sobbing his name as your release gushed from you, soaking his chin and the sheets below.

You trembled in disbelief, gasping for breath.

Jimin sat up slowly, licking his lips, wide eyed and flushed.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve never—?”

You shook your head.

He grinned, biting his lip. “Okay. Well. We’re doing that again.”

You laughed breathlessly, still shaking, and he leaned over to kiss you slowly and messily before positioning himself between your thighs.

“Let me in again, baby,” he whispered. “Let me love you again.”

He guided himself to your entrance, pausing only to press a soft kiss to your belly.

Then he slid in.

This time was different. This time he knew your body again. Knew your rhythm. Knew what felt good.

He rocked into you slow, holding himself up on trembling arms, watching every expression flicker across your face. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, your lips, your chin—his hands roaming up to cup your breasts again, rubbing gentle circles over your sensitive nipples as you moaned into his mouth.

“Still okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you gasped. “More than okay.”

He moved a little deeper, a little faster.

Your hands gripped his waist, your legs curling around his hips as he built the rhythm, every stroke sending sparks across your skin.

“I can’t believe I get to do this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is mine. You. Our baby. This life.”

You moaned again, hips rolling to meet his.

He picked up the pace. Not quite rough, but deeper now. His pelvis grinding into your clit just right as your body trembled beneath him.

When you came again it was quieter this time, whimpering into his neck as you clung to him, your pussy pulsing around his cock.

Jimin growled against your shoulder, hips stuttering.

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Milk my cock—come on, baby—fuck, you feel so good—”

And then he followed your lead, buried to the hilt, cumming inside you with a soft, broken moan, his whole body shaking as he collapsed into your arms.

After the final tremble passed through your body, Jimin didn’t move for a while.

He stayed there—curled around you, one hand on your thigh, the other gently brushing the curve of your belly, his cheek resting just below your breast, lips parted against your skin.

His cock had softened, his heart hadn’t. It overflowed with feeling.

You both lay wrapped in the quiet for long minutes, breathing together, heat lingering like the final note of a song that neither of you wanted to end.

But then he stirred.

He kissed your sternum and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before gently sliding from the bed. You whined softly, shivering when the air hit your skin, and he tugged the comforter up around your shoulders before jogging to the bathroom.

When he returned, his hands were full—warm glass of water, a clean washcloth, and a soft towel. He knelt beside the bed, mindfully parting your thighs with delicate fingers, and began to clean you up with careful movements.

You flinched slightly, still sore, oversensitive, and Jimin paused immediately.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’ll be extra gentle.”

You looked down at him, lips curling faintly. “Jimin, I’m not made of glass.”

He gave you a look—half scandalized, half adoring.

“You’re not made of glass,” he echoed, carefully blotting between your thighs, “but you’re carrying very precious cargo.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Too late,” he said, setting the cloth aside and crawling back into bed beside you. He wrapped an arm under your shoulders, the other smoothing across your belly like instinct. “It’s my turn, anyway.”

You snuggled closer, forehead pressed to his temple as he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your lips, each one slower and more tender than the last.

He sighed, brushing his thumb across the slope of your stomach. “Gotta take care of my girls.”

You blinked.

Your head tilted.

“Did I… already tell you the sex?”

Jimin froze.

He looked up slowly.

“…No.”

You raised a brow.

He sat back, blinking in disbelief. “Wait. Wait.”

You laughed, wide eyed. “Jimin—”

“It is a girl?!”

You bit your lip and nodded.

And Jimin collapsed beside you. His face buried in your stomach, arms curled tightly around your waist, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he cried.

“Oh my God,” he whispered against your skin. “A girl. I have a daughter.”

He lifted his face and kissed your belly. Once. Twice. Over and over.

Then he pressed his cheek against your bump and whispered, “Hi, little cherry blossom.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “Cherry blossom?”

“That’s what she is,” he said, eyes glassy. “Beautiful, and soft, and new.”

You swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He smiled, radiant and trembling. “I already feel like one.”

You nodded, thumb brushing under his eye. “You already are.”

And in the quiet that followed, Jimin curled around you again. His lips pressed to your belly, whispering soft promises to his little girl as you drifted to sleep with his love surrounding you like a fortress of love.

—

The apartment smelled like roasted sesame oil and toasted seaweed the moment Jimin opened the door.

It was almost midnight.

Practice had run late again—dance rehearsals dragging into vocal drills, vocal drills into a spontaneous team meeting about camera blocking and choreography marks.

He was exhausted, his hoodie clinging to his neck with sweat, shoes dragging a little more than usual.

But he still made the detour.

Because it had been two days.

And his baby, his girls, deserved their chicken.

“I’m home,” he called gently, pushing the door shut with his foot as he balanced the steaming container in both hands.

He spotted you immediately.

You were perched at the breakfast bar in one of his oversized tees. Looking achingly soft, stretched over your belly, with your hair swept into a messy bun on top of your head. A pair of chopsticks in your hand, a spoon in the other. A cup of barley water shimmered in the low kitchen lighting.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“I knew it,” you said, grinning. “I could smell it down the hall.”

Jimin beamed. “One rotisserie chicken for milady,” he declared, setting it down in front of you with a dramatic flourish.

You laughed, already pulling the container open, the rich, savory aroma spilling into the kitchen like a hug.

“Smells amazing,” you murmured, already picking through the soft, steaming meat.

Jimin leaned over and kissed your temple. “It better. This place has your order memorized now. Chicken stuffed with garlic rice, extra drippings, sesame glaze on the side.”

You hummed happily, mouth already full, as Jimin stood behind you with his hands gently stroking your belly.

“Hi, Blossom,” he whispered into the crown of your head, smiling at the swell of your stomach. “Daddy brought your favorite.”

Your belly shifted slightly, a subtle roll just under his palm.

“Oh—!” Jimin gasped, eyes lighting up. “Was that a ‘thank you’?”

You snorted through your food. “Either that or she’s fighting me for the last thigh.”

He chuckled, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump as he continued speaking to her like she could understand every word.

“She’s been so active lately,” he said softly. “Think she’s excited?”

“She better not get too excited,” you muttered, spooning more rice onto your plate. “She still has a few days on the clock.”

Jimin smiled, stepping back around the bar to pull out the stool beside you. He flopped into it with a quiet groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Practice was brutal today,” he said, voice dipping into that familiar, raspy exhaustion. “We were polishing the floor with our sweat by the end of it. Tae almost passed out doing the chorus for the sixth time.”

You reached over, brushing your knuckles along his cheek affectionately. “You’re doing amazing, though.”

He smiled, watching you eat. “Can’t lie. I’m excited about this comeback. It feels… good. Different. Like we’re really starting fresh.”

He rubbed your belly again, tone softening. “It feels like everything’s starting over.”

You nodded, chewing slowly, eyes warm.

And then it hit. A tight, low ache clenched across your belly, enough to pull a small gasp from your lips as your spoon clattered to the plate.

Jimin was up in a second.

“What was that?” he blurted. “Was that it? Are we—? Should I get the bag? Where’s your charger? Do we need to call—?”

“Jimin.”

He stopped, wide eyed, practically vibrating with panic.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your palm to your bump. “It’s just a Braxton Hicks. Not the real thing.”

“But—but how do you know—?”

You gave him a look.

He swallowed, sitting down slowly, still tense as he reached out to feel your belly again.

You grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll know when it’s time.”

Jimin nodded slowly, but his gaze stayed fixed to your belly like he was waiting for it to glow or send up smoke signals.

You smirked. “I promise you won’t miss it.”

“I just…” He exhaled, rubbing your stomach gently. “I don’t want to mess anything up. I want to be ready.”

“You are,” you said, voice soft and sure. “You already are.”

He leaned in and kissed you, thumb brushing just beneath your navel.

“Still,” he murmured. “Next contraction, I’m putting on my shoes.”

—

The room was too quiet.

Too full of everything that had just happened and somehow, impossibly, not enough.

Then came the cry.

High. Piercing. Clear as glass.

A wail so loud and sharp it rang off the walls, and for a split second, Jimin forgot to breathe. Then the doctor laughed gently and said, “She’s got your lungs, dad.”

And just like that, his knees gave out.

He barely registered the slick weight of her being placed on your chest. She was red and warm and still covered in the traces of you, tiny arms flailing as she cried out with pure, unfiltered life.

You gasped, overwhelmed, arms trembling as you reached to cradle her. She fit like nothing had ever fit before. Like she belonged right there, a heartbeat echo of your own.

And Jimin…sobbed.

Collapsed against the edge of the bed, his hand covering his mouth, the other pressed against the fragile, damp curve of his daughter’s tiny back.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “Oh my God, honey, you did it—you did it. You’re amazing. You’re incredible.”

You turned your face, damp with sweat and tears, toward him and he kissed your temple again and again, crying into your skin.

“You gave her to me,” he whispered. “You gave me our daughter. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

She whimpered again, tiny voice softening, cries turning to little breathy hiccups as Jimin stroked his fingers down her back with infinite care.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing the damp curls on her tiny head. “Hi, blossom.”

You inhaled shakily, eyes wide as you looked down at her. “Jimin…”

“I know,” he whispered.

His thumb swept across the arch of her tiny back, eyes shining with tears as he leaned in, lips ghosting just over her head.

“Hi, Jihyun,” he whispered, saying it aloud for the first time. “My little cherry blossom. Jihyun-ah. Appa’s here.”

Her whimpers softened again, her breathing growing slower and steadier, the sound of his voice was already something familiar. Like something she’d been waiting to hear on the outside.

Jimin turned to you, blinking fast through tears. “She’s here. She’s really here. You did so well, baby—God, you did so well.”

You smiled through the haze of exhaustion, cheeks wet with tears, your chest still heaving with disbelief and joy. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he whispered, kissing you again on your forehead, your temple, the cheek, anywhere he could reach. “I’m so proud of you.”

The nurse approached then, voice gentle. “We’ll just take her for a moment to clean her up and check her vitals, okay? You’ll have her back soon.”

You nodded reluctantly, and Jimin hovered as they carefully lifted Jihyun from your chest. He pressed one last kiss to her head before she was cradled into the nurse’s arms and carried to the bassinet just across the room.

Both of you watched.

You, eyes wide, mouth parted in wonder.

Jimin, still crying, one hand clutching yours tightly while the other wiped at his soaked cheeks.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“And so loud,” you added, grinning weakly.

“She’s got her father’s vocal cords,” the nurse teased, smiling over her shoulder.

Jimin let out a laugh that crumbled into another sob.

You turned to him, reaching for his cheek. “Jimin, take photos. Videos. We have to send them to the guys—and our parents.”

He nodded, fumbling for his phone with shaking hands.

“I want to remember this forever,” you added, voice soft. “I want her to see how much we loved her from the very beginning.”

Jimin lifted the phone, but before he could snap the photo, he looked at you again.

And it hit him all over again.

The woman he loved, glowing and flushed, tears in your eyes and a proud, tired smile on your lips. His daughter, just feet away, healthy and real and breathing.

His heart couldn’t hold it.

So he whispered, “Thank you,” one more time.

And took the picture—with trembling hands and love overflowing.

masterlist

[ghast1yghosts]

The one thing no one knows about Steve Harrington is how he bottles it up. How he never shows it—even when he really fucking wants to. He quiets, nods along, politely declines, till it's the dead of night and he can drive into the old junkyard, baseball bat in his trunk.

He takes it out on other people’s dumped trash.

A chevrolet with a missing door gets the brute force one night, a old television set another. Glass shards are scattered across the yard, a pile of them building up beside a cracked piece of concrete from bottles and plates.

The yard is far enough from the suburbs he can scream alongside the cracks and shattering of old windows and metal on metal.

And when his arms grow weak from overexertion, casting the bat aside, his body falls heavy on the ground and tears run down his cheeks.

Sometimes he makes it back to bed before the sun begins to rise, but other times, with his back against the nearest place to rest, the sun greets him like an old friend. Warming his face despite how his fingers stay cold and his chest hollow.

[shotmrmiller]

in which johnny gifts the love of his life a sex toy outta nowhere

when you mumble into the phone that you miss him, johnny, he pauses for a second, then tells you he's going to bring you a gift back home. "to keep ye company, hen." after, he locks himself in a bathroom stall and watches you play with yourself until you both come.

but you'd thought he'd bring you a pet. a live animal that needs a cage to be brought across the world, not a long, slim unmarked box.

it's a sex toy. and it's rather large, at that. your hand wraps around the base, fingertips still a good inch apart.

"and i'm supposed to be using that?" his arms wrap around your waist, his thick stubble grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, raising goose flesh.

"don't like it? only had ye in mind, hen." he presses a wet kiss on your fluttering pulse. you've never really talked about toys in your relationship. you don't need them, of course, and johnny more than makes up for the time lost between you two whenever he's home but this?

"i don't know," you mumble. "a bullet would've made more sense, i think. at most a rose." his hands run up your sides, to the swell of your breasts and give you a gentle squeeze. he doesn't believe the tripe of people valuing size over all else, does he? the thing is easily as thick as your forearm and it's corded with veins. and it's uncut. whoever is making these are going to extreme lengths to make it as realistic as possible.

he bucks his hips, prominent bulge in his jeans coming to rest in the small of your back. of course he'd get excited. menace.

"ye willnae have t'use it alone now tha' i'm here. 'sides, i think ye'd look perfect with my pretty kitty stretched thin around it." johnny grabs your hips firmly, creating small divots as his grip tightens. "maybe i'll watch ye fuck yerself on it, hm? lap at yer clit while ye do." liquid heat pools in your belly, pulsing hot between your legs.

he really wants you to use it, given by his ragged breathing and he rutting himself against you. fine. "okay. just, not right now, yeah? i want only you in me." his eyes burn fluorescent as he nods, his large hand cradling your head as he pulls you in for a kiss.

you missed this. the sweet sting of his cock sliding home in your aching cunt, the sharp pinch below your navel when his tip comes to sit snugly against the plug of your womb. you've missed this. missed him.

maybe he'll forget all about that monstrosity sitting in the box.

-

he doesn't. he's bringing it up hours later, his spend still dripping warm on your thighs. johnny cannot be serious.

"course i am, hen." his fingers sweep at the hair stuck to your sweat-slick forehead. "is it a crime to want to see ye split open on some- something else?"

you think nothing of his stutter. "alright," you groan. if that's what he wants. it'll be interesting to see just how much you can take. you'll never tell him that your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought, his cum trickling out faster, pooling on the sheets.

-

it's not warm. the tip of it presses against your swollen entrance, cold in contrast to your heated flesh. johnny watches you swallow a gasp, your trembling hands reaching for his as you slide down an inch, two, three. johnny's cum is wonderful lube, but the searing burn- the size of toy is overwhelming, your walls being wrenched apart as you glide down further. johnny presses a prickly kiss on your cheek, cooing in your ear all the while his clever fingers draw gentle circles on your clit. "focus on breathin', bonnie. yer tensin' up."

desire begins to bubble beneath your skin, pleasure causing your muscles to warm and slacken, and after a long couple of minutes, you find yourself at the base.

but then johnny grabs your hips from behind and pulls- oh. "that's it." if you'd thought the toy had originally been in your stomach, it's now in your throat. "pretty as a peach, hen. jus' wha' i wanted to see." a shiver dances up your spine, notches trembling as you get used to the unforgiving stretch of the toy. his breath warms the side of your neck. "on yer go."

you come around it no less than three times, leaving it milky and johnny cleans it up with his mouth before he cleans you up.

-

the girth of it is something you'll never get used to but it does get easier. when johnny goes back to work, he tells you that all he asks for are videos of you using it. for his collection, he greedily says.

you send him as many as you can, no matter the hours. just a quick nsfw text before getting his thumbs up and away it goes. it's incredibly fun. the relationship hadn't been dull by any means, but this just feels invigorating. you feel rejuvenated. that johnny is your biggest cheerleader while using it is such a bonus.

you oughta marry him. maybe you'll elope the next time he's home. but when the next time comes, johnny calls you instead of messaging you the usual be home soon text.

and it sends you reeling.

bonnie. the toy treat ye well while i was gone?

no better than you could me, but yeah. i'm still sore from using it in the last video i sent you.

that's great. if ye like the toy then ye'll love the real thing, i ken. we'll be there in 10.

[ruinix]

your writing is genuinely amazing…like we are not worthy….

i humbly ask for a continuation of the bj blurb you did with Quinn where him and reader are 69ing 🧎‍♀️

Hello, anon. Lovely. Yes, of course, but it is I who is not worthy of you for reading my fic. I fear this moved up the queue because…just because. Anyway, for context, Part 1 is [ Payback ] aka BJ blurb. But if you squint…it can be a standalone (maybe? i think it is or I might be delusional). Please enjoy...

Fifteen

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Handjob with spitting, Hair tugging, Overstimulation (both), Cum tasting, Oral sex (m receiving / Blowjob, then both / 69) 🙂‍↕️, slightest bit of Choking, a sprinkle of Dominance, Quinn literally losing it over you 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️

Count: 2816 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re just staring. Quinn thinks it’s—his proposition—an easy sell, but you look so annoyed, glaring at him from between his thighs. You’re looking at him like he just wronged you. He’s confused.

“You don’t want me to have more?” You huff, crossing your arms, eyebrows meeting, glaring up at him with so much anger.

“My Love, I’m not saying that.” Quinn sighs, flinching when you don’t ease up on raining down hell on him.

"Quinn!" You stand up, mounting his lap, hands grabbing his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. You pout, peering at him with such wide pleading eyes—gone is the glare. You repeat, “You don’t want to give me more?”

“What are you saying?” Quinn groans. The pain is sending heat to his sensitive cock. His mind is hazy. He’s not sure why you’re pouting when he just told you he wants another position. “I didn’t say that.”

Because…why would he get in the way of what you want? When did he ever do that to you?

You want pancakes for morning? Sure, he’ll make you some while he makes his own plate of smoked salmon, eggs, and potatoes. You want coffee? He’ll brew you a cup. You want beer? Even if he doesn’t drink anymore, he always keep the cans of your favorite brand in the fridge. You want a cocktail or mocktail? He has recipes in his phone.

You always get what you want. He’ll make sure you have everything you want. Everything you need. He’ll give it with no hesitation. So why the fuck would you think he’ll not let you have your fill of him?

“Well, you basically said it.” You sniffle for effect which works immediately.

Quinn is sitting straighter, mind clearing up yet he’s still confused. What did he say again?

“I want to eat you out, then I’ll fuck you,” were his stumbling words. Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You fucked him too much with your mouth that he didn’t say all of what he wanted to say. No wonder you’re pissed and sad.

“Sorry, my Love.” Quinn brushes a hand over your glistening lower lip that was just around his cock. “I meant to say and to rephrase, I want to eat you out while I fuck your mouth.”

You whimper almost immediately. Your grip on him finally eases. He, kind of, likes the pain, but the release only send more heat to his cock. You nod, grinding your clothes pussy over his aching member, hands rubbing over his shoulders to further your point that you’re pleased. Quinn is too. This is the reaction he was thinking about. Not the glare. Just you, being so needy as him, while his own hands grip and trace circles on your thighs.

“You should turn off the TVs. You’re wasting energy,” you murmur against his lips, teasing him with kisses that you’ll make him work for.

You’re just there, but you’re not letting him kiss you. Quinn keeps trying to kiss, failing and failing because you decide to kiss the corners of his lips. You’re driving him insane.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, willing himself not to come again as you grind over his cock, he turns off TVs, groaning when your hand wraps around his cock. Just tell him if you want him dead. You’re killing him with every stroke. If he hasn’t yet seen stars from the earlier tryst, he is now.

“My Love,” he gasps—shamefully sounding like a whine. “I will come if you don’t stop.”

“It’s okay. I won’t waste it.” You nip at his ear. He can feel your tongue tracing along the shell of his fucking ear. “Just one more. Then we can go to the bedroom?”

“F-fuck,” he breathes, hips shallowly meeting your rhythm. “You’re copying me, aren’t you?”

He feels your grin against his ear. You finally let go of his ear to meet his gaze, mischievous glim in your eyes. Of course, you are. Of fucking course. No way this is unprovoked. This is you enacting revenge on him for how much he teased you before. Isn’t it? Fuck.

He’s so fucked.

Still, he doesn’t mind it, but you’re really killing him. Especially now, because you fucking spit on his dick. The way you immediately slick it down his cock, mixing it with his arousal—he is fucking dribbling pre-cum or maybe it’s already fucking cum. He’s not sure.

“You don’t like it?” You taunt, brushing ghost-like kisses on his parted lips.

Cruel. You’re so cruel.

“Please, my Love,” he pleads.

You’re making him feel so weak.

“I promise. Just one more.” You press a soothing kiss on his eyebrow like it would help him.

Your words are exactly what he whispers when he fucks you—with his tongue or fingers or thigh or cock. Oh, you’ve plotted this so hard, haven’t you? It’s working so much. Quinn doesn’t understand why it does. He’s so utterly confused why it’s so hard to contain himself when he can fuck your pussy and make you come around him so many times without coming instantly. So why is your hand undoing him so easily? A fucking mystery.

It honestly doesn’t even matter.

Fuck. It feels so good. Like a high without drugs or alcohol or caffeine. It’s just you.

“I need your cum, Quinn.” You finally capture his lip, tongue immediately moving against his.

He groans because. Fuck. His. Life. He can taste himself. His cum. God, he tastes so good on you.

“’m close,” Quinn mumbles.

He bites down on his lips because of how fast you part from him, a trail of saliva just breaking and hitting his chin. Curses string past his lips when you greedily licked over his dribbling slit. He’s fucking gone. He can’t stop coming into your mouth. Can’t stop his hands from grabbing your head, down his fucking length so he can spill down your throat. You said you won’t waste it. He trusts you. He does. But fuck, he needs to make sure. Needs it to reach nowhere else but inside you.

He whispers your name, pleading for you to stop sucking, but you keep sucking, flattening your tongue up his underside. His vision turns fucking spotty that he wraps his hands around your hair and forces you off his cock. Pop. The fucking pop of you releasing his cock from your suction. You succubus. Nymph. Minx. Oh, God. There’s no saving him.

“Stop, stop.” Quinn pants, sweat beading on his skin. “Give me a fucking minute.”

“You never gave me a minute last week.” You smirk up at him, scratching his thighs with your nails. “Did you?”

“No,” Quinn groans, letting go of your hair, trying to fix it but failing. “Sorry.”

Shrugging, you stand up, grabbing his hands to help him up. Quinn feels like he ran two marathons. His legs are almost jelly as he walks after you. He can’t stop looking at your ass especially when you push your shorts down, revealing nothing else. You got no panties? Fuck. He almost wobbles when his fucking cock just stands. You tut, pushing him down to sit on the bed.

His lips part, failing to produce words. His throat is fucking dry. Blush heats up his cheeks when you hand him a bottle of water, coaxing him to drink while you strip down to nothing. Quinn has never drunk water so fast. His hands tremble around the plastic, squeezing like it’s a squeeze bottle—it’s not. He made a mess which would normally drive him insane. Not today.

Not when you just sat on his lap, hands going up, from your inner thighs to the glistening flesh where it meets your pussy, to your waist, to your breasts. Like you’re presenting them to him. Evil. So fucking evil like a Demoness.

“You wanna fuck these first before—”

“No,” he cuts you off, his sight darkening, his blood simmering. He’s done playing your games. You can play some other time. “Sit on my face, my Love.”

Quinn grabs your throat when you try to speak. You whimper when he pressses down your arteries, controlling the blood flow to your brain, just how you like it. Your whole demeanor shifts from the teasing brat to helpless and needy whore. Just like that Quinn grabs your rein. So easy when you were so fucking playful.

“Sit on my face or I’ll have your head hanging over the edge to fuck your throat while I eat you out,” he threatens.

Your sharp breath and whine, your hand gripping around his wrist when he gives another firm squeeze, and your arousal dripping on thigh are all signs that you want both.

You’re so hungry today. Still can’t get your fill of him when he already gave you two full loads. Greedy.

“Which one first?” he asks, releasing you, making you whine and grab his hand to put around your throat again. He does, but he doesn’t put the pressure you thoroughly need.

“I want to sit on your face,” you grumble, annoyance leaking out of you.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Quinn asks, gripping your hip with his other hand. As much as he likes the mind-blowing orgasms, you’re not normally like this. Like you’re proving a point.

“I just wanna reciprocate…” You sigh, looking away then back again. “Plus, a bit of revenge. You made me lose it last week. I want to do it too. I chose today.”

He watches your tongue dart out to lick your lips, watches your eyelashes fan as you blink. Your hands rub over his chest like you’re stringing a spell. It’s working. Whatever shadowed his vision clears. All he can see is you. His heart pounds. Quicker. Much quicker than it already did.

You’re staring at him with those pitiful eyes. He can’t help but melt.

“You can do whatever you want,” Quinn groans. “I did go hard on you last week, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you huff, biting your lip. “I loved it.”

Of course, you did. Quinn enjoyed it too. He always enjoys his time with you. Whatever you two do. Movies. Cooking. Cleaning. Kissing. Fucking. Sitting down on the couch without doing anything. He loves doing things with you.

“I enjoyed what you did to me,” Quinn pertains to the earlier moments. He instantly gets rewarded with a wide smile. Your smile that makes your eyes crinkle at the sides, eyes sparkling with so much joy. “You made me lose my shit.”

You laugh, so amused, so proud of yourself. You should be. You have that right. He loves you so much, so he kisses you. Less unhurried. Never less of love.

But when you scoot further down his thigh, pussy grinding over his cock, he’s once again a goner. It’s all fucking blink. Now he’s lying on his back, gripping your hips, pulling you down, tongue slowly lapping over your pulsing clit to your entrance. Fuck, tastes like a perfect pussy. A delectable pussy.

Oh, the way you scream, trying to get away when he’s only starting.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs as your back arches, as you helplessly pant. “I thought you want more?”

Your answering sob drowns out his senses. This is what he needed. Everything feels so right, so fair. He savors your taste, sliding his tongue into your quivering pussy. You’re so wet. You haven’t come yet, have you? He got to fix that. That’s not fucking allowed. He needs to feel you come so hard around his tongue.

You whimper, grinding down, hands on his abdomen for leverage. Your words are nothing but gibberish, yet he understands it. You want more. More. And more. He’ll give you more. You don’t need to beg. Not now. Some other time, maybe. Before he can start plotting, Quinn swipes his finger over your clit and pussy pulsates.

You let out a breathy scream. You grind down while also trying to run from the pleasure. So Quinn hooks one arm over your thigh. You can’t escape him. Not when he’s the one feasting now. You can’t rob him after he came for you. He won’t let you.

You keep muttering his name, keep trying to get off, keep grinding on him. His pretty girl is so conflicted. That’s cute. You’re cute.

Your thighs are quivering. Your weight on him. Quinn loves that so much. He smells your arousal, your cum, your pussy. He smells everything. He would love to die between your thighs. Die with your taste on his tongue. The only thing that’s missing is your lips around his cock. Where the fuck are you?

You mutter his name in a whiny voice, cursing and sighing. You probably fail to remember why you two are in this position. You always do that, but it’s okay. Quinn’s here for that reason. He traces up his hand over your thighs, your hips, and your back. He put pressure on your arch of your spine.

Finally, he feels your breaths on his cock. Your clumsy kisses on his shaft made him thrust up. Damn. He doesn’t think any of you will survive this position. Both of you are losing it. Why are you two only doing this position now? God, your lips, your tongue, your mouth, your throat. All of them feel so good.

Your wanton moans send vibrations through his whole body, so he makes sure to do the same, humming into your pussy, tongue tracing every crevice in you, sucking and gulping your arousal. Your responding sounds bring him more pleasure. Physically around his cock. Emotionally because he’s the cause.

Fucking perfect.

Quinn replaces his tongue with two of his fingers—the ring and the middle—and his thumb traces and teases your clit. He licks up to your other hole. He can’t neglect any of you, can he? No. Never. He’ll die if he does. Too bad he can’t reach the lube in the drawers. Too bad your arousal or his spit isn't enough lubrication. Too fucking bad.

‘Next time’, he thinks.

Quinn gives it a few more kissed before he’s back to your pussy, because you’re whining for him to stop. If you don’t want his touch there, then he won’t. He knows you. You just don’t want it today. That’s perfectly fine. Whatever you want.

He slides his tongue besides his fingers, stretching you. He knows how much you can take. You can take more than this. Oh, you do. And you love it. It’s the way your pussy clenches around his tongue, his fingers. The perfect squeeze like you’re afraid that he'll leave. He will never. He will—

You kiss his fucking tip like you’re making out with him. Your hand rubbing down his fucking length. Harsher, harder, sucking and playing with him as he does with your pussy.

“Fuck,” Quinn mutters as you do.

“Quinn,” you breathe as you kiss along length. “Close.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He can feel the familiar tremors he felt just minutes ago. The tremors he thoroughly memorized every time his cock is seated inside you. To know you is such a gift he’ll never take for granted.

So, he lets you come again, lets your cum drip into his awaiting tongue, lets you ride your orgasm. He lets you even the playing field, because now, both of you are in the same tally.

Two for two.

A good ratio, but not for Quinn. He needs you to come more than him. He needs you to soak him and lose it because it’s too much. He needs you to writhe and beg for rest. He needs your head over the edge while he fucking uses your throat. He needs to hear you gag. He needs to see your tears on flush cheeks. He needs to see your pussy red and raw from just his tongue while you get overwhelmed.

He already lets you have your control, but you’re always on the losing side here. He has more stamina and more drive to use you. Oh, the ways he’ll use you for what you’ve done to this supposed lazy rest day.

You’ve done this.

You should be prepared for more. The way you whine so softly, you’re still clueless about what you’ve done. You thought he’d just let you get away.

Quinn is kind. He’ll let you have your fill of his cum. You want your stomach to be filled with, so he’ll give that to you. It will warm your stomach, but you would realize that your pussy is not. Not a single drop of cum inside.

He knows it will drive you fucking insane.

You will be begging to be filled while also begging to stop. You will be so conflicted.

That’s a perfect scenario.

Because Quinn will not listen.

You can have whatever you want, but he already decided…not tonight.

<- Previous (Part 1: Payback)

[noctiva]

Thinking about desperate sex with Toby, just clawing at him, pulling his hair, legs wrapped around his waist with his pathetic whimpers in my ear 🤤

This always happened every time Toby was away for an extended period of time.

You’d think that a long mission would leave him drained, that he’d be falling into a heap of tired limbs the moment he stepped through the door.

You’d think he’d need at least a day to recuperate before putting his body through anything strenuous again.

That was never the case. You’ve started to expect it. The sound of the door creaking open was like a warning shot - giving you a few seconds to brace yourself before he was all but attacking you.

Blood and gore still caked to his skin and matted deep into his hair, he was on you before you could even greet him. Fingers locking into a firm grip on your hips, his head diving downwards to nose into your neck. Breathing in deep like your scent was sweeter than oxygen, moaning into your skin like you had just offered a full course meal to a starving man.

Maybe that’s what he was, and maybe you weren’t much different. Your skin missed the grooves of his fingertips, missed how his body slotted against yours like you were two halves of the same whole.

So when he comes at you with desperation, you return it in kind.

You’re half naked before he even gets you to the bedroom. Clothes strewn across the living room floor, leaving a breadcrumb trail to the site of absolute depravity. Teeth knocking against his from the forces of his kisses, spit smearing against your chin, his stubble scratching your skin raw.

He doesn’t let his hands leave your body for even a split second, like doing so would physically wound him. When your back hits the bed he’s following you right down, toppling onto you with all of the grace of a dog in heat - one hand tugging at your panties and the other one pulling your bra strap down. Needing you bare. Like the sight of your naked body was just as essential to him as air to breathe

You get him undressed just as quick. Shoving his jacket down his shoulders, practically ripping his hoodie off of him. When he has to let go of you to get his arms loose from the fabric - he growls in frustration. Drool glistening on his lips when he dives back in, snarling a desperate bite into your shoulder. Near offended by the sight of your skin so unblemished.

It’s a blur. A whirlwind. Vision hazy and hearing sounding muffled when he tugs your hips close to his. Eyes rolling back when he finally sinks his cock into you.

Quick, like he’d lose an hour off of his life for every second he wasn’t inside you. Whining into your ear, his breath hot when it hits your skin.

“L-Love you- fuck- You- So p-perfect, baby-“ Downright incoherent, words slurred together and broken up by moans, his face smushed into the crook of your neck as he chants your praises. You’d swear you could feel tears wet your skin.

His hands splay against your ass cheeks, keeping you nice and spread open as his hips snap into yours over and over again. Pulling you back to meet each thrust, his breathing going shakier with each one he delivers to you. With your legs locked around his hips you move as one, gasp as one, fall apart as one.

Nails scratching down his back, painting him with red stripes he’ll marvel at in the morning. Crying into his ear, for ‘more, more’ and he was nothing if not devoted to your every wish.

Holding himself back by the skin of his nails, but it’s worth it when you fall over the edge first. Worth it when he feels your cunt clamp around him like you never wanted to let him go.

He’s clawing at your hips when he follows suit, peeling off thin layers of skin under his fingernails but you don’t care in the slightest - you pull him in closer. Tugging him in with a desperate grip on his hair, shuddering when you feel his hips stutter. Moaning like his pleasure was yours when you felt his cum warm your cunt from the inside.

And maybe - maybe - having to spend a few days alone was worth it, when this was how he said ‘I missed you’

[shokopan]

4:17 PM | K. SAKUSA

“are you just going to keep staring at me?” you ask, an amused smile playing at your lips as pause and tear your eyes from the computer screen to glance over at your pouting boyfriend.

“yes” sakusa replies simply, “you’re leaving me soon,”

your features soften and you promptly place your laptop off to the side, “kiyo, it’s a few months for my internship, i promise i’ll be home before you know it,”

“i know, but still,” sakusa mumbles, plopping lazily on the couch and landing his head right onto thigh. you let out a quiet exhale and card through his hair, twirling a few strands with your finger.

“i’m going to miss you too,” your lips form a pout, but sakusa reaches up and places his index fingers on each corner of your mouth and pushes them upwards.

“no frowning,” he commands, his hands moving to the sides of your face as he manually rotates your head in circles, “i’m mentally capturing your face so it remains a tattoo in my mind and i want to remember you smiling, not looking upset,”

“that’s, that’s strangely poetic,” you laugh as a satisfied smile morphs onto sakusa’s face.

“aren’t i always” he laughs airily, “i’m pretty sure i’m wasting my brains playing pro volleyball. maybe i should quit while i’m ahead and pursue my true passion: writing emotional, heart wrenching poetry about my beautiful partner,”

“and deprive the world of these arms? absolutely not,” you quip, squeezing his arms jokingly. he flexes on command, looking all too smug while you roll your eyes.

“you always complain about miya san being too arrogant, but i’m starting to think being on the same team as him and spending so much time together is rubbing off on you,” you comment.

“take that back right now, do not compare me to that vermin,” sakusa flatly retorts, expression dead and unamused as his hands immediately leave your face.

“sorry sorry, okay anyways, kiyo i have to submit this today stop distracting me,” you shake your head, patting his cheek as his disgruntled facade slowly dissipates.

“okay, but i’m still going to keep staring at you” sakusa’s hand finds your wrist and he turns his head to kiss the back of your hand before placing it back onto your laptop.

“fine by me,” you smile, leaning down to kiss your boyfriend in return.

[hanafubukki]

Malleus thinks you’re cute like this.

With your nose red from sneezing into your napkins throughout the day.

“Stop laughing at me.”

He bit back the tug at his lips.

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“Yes, you are. I can see that sm-” your sneeze stopped you from completing your sentence.

Heh.

Adorable.

As if you read his mind, you sent him a glare.

It made you look like a skittish kitten.

Like the ones that followed Silver around as a child. Scared of his large form but always stuck close to the little one’s side, constantly eyeing him.

“Keep being smug and I’ll ask Lilia about those times you burned his hair.”

A pause.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

The banter continued into the night.

You tucked in your bed with a dragon guarding your bedside.

[snootlestheangel]

*giggling*

The 141, with help of Nik and a couple friends, are tracking an Anarchist group in the UK. There's been some evidence that they plan on doing something big (and possibly dumb) and that they've gotten their hands on some big weapons.

Theyre just scouting out the base of operations of these guys, just gathering intel.

Price points out one particular guy: big, beefy blonde guy with a thick Scottish accent and very punk grunge aesthetic.

"Must be the ringleader" the captain says and it seems to be true. Everyone watches this guy with curiosity when Soap gasps lightly

"No fucking way" Soap says

"What?"

"He's my fucking ex" Soap replies, shocked and a bit embarrassed in all honesty.

Now I'm just picturing all of them turning to give Soap A Look

Gaz just shakes his head and goes "you have incredibly questionable taste in men"

To which Nik asks Ghost "not offended?"

Ghost: "I've learned the truth hurts sometimes."

[nyoomerr]

Shen Yuan entered Luo Binghe’s life like any other good thing he’s ever had: with great difficulty, and accompanied by copious amounts of sex.

The difficult parts don’t bear talking about. Luo Binghe still feels his stomach drop at the reminders of those first few mercurial months of knowing Shen Yuan, at the way Shen Yuan had unintentionally dismantled most notions of what Luo Binghe thought a happy ending should be like. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite enjoy thinking about that time: it had been, in some ways, a more miserable challenge to overcome than his time in the Abyss had been. 

(It had been, in many ways, the only challenge Luo Binghe had ever had to face that was directed inwards. There was no straightforward evil to banish or monster to slay. There was hardly even a wife to seduce, given the fact that Shen Yuan had let himself be seduced by Luo Binghe’s image long before Luo Binghe himself had ever arrived in Shen Yuan’s world to begin with. 

There was only this: in order to grasp the incandescent happiness that Shen Yuan presented - that Luo Binghe deserved - he had to admit that every moment of so-called happiness he had experienced for the last century had been a fool’s imitation of it. In order to be happy with Shen Yuan, he had to admit to being miserable without him. 

It was humiliating, and it was nauseating, and it had even made Luo Binghe cry once, where he thought Shen Yuan wouldn’t be able to see him. 

He’d been so, so glad when it turned out Shen Yuan wouldn’t even look away from that - from Luo Binghe at his least lovable.)

No, the difficult parts of Luo Binghe’s conquest of Shen Yuan are best kept carefully out of mind. The other, better parts of that conquest - the parts involving hot skin against skin, as close as Luo Binghe could get to fitting Shen Yuan within his own flesh where he could never part from him - those parts are far more pleasant to remember, and Luo Binghe works to make new memories of that sort every day. 

Despite its pleasantness, however, the sex is not Luo Binghe’s favorite part of his courtship with Shen Yuan. 

“Bing-ge,” Shen Yuan calls, voice just an octave shy of a proper whine, “surely we can spend summers in my world? You can’t really think this heat is more pleasant than modern AC, ah?”

Luo Binghe hums, leaning in to run his mouth across the plane of Shen Yuan’s neck, savoring the smell of Shen Yuan’s sweat. His skin is tacky from the heat; Luo Binghe briefly fantasizes about being able to stick himself to it permanently. 

“Wasn’t it Yuan-er who begged to see the Fire-Driven Herons’ migration? It only happens once every decade, after all.”

“I know that,” Shen Yuan says, scowling. “I was the one who told you that.”

“Yuan-er is the most knowledgeable about this world,” Luo Binghe agrees. 

Shen Yuan sighs, squirming half-heartedly in Luo Binghe’s lap - a wordless threat to get up. Obediently, Luo Binghe waves the fan in his free hand a bit quicker in Shen Yuan’s direction, threading delicate veins of qi into the generated wind to ensure it’s pleasantly cool. Satisfied, Shen Yuan settles back in, starting up one of his charming lectures about the fauna of Luo Binghe’s world. 

Luo Binghe listens more to the cadence of Shen Yuan’s voice than to the words themselves. He doesn’t often find it necessary to know the ecological features of a beast in order to slay it, or to capture it for Shen Yuan’s zoo, or to cook it into a proper meal. 

Still, this is what Luo Binghe likes best - what he likes even more than sex, which he’d thought to be his favorite activity from the ages of 17 to 132. 

Lounging on the ground, Shen Yuan sat snugly in his lap and held close by Luo Binghe’s free arm, allowing himself to be pet and cuddled as if it were a natural part of a trip to see some ugly birds migrate - 

Pressing his nose into the nape of Shen Yuan’s neck, left bare by Luo Binghe’s own hands that had been responsible for putting Shen Yuan’s hair up in its current complicated hairstyle - 

Idly fanning Shen Yuan to keep him cool even even while Luo Binghe himself is the greatest source of heat when pressed so close in the summer sun like this -

Over a century into his so-called happy ending, Luo Binghe has rediscovered his greatest pleasure to be physical affection of a non-sexual sort, and Shen Yuan gives it as freely as he breathes.

Oh, he fusses and complains and acts as if he must be coaxed into loving Luo Binghe, but it is such a poor act that Luo Binghe can’t help feeling nothing but warm indulgence towards it. 

“Don’t be so bold,” Shen Yuan will scold when Luo Binghe buys lube without hiding his identity, and yet in the next moment he’ll casually thread his fingers between Luo Binghe’s to hold his hand all the way through their walk down the main street of town.

“Who taught you to act like this, ah?!” Shen Yuan will complain when Luo Binghe ensures his subordinates know what an honor it is to be allowed to look at Shen Yuan, but then it will be Shen Yuan himself who will seat himself directly at Luo Binghe’s side instead of any more appropriate location for a Lord’s wife.

“There’s no need to be so sticky,” Shen Yuan will sigh when he catches Luo Binghe practically running back from the kitchens with breakfast, eager to return to his sweetheart’s side, but then Shen Yuan will happily eat from Luo Binghe’s own chopsticks, even during meals taken in the main dining hall.

Despite all his aired grievances, Shen Yuan himself breaks countless social boundaries a day without even blinking. He truly thinks nothing of it, believing these gifts he presses into Luo Binghe’s heart to be nothing but normal for a couple. Normal! As if Luo Binghe has not heard tavern songs about the Demon Emperor’s shameless new male wife, spun by every servant and enemy alike that has visited the palace and been struck to flustered embarrassment at the way Shen Yuan acts!

Luo Binghe wants to roll Shen Yuan up in one hand and eat him. He dared to say as much to Shen Yuan, once; Shen Yuan had merely rolled his eyes and told him that he wasn’t into “vore.”

(Luo Binghe had made a note to research this “vore” when they next returned to Shen Yuan’s world. He’s learned that he can coax Shen Yuan into a great many number of things, if he does it slowly and lovingly enough. The delay will give Luo Binghe time to figure out a way to both take Shen Yuan’s flesh and blood into his own without then being left without a Shen Yuan to hold in his arms.)

Certainly, some part of Luo Binghe knows this quirk in Shen Yuan’s behavior to be a byproduct of the world Luo Binghe had stolen him from. The standards for modesty are warped in that place, and Shen Yuan had been gently raised by the hand of that world to not notice anything odd about it. 

A god is no less sacred for having come from the heavens where more gods reside, though. Nor does a man feel faith to any of those supposed unseen gods when one presently sits in their lap, free to worship with prayer and touch alike. None of the other people of Shen Yuan’s world had offered Luo Binghe something so precious as the free flowing love that Shen Yuan shows him. None of them had been so foolish, and so sweet, and so carelessly thoughtful despite a cute mean streak hidden within, and -

“Bing-ge,” Shen Yuan calls, and Luo Binghe bites at Shen Yuan’s neck to prove he’s listening. Shen Yuan sighs. “Bing-ge, you aren’t listening to a word I say.”

“I am,” Luo Binghe says, “I just bit you to prove it.”

“Wha - how does that prove - oh, you’re hopeless!” Shen Yuan cries, squirming again, this time with a stronger intention.

Displeased, Luo Binghe casts aside the fan he’d been using to cool Shen Yuan, moving instead to curl both arms around Shen Yuan’s middle. When Shen Yuan keeps squirming, he trails one hand down to rub at Shen Yuan’s thigh, listening for Shen Yuan’s indignant protests. Luo Binghe may have grown drunk on the simple act of holding Shen Yuan without the need for it to be sexually pleasurable, but he isn’t above using sex to keep Shen Yuan close if he must. He refuses to give up even a millimeter of contact with this precious person unless there is no other option. 

“You’re insufferable,” Shen Yuan complains, slapping at Luo Binghe’s creeping hand several times. “We’ll miss the migration we came all this way to see if you keep this up!”

“I’ll miss Yuan-er’s closeness the most,” Luo Binghe says gravely, and Shen Yuan snorts.

“Insufferable,” he repeats, and then gives his most put-upon sigh. “Can’t you just settle for holding my hand for at least until the birds leave?”

Happily, Luo Binghe stops feeling Shen Yuan up and intertwines their hands instead. Shen Yuan praises him for his patience, as if the simple feeling of their palms pressed together isn’t more pleasurable than the greatest heights of ecstasy found in any bed. 

One day, Luo Binghe will confess this to Shen Yuan: that he’s truly deviated far too much from the erotic character Shen Yuan had read all about in that other world. That somehow, when it’s Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe feels so overwhelmed with simple affection that his greatest desires are as chaste as a young boy’s. Oh, he still enjoys the sex, but -

But ah, what he really loves most is this.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Surprises 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, cheating/established relationships, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Andy Barber, side of Mike Weiss

Summary: You have a baby on the way but it's not the only surprise.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You inch the door open and wince. You knocked once but no answer came. You’re surprised to find someone within. You rap again with your knuckles, that time on the door frame. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Barber,” you say, “you mind?” 

He sits up straight. He clears his throat as he forces his shoulders high, resuming his usual rigid posture. He’s of the few attorneys there that acknowledges you. He nods. 

“Uh, sure,” he wiggles the mouse and clicks. “Come on in.” 

You open the door wider and cross the office to his desk. You pick up the wastebasket beside it, holding back a grunt as your waist band presses tightly beneath your belly. You carry the bin to the cart at the door and dump it. It’s just coffee cups and crumpled paper, a wrapper from an egg wrap. The thought of eggs makes you nauseous. 

“Need the break,” he rubs his eyes as you near him again. “Eyes are getting fuzzy.” 

“Oh no,” you humour him. You hold the cloth in your hand, “you mind?” 

“Go ahead,” he rolls his chair back. 

“So sorry, sir, I'm running behind today.” You wipe around his keyboard and mouse. You pause and hover over a wrapper for a protein bar. “All done with this?” 

“Um, yeah,” he answers. 

You smile and scoop up the wrapper with a crinkle. “No problem.” 

Your back spasm and you suck in a sharp breath. You rub between your hips as you retreat. You feel him watching you. 

“You... alright?” 

“It’s so sweet of you to ask,” you preen as you go back to the cart and toss the wrapper. “I’m just fine.” 

You go to the book shelf and clean around the awards, the decorative gavel, and statue of Lady Justice. You feel him watching still. A few people have noticed despite you borrowing Mike’s shirts. Even those are starting to cling. 

“You’re... expecting,” he guesses correctly. 

You drag the cloth over a shelf, “I am.” 

“I’m sorry if that’s...” 

“Nah, it’s okay. I just don’t like anyone fussing over me,” you assure him. “All tidy, isn’t it?” 

You step back and admire your work. The wheels of his chair roll over the mat. 

“Why don’t you sit? Take a load off?” He offers. 

You face him and smile. He’s so nice. He spends all that time working and he’s still worried about you. You’re just the cleaner. You know well how stressful law work can be. You barely see your boyfriend with him running around the public courts. 

“Really, Mr. Barber, I still got the rest of the floor to do.” 

“I remember when Laurie was expecting,” he says. “She was exhausted all the time.” 

“I can manage. I’m not too far. Three months is all.” 

“You really shouldn’t be doing so much,” he keeps his hand on the chair. “Not in your condition.” 

“My doctor says it’s good,” you argue. “I really appreciate you worrying for me, but I’m fine. Really.” 

He looks at you. The same way Mike does. They reflect each other in certain ways. They’re always so serious. They don’t like to be told no and they win most arguments. It’s probably why they do what they do. 

“Well,” he sighs, his hand going to his hip. That posture defines him. It underlines his age. At least ten years older than Mike, who’s got a couple on you himself. “If you need somewhere to sit down, you come back here.” 

“Oh, Mr. Barber,” you smile. “That’s so kind.”  

You back to the door and tuck the dust cloth away. You get behind the cart as he follows. “Should you be pushing that around?” 

“It’s not much,” you roll it back and forth. “Paper and sponges.” 

He nods, his lips thinned in disapproval. That’s why you don’t tell anyone. They treat you different. And Mike doesn’t want his family to know yet. He says his mom will want you to marry first but he hasn’t even asked yet. 

“You should be on accommodated duty. You know, I dealt with a few labour cases?” He insists. 

“Mr. Barber,” you chide softly. “You got enough to worry about.” 

You roll the cart away, down to Mr. Logiudice’s door. It’s already opens. He greets you with a flick of his fingers as he holds his phone to his ear. You clean quietly, certain not to disturb his call. 

As you leave, Mr. Barber is still by his door. He stares at you for a moment before he retreats into his office. You hope you didn’t bother him too much. 

You finish up your rounds and dump the bag in the dumpster. You stay outside for your break, sitting at the picnic table near the corner of the building. You drink water and chew on crackers. The baby is picky. Your breakfast ended up in the sink. 

“Ahem,” the deep noise draws your eyes up as you stare at your phone. Mike’s busy. Not answering. 

“Oh, Mr. Barber.” You blink at the attorney in his grey jacket. 

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks. 

You look down at your long-sleeved shirt. 

“Baby’s got me running hot,” you shrug. 

“Hmm, I just ran out to the coffee place,” he points over his shoulder. “Slow day.” 

“It’s not so bad,” you look up at the grey clouds. 

“They had a special. Muffin and coffee for three bucks,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white bag stamped with the cafe logo. “I just needed the caffeine.” 

He has a cup in his other hand as he sets the bag on the table close to you. You look at it, then him. You find his eyes on your phone. You peer down and find your conversation with Mike still open. Still no reply. 

“Thanks, uh,” you pull the bag closer. “I’ll save it for after work.” Odds are, you’ll give it to Mike. The smell of cinnamon is already sickening. 

He gives another flat hum. His blue eyes search you. “Too early? You don’t know if it’s a girl or boy?” 

You shake your head, “not yet. Don’t think I’ll ask.” 

“Oh,” he clucks. “Laurie had to know. Had the nursery done two months early.” 

“A lot to figure out,” you agree and stand, gathering up your phone and snack. “Gotta get back to it so I can buy the baby a crib, huh?” 

He’s quiet. He walks with you back to the building. You feel him glancing at you repeatedly. He opens the door for you and you thank him. 

“Least I can do,” he says. 

[hello-sweetheart]

I need to see Steve at his breaking point, kneeling in absolute defeat. Whimpering, crying, sobbing with a sword under his chin forcing him to look up that man who is now nothing but a stranger.

But, once he was a familiar and friendly face around the castle. Often running around with the outcasts and playing music in the town square. Telling stories of great heroic adventurers to the children that flocked around him to listen. A tall but scrawny thing with a mouth that knew not when to bite its tongue.

Steven makes a pathetic image for a prince. His skin is stained with tears, grime, and blood. Blood from his knights. Brothers in arms that he’d known since he was a mere child.

He’s nothing now, has nothing.

A fallen prince awaiting death.

Edward has his dark tresses tied at the nape of his neck. His eyes are dark as night, focused and fierce in his gaze. His chest heaves and exhaustion is evident, but he stands proud.

Vengeful.

Such a far cry from the once cowardly and impish man that Steven had known him to be.

Even with the sting of betrayal, the broken bond among him and children, adolescents now, that he had come to care for… he understands why someone would follow him.

He has the stance of a leader and the final unwavering judgement of a king.

Humilated, he thinks of his people, the children (his children), and even the servants that had joined the revolt against the crown. He wishes them a better life, a kinder one than he and his parents had given them under their family rule.

Steven trusts… he trusts in his people’s judgment, despite it all, and their faith in their soon-to-be King Edward.

Accepting the fate of their decision, his cries quiet but he makes no move to wipe the mess he’s made of himself.

Steve raises his chin just a bit higher and tries to steady his breath. Leans his head against the sword that’s at the side of his neck now, a swing away from finality, and looks up at the people’s king.

“Whatever kind of king you choose to be,” his mouth is parched and heavy with the taste of ash, “be a loving one.”

His closes his eyes, and waits.

“Then, my first act as King will be that of good faith to the people. Prince Steven… I show you mercy.”

[erwinsvow]

𝐫𝐜 - 𝟐:𝟑𝟏𝐚𝐦

rafe’s phone goes off with a little noise, and he sets his laptop aside to find the device, buried beneath the sheets. when he picks it up, your name and the little emojis you had selected to put next to your contact light up the screen. there’s one concise text: are you up? can’t sleep

instead of texting back, he hits the call button and waits for it to ring. you answer within the first one, which is something of a habit when rafe calls you.

“hello?” you say quietly into the phone, trying your hardest to not make too much noise. everyone else in your house was still asleep.

“why’re you still up?” rafe asks, and though you know he’s not mad, just worried, he sounds mad.

“i told you, i can’t sleep. why are you still up?”

“i’m always up at this time.” 

“that’s not good. doing what? are you with your other girl?” you laugh at your own joke, but you know rafe isn’t, since that’s his least favorite joke.

“shut up. what—did’ya have a coffee before bed? i said to quit that shit.”

“no!” you whine, louder than you realized. you go silent, hoping no one heard you. “it’s just one of those nights. and you’re not here, that doesn’t help.” 

you expect some other comment from rafe, telling you to shut up and shut your eyes because he was busy with work and being proactive like he always is. you brace for it, already smiling. rafe is silent for longer than you thought he would be.

“i’m sorry, baby. i’ll be there tomorrow night, alrigh’?” your smile dissipates, shoulders sinking with an odd sense of relief and your body falling further into your warm bed. you don’t know why your eyes are watery—maybe because you didn’t think rafe would say something so sweet. your boyfriend is a lot of things—funny without trying, possessive to a fault, dominant to his bones—but he’s not always sweet like this. 

“still there? or you finally fall asleep?”

“still here. sorry, rafe.” you yawn, the first one in hours.

“go to bed, kid. it’s too late to still be up.”

“i’ll sleep if you sleep.”

“m’not done with-”

“please,” you say softly, followed by another yawn. 

“fine. but sleep, now. seriously. it’s two-fucking-thirty, got no reason to still be up.”

he mumbles some other stuff but you don’t catch it, getting comfortable and setting rafe on speaker with the quietest volume. you hear the unmistakable sound of rafe’s laptop closing, the switch of his lamp, the rustle of him getting under the covers. you close your eyes and imagine him staring up at the ceiling like you were just doing.

“ready, rafe?” you murmur, already half asleep.

“yeah, kid. goodnight.”

you’re out before you can even say goodnight back. rafe laughs at his phone, opening his laptop back up.

[diz-eaze]

love is not over (come back into my arms)

; yandere albedo, modern au, yearnerbedo realness, not proofread i wrote this in one go </3, word vomit, female (y/n), it's sweet before it turns toxic, manipulation.

it's a fact that not many people know, but albedo has a long, extensive history with you that can be traced back to the time the two of you wore diapers to sleep. the first friend either of you made were each other, a result of your moms being part of the same sorority back in college. whereas he was all magnifying glasses and bug taxidermy, you were sparkly tutus and playing house with dolls.

that is to say, he grew up with you, and you grew up with him.

still, an intersection happens somewhere. despite your avoidance of his taxidermied bug collection, you still reluctantly allowed some of them ("only the pretty ones, like butterflies!") to join in on your doll sessions. in turn, he allowed you to tinker and mess with his science equipment lying around whenever you came over to visit.

one time, during his sixth birthday, you gifted him a lab coat alongside a male doll. when questioned on the unexpected toy, you flashed him a smile (a crooked one, with two front teeth missing) and told him that he himself can finally join you when playing house, as the dolls' father.

if his memory serves correctly, that occasion marked the first time he had ever visibly smiled at you. even now, at present day, that male doll you gifted him is still settled nicely inside its packaging box, rarely ever touched. he never really had the thought to throw it out.

but childhood is not eternal. several years later, you would eventually put down your cute, small dolls in favor of picking up makeup and dipping into the world of fashion. gone were the days when you'd drag him outside into the local park, pleading with him to just put down his biochemistry textbook for at least ten minutes. it's all exchanged with days spent inside your room, with you spending the entire afternoon trying to perfect your eyeliner while he does his homework.

eventually, you stopped hanging out with him altogether. you found other friends who had the same interests as you. the drift apart was gradual, but still felt.

you changed so much in a short amount of time while albedo stayed the same, stagnant as ever. you are the waves crashing into the rocks ashore, and albedo is the calm, serene pond.

your severance with him posed the question within his mind: how does one mourn the loss of a dear connection, the considered other half of his soul?

an answer from him never came, for he chose to cope by burying himself even further into his studies. he stopped studying in his room, because there were pieces of you left behind. each with sentimental memories entwined within. the star-shaped hairclips, beaded bracelets, doll clothing, and the very first fashion magazine you ever owned - one which he bought with his own allowance... to throw it all away would mean to rip his own heart out.

so he settles with the local library, and when he entered uni, the campus library. and he lets the memories of you fester in his head like some untreated wound.

nowadays, you pass by him inside the university buildings like he's nothing more than a stranger to you. he dares not admit it, but it stings more than he'd like.

rekindling comes in the form of a coincidental subway meeting.

it's winter break, a time for students to come back to their hometown and family. dressed in multiple layers of clothing and a thick, blue scarf to nuzzle into, albedo steps onto the platform to wait for the train to arrive. his earbuds are placed into his ears, already pulling up spotify.

but the flash of your favorite color in his peripheral vision causes his thumb to remain hovering over the green icon. his breath hitches, and he resists the urge to look. it's just a trick of his mind. sure, you two may be from the same city, but he's sure you already went home hours before him. he would know, because he lingered outside your dorm room for a few minutes before he left for the train station.

it's just a trick of his mind, a byproduct of you having permanent residence inside his head for years now.

it's just a trick of his-

"oh... albedo," your soft acknowledgement comes behind him, causing him to whip his head in record speed to face you.

out of all the things he expected today, he didn't expect to speak to you after so many years. still, he gulps, and greets you in turn.

"(y/n),".

you nod and don't say anything more after. instead, you walk up to be beside him and pull out your own headphones. but he can't leave it here just like that, he absolutely can't.

"how has auntie been?" he questions, subtly pulling up his blue scarf to hide the lower half of his face, no doubt already red, and it's not because of the freezing air. he faces ahead, staring into the empty railroads.

you flinch, as if personally scalded by his inquiry.

"she's been fine," you begin, putting your headphones back into your bag. "been pestering me about relationships, so that means she's more than doing okay."

your lighthearted jab causes him to let out a huff of amusement, which causes your attention. you turn to face him, the action makes his heart spike. your left hand plays with the hem of your cardigan, a telltale sign of you becoming anxious.

"what... what about you? how have you been?"

"you're not going to ask about my mother?" albedo tilts his head in confusion, yet it doesn't stop the hope blooming in his chest. the tips of his ears burn brighter.

"no," your reply is rushed out, "i don't need to, i speak to auntie rhine over the phone regularly. so.... that just leaves you."

a second of silence overcomes both of you.

"i've... been doing okay," a huge lie. he even brought some of your old things with him the day he moved into the dorms because some days, he misses you more than life itself.

then, with his thundering heart, he takes the risk to add on, "...i just miss you, i suppose, that's all."

the moment the words leave his lips, he homes in on the way your face twists into one of pain, as if addressing the plague between your former friendship with him puts you under torture. you take a step back, as if preparing to run away, but you don't. instead, you take deep, steady breaths as if to calm your nerves down.

albedo has to physically stop his hand from reaching out to comfort you. then, out of nowhere, the dam breaks.

"i'm really sorry, albedo," you bow a perfect 90 degrees, causing the dangling accessories in your winter outfit to chime. "i know i must have hurt you... a lot. by the time i realized my mistake, i- i was in too deep...! too much of an absolute wuss to do anything... so i just, ignored you, like some- some bitch!"

the admittance of your wrongdoings is nothing in comparison to the stinging pain in his chest when he sees clear droplets falling to the ground. crying - you're crying. because of him.

wasting not a single second, albedo rushes in to engulf you in a hug. it's been years since he last hugged you, so the feeling of your body is now unfamiliar to him, an objective he must remedy as soon as possible.

the train arrives, but neither of you make any move to part from each other. a delay will end up costing hours of time wasted before another one arrives, yet albedo hardly finds it to be a problem when he'll be spending the entire time in your company.

and suddenly, he can't even remember the reason why you two ever stopped being friends in the first place.

his grip on your shoulders tightens, and he burrows his face into the crook of your neck to hide the curve of his lips.

"it's okay," he murmurs, muffled, still smiling unbeknownst to you, "i forgive you, let's just go back to the way it was before."

you sniffle, nodding your head again and again, "yeah, let's."

it's as if he's been transported back in time, where the only world he knew consisted of you and him, with your parents being the supporting characters.

the winter frostbite has nothing on the warmth you provide to him.

just like old times, has become a phrase that albedo heavily favors recently.

when you need to study, he'll offer to study together in his or your dorm room. should you feel the need to visit the cafe, albedo will tag along, y'know, for old time's sake. in the early mornings, while you're getting ready, albedo will come knocking on your door to watch you do your makeup.

just like old times.

these days, though, you slowly let him do more and more of your makeup routine, even surprised at the skill level he possesses. it's nearly impossible for him to be a first-timer at this, so while doing your eyeshadow, you take the opportunity to tease him.

"you're skilled at this, 'bedo," he merely hums at your comment, moving with precision only expected of a lab nerd like him, "you must have had a girlfriend these past few years because of that, huh?"

he stills at that.

from above, teal-tinted eyes bore into your own. he blinks. then, a huff of amusement.

"no, don't think of nonsense like that," albedo chides you, teasingly flicking your forehead, causing you to yelp.

you whine out in response, "it's not nonsense!"

"it is."

this banter... it feels like home. it's akin to a warm blanket enclosing around your figure with a kiss goodnight on the forehead.

albedo, in his entirety, is home himself.

and rekindling your friendship with him feels like opening the door to your home after a treacherous journey from the mountains.

this time, you tell yourself, you won't let your friendship with him fade into obscurity once more. you'll do anything it takes.

anything.

"is this the guy?" you jerk your phone to show him your screen, waiting for confirmation. briefly, albedo looks up from his lab assignment to view the Instagram profile presented. he returns his attention back to his lab assignment.

"yes, block him. he's bad news,"

"why?" you prod, not an accusation, but one of curiosity. because you do block him, you trust albedo's judgement more than anyone else in the world, after all.

"i heard he goes around hitting on freshman students, you know, a super senior," he shrugs, eyes honing in on his microscope's lenses.

you let out a giggle at that, not expecting albedo, of all people, to say the term super senior. "got it, boss." you mock salute.

"if there's any more creeps following my insta, just tell me, okay?"

"oh, i will," he voices with conviction.

a few days later, the guy albedo made you block confronts you after lecture. you tell him upfront that he's a creep preying on freshman students. instead of the embarrassment or guilt you envisioned he'd have, all you see is befuddlement.

he tells you that you got it all wrong.

you frown, turning around and walking forward without sparing him a single glance.

just who does he think he is, trying to tell you otherwise? bah, the audacity of seniors like him.

"we're all going to the newly opened cafe next week, right? right?" mualani asks around for confirmation, and is met with a chorus of agreements.

you, in particular, raise your hand in agreement, "i am!"

before mualani could audibly cheer, rosaria butts in.

"yeah, and bring your prissy boyfriend again, sure," she snarks out, filing her sharp nails. at that, you tilt your head in confusion, blinking.

"what? 'bedo's not my boyfriend," you counter, leaning back into the bean bag.

"and the sky is green, very funny." rosaria rolls her eyes, sarcasm rolling off her in waves. you start to get annoyed.

"i'm not kidding! he really isn't, we're just good friends, that's all." you insist, looking at amber next to you for emotional support. yet she looks lost at what's brewing in front of her.

at that, rosaria's spiteful expression drops into one of.... you can't really put into words. she lowers her nail filer down, eyes narrowing.

"are you sure? because we saw him shoving his tongue down your throat when the cab door was closing when he came to pick you up from the club last week."

it's your turn to be confused - outright baffled, even. what does she mean by that? the thought itself just seems so outlandish to you.

"yes, rosa... i'm quite sure." you frown, racking your brain for any possible answers as to what exactly they saw, because there's no recollection of anything similar of that vein in your memories. "maybe it's just someone similar to me?"

"wow, so he's going around kissing girls who look eerily similar to you? not helping at all, chief," chiori chimes in while sewing a top. "no, but seriously, we know what we saw, (y/n). that girl is definitely you."

"forreal," even xilonen agrees in despite napping a few seconds ago. "i don't think there's anyone else in the word who carries around that obscure dating sim character keychain that's always dangling on your phone."

your previous irritation melts into confusion. because this many friends of yours agreeing that they saw you making out with albedo is no mistake on their part. did you accidentally come onto him last week?

you'll talk to him about it later.

when you confront albedo about it a few hours later, you're instead questioned by him.

"well, do you believe them? your friends, i mean,"

you blink, hesitating, "uhm, i don't know."

"your hesitation is considered one of agreement. i see, you're doubting me." his unexpected icy words, causing you to widen your eyes, stumbling over words.

"w- what? no! i would never doubt you, 'bedo! I'm just wondering if it really happened, that's all!" you flail your arms around, hoping that he won't take great offense to your words.

"then allow me to ask you again; do you believe them?" he questions once more, eyes boring into the sweat forming on the surface of your skin. "answer me with full honesty, (y/n)."

frowning, your gaze sweeps down to the ground, "...no. not at all, albedo. i promise you."

he hums then, and moves to stand up from your bed, "i know, (y/n). i know."

albedo looks behind him as he opens your room's door, he gives you a small smile. "i know you wouldn't betray me, because you're atoning for your sins right now, isn't that right? you left me before once, and you're on the path of redemption, right?"

he's waiting for you to agree, you realize.

"...yeah."

"it makes me really happy to see you put so much effort into our friendship, (y/n). it's just like old times."

the door promptly closes.

you're left alone with your thoughts.

albedo's right.

you wronged him once, you can't wrong him again just because of the prejudiced beliefs people hold over him. you know albedo, and he's not the villain your friends make him out to be.

he's simply not the type to act like that.

you get into a fight with your friends the following week. it ends in a rift between you and them, and you promptly ignore their chats to remedy things.

but it's okay, because albedo's there to listen to you rant about people whom you previously thought to be your friends.

at least you still have him, despite the great mistake of leaving him on your part.

you suppose that it all comes down to the two of you in the end.

in albedo's own dorm room shelf lies a male and female doll in their respective box packaging. they both look like they've seen better days, but the weary appearance they sport is only a sign that they were deeply loved at one point.

you own the female doll, and gave him the male one.

tl;dr you lowkey abandon your childhood friend when puberty hit which caused him to have abandonment issues that comes to bite you in the ass when you rebuild your friendship with him. moral lesson: never look back on the friends you abandoned bc they might be in love with you and plotting how to take you back all this time :) /j