#All I will say here is that what happened to you there is wrong

[rafayelxsylusho]

This was created because I'm ovulating and I was inspired by this art (link here).

What happens when you catch each LI humping a pillow? 🥵🥵

FOLLOW EKAY!!! art is amazing!!!

Full pictures are on Bluesky and X.

"What the hell?" That definitely sounded like Caleb, but the way he called your name was different. Not playful or teasing like usual. It was raw, desperate, almost pained. For a moment you think Caleb must have heard you come home and is calling for you from the kitchen. But the sound comes again, louder and it's clear something is very wrong.

You freeze on the stairs, hand tightening on the railing as you realize the noise is coming from upstairs.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself moving up the stairs, footsteps silent on the carpeted steps. You creep closer to his bedroom door, which is slightly open. You hear him grunt, followed by the creaking of bedsprings. Your stomach twists into knots as you push the door open a little wider, peeking inside.

The sight that greets you steals the breath from your lungs. 

Caleb, is on his knees on the bed, holding with both hands a pillow that is clutched tightly between his legs. His abs flex and tense with each thrust of his hips, the defined lines of his six pack glistening with a sheen of sweat.

A deep moan tears from his throat, your name falling from his lips like a prayer and a plea all at once. "Y/N..." he grunts with a sharp buck of his hips. The metal dog tag you gave him, the one he never takes off, swings and clanks against his chest with every movement.

His face is flushed a deep red, eyes open in concentration as he loses himself in his own twisted fantasy. His dark brown hair falls messily over his forehead, a few damp strands clinging to his skin. He looks lost in his own world, chasing some dark desire that you can only imagine involves you.

You stand there frozen, feeling a confusing mix of shock and embarrassment. You know you should look away, give him privacy, but you can't seem to tear your eyes from the sight of him so consumed by lust.

His breathing comes in ragged pants, chest heaving as he continues to grind against the pillow.

You don't know whether to be flattered, terrified, or turned on. Probably all three. But most of all, you are stunned. You had no idea Caleb was this intense.

The sound of the pillow rubbing against his heavy balls up to the tip of his cock, already slick with precum, makes you squeeze your thighs together.

"Fuck, pipsqueak..." Caleb grunts, "You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight and perfect around my cock." He gives a sharp thrust and the pillowcase darkens with his precum.

His filthy whispers fill the room, painting a vivid picture of the act he wishes he was performing on you. "Gonna fill this sweet little pussy up. Pump you so full of my cum, you'll be dripping with it for days."

Your cheeks flush hotly at his words. You've never heard Caleb speak like this before. It's raw, it's real, and it's terrifyingly intense. A dark shiver runs through you as you imagine him saying those things to you, doing those things to you.

Caleb seems to be chasing something, a release he desperately needs. His grip on the pillow tightens, knuckles turning white as he holds on for dear life. The bed frame creaks beneath him, "Fuck, I need it... I need you... Gonna cum... Gonna fucking cum..." he snarls, hips jerking erratically now. The pillow case is thoroughly soaked, the spreading dark patch testifying to his desperation.

A gasp escapes you as you take an unconscious step forward, the door swings open a bit more. In that same moment, Caleb's head snaps up, eyes flying open wide as he realizes he's no longer alone.

But it's too late. Far too late to stop the inevitable. With a deep moan that echoes off the walls, Caleb's back arches as he finds his release. His hips jerk forward one last time, and thick ropes of pearly white cum erupt from his cock, splattering obscenely across his stomach and chest.

Some of it even reaches his flushed cheek, a single strand dangling from his jawline as he pants harshly, struggling to catch his breath. His pelvis is glazed with his cum, the patch of hair there dripping with his seed.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Caleb stares at you, eyes blazing with emotions, shock, embarrassment, but above all, hunger. It's like he's seeing straight into your soul and you are frozen in place, your own breath coming in shallow gasps. You don't know what to say, what to do. You are not sure if you should run, scream, or...god help you...take a step closer and let him pull you into his arms.

So you do the only thing you can think of.  You step out of the room, you let the door swing shut behind you with a soft click. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you stand there, back pressed against the closed door. You can still picture the look on his face, the raw need that contorted his features. It will be burned into you mind forever.

How can we go back to the way things were after this? 

Your heart skips a beat as you hear an unfamiliar noise coming from Sylus' room. It sounds like...grunting? You pause midstep, standing still just outside his bedroom door.

There's a strange, rhythmic creaking of bedsprings that makes your brows furrow. What on earth is Sylus doing in there at this hour, especially if he's not a morning person? You've never heard him make noises like that before. Perhaps surprising him like this wasn't the best idea after all.

You open the door slowly, maybe he is having a nightmare you tell yourself. Your heart lurches into your throat, eyes widening in shock. He is not having a nightmare, but something far more...intense. He's kneeling on the bed, gripping a pillow tightly between his thighs. The way his arm clutches it, fingers digging into the fabric, suggests a desperate, almost feral need.

His other hand is fisted in the sheets behind him, knuckles white from the force of his grip. The bed creaks and sways with his movements, the rocking of his hips unmistakable even in the dim light. He's panting, low grunts and growls rumbling from his chest as he grinds himself against the pillow, chasing his pleasure.

Shock roots you to the spot, hand still on the door handle. He's looking down at his throbbing cock, watching it, each slow thrust. His hips roll slowly at first, the movement controlled as he builds towards his peak.

"Fuck, kitten," he grunts, "You take me so deep, all the way into that tight little throat. That's it, open wider, take every fucking inch..."

You feel heat between your legs at the sound of his filthy words, arousal dampening the fabric of your panties

Suddenly, his thrusts turn quick and desperate, the arm gripping the bed slipping a bit. The sound of the pillowcase rubbing against him and the slap of his cock against his stomach fill the room. Beads of precum smear across his skin with each thrust.

You can't look away, even as your cheeks burn and your core throbs with need. You know Sylus is seconds away from coming, his thrusts becoming desperate.

He is fully lost now head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, you bite your lip hard, stifling the moan that threatens to spill out. You are not even touching yourself but you can feel your body responding to his fantasy as if it were real. As if you were the one on your knees, choking on his thick cock, gagging for his seed.

You gasp softly as he orgasms, his long moan of "Take it all, kitten... suck me dry" echoing through the room. The sight of his hot cum splattering across his stomach and staining the sheets is shockingly erotic.

There's so much of it. Thick, creamy ropes of cum paint his skin and the pillow beneath him. You can't help but picture how it would feel, the weight of it heavy and warm on your tongue, sliding down your throat. The thought makes your mouth water.

His cock pulses and throbs as he rides out his orgasm, spurting the last few weak drops of cum onto the pillow. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, arm gripping the sheets trembling slightly.

You are about to close his door when you hear his voice again. You freeze, hand still on the door handle, as he speaks.

"You, watching me, made this much more pleasurable, kitten. Don't walk away now."

You should have known you couldnt slip away unnoticed.

Fuck

Three weeks, that's how long you were on a mission and apart from him.

When you open the front door and walk in you notice the house is quiet, too quiet, as you set your bag down by the shoe rack, kicking off your boots.

Your heart flutters with anticipation as you tiptoe down the hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. The early morning sunlight peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the house as you approach the slightly open bedroom door.

"Y/n...fuuuuuuuck"

He couldn't be...was he?

He was.

Your mouth falls open in shock when you see Zayne. He's on his hands and knees on the bed, a pillow placed between his legs. One hand grips the pillow tightly, holding it firmly against his body as he slowly thrusts his hips, his hard cock trapped between the pillow and his pelvis.

His other hand clutches the bedsheets in front of him like a lifeline. His black hair falls forward, hiding his eyes as his broad shoulders rise and fall with each breath. The room is filled with the soft, rhythmic sound of the bed creaking with his movements and the stifled groans that escape his lips. The sight of his muscular back moving with each thrust sends a shiver down your spine and ignites a fire low in your belly.

You realize that he's not just turned on, but he's already found his release once, the pillowcase, now soaked with his essence, testifies to it. He's using the damp fabric, slick with his cum, to bring himself to the brink again.

His cock, the tip an angry, almost painful shade of red, pulses and throbs with need. His balls draw up tight, and his toes curl.

His face, usually so stoic and controlled, is flushed and you can tell he's on the very edge of another orgasm. Your heart pounds wildly as you watch him chase his release, his hips moving more urgently now. His hand claws at the sheets, bunching the fabric in his fist.

Your own body responds with a deep throb of desire. You can feel the dampness pooling between your thighs, the way your nipples strain against the fabric of your bra. But you remain still, a silent witness to the intimate moment, not wanting to startle him.

He yanks the pillow closer, using it for more friction, more stimulation. "Fuck..." he growls "Always so fucking tight... such a dirty girl...making me cum twice"

Contrary to before, he doesn't hold back his noises this time. A guttural moan, tears from his throat as he finds his release. It's followed by a litany of curses, each one punctuated by the jerking of his hips and the pulsing of his cock.

"Fuck... shit... damn..." he growls, "Take it... take my fucking cum..." You are sure the sight of him losing control, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, will be seared into your mind forever.

You step into the room and walk towards Zayne, eyes drinking in the sight of him, back glistening with sweat, his hips still twitching with the aftershocks of his climax. As you approach him, he slowly turns his head, his eyes blinking in surprise and confusion as they meet yours. He's still gripping the sheets and pillow tightly.

Without hesitation, you reach out and swipe a finger along the tip of his softening cock, collecting the pearly drops of his release that cling to the sensitive skin. Then you bring your finger to your mouth, keeping eye contact with him as you slowly lick it clean, savoring the salty, slightly bitter taste of him.

"Surprise, honey," you say softly, a playful smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "I'm home early."

You sigh softly as you remember the last time you saw Rafayel, just a few days ago. He had been absorbed in his painting, hunched over a large canvas propped up in his art studio.

You open his front door and walk inside, a basket of freshly prepared food tucked under your arm. You walk to his studio but he is not in there.

An unusual sound drifting down from upstairs makes you stop in place. It's a soft, strangled noise.

Was that a whimper?

Your brows furrow with concern and you set the basket of food down quietly on the staircase, not wanting to disturb whatever may be happening, but unwilling to ignore what sounds like distress.

Climbing the stairs quietly you approach Rafayel's bedroom door. The whimpering grows louder, now unmistakable. Your hand hovers over the doorknob and you take a deep breath, slowly turning the doorknob. As you push the door open just a bit, you peek through to see Rafayel.

It's not his face flushed a deep shade of red that extends to the tips of his ears or the sweat dripping down his chest that makes your heart skip a beat. It's the way he's positioned on the bed, with a pillow clutched tightly between his legs, his hips rocking and rutting against it with desperate, needy thrusts. His left hand gripping the pillow tightly, keeping it firmly in place as his other hand braces against the mattress, holding himself up.

Desperate whimpers and whines spill from his lips as he grinds his hips against the pillow, his eyes screwed shut in a mix of pleasure and what looks like anguish.

Rafayel pulls the pillow closer, the tip of his cock becomes visible with each thrust. It disappears and reappears, glistening with precum as he thrust against the fabric. It makes your face flush hotly, your eyes going wide as you instinctively press a hand to your mouth to stifle any sound.

"Please... please cutie... let me cum..." Rafayel whimpers "Please, I need it so bad... I can't... I can't hold back anymore..." You've only witnessed him in this state once before, and the memory of that intimate moment together flashes through your mind. The raw need in his eyes as he begged you to let him find release within your warmth and tightness.

A single tear of frustration trickles down his flushed cheek, glistening in the soft light. His abs clench and flex with each thrust against the pillow. "Fuck... I can ... smell her..." he chokes out, his voice breaking with need. The pillow is now soaked with his sweat and the weeping tip of his cock.

It's clear that Rafayel is thinking of you, craving you, desperate to fill you and but he is also having trouble reaching his peak, so you decide to help.

You walk softly towards the bed, as you approach, his thrusts against the pillow falter, then stop altogether. He looks up at you with wide, teary eyes, his cheeks burning an even deeper shade of red.

That's when you see the raw vulnerability and need in his expression, the way he's stripped bare of all his usual composure and confidence. It's both humbling and deeply intimate, a rare glimpse into the true depth of his desire for you.

Sitting down gently beside him on the bed, you lean in close, your lips nearly brushing the shell of his ear and in a soft, encouraging whisper, you breathe out the words:

"Keep going, Raf. Cum for me."

Those three simple words, spoken with such gentle encouragement, seem to be the final push Rafayel needs. His eyes flutter closed, a look of pure bliss spreading across his face.

With a hoarse cry of your name, Rafayel's body goes rigid, his hips jerking forward as he finds his much needed release. Thick, hot ropes of his cum spurt from his fat cock, coating the pillow and his hand as he grips it with white knuckles.

"Such a good boy, Raf," you coo softly, reaching out to gently brush a damp lock of hair from his forehead. Your touch makes him shiver, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

You're glad you brought food, because you know you will both need it after the long day and night ahead of you.

You slip the key he gave you into the lock and turn it slowly, easing the door open as quietly as possible. The apartment is dimly lit and you can hear the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic, but otherwise, it's quiet.

Closing the door behind you, you pad softly into the kitchen. You have a plan, start on breakfast, then wake him so he can eat something. He's probably exhausted from his mission, and you want to make sure he has a nice, relaxing morning. Maybe he forgot you were supposed to have breakfast together this morning.

You open the fridge and start gathering ingredients, eggs, bacon, some fresh fruit. You had found a recipe online that looked delicious and you thought he might enjoy it.

The sound of something slamming softly against the wall grabs your attention. Concerned you walk towards his bedroom, leaving the ingredients on the kitchen counter, the sound growing louder with each step. Gently you turn the doorknob and ease the door to his bedroom open, just a little bit at first. But once you open it a little bit more the sight that greets you makes your breath catch in your throat.

Xavier is sprawled naked on his back, body bathed in the soft glow of the lights filtering through the window. His legs are bent, knees up and feet flat on the bed. Nestled between his thighs is a pillow, and you can see his hips rocking slowly, rubbing the pillow against his lenght.

Your gaze is drawn to his cock, standing proud against his stomach. You can see pearly drops of precum dripping from the swollen, flushed tip, trailing down and pooling in his abdomen.

Unconsciously you lick your lips, imagining the taste of his skin, the feel of his body against yours.

Xavier grips the pillow tightly with both hands. His long fingers dig into the fabric as he pulls on both sides, tightening the pillow around his throbbing cock. The soft material squeezes his shaft, providing a delicious friction that has him gritting his teeth.

You can see the desperation in the way he's chasing his pleasure, the hunger that drives him to seek more, always more. His eyes are clenched shut, lost in a world of sensation and desire. A part of you wonders what he's thinking about, what fantasies are playing out behind his closed lids to have him so worked up. 

You don't have to wait long for an answer.

"Fuck, bunny..." he grunts, voice breathless. "You feel so fucking good...ngh...take it all, just like that. Squeeze me... You ride me sooooo good... fuck, you're so tight...so perfect..."

There's no doubt about it now, in his mind, he's with you, lost in a fantasy starring none other than yourself.

His words dissolve into a moan, the sound vibrating through his chest. The signs of his impending orgasm are unmistakable. His thrusts become erratic, the grip on the pillow tightening. His breathing grows ragged and shallow, each inhale ending on a sharp grunt or a moan. The muscles in his thighs and stomach tense and flex.

"Fuck,... I'm... I'm so close... Ah, shit..." Xavier pants. He throws his head back, hair splaying out around him like a halo. "Don't stop...! don't you dare fucking stop..."

And in his head you don't stop because the next second he comes undone. His back arches sharply, pressing himself against the pillow, as thick ropes of hot, sticky cum spurt from his throbbing cock.

The headboard slams against the wall with the force of his thrusts, the rhythmic banging keeping time with the throbbing pulses of his release.

His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. The pillow is a mess, soaked through with his release. He collapses back onto the bed, a blissful smile playing at the corners of his lips.

For a moment, you're stunned speechless, hardly believing this really happened. Did he really just...?

Before you can overthink it, Xavier's head turns towards the door, his piercing blue gaze locking onto you. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face, the smirk of a predator who's just spotted his prey.

"Come here, y/n," he purrs, "I noticed you were there before I came, but I wanted to keep the show going for you."

Of course he noticed you standing there, his hunter's instincts always on high alert. It's no wonder he's the best deepspace hunter. Now all you had to do was walk to him.

Easy...right?

[okaylikeschaewon]

Chapter 10: Choices

~6k words, male reader, smut

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” Sakura yawned, rubbing her eyes.

“Kkura I’m fucking scared.”

She took one proper look at you and that was enough to let the drowsiness instantly fade from her face. The fact that it was the break of dawn and that she had just rolled out of bed a moment earlier seemingly no longer mattered. Shrugging her shoulders to protect herself from the cold, Sakura shut the door behind her and stepped out into the crisp morning air, pulling her robe tight around her body.

“What happened?” she asked softly, her beautiful, round eyes widened. Her expression was warm, despite the chilly morning air.

“What if she doesn’t take it well?” you asked, your breath catching in the cold and your teeth clattering.

“Let’s slow down for a second,” Sakura began shivering. “But first, can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, right,” Sakura frowned. “Car?”

“That works,” you agreed, turning around and leading Sakura towards where you parked.

Sakura got into the passenger seat as you turned on the car.

“Much better,” Sakura shivered, holding her hands up to the vents as you started blasting the heat. “Alright, now do you want to explain what you’re talking about?”

“I slept on it, like you said,” you began anxiously. “I can’t shake my head around… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Sakura sighed, her eyes shimmering with compassion. Her gaze was soft and understanding, radiating a soothing energy that promised there would be no judgment on her end.

“You’re going to need to clarify who you’re talking about.”

“Sorry. It’s Zuha. I can’t get that girl out of my head. I swear ever since she confessed, I’ve felt something inside me that I just haven’t been able to shake.”

“Then I guess you have your answer.”

“Isn’t it fucked up though?” you raised your voice unintentionally, nearly shouting at the girl without even realizing it. “Sorry, I just mean like, for Chaewon, I feel awful. I still really love her, I think, but I think I also have feelings for Kazuha? I don’t know, nothing makes sense to me anymore, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not here to tell you what’s right and wrong,” Sakura replied calmly. “I love both of those girls with all of my heart.” 

“And I still have a lot of love for both of them.”

“But you can’t see both of them romantically,” Sakura smiled gently. “There’s no real nice way to put it, you have to pick one.”

“It just feels wrong,” you let out an exasperated sigh. “Why can’t I just have them both?”

“It’s one thing to sleep with both of them, but it’s another to have feelings for both,” Sakura chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be fair to either girl if you tried keeping both.”

It sucked to hear, even if for just a moment you tried to trick yourself into thinking it would be possible. “You’re right, I know, it just blows.”

“And I’m not telling you which one you should pick, that’s your decision,” Sakura continued. “Lucky you, by the way, in the grand scheme of things there are worse choices to be left with.”

“I know, I’m making my own life difficult.”

“I’m not saying it’s an easy choice.”

“But I have to make it.”

“Yeah, you do,” Sakura pursed her lips as her expression bled empathy. “They both really like you, more than you probably know.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“My bad,” Sakura chuckled before her expression turned more serious. “If it makes you feel better, I know better than anyone that you’ll do right by Chaewon even if you decide to move onto Kazuha.”

Better than anyone. Something about that comment didn’t exactly sit right with you, and immediately you figured something was wrong.

“Sakura?” you gave her a look of confusion as you fixated on that one line.

“I’m fine,” her voice cracked as she quickly turned away from you to look out the passenger side window.

“I… are you…” your voice trailed off, and it was like there was a rock in your throat. All of a sudden you couldn’t speak, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You reached out for Sakura’s shoulder with your hand.

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated firmly, pulling her shoulder away from your touch, still staring out the window. “Just… give me a second, please.”

“Sure, let me know,” you leaned back slowly.

This couldn’t be much further from what you expected the conversation would be like. It all happened too fast, you were still trying to comprehend how it turned into this. You kept your gaze fixated on Sakura’s back, confused and worried about her, forgetting about your own dilemma for the moment.

She brought one of her hands up to her face, presumably wiping her eyes with the cuff of her robe, followed by a couple of silent sobs. Her body trembled just enough for you to notice, as if she was still outside in the cold, but the car was as warm as it could be. She let out one final sniffle, shrugging her shoulders as she took a deep breath and turned back to face you.

“Sorry about that,” she stated, her beautiful round eyes stained scarlet. “As I was saying-”

“Sakura,” you cut in, barely hearing your own voice over your thumping heart. “Are you okay?”

A shaky exhale escaped her lips as her brow furrowed. Her lip began to tremble, and her eyelids began blinking rapidly. She nodded, unable to find her voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Sakura laughed as a couple of tears flew down her face. “About how pathetic I am? How it takes one mention of our past to send me down a fucking rabbit hole all night?”

“What are you talking about? You’re not pathetic-”

“Aren’t I?” she shouted, her voice unstable and shaky, each syllable wavering and threatening collapse. “I bet you didn’t think about it at all after we stopped talking last night.”

“Of course I did,” you responded unconvincingly, fully aware that she knew you were lying.

“Yeah? Did you also spend all night looking at pictures? Pictures that I refused to delete? Even though I told myself I would?” Sakura snapped back. “That’s what I thought.”

It was tough to hear and you were admittedly at a loss for words, staring at Sakura as she was on the verge of fresh tears. It hurt so unbelievably bad to see her like this. You’ve known this girl for years and seeing her in this state was a rare occurrence, but it was so fucking difficult whenever it happened. You hated it. You hated every second of what was happening in this car.

“I’m fine,” Sakura choked, still struggling to get the words out. “Being reminded last night just really had me thinking about those days.”

“I’m sorry-”

“It took me a really long time to forgive you,” Sakura confessed, ignoring your apology. “Like, a really fucking long time.”

“I had no idea-”

“I once told Zuha I was going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows. “Understandable, very reasonable.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sakura scoffed. “What you did was… honestly it’s been long enough, I’m going to say it. What you did was fucked up.”

“Excuse me? We both agreed to end things when we ended them,” you finally found your voice and defended yourself. “How can you put all the blame on me like that?”

“You’re right, we both agreed,” Sakura retaliated with her voice full of rage. “I’m talking about the reason you gave and what you did right after.”

“You mean-”

“Yes you fucking asshole,” Sakura interjected. “Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? And it’s not like she knew a thing, I made sure to never tell her, because it wasn’t her fault, she didn’t deserve to have that in her mind.”

“I didn’t plan for things to happen the way they did, you know this. It just… things just happened the way they did, no one could have seen it coming.”

“I. Fucking. Know,” Sakura sighed with exasperation, frustratingly agreeing as if she knew she had no other option. “Of course I fucking know, I’m the one who basically…” she sighed deeper with heavy pent up frustration behind her before adding in a nearly-silent whisper. “But it still really hurt.”

“I’m really sorry Kkura, I-”

“Never thought about it? Had no idea? Why would you? You had a pretty girl obsessed with you while all I had was fucking nothing, nothing but the pleasure of watching you replace me in less than… however long it was. I don’t even give a fuck about that part, it’s just the reason you gave me.”

She was right, to a degree. It’s not that you hadn’t thought about it, but you clearly did not realize how much you put her through, or perhaps you were just too much of a dickhead to care. She deserved better, and it took you far too long to realize this, you hurt the girl who was there for you far more than you ever could have known.

“Kkura-”

“Alright, fine, maybe I did care about that part as well, maybe I felt like what we had wasn’t very special if you could replace me that quickly. I don’t know, but I could have overlooked it,” Sakura kept going, not letting you get a word in. “Really it’s probably my fault, I could have said no when you asked me that night, I could have just ignored your text, never set you up on that date.”

“That’s not fair at all, no one could have ever predicted that night to turn into what it did. Chaewon wasn’t even in the picture at that point. It wasn’t even supposed to be her, you know this, things just kinda fell into place after.”

“Obviously I do, I set it up,” Sakura snapped at you. “And we both know damn well how I don’t have it in me to ignore you like that, but I probably should have.”

“Sakura, I know I hurt you,” you began as you chose your next words carefully. “But you know my first date with Chaewon was before the announcement, right? I had no idea she was going to debut again, she didn’t tell me until way later.”

“Even if you knew, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it still matters,” you replied softly. “The reason I gave you was genuine, and I don’t think I would have gone forward with Chaewon had I known about the group. You believe me, right?”

She paused for a moment to think about what you said. “Yeah, I do, and honestly I don’t really blame you, I know I don’t,” Sakura replied, her voice losing the anger and being replaced with a touch of dejection - one that stung much more than when she was yelling at you. “I get it, I saw the way you looked at her. It was clear as day you were madly in love with her, and you two were just so perfect together.”

“That must have made it even harder on you,” you muttered, your vision starting to blur. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sakura replied bluntly. “How could I be upset? Chaewon was happier than I had ever seen her. I was happy for her. Of course I was. It’s not her fault.”

Words once again escaped your brain.

“As mad as I was, I was also secretly happy for you as well,” Sakura confessed with a smile stained with melancholy. “It may sound stupid, but even though we didn’t work out, deep down I still wanted to see you happy. Oh, who am I fucking kidding, it wasn’t that deep down. I wanted you to be happy, even when you hurt me. Pathetic as fuck, right?”

“And I also want to see you happy, does that make me pathetic too?” you replied, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I hope you know I really mean that, I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. And my reason wasn’t bullshit, I swear I really felt that way, I just wasn’t expecting that whole thing to unfold the way it did.”

“I know, I don’t think either of us expected it, I didn’t even know it was an option,” Sakura mumbled quietly under her breath. “I promise I never held it against Chaewon.”

“Just against me.”

“Only at the start,” Sakura laughed softly as the tears finally spilled. “You know how I said I know you’d do right by Chaewon? Yeah, as much as you hurt me, there’s a reason I didn’t actually murder you in your sleep.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, but sometimes things happen,” Sakura smiled faintly, her eyes glistening as she fought the losing battle against the wave of emotion threatening to break through. “Seeing how happy you made Chaewon made it a lot easier for me to forgive you.”

Just like that, tears also began flowing down your face in a way you couldn’t control.

“That… wasn’t supposed to be…” Sakura stammered quickly.

“Sakura I’m so-” you choked up before finishing your thought.

“It’s okay,” Sakura whispered, leaning over and wrapping you up in her arms. “I promise it’s okay. I’m here with you.”

It took you a few moments - squeezing Sakura tenderly - before you were able to compose yourself again. You let go of her slowly and another wave of warmth shot through your body when you saw her face tear-soaked.

“It’s all behind us now,” Sakura said softly. “Just like I was able to forgive you, I’m confident Chaewon will, too.”

“Does that mean you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that,” Sakura quickly backtracked. “This situation is different.”

“Isn’t this one worse?” you asked nervously. “Fuck, Sakura I don’t know anymore, maybe this is all a mistake.”

“I don’t think you should doubt yourself, just listen to what your heart’s telling you. It’s also kinda too late to back out now, think about Zuha.”

“You really think so?”

“I don’t see a better option, but it’s definitely complicated,” Sakura replied nervously. “Just be thoughtful when it’s time to tell Chaewon, if you’re mean to her, maybe I will have to murder you in your sleep.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you half-smiled. “But let’s be honest, we both know I could never hurt that girl on purpose, ever.”

“You probably thought that about… actually let’s not go there again,” Sakura returned your smile half-heartedly. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

“Fingers crossed,” Sakura chuckled, wiping her face clean as she opened the door.

The two of you stepped into the brisk air once more. You walked around your car to Sakura who was waiting for you. Without speaking a single word, the two of you embraced in a tight hug, properly this time.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into her shoulder, the coldness of the morning being completely replaced by the warmth of Sakura’s hug.

“Good luck with everything, I’m always here for you if I can help with anything,” Sakura whispered back before letting go of you and shooting you a nervous glance. “When do you plan on talking to them?”

The talk with Sakura ended up creeping just a bit of doubt into your decision, but your mind was still set. You knew, as much as you didn’t want to do it, this conversation had to happen at some point soon because the longer you waited the worse it would become. With that in mind, you returned Sakura’s nervous expression with a look of determination.

“Right now.”

—

“Hey,” you whispered, peeking your head through the door to see if she was awake.

“Oh! I thought it was Kkura,” Kazuha blurted out as she looked up from her phone. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I came to see you, actually,” you answered while opening the door a bit more. “Mind if I come in?”

“Oh, uh, yeah of course,” she replied, sitting up in her bed and putting her phone aside. “Come, sit. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Kazuha raised an eyebrow at you as if you were an idiot. “I pieced together that much,” she giggled softly. “Did you not sleep well? Your eyes are a bit red.”

“Oh no that’s just-”

“You don’t have pinkeye do you?” Kazuha leaned back away from you. “I really don’t want to wear an eye patch, not during promos.”

“No, Zuha, it’s not pinkeye,” you smiled meekly.

“Okay good!” she giggled again, leaning back in and cuddling up next to you before quickly pulling away in fear. “Uh, sorry, that was… I probably shouldn’t do stuff like that right now with the whole… sorry…”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” you scooted closer to her as her face turned a shade light pink. “Forget everything else for a moment, because things are a bit complicated, but just listen to me. I like you, Zuha. A lot.”

“Oh,” Kazuha blushed even harder. “T-Thank you? I also like you, a lot.”

“I want to make you my girlfriend.”

“What?” Kazuha began blinking rapidly as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “But what about-”

“I told you, please just for a moment forget everything else, we’ll figure that stuff out,” you cut her off. “Just tell me, would you like that?”

Kazuha pondered your words. Unknown to you, her heart was beating harder than it ever has before. “I… I would…” she muttered before smiling brightly at you with her eyes twinkling. “Yes, I would.”

Just like that, you knew you made the correct choice. The way she looked at you, the way you felt right now, everything was perfect. You wanted nothing more in life than this girl sitting next to you, that precious smile and those pure eyes. Your insides were burning up in a warmth of comfort and love that you didn’t know you felt towards this girl, all of a sudden it just came rushing in. That gnawing sensation you’ve had inside you ever since her confession, it finally made sense.

Unfortunately, the feeling only lasted for a fleeting moment before reality came crashing in and Chaewon popped into your mind again.

“What’s wrong?” Kazuha looked concerned as she immediately noticed your shift. She pulled you into her arms, just like Sakura did earlier. “I guess we need to address the elephant in the room.”

“How am I supposed to tell her?” you whispered, pulling away from Kazuha slowly. “I want this, I really do, but I don’t want to hurt Chaewon.”

“And I don’t either,” Kazuha agreed as worry filled her expression. “Should we talk to her together?”

“You think that’s better? It’s a bit of a unique situation, I don’t really know what to do.”

“I don’t either,” Kazuha smiled softly. “You’d be my first relationship, remember?”

“I guess we’ll be traversing some uncharted territory together,” you smiled back at her before leaning in.

Without thinking, you kissed her. As soon as your lips touched, you froze, regretting and realizing this probably wasn’t the right time - but then you felt Kazuha kiss back. You let her take control as she ended up on top of you, her lips pressed softly against yours.

“Zuha,” you whispered into her mouth.

“You asked me to forget everything else, just for a moment,” she whispered back before kissing you again. “Can we really forget it all, please?”

“You mean?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she sat up and began taking off her shorts. “Can we?”

Your mind went a bit hazy as you thought back to the other night. The memories of how good Kazuha felt flooded into your brain.

“Fuck it,” you also began lowering your pants before you flipped Kazuha onto her back and spread her legs.

“Is this wrong?” she asked, looking up at you with her hair framing her face as if she was some sort of angel laying there beneath you.

“Probably,” you shrugged as you pulled her underwear to the side. “We could stop, we don’t have to do this right now.”

“No!” her voice cracked, immediately followed by an intense red glow of her cheeks. “I just mean… uh…”

“Don’t explain, I understand,” you smiled down at her as you lined yourself up. “Whatever happens in this room this morning, it’s between us and only us, let’s agree to put everything else on pause, alright?”

“I’d like that,” Kazuha nodded at you before spreading her legs a bit wider. “Go slow?”

“Let me know,” you whispered back as you pressed yourself forward carefully. You leaned in close, slipped your hands under Kazuha’s body, and pressed your mouth to her neck, kissing it softly as she flexed her body. “Try to relax, if you can.”

“It’s really fucking tight,” Kazuha whispered, arching her back.

“Should I stop?”

Kazuha hesitated, taking a couple deep breaths before speaking. “No, not yet, just… just slowly…”

“Okay,” you moved up a bit and began lifting Kazuha’s shirt up.

She helped you take it off, exposing her perky tits, letting a sweet moan escape her lips as you pressed your mouth to her chest.

“Oh that’s nice,” she whispered as you started moving your hips. “Good, but still really tight.”

“Hold on,” you moved your hips back and pulled out. “How about we slow down even more?”

Kazuha bit her lip. “I’m sorry, for some reason I’m more nervous this time.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled reassuringly while bringing your fingers between her legs. With delicate and deliberate movements, you tried your best to ease her nerves, slowly pressing where she was most sensitive. “We can take our time, or we can try again another time, it’s up to you.”

“How about a different position?” Kazuha suggested as she pressed her fingers down on top of yours and pressed them down a bit harder. “But this feels nice.”

“Yeah? Should we just keep doing this?” you asked before leaning into her again and kissing her collarbone.

“This feels really nice,” Kazuha moaned softly as she pressed her fingers even harder, guiding your hand around her pussy.

Your fingers began sliding easier as time passed. The gentle sound of wetness, accompanied by Kazuha’s eyes shutting and her features softening, put you into a state of ease. It was working, and you didn’t want to stop. You had her entire body relaxing, you could almost see each and every fiber of Kazuha’s toned muscles relax.

She began moaning in a musical-like tone, one that screamed class and innocence with just a touch of naughty. It fit her so well, that pretty - unbelievably pretty - face. Even as she scrunched up her expression, she just looked so fucking pretty. You could stare at her all day.

While this was going on, the pressure building up in your cock was becoming too much. You couldn’t help but start stroking yourself to the view, trying to relax your own body as Kazuha began squirming beneath your fingers. It took a lot of self control, you knew that you could finish in just moments if you let yourself go, but right now you were more concerned with how Kazuha felt.

“You’re so beautiful,” you muttered softly under your breath as Kazuha’s body began trembling. He moans crescendoed, that beautiful voice of hers piercing your ears, but despite the increase in pitch, she stayed quiet. Elegant, in a way, even as she started cumming on your fingers, the epitome of grace and tenderness.

“I want it,” Kazuha moaned, fluttering her eyes open as she let go of your hand.

“What were you thinking? You wanna try being on top again?”

“No,” Kazuha smiled before pulling you closer. “Just like this, I want to see you, to kiss you. Is that fine?”

“Absolutely,” you gasped as Kazuha spread her legs a bit wider for you and took hold of your cock. She gave you a couple of soft strokes before rubbing her thumb against your tip, pressing against the little glob of precum. “That sounds perfect.”

With your cock in hand, you slid forward between her legs, pressing your tip against her entrance.

“Come on,” Kazuha replied while spreading herself even more, showing off her flexibility. “I need this.”

“So do I,” you muttered as you eased your cock into her pussy.

This time was a million times better than last time. She was still perfectly tight, but her pussy accepted your cock beautifully. The warmth and snugness hugged your cock like a blanket, bringing you unmatched comfort and sensation. She had the most ideal pussy.

She was like a flower, her soft and delicate curves moist to your touch. There was this warmth, this allure, that kept you captivated. You were entranced by Kazuha’s body, so much so that you felt this irresistible urge of greediness within you.

As carefully as you could, you grabbed Kazuha’s neck from behind and began kissing her deeply. Once you started, you pressed your thumb against her clit, making little circles along her skin. Your tongue slipped past her lips, gently intertwining and mixing against hers, while you worked her entire body.

“You feel so good,” you whispered as you leaned away from the kiss.

“Give it to me,” Kazuha pleaded with her eyes wide. “Please.”

So you picked up the tempo, pushing your hips harder, pressing your cock deeper. You slowly broke down that layer of delicateness that you viewed Kazuha through - her expression was basically begging for it. The more you fucked Kazuha, the harder you went, and the better it felt.

At this point, your thrusts had lost almost all degrees of tenderness, and both your hands had found their way to Kazuha’s hips. She took it well, bracing herself as you pressed your fingers into her skin and slammed your cock against her pussy. She showed no signs of anything other than raw pleasure as she took your cock over and over.

If she felt good, you felt fucking amazing. You lightened the grip you had on her hips as you slowed down your thrusting. This wasn’t a moment you wanted to rush, but you could only slow down so much - your body wouldn’t let you stop completely, it was out of your control. Still, you made do, sliding your hands up Kazuha’s body and giving her tits a few little squeezes. Her body was fucking amazing.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were too close to hold back. Despite your best efforts, it was already too late, so you took hold of Kazuha’s hips once more, pushing down on Kazuha’s body and shoving your cock into her as hard and fast as you could. Kazuha’s moans filled your ears as she shut her eyes and arched her back beneath you.

She looked so fucking good right now, even as your vision was going blurry. You held on for just a bit longer, fighting back any fatigue as your cock throbbed harder than ever. Her warm pussy felt better than heaven in this moment, and with a couple of final thrusts and grunts, you began launching your cum deep inside her pussy.

“Zuha,” you grunted a final time as your body gave up, collapsing onto her.

The next few moments had you in a trance as you let your cock pulse inside Kazuha’s warmth as she wrapped her arms around your body, rubbing your back softly.

“You feel so good,” Kazuha whispered against your ear. “Oh fuck, you feel so damn good, cum for me, fill me up.”

Such gentle words when delivered through her voice, but she was driving you insane right now. You almost felt paralyzed inside her as your cock just kept on spilling cum again and again, the pulsing felt like it went forever. It took so much strength for you to finally, carefully ease yourself out of Kazuha’s body. Even lifting yourself up off her was a task.

“Fuck, that’s a lot,” you mumbled as you pulled out, leaving your cum spilling between Kazuha’s legs as you reached for some tissues. “One second.”

“Wow,” Kazuha muttered as she gently rubbed herself, spreading your cum around, playing with it between her fingers. “That was something.”

“Something good or something not good?” you asked as you sat back down on the bed next to her.

“Something amazing,” Kazuha smiled softly. “But also a bit inappropriate.”

“If it makes you feel better, Chaewon technically wanted me to do this,” you carefully wiped her inner thighs clean before tossing the tissues away. “Although it still feels a bit wrong.”

“Oh,” Kazuha turned her head away from you.

“Not you, that felt amazing,” you quickly pulled her into your arms for a hug before grabbing her by both shoulders and staring tenderly into her eyes. “Zuha, let there be no confusion, that was fucking perfect.”

“Right, sorry, I guess I’m still just a bit…” her voice tapered off as she looked up at you and gave you a weak smile.

“You’re. Perfect. And. Amazing,” you whispered, kissing her neck between each word. “It’s totally natural to be a bit-”

“Sensitive?” Kazuha finished your sentence. “Because I am, I’ll admit it.”

“And that’s completely okay. What I said was stupidly phrased. I’m sorry,” you wrapped an arm tightly around Kazuha’s shoulders, pulling her to sit next to you, and leaned against her head. “Things are just messy, but we'll figure it out. Together.”

“I hope so,” Kazuha sighed softly. Her hand began exploring your thigh, inching towards your shaft slowly until she gently caressed it with her fingertips. “I wish there was some sort of way that we could do this without all the mess.”

“Zuha, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” her voice faded softly and she unwrapped your arm from her shoulder, leaning away from you and turning towards you. “Okay, this might sound stupid since you call me Zuha all the time, but I loved that. This time it felt… different?”

“I’m glad,” you smiled as a wave of warmth flooded your body. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” you kissed the top of her head. “But one thing - do not call me daddy.”

“Oh no I could never,” Kazuha agreed quickly, sounding completely put off just by the thought of it as she rested her head against your body again. “I guess we should probably talk about boundaries and stuff at some point.”

“We have a lot to talk about, but maybe we should wait until…”

“Until after you talk to Chaewon?”

“Yeah, I think,” you replied as your mind drifted into thought, trying to figure out how to go about things, gently stroking Kazuha’s hair. “Hey, I thought you said we should both talk to her together?”

“Well, I think you got it, I don’t know what I’d say.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to say,” you sighed. “Zuha, do you think this might cause problems with the group dynamic?”

“Truthfully? At first, yeah, I did,” Kazuha answered quietly. “But then I got to thinking.”

There was a pause, a bit longer than you expected. Kazuha lifted and turned herself slightly so that she could look up at you.

“And?” you encouraged her to continue as the anticipation grew.

“Promise you’ll keep this between us?”

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Zuha, yes, I know. Not a soul.”

“Alright,” she bit her lip nervously. “I think there might have been a bit of… something… between Sakura and Chaewon at the very beginning.”

“Oh?” you waited for her to continue as you thought back to what Sakura told you in the car earlier.

“Look, I met them a bit after everyone else, but I could tell there was some sort of… resentment? I don’t exactly know, and maybe it was just because we were all getting to know each other.”

“Well, most of you were.”

“So you see what I’m saying?” Kazuha pursed her lips. “Chaewon and Sakura barely talked. I never understood it since they knew each other already, but then, seemingly overnight, the two of them became closer than ever. I don’t know if the others ever noticed it.”

“Chaewon never gave me details, but I sort of know around when this happened,” you explained. “She told me she spent a night with Sakura, and I didn’t really ask questions.”

“Right. Anyway, the reason I brought this up is because I really think no matter how the conversation with her goes, as a group we’ll get through things, we always do.”

Her words were reassuring at least, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit better. “Thank you, really.”

Then, you leaned in, but before you could kiss her, Kazuha lunged up towards you and pressed her lips against yours, catching you a bit by surprise. She kissed you aggressively until you fell onto your back with her on top of you. It felt like this kiss would go on forever, and maybe it would have if it weren’t for the knock on the door.

“I don’t know what’s going on in there, but I really need to get ready!” Sakura's voice came through the door.

---

A/N:

I posted a poll and based on the first day responses, Dating Seraphs was in the lead. Ask and you shall receive!

The Kazuha arc continues! Maybe? Probably? I guess next chapter will have more answers. The talk with Chaewon, the history with Sakura, sex with Kazuha, there's so much to cover in the next few chapters! Also, there's a cameo appearance coming soon that I can't imagine anyone will be able to guess because I don't know if I've ever talked about this idol, but we'll see how popular she is among my readers (ex-izone member). I'll give this chapter at least a few days to marinate before my next post.

Based on how things are going in my writing world and the initial responses to that poll, Dating Seraphs needs attention. My next post will probably either be Debauchery p2 or something in the roommates universe, followed by Dating Seraphs ch11, and then most likely I'll give Twice some love and post an update to that story. Of course, this is subject to change!

Feedback, requests, messages, comments, asks, whatever you feel like sending, feel free. I'm a bit more active these days with writing stuff, but just please be considerate if you're going to send something. I've gotten a few questionable DMs recently. Use common sense!

[emmyrosee]

Rintaro feels guilty leaving this time.

You’re expected to deliver your twins any day next week, and he’s expected to fly across the country for a charity event he really can’t even think straight for. You've assured him you'll be fine, his sister is more than capable of taking care of you while he's gone, but there's a pit in his stomach about the idea of leaving you.

But you send him anyways. With a kiss on his cheek and a promise to call him every day (if he had it his way, it would be every hour, but you wouldn't go for it).

The trip goes smooth enough, and he's grateful for you staying true to your word and calling him every night. It does make the time pass, you're safe, but he's more than eager to make it home to you.

He practically pushes his teammates out the door, he's the first one on the bus, his knee bounces anxiously the entire time- especially when the bus driver makes a wrong turn into straight construction, thrusting them in traffic for far, far too long without any service.

But you won't call him, right? Why would you, you've called him at night every day he's been here, and nothing of note has happened (not that that’s a negative to Rintaro, he’d rather your days be mundane and boring than active in your pregnancy).

His heart finally starts again once they pull into the airport parking lot, all of the teammates trying to not be annoyed at the events of the morning and trying to stay focused on the next steps of boarding the plane in a few hours.

Rintaro sighs, slipping his phone out and immediately calling you, not taking notice of just how many notifications bombarded his phone.

The line ring once, twice, and his shoulders relax as you finally pick up the phone. "Rin?" You ask, and you sound like you're in discomfort. But he merely brushes it off. You are very pregnant, after all, surely discomfort is normal.

"Hey babe, just got service from being in the bus, we've got a nasty delay because the fuck-head made us miss our fucking flight, so I might be home later than expected-"

“Rin, I'm in labor.”

Silence fills the line.

“No you’re not,” he says simply.

“As much as I would love to be kidding, I’m not. I’m 10 centimeters, babe.”

How you’re so calm right now, is beyond him.

Him, on the other hand, leaps up with absolute panic, a screechy “WHAT?” echoing through the airport. It catches more than a few looks from other people, but all Rin can think about is you.

You in the hospital, legs up in stirrups and gown being the only thing adorning your body. There's probably nurses and doctors everywhere, and Kaiya and Akito on the couch at home with his mother, waiting for the news.

"WHEN?"

"My water broke a few hours ago, got to the hospital with your sister and now they're getting ready for me to push. Your timing truly is impeccable."

“And you thought now was the best time to tell me?!”

“I tried to tell you earlier, but you had no service!” You defend.

Fuck, he could scalp the bus driver for getting fucking lost.

"okay, okay, okay lets calm down-"

You snort, "yeah I'll get right on that."

"Please, for everything unholy, don't joke right now," he pleads, and he hears you offer him a laughy 'sorry' on your end of the line. "Are you okay? Do you feel okay?"

"Well I don't feel particularly good, for all intents and purposes." You direct your attention to something else and he hears bustling in the background, "Rin I have to start pushing. Stay on the line.”

"No! Wait for me, I'll-"

"Yeah I'm not waiting for you," you snip. “I'll... be fine. Just stay on the call okay? For me?

Rintaro tries not to pass out as you start pushing, doctors encouragement coming through on the line, followed with your grunts of agony as you try to bring your two new babies into the world. He knows you’re strong, you don’t need him there, but there’s something deep inside of him that hurts at the idea that you don’t, he’s so close yet no where near close enough to be right there next to you, and he anxiously looks around him as he tries to find a private place for him to cheer you on, call your name, scream it, his soul in agony over something he has no control over.

It could be four minutes or four hours, rintaro has no idea as you finally scream in agony as a small wail breaks over the line, one akin to Akito and Kaiya’s as the two of them entered the world all those years ago.

“Beautiful!” His sister cheers, “just a bit more for Sachiko sis, you’ve got this!”

“No more,” you weakly whimper over the line, and Rintaro tears up as he chews on his thumb.

“Baby,” he chokes, “you’ve got this, okay? You can do this, I’m right here.”

“No you’re not!” You scream.

“Yes I am! I’m right here okay? I’m not going anywhere!”

“Rin I need you-“

“And I’m right here. I promise. Just close your eyes, I’m there, okay?”

Hes not there. He knows you know that. But right now, he can’t feel sorry for himself. He goes silent and listens to the bustling of the doctors and nurses preparing to bring Sachiko into the world, and rintaro has no clue how long it’s been before you’re ready to push again.

“Ready, momma?” He asks, and you let out a sob.

“Im so tired, Rin.”

“One more big push okay?” He chokes. “Push!”

And you do. You let out another shriek as you start to push, rintaro can practically see your legs tremble and face scrunch and throat tight as you let out another blood curdling cry, and before he can think, another set of crying fills the line.

His twins are here.

And he’s not.

“Good job, angel!” He hoots.

“She did so good, Rintaro,” his sister assures.

“I know she did,” he says, hand clutching his heart.

“They’re so handsome Rin,” You babble, and instantly, Rintaro’s face drops. “Such beautiful boys, they're so sweet, so handsome…”

Boys?

Oh fuck. Rintaro briefly thinks back at all the purples and pinks in the closet at home.

Immediately, Rin tries to conjure up an excited tone, squealing out a soft “boys?” in confirmation.

“She’s messing with you," his sister snickers. You’re laughing exhaustedly too, among your sniffles of agony and above the screaming of the newest twin.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he says, breathless and his chuckles easing out.

“You've got new baby girls, Rintaro," his sister coos.

“We got them, boys!” He announces, causing an uproar of cheers to come from his teammates. He feels his heart sink to his stomach as his throat begins to swell. “I’m so proud of you baby… my good girls.”

“They’re so beautiful, Rin. So beautiful," you cry.

He sits on his suitcase and tries to imagine them, desperately, tiny hands pawing at the air, crying at the newness of the bright light and the world…

All without him. He’s not there.

“Who was born first?” He chokes, desperate to keep his voice steady. It was a complete tossup with the names, whoever was out first or second is precisely how the names would fall. But he just needs you to keep talking to him.

You understand, and you answer shakily, “Sachie,” you sigh. “Sachiko was 20 minutes later.”

“Late; just like momma.”

“Watch it.”

He chuckles around a flood of tears, a hand coming up to bring his hand up to cover his face. Hot, bubbled tears slip down to roll over his thick fingers, trying to stay composed in the airport that’s bustling with too many people.

“Im so proud of you,” he chokes, eyes screwing shut. Not long after, a massive hand claps down on his shoulder, Komori’s eyes flickering with understanding and apology. He’s got nothing to apologize for, but Rintaro takes the kindness regardless and puts a free hand on top of his to squeeze the emotions out. “My amazing girl. Fuck, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Rin, I have to go,” you say, and he hears the gruff voice of the doctor. “I love you so much. Come home safe, you’re no use to me dead.”

“Okay, princess,” he sighs shakily, burying his face in Komori’s stomach to cry. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

He’s 99% sure he should be saying that to you, and not you to him. But regardless.

He waits for the line to die before taking the phone from his ear, blinking up at Komori with absolute heaviness in his heart.

“I should’ve been there,” he whimpers.

“You couldn’t control it, buddy.”

“But I should’ve been there. Not three cities over for some charity that I don't even care about."

It doesn’t matter the assurances Komori could try to pass him. It doesn’t matter that you’re okay, you’re strong and you don’t need him in this moment.

He should’ve been there to squeeze your hand, watch his two babies come into this world with you, kiss your forehead and whisper loving words in your ear.

And he couldn’t manage even that.

[writerblock]

More Than Fate

I was just so sure.  This was the moment Fate had set aside for me.  Everything that had gone wrong today had been on purpose; to have me sitting here the moment she walked through the door.  She was simultaneously the most beautiful and perfect woman I'd ever seen and the most normal, unassuming on the planet.  There was just something about her that made her shine like a supernova, and I couldn't look away no matter what.  Our eyes met and I smiled at her.  She smiled back and gave me a friendly wave.  For a moment we sat in the room in silence.

"Rough day?" I asked, trying to fill the silence, struggling to get past my own nerves and say anything.

"Yeah, that's one way to put it, I guess.". Her voice was angelic.  "Everything that could go wrong did.  I was supposed to be here two hours ago.  I'm hoping they can still fit me in.  I just need them to take a look real quick at my laptop.  It's just keeps rebooting."

A tech walked out and looked over at me, then her.  "Sorry, I got no more free slots today."

"Actually, she's with me.". I lied.  Poorly, if I'm being honest.  "We're both bringing our laptops in together.  She was just parking the car while I came in to sign in."

The tech rolled his eyes.  "Fine.  What's the problem."

I handed over my laptop.  "Charging port is loose on mine.  She's got an endless reboot cycle."

"Ok.  Hand em over.  I'll call you tomorrow when they're ready.". 

I smiled at her, stood and took her laptop, handing them both to the tech.  As we walked away she, in what I thought was the greatest acting job I had ever seen, put her arm around me as we walked out of the repair center.

Outside, she immediately hugged me.  "Thank you, thank you, thank you!  You saved my butt in there, I cannot be without that laptop over the weekend, I have a huge project due."

"Yeah, um, don't mention it.". I was not good at playing it cool, and this girl hugging me was not making it easier.  "I, um, guess I should get your number so I can call you when they call me."

"Oh, right, duh.  Can you imagine?  I'd be out here stalking you.". As she pulled out her phone I saw the tattoo on her wrist.  "Damon". My heart sank.

***

Nobody knows how or why it happens, but as far back as we can find records, we've all been born with a name tattooed on our wrist.  They say it's the name of your soulmate, the one you're meant to be with.  First name only, which could be difficult.  People get around it by giving their children's names unique spellings.

Some people think it's an old superstition or a really dumb tradition, but the numbers seem to back it up.  Marriages between soulmates are almost always successful.  Marriages that ignore fate tend to end badly.

***

"I never even asked your name." She said as we exchanged numbers.  I'll admit, I was tempted to lie.  But unless the universe had a sick sense of humor, that only would complete half of the circle.

"Asher"

"Lily." She said.  She almost sounded sad, but I was fairly sure I was just projecting.  "So, call me tomorrow when you hear from them and let me know what I owe you.  I can probably kick in a little extra as a thank you."

"You don't have to do that."

"Well, I really appreciate it and I'd like to do something nice for you."

"How about," I took a breath, knowing I was setting myself up for failure.  "How about we grab a drink Monday night?  It sounded like you've got a lot of work to do this weekend but maybe after it's done we could hang out and talk?". The words just came spilling out, and as soon as I opened my mouth I regretted it.

Her face lit up.  "I'd like that."

"Ok.". I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself.  "I'll call you tomorrow and then we can sort out Monday when we see each other.". 

She smiled and gave me another hug.  "See you tomorrow, Ash.". I almost stopped her.   I hated that nickname.  Why did it sound different when she called me Ash?

"Bye Lilly."

***

The next day I called her right after I heard from the repair shop..  We met up, paid our bill and I figured that was it for the day.  But Lily had a different thought.

"I know we were talking about hanging out Monday, but I only have one class today and I'll be done at 2.  I was thinking we could grab lunch today.  You know, if you wanted to."

"It's up to you, Lily.  I just figured Monday you wouldn't have to worry about rushing.  You said you had a lot of work to do this weekend.  I thought we'd have a chance to actually hang out and talk on Monday.". Part of me was thrilled, not just at the chance to see her again, but the spontaneity of it left me less time to overthink things.  Of course, part of me also thought, after a night to sleep on it, she just wanted to get this over with.

She smiled.  "I mean,we could still do that too.  I was just hoping to see you sooner."

"Ok, sure.". Deep breaths, I reminded myself.  "Want to meet at the Bell Tower?  There's a few spots we can grab lunch at nearby.". I was trying not to stutter, but I was more nervous than I'd ever felt.

"Sounds great!  I'll see you there." She hugged me and walked off.  Of course, I was on the way to the only class I had today, so I was now faced with several hours of waiting around and trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

***

I'd always hated the idea of being fated to be with someone.  It was a growing sentiment in my generation to hear the news tell it and, in their words, a problem.  The numbers tell a simple story.  Marry the right person, and it really is 'til death do you part.'  Ignore (or outright defy) Fate, and in a few years you'll be sorting through the rubble, trying to figure out how it all went so wrong.  

Of course, part of that was because the stats on failed marriages between the unconnected and successful marriages between Fated didn't tell the whole story.  Fated marriages tended to see a high rate of suicide; people who couldn't fathom the idea of staying with their soulmate but also couldn't follow through with the idea of divorce.  Unfated, meanwhile, could easily rationalize divorce and split up with little backlash from society.  Divorce was almost unheard of among fated couples, and usually the result of much larger issues.

When you're young, it wasn't uncommon to play the field.  Dating was really just something you did until you met your Fated.  They were practice relationships; you were never supposed to get attached to them.

I wasn't sure what lead to me asking Lily out.  There had been plenty of cute girls over the years that I'd had a thing for.  Maybe it was the way she put her arms around me, the way it just felt normal.  Maybe it was her personality.  Maybe it was that damn smile.  At the time all I knew was I was head over heels for this girl and that scared the hell out of me.

***

Lily's class was apparently in the building right across from the Bell Tower.  Seeing her come out and immediately look around until our eyes met, I finally understood what they meant when they say "my heart skipped a beat.". She had gotten changed in the intervening hours, and wore a dark sun dress and had her hair down.  She looked stunning and I knew I was in love.

Feeling a bit underdressed and more nervous than ever, I waved at her.  She smiled and walked over and hugged me again.  I'd learn later that this was normal in her family, hugging people that you liked.  At the time I saw it as a sign she was really into me.  Not that she wasn't, but the hugs weren't part of that.

"You look amazing." I told her as we walked over to one of the small cafes.  She blushed, and I decided to take a chance, and reached over and held her hand.  When she didn't pull away or scream, I figured I was good, but I certainly wasn't expecting the smile I saw on her face.  The walk really wasn't far, but it somehow managed to feel both instantaneous and forever.

As we sat there eating and talking, eventually she asked the obvious question.  "What's her name?"

"Cristina.". I held out my wrist.  "I saw yours when we first met.  I honestly thought about telling you my name was Damon."

"When we started talking, I just felt something click, and I kept trying to see your wrist.  When I asked your name I kept thinking 'please say Damon, please say Damon.'. But honestly, I didn't really care at that point.  I don't know what it's supposed to feel like when you meet your soulmate, but it has to feel like this."

Oddly enough, there are moments from that day I remember crystal clear, but the rest of it was a blur.  She ended up cancelling a study session with her friends and we just walked around campus for hours.  We grabbed dinner to go and ate on the lawn outside the student center.  Eventually, I told her she had to go study, as much as I didn't want her to go.  We made our plans for Monday, a real date this time.  She didn't hug me when she left this time, instead draping her arms around my shoulders and leaning in close.  I took the hint and kissed her.

Our first real date was wonderful, if anticlimactic.  That first day had been everything you want in a date and more.  Still, walking around together, knowing this was actually real, was special.  She told me she woke up on Saturday morning and checked her phone, rereading the exchange we'd had after we went our separate ways, just to be sure it happened.

***

I remember our first major fight so clearly.  It was just about 5 months later.  Fights happen all the time in relationships, and we had plenty throughout the years.  But every time we both drifted back to the same thought; that this was going to be the end for us.  Not because the fight was that big, but because it was just so easy to walk away from each other because of those damn tattoos.  We talked about it at one point; I was shocked that she felt that way too.  In a way, the fact that we weren’t Fated brought us back to work things out.

We weren’t living together yet, but she was spending more and more time at my place.  I even bought a second dresser so she could leave some clothes at my place.  Sometimes I’d see a shirt I thought she'd like, I’d buy it and stick it in with her stuff. Sometimes, I admit, I’d think about buying other things for her to wear.  This time, I pulled the trigger and bought her something: a little black dress.  Something a little sexier than the first dress I’d seen her in.  Something I was hoping she’d wear when we got to our 6 month anniversary and the big night out I was planning.

She didn’t like my pick, to put it mildly.

“What, you want me to dress up like some cheap whore that you can parade around on your arm?”

I tried to plead my case.  I tried to take into account that she was getting absolutely crushed by schoolwork.  I tried to keep my own emotions under control.

“I should have known this was doomed to fail and just walked away from you at the shop.”  It was one of the easiest ways for her to hurt me, and she knew it.  Knew I loved her with all my heart and was insecure that I was going to blow it all.  

Look, I’m no saint.  We had arguments down the road where I said worse things.  If she hadn’t walked out angrily at that moment, I probably would have had the first entry on the list.  When she stormed out, I wanted to sit down on the bed and just die.  But as I heard the front door close, I ran out after her.

I caught her in the parking lot.  My instinct was to reach out and grab her.  If I could just make her stay and listen.  I couldn’t do it.  Couldn’t lay a hand on her.  Couldn't force her to stay.  Just as she had used all the times we had talked about relationships and Fate to learn how insecure I was, I knew how she felt about people who walked away.  I knew if I could just get her to see that she was doing the one thing she said she hated, she would at least give me a chance to speak.  “You’d rather take the easy way out?”

She stopped, dead in her tracks.  “What?”

“We both knew there’d be bad days.  Fated couples have bad days, why wouldn’t we?  But because my name isn’t on your wrist it’s easy to walk away, isn’t it?  Easy to throw away everything we’ve done together, all those nights out on the balcony, just sitting hand in hand and looking at the stars and talking about the future we were going to build.  It meant nothing because my fucking name isn’t on some mystical tattoo on your wrist?  Cristina could walk up to me right now and be the most beautiful, perfect woman on the planet, and I’d still turn her down because I love you.  I won't give up something great just to chase the chance of something better.

"From the moment I laid eyes on you, I wanted to spend my life with you.  Not because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but because there was something more when I looked at you.  Your eyes, your smile, your touch, that little laugh of yours, all of it just melted my brain.  It still does to this day.  I bought that dress because you always talked about wanting to go out on a date and be the girl every guy couldn't take their eyes off of and watch necks snap as you walked by.  So I booked the dinner, I rented the car and I planned to make our 6 month anniversary the night you got to feel like a queen.  Maybe I should have asked you before I bought the dress, but I’d never make you wear something you felt uncomfortable in.”

Lily turned around and looked at me, and I could see the tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“I just,” she tried talking and fighting back the tears, but it wasn’t going particularly well.  “Too many times guys have approached me because of my body.  They weren’t looking for their Fated, just a good time until they met them.  I always told you you weren't the first guy I dated.  But you were the first that didn’t seem to always be trying to sleep with me.  That dress, I thought of all the times I got dolled up to look good for guys that cared about nothing else, and to think that you were looking at me that way too…”

“Lily, I think you are the most beautiful, gorgeous, desirable woman walking this planet.  And I’ll admit I’ve had plenty of those kinds of thoughts about you; it’s hard not to sometimes when I see you in some of these outfits.  Honestly, half the time I worry that I'm not affectionate enough, that I should be holding you more, kissing you more.  That you'd think I don't find you attractive.  I do.  I find every aspect of you incredibly alluring.". I walked over to her, seeing the tears on her cheeks.  "I love you." I told her, wiping away a tear.

"I know.  And I love you too.  I'm sorry I screamed at you.  Sorry I immediately said the most hurtful things I could think of."

This time, I was the one hugging her.  "It wouldn't hurt if we didn't care, right?". I took her hand and led her back into the apartment.  "Let me see if I still have the receipt from that dress.  We can go and return it and you can pick out something else."

"No."

I looked at her, a little puzzled.

"I like the dress.  It's a beautiful dress, and I know you put a lot of thought into it.  I want to wear it.  For you.  And for every guy that we pass that night, so they're all jealous of you."

***

That anniversary date went amazingly well.  She turned a lot of heads in that dress, rightfully so.  I spent most of the night trying not to stare at her.  But two interesting things came out of that night.  The first was I asked her to move in with me, full time, with the idea of starting to look for a place of our own.  The second was when we talked about the possibility that this might actually work out.

***

“I’ll be the first to admit, I’m amazed you’ve stayed with me this long.”  I said, between bites of food.  “I figured we’d go on a few dates, the novelty would wear off and eventually you’d dump me.  My friends had a pool going for how many dates we’d go on.  I think Jeff was the most optimistic at 6.”

She giggled.  “Good, supportive friends, huh?  Did you place a bet?”

“Nah, they weren’t giving odds that we’d never get to a second.”  I laughed.  “No, I never did.  You remember Dave’s Fated, Candace? Early on she was my sounding board for a lot of stuff.  She kept telling me I had to live in a positive mindset when it came to us, so I had to not think about how it could all fail spectacularly.  But they’ve all been supportive, which surprised me.  I told them I honestly could see us having a real future together, and nobody laughed or told me it would never work.”

“Well, I’m glad your friends are that way.”

“Your friends weren’t?”

“Most figured you were just another fling, I think.  But even from the beginning I talked about you differently.  Kelly, I don’t know what her deal was.  She’s never made a big deal about relationships with non-Fated before, but I guess this bothered her.  She told me I was playing with fire by flipping off Fate.  We really don’t talk anymore; it’s crazy to think she just cut me out of her life over who I’m dating."

"That's a shame.  It's not like you did anything that would hurt anyone.". We both got quiet, but I had to ask the obvious question.  "Lily, did you think this would work when we started?"

She set her fork down and wiped her face.  "I hoped it would.  I'm not sure why.  You know you're not my first.  But this felt different, from the very start.  When my friends doubted us, I wanted to work even harder to make this work.". She looked at me, and I could see her mulling over a question of her own.  "You never told me why you helped me that day."

"Part of it was very much an attraction to you.  But we had both had pretty lousy days.  We weren't supposed to be there at that moment.  It felt like, well, Fate.  I felt something from the moment our eyes met.  And then you put your arm around me, and I was so damn sure you were Cristina."

"Were you disappointed that I wasn't?"

"Not in the least.  If anything it made it better because I knew my feelings were real.". I smiled and reached across the table and took her hand.  "You didn't have to go along with it that day.  Not to the level you did."

"You were cute.  You were sweet.  There was something about you from that first look.  And then, for you to stand there and lie for me, to help out someone you didn't even know, I figured it was worth the chance.". She reached across the table and took my hand.  "You proved me right too."

"When I did it, I was just trying to help someone who had the same kind of bad day I had just gone through.  I never thought about asking you out, that thought came when we walked out of the store and it felt so nice having your arm around me.  Those words just came out.  I regretted saying them immediately because I felt like I was going to scare you away.  I was just hoping to talk and see if things went anywhere.  Even in my wildest dreams I never imagined we'd get here."

***

While Lily hadn't gotten any support from some of her friends, her family was wonderful.  I mean, her Dad told me they'd never find my body if I hurt her, but that's to be expected for his only daughter.  But neither of them seemed bothered by the fact that she and I were seriously trying to make a relationship work; down the road her Mom helped us get through a few of our inevitable rough patches.

To say things were different with my parents would be an understatement.  I had a feeling things would be rough at the start, but hoped they would come around.

As we got closer to that first get together, I thought a lot about my parents' relationship.  Growing up you tend to be only slightly aware of most of the fights that happen.  I definitely knew that they had their moments.  But reflecting on things I started to wonder if my parents were the type that stayed together simply because they were fated to be together.

So I tried to keep expectations low.  I told them Lily and I were seeing each other, but neglected to mention how serious we were.  My mother, of course, figured things out pretty quickly and stopped me when I went out to grab something to drink.

"What the hell is going on with you?"

"What's your problem?"

"My problem is my son is apparently in a serious relationship with someone he's not Fated to.  Moving in together?  What about Cristina? Can you afford to break the lease on the apartment when she comes along?  You can't make these big decisions without thinking about her."

I took a deep breath.  "Actually, I can.  It's very easy once you stop caring about what it says on your wrist and just start living life.  Lily makes me feel alive.  I don't know where or how our story ends, but I like that.  I like not being tied to one ending.  Not being stuck with someone that makes me miserable."

Yeah, in hindsight, that last part was a mistake.  When I get angry sometimes I think the part of my brain that keeps me from saying things like that just shuts off.  But hearing her talk about how I should be prepared to just throw Lily to the curb, discard her like a toy I didn't want to play with anymore, it hurt.  So I said it, and I learned that I get my temper from my mother.

"You think this is easy, don't you, living with someone?  Sure, it's all sunshine and rainbows at first.  But the bills, and the responsibility of being an adult puts a strain on any relationship.  Maybe that's my fault, not raising a son with an understanding of responsibility.  Your father and I sacrificed to make sure you had a good life, an easy life."

I should have held my tongue.  I should have let her vent her frustration and maybe we could salvage things later.  In the back of my mind I knew the best thing to do was shut up.

But I didn't.

"I'm sure you sacrificed so much for your loving marriage.  You were both always so happy and pleasant to be around.  Please.  You two are proof positive that Fate has a sick sense of humor.  You are the most miserable couple I have ever seen and if it wasn't for some misguided belief you'd have gone separate ways long ago.  And just like marriage, it was some duty the two of you carried out.  Marry your Fated.  Have a kid or two.  That's how the world works.  I guess because Fate never told you to be happy, or enjoy your life you never bothered to do it.  Well fuck all of that bullshit, I'm going to focus on being happy and finding someone that brings out the best in me, Fate be damned."

She smoldered for a moment, and I braced myself.  That's when dad walked in the room and stepped in between us.

"You need to leave."

I wasn't sure if he thought he was saving me, or if he knew no matter how bad I got it, he was going to get worse when we left.  Didn't care much either.  I took Lily's hand and walked to the door.  I stopped, fully prepared to say something I'd regret.  'Don't expect an invitation to the wedding.' was on the tip of my tongue when Lily squeezed my hand and led me out the door.  She brings out the better side of me, brings that balance.

She finally stopped me when we got to the car.  "I've never seen you like this.  What happened?"

I put my arms around her and held her.  "I love you, Lily.  They don't understand it.  And I think it scares them, that happiness is possible without Fate.  She totally dismissed us, told me to build my life so that I could drop you the instant Cristina came along and brace myself for you to do the same to me.  To hear what we have, what we've built together be dismissed so casually, it hurt and it made me angry.  I lashed out, worse than I should have at her.  I had hoped, maybe, if she met you, I could change her mind.  But I always knew this was going to end badly, even if I didn't want to admit it.  I knew what we have, they could never accept.  I knew I might have to make a choice, and I'll always choose you over anyone."

***

Losing my family hurt.  I threw that in Lily's face once during a fight, that choosing her had cost me them.  It was stupid and hurtful and she'd have been right to leave me then and there.  But just like when I had fought to keep her, she fought for me.  We thought we were pretty battle tested and bulletproof.  After graduation, we started making plans for the wedding.  And that's when things went to hell.

***

 We found this beautiful little bed and breakfast in the countryside on a weekend drive.  As we walked up to it, Lily told me that this was the place.  We weren't looking for a place for the wedding at that moment, but I knew she was right.  

The best part was they had done plenty of weddings.  They had someone that handled everything, all the planning.  Lily and I were fine with that, until we met her.  Tall and athletic, with jet black hair, she was every pin-up girl I'd fawned over as a teen.  And when she introduced herself as Cristina, I was ready to run out that door and never come near this place again.

Lily and I had taken to wearing matching wristbands that covered our tattoos in place of engagement rings.  So, thankfully, Cristina couldn't see her name on my wrist.

But Lily definitely noticed mine on hers.

"Ok, then we change venue.". I said to her later that day.  "We ask for someone different.". I was trying to calm Lily down and ignore my own panic.  I had feared this moment for years, feared that I wouldn't be strong enough.  That I'd break my promise.  And when Lily started to cry, I knew what I needed to do.

I went to see Cristina the next day.  She smiled as I walked in the door, alone.  Before I could say a word, she put a hand on my chest.  

"I'm sorry to break you two up.  She seems really sweet.  But we both know this is how it's meant to be."

"Cristina, don't take this the wrong way, but that's not why I'm here.  We're going to do the wedding somewhere else.  I know the deposit we put down before we met with you is non-refundable, and that's fine. If there's anything I need to sign, let's get it over with."

"Asher, that's not how this works.  I have waited my whole life for you to come along and this is what I get?  We finally get a chance to talk and the first thing you say isn't 'I've waited my whole life for this moment'?"

"Look, I'm sorry.  I honestly never thought about how this would affect you.  Selfish as that may be, you weren't ever a consideration, not once I met Lily.  She and I are happy.  We're in love.  Not because of some mystical tattoo, but because we genuinely developed a real relationship."

"I'm not asking you to kill her, for God's sake, Asher.  I'm asking you to be realistic and accept your fate.  You said you didn't think about me then.  Think about it now, about the fact that this affects 4 sets of lives.  Think about the domino affect you're having, destroying other people's lives."

"Because I found someone who makes me happy, someone that I make happy?"

“You were supposed to wait for me!”

“Why?”

“Because we're soulmates.  That's how it works!”

"Yeah but, why?  Why should I have passed up the chance to be happy with her for a chance to be happy with you?”

“Because our relationship will work; yours is destined to fail.  They always do.”

“Because they're supposed to or because people have a way to rationalize walking away from random relationships, but can't be the weirdo who leaves their soulmate?”

“You can't fight fate!”

“So, you're telling me, because you're my soulmate, we'll never have a huge, devastating argument?”

“Yes”

“We're having one right now.”

Cristina threw her hands up in disgust. “How did I end up with an asshole for a soulmate?”. She glared at me.  "Fine.  I'll cancel everything.  It'll be like you guys never were here.  But when she leaves you, don't come crawling back to me, just because there's a tattoo on your wrist with my name on it."

***

"You cancelled it over her?  You could have said something to me about it beforehand, Ash.  That's a lot of money we just threw away."

"I know.  I did the math.  I'm going to pick up some extra shifts and go back to packing lunch like when we first moved in together.  I'll make it work without you having to make any sacrifices."

Lily put her arms around me.  "You don't have to starve yourself, or work yourself to death.  We'll figure it out together.  Like we always have.". She kissed me on the cheek, the way she always did to cheer me up.  "How did she take it?"

"To say poorly would be an understatement.  I probably didn't help matters by being a smart ass."

"You, a smart ass?  I find that hard to imagine."

"Regardless, that bridge is very burned.  I'm 100 percent yours, same as I always was."

"Thank you, Ash.  For choosing me."

"I'll always choose you."

***

I thought, once we got past that we were in the clear.  For a while we were.  We still had our fights and our bad days, especially when money was tight.  But our good days were always amazing, and things kept getting better.  We both got decent jobs out of college.  She was the main bread winner, I had better benefits and things balanced out.  We decided to put marriage on the back burner for a little longer and started looking to buy a house instead.

We tried realtors, but most were pushing us to buy cheap fixer upper types, or houses that were far too big for the small family we hoped to start one day.

It was by chance we drove past one of the first houses we looked at.  Or maybe it was Fate.

Detours, one way streets and a spotty cell phone signal had gotten us lost in a small town just north of where we lived.  We drove through the main street all the time, but in all that time we never looked around.  But as we drove around the surrounding neighborhood, we found a beautiful little house with a for sale sign out front and decided to make the best of the opportunity and knocked on the door.

A man answered the door; he was about our age.  And as soon as he walked through the threshold, Lily took a step back.  I didn't think anything of it at the time.

"Can I help you?" He said, smiling at us, his eyes shifting instantly to Lily.  That I noticed, but it wasn't the first time I caught someone checking her out.

"Yeah, we saw the for sale sign out front, but there's no realtor number to call, so we wanted to see what you were asking."

"Hey, Ash, I just realized I forgot my purse at home.  We should probably head back and we can come bother this gentleman another time.". She turned and started to walk away when he spoke up.

"I was kinda hoping we could at least talk this awkward situation over Lily."

As I looked at him, my first thought was that he was an ex.  A fling from before we met.  Until I looked at his arm, leaning against the doorway, and on his wrist I saw her name.

"I'm sorry Damon.  There's nothing to talk about.  I'm engaged, and happily so.  I know that probably hurts, but please, don't do this."

"I just was going to ask you to tell me what happened.  How I missed out on my soul mate."

***

I could hear them talking in the kitchen.  I had feared this day for years, and the meeting with Cristina had compounded my fears.  It had honestly been very difficult to turn her down.  It's why I had reacted the way I did.  I was pushing her as far away as possible in the most blunt, mean spirited away I could.  It wasn't the nicest way to handle things, and I wasn't proud of it, but in my mind it was the only way.  Pushing away anyone that might upset what we had.  But I couldn't push Damon away.  Lilly had to do that.

I gave them space to talk, but I could hear every word.  The house wasn't that big, and with all the windows open the words carried.

“So, why him?” Damon asked, more curious than anything it sounded.  Unlike Cristina, he was taking all of this pretty well.

“What?”

“What made you decide to be with him rather than wait for me?”

“Well, for one thing, I knew him.  I didn't know you.  You were just a name.  He and I went through a lot together.  It brought us closer.  And, honestly, I never believed in all this Fate stuff.  Neither of us did.  He felt like he was my soulmate, despite what my wrist said.”

“And now?”

“I'm not sure.  It's gotten very complicated.”

“I knew the moment I saw you.  I didn't need to see your wrist, I didn't need to know your name.  It was a feeling, like nothing before.  Did you feel it?”

“Honestly?  I felt sick.  Torn.  I think a part of me knew.  A part of me was afraid you might be my soulmate.  That I might have to choose.  Ash isn't perfect, but we've been through so much together.  He's been so good to me, I don't want to leave him.  I can't hurt him like that."

There was an air of inevitability in her voice.  She sounded resigned to her fate.  Defeated.  Still, I sat there.  I would not force her to choose; she needed to make this decision on her own.

"Look, I'm not trying to break things up between you guys.  I mean, you've made it this far and bucked the odds.  If you want to stay with him, I'll understand.  Just, think about it, ok?"

"I will."

I heard the chairs move and stood, walking out of the house and waiting to accept the inevitable.  It was hard to believe this was how it would end.  After everything that had happened, this was what was going to destroy our relationship.  I'll admit, my mind raced with a million thoughts, most of them bad.  But when she walked out the door  and smiled at me, I felt that familiar buzz return.  She was as beautiful as the first time I saw her, maybe more so because I knew every scar that had made her into the woman before me.   And I did something I'd never done before.  I walked over, I grabbed her and I kissed her with every ounce of my being.  The kind of kiss you save for the wedding.  I poured my soul into her.

She stepped back, looking half confused and half excited.  "What brought that on?"

"I love you.  Always have, always will."

Her smile faded.  "I know, Ash.  I love you too.  And we've had a lot of wonderful times together.  I never imagined anyone would make me feel the way you do.  When he opened the door and spoke, I understood what you talked about feeling the first time you saw me.  That's what makes this whole situation so difficult."

"I just-". I stopped myself from saying that I didn't understand.  No, I understood.  I'd felt it when I saw Cristina.  She was like a living fantasy, standing before me ready to be mine.  There had been significant portions of my brain telling me to end things with Lily, to reconcile things with my parents.  To be normal.  "No, that's not it.  Lily, look, you make your decision.  You're not wrong, to want to not have to deal with explaining this to your children, to not want to have to cover up so people don't ask questions.   I understand if you choose normalcy. We chose a difficult path.". I leaned back against the trunk of the car.

Lily settled in next to me and leaned her head against my shoulder.  "We did.  And I don't regret a minute of it.  The arguments, the bad days, the screaming match in the living room of that first apartment.  I slowly realized why I got upset with you, why your words hurt like nobody else's.  Why things felt different with you.

If I go with Damon because of fate, then what's the point of life?  Everything is already planned out, and nothing I do matters.  It's all out of my hands, all preconceived and written in stone.  And yeah, maybe on some primal level we don't yet understand, there's something that makes this automatic connection between two people who are meant to be together.  But that isn't love, not like what we have.  That takes time, struggle, passion and pain.  All the things we've been through, all the times it would have been easy to walk away meant nothing if it ends here, over some cute guy I just met.  If I end it here, then I have been lying to you and to myself for the last few years when I tell you I love you.

I never intended to leave you, but I couldn't just crush him, not like you did with Cristina.  I had to talk with him.  I wanted to know what it felt like to spend your whole life searching for someone.

But in the end,I knew we had something special.  Something more than Fate.  We have true love, and I want us to keep writing our story."

I was almost in tears.  This woman, who meant more to me than anyone ever had (and, save for our kids down the road, more than anyone ever would).  She had stared her fate in the eyes and not blinked, not backed down.  I knew it wasn't an easy thing to do.  That she did it successfully made me love her more.

***

Lily and I had 3 kids; Ada, our oldest girl was the spitting image of her mother and Daddy's little girl.  Eva, our youngest, was a tomboy and a wild child; my mother would have adored her.  Leo was the apple of his mother's eye; he stole her heart with that first look just like his Dad.  When they got to the point they were old enough to date, we told them the truth.  Told them the tattoo on their wrist was a suggestion, but that there was no predestined path.  Life, it turns out, is about the choices you make along the way.  Enjoying the company you keep and the ride you take and making your own decisions.

Life is about more than Fate.

Everyone has the name of their supposed soulmate printed on the inside of your wrist. You, however, are defiant, and begin dating someone that’s not your soulmate. It turns out that not meeting someone with the magic expectation that you’re ‘meant to be for each other and will get married and live happily ever after’ actually made you two get along pretty well, and you’re now deeply in love with them. However, after several years of dating this person, both your and your S.O.’s real 'soulmates’ find you, and they’re both furious that you didn’t wait for them.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 21

˗ˏˋ birthday shots ˎˊ˗

"Jungkook’s friends, Jungkook’s birthday party… It’s all honestly not what you expected. But then again, Jungkook keeps twisting your expectations of him, once and once again."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,4k

content: jungkook having friends, feeling out of place, pretty girls, judgemental people, tae/hobi/jk protecting the peace, shared secrets, nicknames gaining an intimate layer, stubbornness with spicy food, drinking, doing shots and jungkook being both attentive and protective.

✧ author's note ✧

Aaaand we’re finally here. The party. The build-up. The chaos potential. The birthday. After 20 chapters of yearning, character dissection, awkward eye contact, and conversations that say everything and nothing at the same time… we are officially entering the next arc: actual real-world social interaction. Which, if you’ve been paying attention, is every character’s personal hell. Including mine.

First of all—yes, this is Jungkook’s party chapter. Yes, it’s a pivotal one. Yes, I was pacing around my flat in a hoodie muttering “okay but what would he wear” like a deranged method actor trying to get into character. And yes, there are about 15 new people here. But please don’t panic. You don’t need to memorize them all. This isn’t a fantasy war council. You’re not about to be quizzed on the name of Jungkook’s friend’s cousin’s dog. They’re not here to steal the plot—they’re here to color it.

Jungkook’s different social groups, clashing and blending like some unhinged Venn diagram of his life. They each say something about him and the many versions of himself he keeps—because, as always, this isn’t about the party. It’s about him and her, and us, and the very inconvenient reality of human attachment.

Now. Tessa (and yes, Toasty, when you read this… the name comes 100% from you hahaha).

Yup. That girl from the library. She’s here. She’s breathing. She’s talking. And she’s not a villain.

I know, I know, fanfiction is riddled with the evil-rival-love-interest trope. The girl who eyes you up and down with thinly veiled contempt. The passive aggressive bitch who “just happens” to sit on his lap or call him baby in front of you. The girl whose entire personality is “threat to the main couple.” And listen—I could never.

Tessa isn’t like that. Because most people aren’t like that. Attraction doesn’t automatically equal competition, and not every woman who talks to a man you like is an enemy. That’s such a tired, flat, boring cliche. I’m not writing this story to project misogynistic tropes onto women so we can feel smug about someone else being “the wrong one.” I don’t want you to root against her. I don’t want you to root against anyone, really. Maybe Mia, but that’s what she’s for. She’s your pressure valve. You need someone to hate. That’s what makes the rest bearable.

Tessa’s presence is not a betrayal. It’s just reality. Jungkook is allowed to be liked. He’s allowed to explore. And so is Nix. She’s not some pushover sainted martyr of “true love.” She’s a girl. She’s confused. She’s a little guarded. She’s still trying to understand herself.

There’s no jealousy because there is no claim. There’s no relationship, no commitment, no confessions, no secret “we’re basically already in love” subtext. There’s just this slow, painful, glacial slide into a kind of closeness that might one day become something else—but hasn’t. Not even close. This chapter is about a possible beginning of something resembling tentative friendship. We are barely out of enemies-to-mildly-tolerating-each-other zone. We are in the “do I text you or is that weird” era.

Don’t rush it. Don’t expect it. That’s not the story I’m telling.

Nix being unbothered isn’t character growth. It’s just honesty. It’s consistency. I’ve spent 20 chapters building a girl who’s emotionally guarded, private, and painfully aware of the dynamics she allows herself to engage in. She’s not “cool with it” to be cool—she’s just not invested like that yet. And that matters. We’re not jumping stages for drama. We’re walking, slowly, through the psychology of two people who don’t even know what they want. Let them be confused. Let them be messy. Let them take their time.

I’m writing slow burn with psychological realism at its core, and that means actions have context. If you came here expecting love confessions and possessive meltdowns and “he’s mine stay away” drama… wrong story, babes. I want you uncomfortable. I want you squinting at every interaction wondering if it means something. I want you to question how affection develops, really. Slowly. Subtly. Almost invisibly, until it’s all you can think about.

The story isn’t about dramatic betrayals or Big Plot Twists. It’s about tension. About two people orbiting each other in their own broken, stumbling ways. It’s about glances that last too long and words that don’t come out right and the way your heart knows something long before your brain does. It’s about patterns, and Jungkook’s are catching up to him.

You don’t need to like everyone. But you should understand them. And that’s what I’m asking of you here. Because these characters aren’t plot devices—they’re real to me. They’re studies. They’re messy. And god, I love them for it.

So yeah. Welcome to the party. The masks are on, the music’s loud, and no one knows how to behave when they’re being watched. Especially him.

Enjoy. Suffer. Stare at the page like you’re decoding a sacred text. That’s the vibe.

And as always…

You’re here to suffer. I’m here to deliver.

You’re welcome.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

You never realized a person could contain so many versions of themselves until you saw Jungkook surrounded by his friends.

"SURPRISE!"

The word explodes through the small ramen shop, followed by cheers and laughter as Jungkook freezes beside you. 

His fingers quickly pocket his phone, eyes widening with a genuine shock that transforms his entire face. 

Gone is the perpetually amused, slightly condescending roommate you've come to know. In his place stands someone younger, almost innocent—lips parting in stunned delight, eyes crinkling at the corners.

It's fucking weird is what it is.

"Holy shit," he breathes, a laugh bursting from him as Taehyung launches himself across the restaurant, wrapping Jungkook in a hug that nearly knocks him over. "What the fuck?"

Hobi follows immediately, bouncing on his feet like an overgrown puppy before throwing his arms around both of them, turning the duo into a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter. 

Even Yoongi gets up, offering a slow clap before joining with a more restrained but no less genuine embrace—the kind with back pats that guys do when they want to prove they have exactly two emotions: hungry and sports.

You hang back, suddenly aware of how many strangers are packed into this place. 

The restaurant is full of people—at least a dozen beyond the ones you recognize—all focused on Jungkook with varying degrees of excitement. Some are already raising drinks in toast, others taking photos, a couple shouting things you can't quite make out over the general chaos.

"P-Kill! Happy birthday, man!"

"Proofs! You made it!"

"Proofy, get over here!"

What the actual fuck are these names? 

You frown, trying to connect these bizarre nicknames to the Jungkook you know—the one who leaves his dirty dishes in the sink and plays his music too loud and once tried to convince you that Kraft mac and cheese was "technically gourmet."

None of this computes.

Jungkook catches your confusion as he disentangles himself from his friends, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar half-smile that somehow feels like a private joke.

"Hey," he says, suddenly at your side again. His hand brushes your elbow briefly—not grabbing, just a light touch that seems oddly grounding in this chaos. "These are my friends. Guys, this is my roommate."

He says your name easily, no ‘Phoenix’ or ‘Nix’ in sight, and it's weirdly jarring—like hearing a song you know played in the wrong key. 

Not technically wrong, just... off.

The next few minutes are a blur of names and faces, most immediately forgotten as you try to keep track of who's who in this bizarre alternative universe where Jungkook is apparently the center of a large social circle. There's a group of guys—gamers, apparently—who keep calling him those weird nicknames.

"These three idiots," Jungkook explains, gesturing toward a trio of guys who look like they haven't seen sunlight in months, "are my Steam friends. My username is ProofedToKill, so that's where all the dumb nicknames come from."

Of course, that tracks. He's always yelling at the TV when he plays Call of Duty in the living room. You've had multiple arguments about it, usually ending with him putting on headphones and you turning up your music out of spite.

"Don't start," he warns, but there's no real edge to it. "I've already heard all your anti-shooters propaganda."

"It's not propaganda if it's true."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't take the bait, already being pulled toward another group by Taehyung. 

"Come on, there are more people you should meet."

You follow, because what else are you going to do? Stand alone by the door like some kind of abandoned pet? 

Besides, you're curious now. Curious about these other fragments of Jungkook's life that you've never been privy to before.

The space is packed, noisy in that way that forces everyone to talk slightly too loud. Sensory overload city. People keep touching Jungkook—hugs, shoulder claps, high fives—and he's letting them, which might be the weirdest part of all this. 

Since when does he like being touched by people who aren't naked?

"Jungkook!" a female voice exclaims, cutting through the noise. A tall girl with auburn hair moves toward him with the confident grace of someone who's never tripped over her own feet in public. "Happy birthday!"

She wraps him in a hug that makes you realize just how tall she is—like, almost his height tall—and beside her, another girl—smaller, with short black hair and glasses—offers a more reserved greeting.

"Hey Tessa, hey Diana," Jungkook says, looking genuinely pleased to see them. "Didn't think you'd be here!"

Tessa. 

The library girl. The one he was doing that group project thing with.  The one who kept laughing too loud whenever Jungkook said something that probably wasn't even that funny.

"Taehyung invited us," she explains, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," Jungkook says, and you hate how sincere he sounds. 

Where's the sarcastic asshole you live with? Who is this pod person?

"We brought you something," Diana says, holding out a small bag. "Just a little thing."

Jungkook accepts it with a thanks that sounds almost shy, and what the fuck? Since when is he shy about anything?

"Oh, this is my roommate," he adds, suddenly remembering your existence. 

He says your name again, and you force a smile because what else can you do in this bizarre social ritual?

"Nice to meet you," Tessa says with a warmth that feels genuine, which is almost worse than if she'd been fake. At least fake would make sense. "Jungkook's mentioned you before. You're in English Lit, right?"

He's talked about you? To her? 

What the fuck has he said?

"Yeah," you manage, because apparently your vocabulary has been reduced to monosyllables in the face of all this unexpected social interaction. "English major."

"That's amazing," she says, and she actually seems to mean it. "I'm in Film too, but I've always loved literature. What's your focus?"

Before you can answer—thank god, because you haven't prepared a thesis statement on your academic interests for a birthday party—Hobi appears with a tray of shots, announcing that it's time for the birthday boy to start celebrating properly.

So, of course, the whole crowd moves towards him, shots being thrown back easily. You find yourself suddenly on the outside of it, still standing with Tessa and Diana but no longer the focus of their attention.

It's a relief, honestly. 

You've never been good at this kind of thing—large groups, small talk, unfamiliar social dynamics. 

It's like being dropped into a play where everyone else knows the script and you're just… improvising. Kinda hoping you don't accidentally say the wrong line and reveal yourself as the impostor.

Your eyes wander around the restaurant, taking in the details you missed—it’s actually a cozy place, warm wood and soft lighting, with private booths along one wall and a long table down the center where most of Jungkook's friends have gathered. 

You can smell the sizzling of pans working through different ingredients—garlic, onion, ginger… But your eyes end up on Jungkook anyway.

He swallows down a shot, grimacing at the burn. 

Someone passes him another. 

Someone else claps him on the back. 

He's at the center of all this attention and he's... thriving in it. Laughing, talking.

It’s strange, seeing him like this. So carefree, so loud (although he’s always loud but this is a different kind of loud?)—so in his… element. 

You can’t help but feel out of place.

Because, truly. Do you even fit in here? Are you an element? Part of his element? Or whatever this is? 

This morning you were agonizing over whether you could be friends with the guy you've been fucking. 

Now you're standing in a room full of people who already are his friends, who've known him much longer than you have, who see a completely different side of him than the one you get.

It's... a lot.

You pull out your phone, needing something to do with your hands, but the screen stays dark. Okay. Dead. Fantastic.

"You okay?"

The voice at your elbow makes you jump. 

It's Jungkook, somehow back at your side despite the crowd still demanding his attention.

"Fine," you say automatically. "Just... observing."

His eyes scan your face, more perceptive than you'd like. "You look like you'd rather be literally anywhere else."

"Not true. I can think of at least three places that would be worse." You tick them off on your fingers. "The DMV. An insurance seminar. Dinner with my parents."

That gets a laugh out of him—a real one, one you seem to be getting out of him more and more often. 

“Fair enough. Come on, let me get you a drink. It'll help with..." 

He pauses, purses his lips as he tilts his head at you.

"With what, exactly?"

"The whole 'I'd rather eat glass than make small talk with strangers' vibe you're giving off."

"I'm not—" you start to protest, but he's already pulling you toward the bar, his hand warm against your lower back.

"It's fine, Phee," he says, the familiar nickname slipping out naturally now that you're momentarily separated from the crowd. "Not everyone's into the whole big social scene. You don't have to pretend."

You want to argue on principle—deny that he knows you that well, that he can read your discomfort so easily—but it would be pointless. 

He's right. 

You do hate this. 

And the fact that he noticed, that he came back to check on you instead of just leaving you to flounder on your own...

It's annoying. Or it should be. 

Instead, it feels weirdly considerate.

"I don't need a babysitter," you mutter as he flags down the bartender. "Go enjoy your party. I'm perfectly capable of standing in a corner judging people on my own."

"Maybe I'm enjoying my party more over here." 

He orders something you don't catch, then turns back to you with that half-smile that's somehow more familiar than the broad grin he's been flashing at everyone else.

“Besides, if I leave you alone too long, you might decide to ditch, and then who would I blame when I need an excuse to escape Hobi's karaoke demands?"

"Yoongi seems like a good scapegoat."

"Nah, Yoongi secretly loves karaoke. Just pretends to hate it so people will beg him. It's weird."

The bartender slides two glasses toward Jungkook—whiskey is one, by the look of it. 

The other one is… 

Vodka cranberry.

He remembers?

You lick your lips. Nervous suddenly. Maybe. Or not really. Just uncomfortable, because here it is again. Jungkook being attentive, doing these stupid kind things that completely shatter the reputation you have built for him in your head. 

"You really don't have to babysit me," you say again, but you take the drink anyway. "I'm fine."

His eyes search yours, more serious than usual. "I know you're fine. Maybe I just want to hang out with you."

Something shifts in your chest—a small, uncomfortable flutter. 

“Why? You have a dozen other people here who actually like you."

"Ouch." He presses a hand to his heart, mock wounded. "And here I thought we were making progress on the whole friendship thing."

"The jury's still out on that one."

"Uh-huh." He takes a sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving yours. "Well, consider this evidence for the 'pro' column: I noticed you were uncomfortable and came to rescue you instead of letting you suffer in silence."

"Maybe I prefer suffering in silence."

"No one prefers suffering in silence, Nix. Some people just don't think they deserve better."

The way he says it makes something twirl uncomfortable inside your chest.

You take a large drink instead of responding, welcoming the burn as it slides down your throat.

“Make sure to finish that quickly. Get ready for the party games.”

"There are going to be party games?"

"That’s only the beginning."

"So," you say, swaying your glass slightly, watching the burgundy liquid catch the light, "ProofedToKill, huh? Didn't know I was living with such a badass."

"No? I thought you knew how badass I am.”

“You’re bad, and an ass. That doesn’t make you a badass. Different word.”

He laughs, low and warm, and you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips without conscious input.

"You know what it actually means?" he asks, leaning back against the wall. 

You raise an eyebrow. "That you're secretly a hitman with terrible grammar?"

"Hilarious." He rolls his eyes, but there's no real irritation behind it. "It's a baking term, actually."

"A what now?"

"Baking. You know, that thing people do with flour and heat instead of burning the place down.”

“If you bring up the candle incident one more time—”

He makes a zipping motion over his mouth, and your lips twitch with the effort of chuckling. 

“Wait, are you seriously telling me your super tough gamer name is about... baking?"

He sighs, looking down at his glass. "When you're making bread—sourdough specifically—there's this stage called 'proofing.’ It's when the dough rises, develops flavor. If you overproof it, it collapses. If you underproof, it's dense. But if you get it just right..."

"You've... proofed to kill?" you finish, unable to keep the disbelief from your voice.

"Exactly." He grins, clearly pleased that you've made the connection. "Perfect proofing. Killer bread. It's a whole thing."

You stare at him, genuinely speechless for perhaps the first time since you've known him. 

This man—this infuriating, cocky roommate who struts around like he owns every room he enters—has a gamer tag based on fucking bread-making. 

And he's admitting it. 

Voluntarily. 

"So let me get this straight," you say slowly. "Your badass online persona, the one all your friends call you by, is actually a baking pun?"

"In my defense, it's a really good pun. And most people assume it's about, you know, being good at shooting things. Which I also am." He shrugs, cockiness slipping back into place.

“You’re so weird,” you mutter, but you know he doesn’t take it seriously.

"Been doing it since college. The whole sourdough thing at midnight." He confesses, glancing around briefly, like he's checking to make sure no one else is listening, then lowers his voice. "My mom taught me. She had this whole recipe she'd developed over years, this perfect sourdough method. Made the best bread you've ever tasted."

Again that softness, almost reverence when he speaks about his mom. 

It always catches you off guard. You've never heard him talk like this before. Never heard him talk about his family at all, really.

"After she..." he continues, then stops himself, shaking his head slightly. "Anyway. I keep trying to recreate it. Haven't quite nailed it yet."

Neither of you speak for a couple of beats. His gaze is still fixed on his drink, and then he takes a sip, like his mind is somewhere else completely.

“Is that why you stress-bake at 3 AM? Trying to get the proof right?"

His eyes meet yours, surprised.

Maybe a little grateful for the redirect. 

“You’ve noticed?”

“I mean, I just went to the bathroom one night and saw you fighting the dough, so…”

He chuckles, gaze back on his glass. “Yeah. It's... meditative, I guess. Helps me think."

"Weird way to think, but okay."

"Says the person who reads the same depressing Kafka story fourteen times and calls it 'processing.'"

"It's a good story."

"It's about a guy turning into a giant bug."

"And it speaks to the alienation inherent in modern existence. Your point?"

He laughs again, shaking his head. "God, you're such a fucking English major."

"And you're a secret bread nerd. We all have our crosses to bear."

His smile shifts into something different—softer around the edges, almost vulnerable. "Don't tell anyone, okay? About the username thing. I have a reputation to maintain."

"What, you mean your friends don't know your tough gamer handle is actually about your sourdough obsession?"

"Only Yoongi knows. And now you." He drums his fingers on the glass once, twice. "That's enough oversharing on my part for the day, I think. Sooner or later it's going to have to be your turn, you know, Pyx?"

Great. A new variation of your nickname. Does he ever stop coming up with them?

"My turn for what?"

"Sharing something real." His eyes hold yours, steady. "Friendship goes both ways, Nix."

You scoff, ignoring the way your heart rate picks up slightly. "I share things."

"Like what? Your coffee order doesn't count."

"I told you about the IUD."

"That's medical, not personal."

"It's literally inside my body. How much more personal can it get?"

He sighs, but he makes it dramatic this time. "You know what I mean. Something that matters to you. Something real."

You do know. That's the problem. He's asking for exactly the kind of vulnerability you've spent years carefully avoiding. The kind that gives people ammunition, that creates expectations, that leads to disappointment when you inevitably fail to meet them.

But he just told you about his mom. About bread and baking and usernames that mean more than they appear to. He offered something real—small, maybe, but genuine.

And isn't that what this whole friendship experiment is supposed to be about?

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what's going to come out, when a crash from across the restaurant saves you. Hobi has somehow managed to knock over an entire tray of drinks, and the resulting chaos immediately draws everyone's attention, including Jungkook's.

"Shit," he mutters, already half-moving. "I should go help before he makes it worse."

"Go," you nod, equal parts relieved and strangely disappointed. "Your public needs you."

He hesitates, eyes still on yours. "We're not done with this conversation."

"Pretty sure we are."

"Pretty sure we're just getting started." He stands fully, but doesn't leave immediately. "Come join, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

You watch him weave through the crowd toward the spill, already calling out something to Hobi that makes the other man laugh despite the mess. It's strange, seeing him like this—in his element, surrounded by people who know him in ways you don't.

ProofedToKill. A baking pun turned gamer tag. A piece of his mother he carries with him, encrypted in plain sight.

You take another sip of your vodka cranberry, wondering what else about Jungkook you've been missing all this time.

Eleven people crammed around a table is basically psychological warfare in restaurant form.

You're somehow stuck directly across from Jungkook, because apparently the universe has a shitty sense of humor. 

Next to him, Tessa has claimed her territory, her long legs perfectly positioned under the table while yours are already cramping from the weird angle. Of course.

At least you've got Yoongi on your left—a silent, grounding presence in the chaos. When you'd awkwardly hovered near his chair, he'd just grunted and shifted slightly to make room. 

In Yoongi-speak, that's practically a formal invitation with calligraphy and shit.

Diana sits on your other side, petite and prim, her small hands already arranging her napkin with quick movements. She keeps glancing at Tessa across the table with an expression you can't quite decipher—somewhere between admiration and mild disapproval.

The menu in Yoongi's hands looks worn and slightly sticky, but your stomach is basically staging a revolt after hours of nothing but ibuprofen and vodka. You lean over, scanning the options without asking permission because fuck it, you're hungry.

The spicy ramen section catches your eye immediately. 

Your stomach gives another impatient growl.

"I want those," you announce, pointing at the spiciest option on the menu.

Yoongi barely blinks. "Cool. I didn't ask."

You roll your eyes and lean back in your chair because, okay, whatever. Rude ass. Though honestly, there's something almost refreshing about his complete lack of social polish. 

At least you always know where you stand with him, which is approximately nowhere.

A movement across the table draws your attention. 

Jungkook's eyes have lifted from his own menu, catching yours with an intensity that feels weirdly intimate in the crowded space. His gaze flickers down again almost immediately, but not before you notice the corner of his mouth tilting upward.

What's he laughing about? Stupid. He's stupid.

"I kinda wanted the spicy ones too," he says, looking up again. "Maybe we can share?"

You squint at him suspiciously. "Huh? No. I want the bowl entirely for me."

Diana makes a soft sound beside you—half laugh, half disbelief. 

“I can't believe you can eat all that."

The words hang there for a moment while your brain processes the judgment packaged in her innocent-sounding comment. 

Did she just really—

"C'mon Diana," Tessa cuts in swiftly, laugh warm and genuine, "not everyone has a small stomach like you."

Diana scowls, her delicate features pinching together. "I just think that's a lot to eat."

"Bro, I could eat two bowls in one sitting," Jungkook says.

"Make that three," Taehyung adds from Jungkook's other side. "You're a fucking goblin, Kooks."

"Three? Amateur," one of the gamer guys—Steve? Sean?—chimes in from the end of the table. "Remember that time after the tournament when you ate four bowls of ramen and then threw up in my car?"

"That was food poisoning," Jungkook protests. "Totally different situation."

"Your face was poisoned."

"What does that even mean?"

"Your face... poisoned... my eyes," the guy finishes lamely, clearly losing his train of thought.

"Ten points from Slytherin for that weak-ass comeback," Hobi declares, raising his beer like a wizard's wand. "Jungkook requires better trash talk in his honor."

"Oh shit, we're using Hogwarts points now?" another one asks. "When did we switch systems?"

"Since I just decided, and I'm the dungeon master."

"That's D&D, you uncultured swine," Taehyung sighs, long-suffering. "Completely different franchise."

"Whatever, they're all just wizard nerds," Hobi says with a dismissive wave.

"That's wizard king to you, peasant," Jungkook corrects, puffing out his chest.

“Do you all... actually play these games?" Diana asks, voice faintly disdainful.

"Only when we're not busy with our super cool and important adult lives," Taehyung says, deadpan.

"I just don't get the appeal," she sniffs. "Sitting inside all day, staring at screens—"

"Yo," Hobi cuts in smoothly, somehow managing to sound both friendly and firm at the same time, "different strokes for different folks. Some people climb mountains, some people slay digital dragons. Both valid." 

Diana shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. "I guess."

"Besides," you find yourself saying, "it's literally his birthday. Maybe, I don't know, let him enjoy things without the judgment?"

The words come out sharper than intended, surprising even you. 

Since when do you jump to Jungkook's defense? Since when do you care if someone judges his nerdy gaming habits?

Jungkook looks equally surprised, eyebrows raised slightly as he studies your face. Then his expression shifts into something softer, almost appreciative.

"Exactly. Today's about celebrating you," Tessa adds, turning to Jungkook with a warm smile. "And apparently your inhuman ability to consume ramen."

"It's my superpower," he says solemnly. "With great appetite comes great indigestion."

A ripple of laughter moves around the table, breaking the awkward moment. Diana still looks sulky, but at least she's dropped the subject.

The waiter appears then, ready to take orders, and the conversation splinters as everyone tries to decide what they want.

"You really getting the level five spicy?" Yoongi asks quietly while the others debate.

"Yeah. Why, think I can't handle it?"

He snorts. "Just checking if I need to order extra water for when you inevitably start crying."

"I do not cry from spicy food."

"Everyone cries from spicy food if it's actually spicy."

"Well, we'll see, won't we?"

He shrugs, a barely perceptible movement of one shoulder. "Your funeral."

"Comforting as always, Yoon."

The ghost of a smile flits across his face before he returns to his default expression of mild disinterest.

Across the table, Jungkook is in the middle of a heated debate with Taehyung about... something involving a game you've never heard of. His hands move animatedly as he talks, face lit with genuine enthusiasm. One of his friends keeps trying to interject, but Jungkook and Taehyung are in their own world, talking over each other and somehow still understanding perfectly.

He looks so unguarded.

So... normal. Like any other twenty-something guy arguing about video games with his friends.

Not that you care. It's just an observation.

"So you're Jungkook's roommate," Diana says, drawing your attention back to her. Her tone suggests this is somehow both surprising and slightly concerning.

"Yep." You keep it brief, hoping she'll take the hint and drop whatever line of questioning is forming behind those judgmental eyes.

No such luck.

"And how did that happen exactly? Through the university housing board?"

"Craigslist, actually."

Her eyebrows shoot up like you've just admitted to finding the apartment through a demonic summoning ritual. 

“Oh! Isn't that... dangerous?"

"Not really. The apartment was already Yoongi and Jungkook's. I just answered the ad for the third room."

"Still," she persists, "moving in with two guys you don't know. That's brave."

The way she says ‘brave’ makes it clear she means ‘stupid,’ but you're not in the mood to defend your housing choices to someone who probably thinks spicy ramen is too adventurous.

"Not really. Yoongi's background check was pretty thorough," you deadpan. "Only had to provide three references, a blood sample, and my complete genetic history."

Diana blinks, clearly unsure if you're joking.

"It's true," Yoongi confirms without looking up from his phone. "Her midichlorian count was acceptable."

"What’s… midichlorian?" Diana asks uncertainly.

"It’s a real scientific test," you say, keeping your expression perfectly serious. "Very exclusive."

She frowns, increasingly confused, and you feel a small, petty satisfaction at her discomfort.

"They're fucking with you," Taehyung calls from across the table, apparently tuned into your conversation despite seemingly being absorbed in his argument with Jungkook. "It's a Star Wars reference."

"Oh." Diana forces a laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. "Right."

"Ignore them," Tessa says kindly. "They operate on their own wavelength sometimes."

"Especially these two," Hobi adds, gesturing between Taehyung and Jungkook. "Like an old married couple, but with more shouting and fewer financial benefits."

"What do you mean fewer financial benefits?" Jungkook protests. "I've been carrying his broke ass in-game economy for years."

"That gold farm was my idea!"

"Your idea crashed the server and got us banned for a week!"

"Details," Taehyung waves dismissively. "The point is, I'm the brains of this operation."

"And I'm the beauty," Jungkook fires back, striking a pose that makes Hobi snort water through his nose.

It's all so... easy. The banter, the inside jokes, the casual way they navigate each other's personalities. They've clearly had years to develop this rhythm, to learn each other's edges and how to fit together despite them—or maybe because of them.

Something twists in your chest, sharp and unexpected. You busy yourself with your water glass, suddenly very interested in the condensation gathering along its sides.

The waiter returns with drinks, setting them around the table. You're grateful for the distraction, for something to do with your hands besides fidget awkwardly.

"Alright," Hobi declares once everyone has a drink, lifting his glass. "To the birthday boy! May your K/D ratio remain impressive and your hairline unreceded."

"Here's to another year of Jungkook being Jungkook," Taehyung adds, raising his own glass. "God help us all."

"To Kooks," Tessa says, her voice softer but no less sincere. "Happy birthday."

Glasses clink around the table, a chorus of echoed sentiments following. You lift your glass automatically, catching Jungkook's eye as you do. He's watching you, before he smiles—small and surprisingly genuine.

"Thanks for getting me here," he says quietly, just for you.

"Don't mention it," you reply, equally quiet. "Seriously. Don't. I'll deny everything."

His smile widens, and for a moment, it feels like you're back in that booth from earlier—just the two of you, everyone else fading to background noise.

Then Taehyung jostles his arm, demanding his opinion on something, and the moment breaks. 

You take a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the strange feeling that's settled in your chest.

It's probably just hunger. Or the vodka from earlier. 

Or the fact that you've been in this loud, crowded restaurant for what feels like hours now, surrounded by people you barely know, playing a role you're not quite sure how to perform.

Yeah. That's definitely it.

The server arrives with a ridiculous number of bowls balanced along his arms like some kind of food-based Cirque du Soleil performer. Steam rises from each one, carrying scents that make your stomach growl with embarrassing volume.

A massive, angry-looking bowl lands in front of you, the broth practically glowing red. It looks like someone liquefied the sun and threw in some noodles as an afterthought.

Perfect.

Two bowls slide in front of Jungkook—your spicy demon soup's twin and something much more reasonable looking, probably miso based on the color.

"Hungry much?" you ask, eyeing his double order.

"Growing boy," he shrugs, already reaching for chopsticks.

Taehyung, meanwhile, receives... a plate of curry rice? 

"Seriously?" You can't help the judgment that leaks into your voice. "We're at a ramen place and you ordered curry?"

He shoots you a look that could curdle milk. "Some of us have taste beyond 'hot noodle soup.'"

"Some of us aren't afraid of flavor, dickasso."

"Bold words from someone currently holding weapons-grade capsaicin," he fires back, gesturing at your bowl. "Does your taste even function, or did you burn it all away with your sad little Hot Pockets diet?"

"At least I'm not too precious to eat what the restaurant specializes in."

“This is objectively superior."

"Only if your objective is being a pretentious dick."

"I prefer 'discerning connoisseur.'"

"You would."

You hate that banter with Taehyung is starting to become more and more comfortable. Like verbal sparring with someone who actually knows how to return a serve, instead of just standing there getting hit in the face with the ball. 

Not that you like him or anything. His whole vibe—artsy, too cool for school, judgmental as fuck—is objectively annoying.

But maybe also a little entertaining. 

In small doses. 

Very small.

Across the table, Hobi watches this exchange with undisguised amusement, head swiveling between you. 

"I feel like I'm witnessing the beginning of a beautiful friendship," he says, grinning widely. "Or a homicide. Hard to tell."

"Definitely homicide," Taehyung and you say in unison, then glare at each other for the coordination.

You turn your attention back to your ramen, inhaling the spicy steam before digging in. The first bite hits like a kick to the teeth—pain followed immediately by pleasure. 

It's fucking delicious despite feeling like you just licked the surface of the sun.

"Good?" Yoongi asks, watching your face with what might be the ghost of amusement.

"Incredible," you manage, already reaching for more.

Across the table, Jungkook dives into his own spicy bowl with enthusiasm, slurping noodles with zero concern for how it looks. A drop of broth escapes, clinging to his lower lip.

You're about to say something—point it out, make fun of his complete lack of eating etiquette, something—when Tessa reaches out, casual as anything, and swipes her thumb across his lip.

"Messy," she says, the word warm with affection.

He tilts his head toward her, smiling in a way that can only be described as flirtatious. 

“That's my brand."

You purse your lips, returning your attention to your own food. 

Whatever. Let him preen over a pretty girl paying attention to him. His loser ass probably never gets that chance.

Although... that's a lie and you know it. 

The guy is annoyingly good-looking and he knows it. He's probably used to girls fawning over him, cleaning his face like he's a toddler who can't be trusted with utensils.

"Whatcha looking at, Phee—" He cuts himself off abruptly, eyes widening slightly. "—asantly surprised by how spicy that ramen is? Your face is getting red."

Smooth recovery. Not.

"Just thinking about how long it's been since I've had decent ramen."

You grab your water glass, suddenly very aware of the burning sensation spreading across your tongue. 

It's fine. Totally manageable. Nothing to worry about.

"Knew it," Yoongi mutters beside you.

You set the glass down with more force than necessary. "It's not spicy."

"Uh-huh." He doesn't even bother looking up from his own bowl. "That's why your face is the same color as the broth."

"It's warm in here."

"Sure it is."

"I can handle spice."

"Never said you couldn't."

"You implied it."

He finally glances at you, expression as bored as ever. "I implied you're a liar, not a spice lightweight."

"I'm not—" Another wave of heat crashes through your mouth, cutting off your protest. "Fine. It's a little spicy."

The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be a smile on anyone else. "A little."

"Shut up and eat your boring miso."

Amazingly, he actually laughs—a short, quiet sound that's there and gone so quickly you almost think you imagined it. 

But no, that was definitely a laugh. From Yoongi. Directed at something you said.

Huh.

You return to your ramen, determined to finish it despite the way your sinuses are starting to protest. 

It's a matter of pride now. You said you could handle it, so you'll handle it, even if it kills you.

Which it might. But what a way to go.

You glance up, seeing how Jungkook and Tessa have their heads tilted toward each other, engaged in what looks like a very amusing conversation based on her laugh. She keeps touching his arm, casual little points of contact that seem to arrive at perfectly timed intervals.

She's good at this, you'll give her that. The whole flirting thing. Not too obvious, not too reserved. Just the right amount of interest without seeming desperate.

Huh. He might get laid tonight then. Not by you. 

Good for him. 

"You're staring again," Taehyung says, his voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. "Plotting his murder or just generally disapproving of his existence?"

"Just wondering how someone with the personality of a half-deflated balloon animal manages to function in society," you reply smoothly.

"Years of practice and an excellent support system." He gestures between himself and Hobi, who's busy trying to convince one of the gamer guys that yes, there is in fact sake in the sake bomb he just drank. "We've been managing his personality disorder since freshman year."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It is." His eyes drift to where Jungkook is now showing Tessa something on his phone, both of them laughing. "But he has his moments."

You turn your attention back to your food. Halfway through, you make the tactical error of taking a large bite just as Hobi says something particularly funny, causing you to inhale sharply—and sending a piece of chili directly into your windpipe.

Coughing. So much coughing. 

Your eyes water immediately, turning the table into a blurry mess of colors and shapes as you desperately reach for your water again.

"Easy there," Yoongi says, actually sounding a little concerned as he pushes your glass closer. "Small sips."

You manage to get the water down between coughs, the cool liquid offering minimal relief to your burning throat.

"You okay?" Jungkook asks, leaning across the table with a frown.

Great. Now everyone's looking at you. Perfect. Just what you wanted. All the attention.

"Fine," you rasp, waving a hand dismissively. "Went down the wrong pipe."

"Maybe you should try something less lethal," Diana suggests, eyeing your bowl with thinly veiled judgment. "Like the mild shoyu."

"I'm good with my life choices, thanks."

"Not all of them, I hope," Taehyung mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table, aiming for his shin but probably hitting the table leg instead based on his lack of reaction.

"If you die from ramen, I'm not cleaning out your room," Yoongi says matter-of-factly.

"Noted. I'll make sure to haunt you specifically."

"Bold of you to assume I'd notice the difference."

"What, between me alive and me as a ghost?"

"You already have a resting bitch face and make weird noises at night. How would I tell?"

You choke again, this time on your own surprise. 

"I do not make weird noises at night!"

"The walls are thin."

Heat creeps up your neck, and it has nothing to do with the spice level of your food. 

“I don't—that's not—"

"Relax. I meant the way you talk in your sleep."

Oh. That's... marginally less mortifying.

"I talk in my sleep?"

"Constantly."

"About what?"

He shrugs. "Mostly nonsense. Something about pencils last night. Very intense opinions on pencils."

"I don't have opinions about pencils," you protest. "Intense or otherwise."

"Tell that to your subconscious."

The conversation shifts as one of the gamers—Ryan? you think?—slams his empty sake cup on the table with more force than necessary.

"Yo!" he announces, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "We should do shots. Birthday shots for the birthday boy!"

A chorus of approval goes up around the table. Even Diana looks on board with this plan, probably because alcohol is the one thing that might loosen up whatever's holding her personality together.

"The birthday boy needs birthday shots," Hobi agrees, already signaling the waiter.

Taehyung groans. "Please tell me we're not doing that ridiculous 'one shot for each year' tradition. I'm not carrying his drunk ass home again."

"That was one time," Jungkook protests.

"One time too many. You kept trying to pet dogs that weren't there."

"I was seeing through the space-time continuum to where dogs would eventually be."

"You threw up in my shower."

"I cleaned it!"

"With my loofah!"

"I replaced it!"

"After I used it!"

You watch this exchange with growing amusement, the rapid-fire back-and-forth almost dizzying in its intensity. It's clear this is a well-worn argument, trotted out for entertainment value rather than actual grievance.

"Fine," Taehyung concedes dramatically. "Birthday shots. But I'm not responsible for any hallucinated canines or bathroom incidents."

"Deal," Jungkook grins, then turns to Tessa. "You in?"

She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I should probably pace myself. Early class tomorrow."

"Responsible," he nods, mock serious. "I respect that."

"Unlike some people," Taehyung mutters, glancing pointedly at Jungkook.

"It's my birthday. I'm legally exempt from responsibility for twenty-four hours."

"That's not a law."

"It's the law of birthdays, Tae. Everyone knows this."

Ryan—definitely Ryan—flags down the server successfully this time, ordering a round of shots for the table. 

“Even for the responsible ones," he insists when Tessa tries to decline. "Just one. For Proofs."

She relents with a smile, rolling her stupid pretty eyes. 

"You too, Miss Spicy Ramen," Ryan says, nodding toward you. "Unless you can't handle your liquor either."

Is that a challenge? It sounds like a challenge.

"I can handle my liquor just fine," you say.

“Debatable,” Jungkook mutters, the menace.

"Oh, fighting words," Hobi laughs, clapping his hands together. "I sense a story here."

"There's no story," Jungkook says quickly.

"I think we've found the first drinking game of the night," Hobi declares. "Most embarrassing Jungkook stories. Winner gets... I don't know, bragging rights and my eternal respect."

"That's not fair," Jungkook protests. "I'm the birthday boy. I should be exempt from humiliation."

"Birthday boy gets birthday roast," Taehyung counters. 

Even Yoongi cracks a smile at that, which might be the most shocking development of the evening so far.

Five shots in and the room has developed that particular tilt that makes everything both sharper and blurrier at the same time.

"Next round!" Seth announces, grinning as he surveys the damage he's caused. 

Seth, as you've learned through increasingly slurred introductions, is one of Jungkook's film school friends—tall, blonde, and way too enthusiastic about drinking games for someone his size. 

"Embarrassing stories! Laugh and you drink!"

Groans mixed with cheers ripple around the table, which has somehow gotten messier and louder with each passing shot. Empty glasses create a small army between plates. Someone knocked over the soy sauce earlier, and no one's bothered to clean it up.

"Oh, oh, OH!" Taehyung practically bounces in his seat, raising his hand like an overeager student. "I have one."

"This'll be good," Yoongi mutters beside you, the most he's spoken in twenty minutes.

Taehyung clears his throat dramatically. "Picture this: Eighth grade. School talent show."

"No," Jungkook groans, head dropping into his hands. "Not that one."

"Yes, that one." Taehyung's grin is borderline evil. "Our boy Kooks here decides he's going to impress Minah Park with a dance routine."

"I'm begging you," Jungkook says, voice muffled through his fingers.

"To what song, you ask?" Taehyung continues, undeterred. "None other than 'Milkshake' by Kelis."

Ryan lets out a bark of laughter, immediately reaching for his shot.

"Oh my god," Diana whispers, eyes wide.

"Did he know what the song was about?" Tessa asks, already giggling.

"That's the best part," Taehyung says, pausing for dramatic effect. "He thought it was literally about making good milkshakes. His mom helped him with the routine."

The table erupts. Even Yoongi snorts, reaching for his shot glass with resigned dignity. You're trying—genuinely trying—to hold it in, pressing your lips together, but then you make the mistake of looking at Jungkook's mortified expression and it's over. Laughter spills out, and you grab your shot, tossing it back with a wince.

"His mom found out what it meant halfway through the performance," Taehyung continues, wiping tears from his eyes. "Her face—I wish smartphones existed back then."

"I hate you," Jungkook mutters, but there's no heat behind it. "So much."

"Did Minah like it at least?" Hobi asks, still chuckling.

"She transferred schools the next week," Taehyung says solemnly. "Unrelated reasons, allegedly."

Another round of laughter, another round of shots.

"My turn," Hobi declares once the chaos subsides. "Let me tell you about the first time I met this guy."

"Which version are you telling?" Jungkook asks warily.

"The true one," Hobi says with a wink. "Picture it: 2021. Dance studio on 8th. This scrawny kid walks in, says he needs to film a project for his class."

"I wasn't scrawny," Jungkook protests.

"You were a twig with hair," Hobi dismisses. "Anyway, he sets up his equipment, very professional, very serious. Then my advanced hip-hop class starts, and halfway through, he abandons his camera to try and join in."

"Oh no," Tessa whispers, delighted.

"Oh yes," Hobi confirms. "He jumps in, full confidence, absolutely sure he can keep up. Two eight-counts later, he slips, takes out my star student, and they both crash into the mirror."

"It didn't break!" Jungkook interjects.

"It cracked," Hobi corrects. "Still there. I call it the Jungkook Memorial Spiderweb."

You laugh despite yourself, drinking quickly to hide your smile when Jungkook shoots you a betrayed look.

"What about you, Yoongi?" Seth asks, refilling glasses with alarming efficiency. "How'd you meet the birthday boy?"

Yoongi regards the question like it's asked him to explain quantum physics. 

“Music production seminar. He needed help with a film score." He shrugs. "He wasn't completely terrible."

"From Yoongi, that's basically a marriage proposal," Hobi stage-whispers.

"Wow, such a beautiful story," you deadpan. "So moving. So detailed."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Not all of us need a thousand words to make a point."

"Clearly." You snort, then immediately regret it when the room spins slightly. 

"What about you, new girl?" Seth asks, suddenly focused on you with an intensity that feels both flattering and vaguely predatory. "Got any good Jungkook stories from the roommate archives?"

All eyes turn to you, expectant. 

You scramble for something suitably embarrassing but not too revealing.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” you say, the alcohol making you bolder than usual. “But I have to live with him, so I’m weighing the entertainment value against the revenge factor.”

“Coward,” Taehyung coughs into his hand.

"Yeah, tell us the real dirt," Seth presses, leaning forward with a grin that suggests he's hoping for something scandalous.

You narrow your eyes, suddenly protective of the weird dynamic you share with Jungkook. These people don't get to know about the late-night arguments over the TV volume, or the silent coffee maker standoffs, or the way he sometimes hums in the shower when he thinks no one can hear.

"Sorry to disappoint," you say with exaggerated sweetness, "but I value my security deposit too much to reveal his darkest secrets."

"Cop-out," Seth accuses, but he's smiling.

"Another round!" Ryan announces, refilling shot glasses with something that smells vaguely like cinnamon and regret. "Tessa, you laughed at the dance story, you owe one."

“I didn’t!” she protests, but she’s fighting a smile now. “I was just… appreciating the story.”

“Liar! Your lips twitched. That’s a drink.”

She shakes her head, still smiling. “No way. I have that early class, remember?”

Before Ryan can argue further, Jungkook smoothly grabs her shot and downs it in one fluid motion. 

“Problem solved,” he says, setting the empty glass back on the table with a decisive clink.

Something about the gesture—casual, protective, maybe a little possessive—makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol or spicy ramen. 

Seth slides another shot toward you. “Here, you need a refill.”

You stare at it, trying to do math through the fuzzy haze of alcohol. 

How many shots have you had? Four? Five? You've lost count, which is probably not a great sign.

But everyone’s looking at you, waiting, and you’ve never been good at backing down from a challenge—especially when you’re already tipsy and your judgment is shot to hell.

You reach for the shot, hesitating only slightly. It burns going down, making you cough and sputter in a way that is definitely not attractive, but whatever. You can handle it.

Probably.

“Another round!” Seth calls. “Funniest pet stories. Go.”

And so the new game continues, stories flying around the table with increasing volume and decreasing coherence.

You lose track of who’s talking, everything blurring into laughter and voices and the clinking of glasses.

“Oh, and remember when Jungkook tried to sneak into that bar with his cousin’s ID?” someone is saying—maybe Ryan? The faces at the end of the table are swimming a bit. “The bouncer took one look at the picture and said, ‘This says you’re 5’4” and Filipino.’”

More laughter, more shots. The room spins again when you tilt your head back to drink.

“Another one for you,” Seth says, sliding a fresh shot in front of you after you laugh at something Hobi said. His hand lingers near yours on the table, fingers almost but not quite touching. “Don’t tell me you’re backing down so soon?"

The challenge in his tone hits some stupid part of your brain—the part that's been responsible for most of your worst decisions. 

So of course you grab the shot.

"Just getting started," you declare, tossing it back with more confidence than coordination. 

Seth grins, clearly pleased by your response. "I like you. You're fun."

"I'm a goddamn delight," you agree solemnly, which makes Taehyung snort into his drink.

The next round comes with someone telling a tale about Jungkook getting locked out of his dorm freshman year wearing only a towel. Hobi recounts the time Jungkook tried to learn breakdancing and sprained both wrists. Jungkook retaliates with something about Taehyung and body paint that has everyone howling and reaching for their drinks.

You keep pace, determined not to be the one who can't hang, even as the room develops an interesting spin and your tongue feels increasingly disconnected from your brain.

"Another one!" Seth declares, sliding a fresh shot in front of you.

You stare at it, hiccupping slightly. The thought of one more makes your stomach perform an acrobatic maneuver. 

"I don't know..."

"Come on," he urges, eyes bright with that specific drunk intensity people get when they're determined to make everyone else as wasted as they are. "Don't quit now."

You hiccup slightly, staring at the shot with growing uncertainty. 

Your stomach churns in warning.

But your pride is a stubborn, stupid stupid thing.

Before you can decide, Jungkook’s arm shoots across the table, grabbing the shot and downing it in one quick movement. His eyes find Seth’s, narrowed and unmistakably warning.

“I think she’s good,” he says, voice deceptively casual.

Seth raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just keeping the game going, man.”

You stare at Jungkook, confused by the intervention. He catches your look and shrugs, a simple ‘what?’ in his expression that somehow makes you frown harder.

The game shifts again, someone suggesting “Never Have I Ever” as a change of pace. Your brain struggles to keep up with the new rules, everything moving a little too fast, a little too loud.

“Never have I ever…” Seth taps his chin thoughtfully, eyes finding yours again. “Been skinny dipping.”

You groan internally. Of course he’d pick something designed to make people admit to being naked. Typical.

Those who have done it drink, including Jungkook, which makes Tessa raise her eyebrows in a way that seems both surprised and intrigued. 

You remain still, glass untouched, which somehow feels like a victory.

The questions continue around the table, growing progressively more suggestive as everyone’s inhibitions lower. 

A fresh shot appears in front of you, courtesy of Ryan, who’s moved on from the game and is now just passing out alcohol indiscriminately.

“Drink up!” he declares. “We’re celebrating!”

You stare at the shot, swaying slightly in your seat. The room feels too hot, too crowded, too everything. Your brain is sending out warning signals, but they’re muffled under layers of alcohol and stubbornness.

Jungkook is watching you, expression unreadable but lips pressed together in what might be concern. 

He knows you shouldn’t drink that. 

You know you shouldn’t drink that. 

But admitting it feels like losing somehow.

So you reach for the glass. Fingers clumsy.

Suddenly it’s gone—snatched away by a hand behind you.

“She doesn’t want any more, broski.”

You whip around so fast the room spins alarmingly, but there’s no mistaking that voice, that attitude, that general aura of ‘fuck around and find out.’

Yeji throws back the shot with 0 problem, slamming the empty glass on the table with a decisive clink. 

Behind her, Irya and Jimin hover like backup, taking in the scene with varying levels of amusement.

“Surprise.” Yeji grins, sharp and protective. “Happy birthday, dickhead,” she adds, nodding at Jungkook. “Mind if we crash the party?”

goal: 600 notes

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[bachshot]

Imagining late nights in the watchtower with Bob...

Sleeping never came easily to you, as a mercenary you had countless amounts of blood on your hands and no one could blame you for it eventually getting to your head. But everything was fine now, right? You had saved New York and now you were an Avenger so everything should be fine, but you never really had that kind of luck.

It was too quiet... Too peaceful, before the watchtower you had lived in a studio flat downtown where there was always some kind of commotion outside but so high up in the tower it was rare you heard anything from the streets so far down, and that left you way too much silence for your thoughts to run wild in.

It was nights like this, restless whilst you tossed and turned endlessly with countless memories of your past mistakes flashing through your mind, where you found yourself padding quietly from your room to the towers kitchen to fix yourself a drink and admire the skyline views of New York. Usually these hours were spent alone, tonight wasn't following that formula.

As the kettle you're boiling softly whistles you hear a creaking in the floorboards behind you causing you to turn around, shoulders hunched with defence but quickly dropping when the culprit is revealed to be Bob. Clearly he's having a similar problem, his hair a mess from endless turning, bags under his eyes, and crumpled pyjamas too baggy for his body making it all the more obvious. On instinct he starts apologising, hands waving in defense in front of him,

"I heard your pacing in the hallway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He explains, a clear nervousness in his tone that you both knew he didn't need to have... He was just like that, and in a sense it was endearing.

You'd explain you couldn't sleep with a shrug, nightmares you'd clarify, as you grab a second mug to accompany the one you'd already gotten out for yourself, it only natural to make Bob a drink too if he was here. Once again his face would be guilt striken, he didn't remember the specifics of what had happened a few weeks ago when the void took over but he'd been told and part of him felt that that was responsible for your recurring nightmares. He looks like he's about to apologise again but you're quick to interrupt him.

"It isn't your fault, I always get them." And if they had been reoccurring more often since that day you still couldn't find it in yourself to blame him, "why are you up?"

Like you he's plagued by similar dreams, earning a sympathetic smile. You hand him the spare mug you'd gotten out, now filled with a warm drink that was meant to be soothing, and as your knuckles brushed in the exchange you couldn't help but notice while a few weeks ago he wouldv'e flinched away from the touch now he allowed it to linger just long enough for it to be noticeable.

It's too late to really go back to bed, but too early to get up and be productive so you make your way to the couch with Bob hot on your tail. Something about it is so natural, past the previous pleasantries you don't have to talk about what's wrong just being in eachothers presence is enough to lift the other. Eventually the conversation turns, and something Bob says has you raising a brow,

"I've always found it easier to sleep with someone else, it just feels secure."

The confession is made without much thought, and when you take a second too long to respond he almost regrets it. But then you look him in the eye and there seems to be a mutual understanding as something calls within you to pull him closer and he readily follows, leaning back on the couch with him over you one arm wrapped losely over his midsection and the other finding it's way to his hair.

Something you'd noticed about Bob is that he tends be to a fidgety guy but as you hold him close he goes still almost melting in to you, you hate to admit but he was right about it feeling more secure than laying alone. Maybe you should talk about what this means but neither of you say anything, it just feels right and for once you don't hate the silence that comes with nights in the watchtower. You don't mean to drift off, but at some point both your movements still as you're taken over by a much more pleasant sleep than you'd previously had.

If the rest of the team finds you the next morning, limbs tangled in a messy pile on the couch, soft snores leaving your mouths as Bob's head burrows into your chest and your chin tucks into his hair, they decide to hold off on the teasing knowing the two of you need the rest... At least until after morning training.

[ara-the-great]

Cw: Allusions to suic*de, depression and self isolation.

Authors note: this is purely written in self interest if you aren't comfortable with it please don't read it. There is nothing gory but just sad.

Sylus had not heard from you in three days now. It might not seem like much to anyone else but knowing the relationship between you two, it was unnatural. It was completely unheard of. Something was wrong. He tried texting, he tried calling, he tried emails, letters, mephisto and even hacking into the security system of your apartment. But to no avail. Mephisto found all your windows locked and curtains drawn shut. The security cameras never showed you leaving your apartment.

Sylus feared the worst. By the afternoon of the third day he was in front of your door. When you didn't open the door for the doorbell or knocking, his desperation took over. With a flick of his wrist he opened the door, his evol swirling around him- as if to shield him from anything he might find in your apartment. A few steps is all it took for his keen ears to pick up on the sound of you crying from inside the house. A few steps is all it took for him to start sprinting towards your broken voice, for his heart to beat like a war drum- ready to lay waste to whoever hurt you.

Sylus might have unintentionally broken the door off the hinges if it wasn't already wide open. When his eyes fell on your crumpled form his heart broke into a million little pieces. There you were curled up in the corner of your bathtub, softly crying. Your eye shot up to him.

You didn't want him to see you like this. Weak, broken and pathetic. You wanted to reach out to him so many times over the last few days, you wanted to hear his voice, you wanted him to find you. But not like this. Not like this.

His step faltered for just a second before he scrambled to your side. "What is it my love, are you hurt? Where? What happened? I'm here. Tell me what happened? Wh-" His voice was strained trying to be soft enough to comfort you and to suppress the vengeance bubbling inside him again whatever or whoever hurt you.

"Sylus- " it was all you could manage before fully breaking down sobbing into his open arms. He picked you up off of the tub and held you close to him. Confusion plagued his mind as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

"Look at me my love, I need to know if you are hurt. Please, y/n- please " his voice cracked as he he held your face tenderly trying to get you to respond.

All you could do was weakly shake your head. And all he could do was hold you closer.

After a while when you had calmed down a bit, you tried to wipe off the tears soaked into his shirt in a desperate attempt to erase the pathetic picture you painted for him. "I'm sorry, I ruined your shirt" you croaked

"Are you really worried about a silly shirt right now kitten?" He said wiping the rest of your tears off of your face. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

You didn't respond. How could you respond. What would you say.

"You know, I was worried that a little kitten got hurt and was hiding away to lick her wounds. It seems like I was right to worry." He said wiping the tears that stained your cheeks.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice broken beyond even your own recognition. You couldn't look at him so you looked at the object previously in your hand that was now laying at the far end of the bathroom

"Wh-" Sylus followed your eyes to see the glinting object on the floor.

A knife.

His blood turned cold as the realisation hit him. You were drowning in much more than you had let on

"Kitten? Why is there a knife here" his normally smooth voice wavered - begging for you to prove his assumptions wrong. But you didn't.

You didn't speak, rather couldn't speak. Silent tears rolled down your delicate features.

"Y/N answer me. Please wh-why?" He choked

"I am tired Sylus. I'm so tired. I wasn't made for living. I wasn't meant for all this. I don't deserve you- I'm sorry" you finally met his eyes wildly looking for some forgiveness and all you could see was him falling apart.

And all he could see was you vanishing from his arms. He softly covered your eyes- which were too wild and restless, too hurt, too hopeless for him to bare. He placed an ever tender kiss on your forehead and he whispered "Rest. I'm here for you. We'll be ok. I'll make sure of it. Life will bow to our whims my love. You can rest and as long as I live, you won't have to worry about what is, has been and will be. I'll always be here, with you and you, with me." Tears silently fell from his eyes, tearing his soul apart to see you drown and it is then he vowed to give you everything you could ever hope for and more.

[evil-fact-checker]

First, the Chomsky quote often referenced (“ChatGPT is high-tech plagiarism; it avoids learning instead of promoting it”) is more of a philosophical jab than a nuanced critique. Chomsky is defining “learning” in a very specific, human-centric, generative grammar kind of way. He’s not wrong that LLMs don’t “learn” like people do—but people don’t always learn like people should, either. If you're Googling every five seconds and never internalizing anything, are you really learning? ChatGPT just mirrors that with a slicker UI.

Now to mossghoul: there’s a deep irony in their post. They're lamenting the loss of writing ability, self-expression, and reading comprehension… in a block of text that reads like an angry screed from someone who hasn’t actually spent time seeing how people use LLMs creatively. They reduce every use case to laziness, when the reality is a lot more complicated.

Sure, some people are using ChatGPT to avoid doing their homework. That’s always going to happen with new tools. But others use it to get unstuck, to explore tone, structure, or clarity, or as a conversation partner for sharpening ideas. And what about people with dyslexia, ADHD, or ESL learners? Or working-class users using AI to bridge education gaps? Not everyone has the luxury of treating writing as a sacred rite of passage.

So yeah, is ChatGPT about avoiding learning? It can be. But so can textbooks, tutors, and even professors, if you approach them as shortcuts instead of scaffolding.

The original tweet was about visual arts. people not wanting to put in the hard labour of becoming an artist

Ah, that gives it even more bite—because visual art, like writing, demands time-consuming skill-building, but the AI shortcut feels more dramatic there. You go from years of life drawing and color theory to typing “sad frog in a surreal neon landscape” and getting instant results. It's no wonder traditional artists feel like something essential is being skipped—or stolen.

Chomsky’s critique (and mossghoul’s spin on it) hits harder in this context. Visual art has long been a domain where labor and suffering are part of the mythos: drawing until your hand cramps, studying anatomy until you hate shoulders, developing a style through endless frustration. The idea that you can bypass all of that with a prompt feels, to some, like cheating—not just practically, but spiritually.

That said, there’s a dangerous elitism brewing in mossghoul’s framing. Not everyone has the time, health, or money to spend 10 years mastering oil painting. And what do we say to the 15-year-old making weird AI collages on their phone and learning composition from it, even if it’s not “real” art?

The deeper problem isn’t AI per se, it’s the cultural demand for constant output and aesthetic polish without time for learning. The real tragedy isn't that people use AI to make art. It’s that people think art is only worth doing if it looks already finished, right away.

I suspect we'll be losing more than we're gaining with you ChatGPT

You’re not alone in feeling that loss might outweigh the gain. There is a real trade-off here, especially when speed and ease start replacing deep engagement. Chomsky’s comment—about AI being a way to avoid learning—is not a luddite’s tantrum. It’s a warning about what happens when tools are used not to amplify human creativity, but to replace the effort that builds it.

[wandanatsgf]

Inappropriate Feelings

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: you have feelings for two married women. When it gets in the way of your work they confront you

Warning this contains: praise kink, mommy kink, daddy kink, bondage, face riding, strap usage, fingering, orgasm control, name calling (just one time)

You shouldn’t feel this way about one married woman, let alone two. You know it’s wrong. The way you feel when their hands ghost over yours. When they brush past you in the hallway or when they talk to you.

You get butterflies in your stomach. Your breathing gets short and it gets hard to think. Being around them is hard, your feelings always get in the way. They cloud your judgement until all you can think about is them kissing you, loving you, touching you.

Your feelings didn’t get in the way of your job, at least it didn’t until a few weeks ago.

You were on a mission with the two women, confined in the small space of the quinjet for hours. You struggled to remain calm around them. Your senses were in overdrive as they walked around the jet, talked to you. If you were naive you would even think they were flirting with you. But they’re married and you know better.

You struggle with your feelings, something you normally never do on a mission, until you finally landed at the job site. There you try to stuff your feelings down, trying to compartmentalize in order to complete the mission.

The three of you walked out of the hanger doors and run into the Hydra base you are meant to infiltrate.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. A simple mission. But nothing is ever easy when you’re an avenger.

You got ambushed, it was all a set up. And because you got distracted by how good Natasha looked while she was fighting a bad guy, you got shot.

It was just a bullet to the leg. Everyone gets shot at some point in your line of work. So to you, it was no big deal. But to Wanda and Natasha it was everything.

You had never seen them so upset and pissed off. You’re not sure if they were pissed with you or with the agent who shot you. You didn’t ask, too scared of the answer.

They spent the next couple of weeks taking care of you. Helping you get around the tower, h getting you anything you need, and eventually helping you with physical therapy.

You appreciated their help but all it did was remind you how they’re not yours. No matter how good being helped and babied by them feels, it’s not going to last.

So when you’re better, you push them away. Which is what you’re doing now. It's been weeks since you were healed and you're now able to do things on your own. The only thing left from the injury is a scar that is here to stay.

It's also been two weeks since you have seen them, touched them, interacted with them. But it's for the best this way, at least until you can get your feelings for them under control.

You're about to go train when Natasha puts herself in your path. You move to turn around, but she reaches out a hand to stop you.

“Come on. We need to talk,” Natasha says. Her tone is serious, her words short and to the point. Her words leave no room for arguments so you follow behind her as she walks the two of you to her room and shuts the door.

Wanda is already in there, sitting on the bed.

"You know what I think I'm needed elsewhere," you say, suddenly nervous about what's about to happen.

"No you don't baby," Wanda says. A red glow encases the door before it fades. You try the door and it's locked.

"Wanda," you whine. "Let me out." Your fists bang on the door and you attempt to pull the handle but you have no luck.

"Not until you tell us what's wrong." Concern is written all over her face. You can see it in her eyes. In the way she furrows her eyebrows.

"I can't," is all you say.

"Then I guess we'll be in here for a while." It's Natasha who speaks this time. Her eyes watch you, moving up and down. She's watching you like she's stalking prey, like she's just waiting to attack. And then finally recognition dawns on her face. She says nothing, just looks at Wanda. You think the two are having some sort of telepathic conversation, but you're not really sure.

"If you don't want to tell us we can always guess," Natasha suggests, breaking her eye contact with Wanda to look at you.

Wanda moves in front of you and situates herself so that her front is pressed against your front. You can feel her nipples through her thin t-shirt. You can smell her vanilla perfume and her strawberry shampoo.

You move to back up but Natasha stops you. She stands behind you, one hand on your waist, pinning you in place. You're trapped between the two women. It's like your wet dream come to life, if only they weren't interrogating you about your pesky little feelings for them.

"Now are you going to be a good girl and tell us the problem?" Natasha asks. Her words send a thrill down your spine and a sticky straight to your core.

You nod your head no, too scared that your voice would betray you.

"It's okay baby. We know what the problem is," Wanda says, her tone sickly sweet. Her lips get close to yours. So close that you can feel her breath ghosting over you. If you wanted to you could count the flecks of brown in her eyes.

“We see how you look at us baby,” Natasha says, her lips ghosting over your exposed neck.

"I can hear your dirty little thoughts about us, thoughts you think no one can hear," Wanda whispers. Her words are like a bucket of ice water that has been dumped on you. They're sobering.

"I-um," you stumble out. Even though you're an avenger, you're stumped on what to say. You can't think of a lie that could save your ass right now.

"It's okay baby. You wanna know a secret? We like you too," Wanda says. Once the words leave her mouth her lips capture yours in a heated kiss. You kiss her back, reciprocating her affection.

Natasha, who is still behind you, peppers kisses up your neck. "You have no idea how much we like you detka."

"I think I'm starting to understand," you say against Wanda's lips.

The two woman move you over to their bed and lay you down.

"Is it okay if we tie you up," the red haired woman asks.

"Please," is all you say.

"I told you she'd like it," Wanda quips.

"Mind reader," you say, rolling your eyes.

"What was that baby?" Wanda pins you to the bed with her hand around your throat.

"Nothing mommy I'm sorry."

"There's my good girl. You're catching on quick, huh?" You nod yes and Wanda removes the hand from your throat and steps back to let's Natasha take over.

Natasha reappears in your line of sight with rope in hand, although you never actually noticed her leaving. She makes quick work of tying your hands to the bedpost, leaving you completely at their mercy.

"How's that feel?" Natasha softly asks you.

"Good."

"If it's too much say red and everything stops okay?"

"Okay daddy."

"Good girl." The praise leaves your core aching, but you're sure the two women will fix that soon.

Natasha is on one side of you while Wanda is on the other. The two women are standing over the bed, just admiring you.

"You're so pretty like this, all spread out for us," Wanda says.

"We just need to get these pesky clothes out of the way," Natasha says, looking at Wanda. Wanda nods in understanding because the next thing you know you're naked, bare and exposed before them. Wanda also removes their own clothes, so you can see all of them. It's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen. And based on the looks on their faces they are feeling the same about you.

As if it is a practiced dance Wanda moves to your head while Natasha moves between your legs, sucking and biting your thighs. She's teasing you, ignoring the place you want her most.

While Nat does that Wanda straddles your face, her legs on either side of you, caging you in.

"Come on baby, stick your tongue out. Let mommy ride your face," Wanda encourages. You stick your tongue out and Wanda lowers herself onto your face, grinding back and forth. Her clit bumps into your nose with each thrust, causing her to moan loudly.

"You making mommy feel good baby?" Natasha asks, still pressing teasing kisses to your thighs. You groan in response, which makes Wanda tremble above you.

While Wanda continues to ride your face, Natasha finally stops her teasing. She spreads your legs and positions herself between them.

"Such a cute little wet pussy," Natasha murmurs before she slides a finger up your center, making you gasp.

"Please daddy," you try to say, but it comes out all garbled from Wanda being on your face.

"It's okay baby I'll give it to you." Natasha slides a finger into you, making you moan out. Wanda's movements stutter above you, you can tell she's getting close the longer she rides you.

"Fuck," Wanda moans out. "You look so pretty when I ride you baby." Wanda's movements speed up as she chases her orgasm while you're chasing your own. Natasha's finger pistons inside you and then she adds another. The pleasure intensifies and you can feel the coil in your stomach getting ready to snap.

"Please let me cum," you try to say, although it comes out mumbled. You're thankful that Natasha can understand you.

"Come on baby. Cum on Daddy's fingers." Her words are all it takes for you to let go. Your body spasms and shakes as your release hits you. Your moans vibrate through Wanda's pussy and also send her over the edge. You swallow everything she gives you, licking your lips when she gets off of you. She walks into their closet while Natasha climbs up your body and leaves a gentle kiss on your lips.

"You were such a good girl for us baby," Natasha says. "But we know you can give us more." The glint in her eyes is intoxicating, it makes you want to give her more orgasms until you're completely spent and putty in their arms.

Wanda walks back out with a strap on around her waist. The scarlet colored strap dangling between her legs. It's bigger than anything you've ever taken, and you say so.

"It's okay baby, I'll make it fit." Wanda's words have you getting wet all over again. Wanda positions herself in between your legs, and slowly pushes into you.

"Shh it's okay detka," Natasha says, comforting you. She kisses you softly, distracting you from the burning stretch of the dildo entering you. Natasha slowly pulls back and brings a hand to your clit, rubbing in circles.

Wanda sits there with the strap still for a few minutes, letting you adjust.

"You can move," you finally say.

Wanda fucks up into you. The strap hits places inside of you that you didn't even know exist. It feels amazing, but you're still not quite satisfied.

"Daddy," you moan out. "Wanna please you." You want, no need, to please Natasha. You want her to cum on your face, feel the same kind of pleasure you're experiencing right now.

"You want daddy to sit on your face sweetheart?" Wanda asks, continuing to fuck you.

"Please," you beg.

"Give our little slut what she wants Natalia." Wanda keeps fucking into you. The strap feels amazing inside of you and you can feel your orgasm building.

Natasha lowers herself on to your face, suffocating you with her pussy. If this is how you were to die you would die happy. You stick your tongue out and lap at her pussy, tasting her. She tastes sweet and you can already tell her pussy is a taste you'll be craving for the rest of your life.

"There you go baby," Natasha moans out when you slip her clit into your mouth and suck on it. "Keep on sucking me just like that."

Wanda continues to fuck into you and soon you're close. Your hips are bucking up to meet hers, your moans become more frequent. You're desperate for release.

"You can cum when Nat cums,"" Wanda tells you, invigorating our efforts to make the redhead cum as fast as possible. You suck on her clit harder and soon you have Natasha seeing stars. She smooshes your head between her thighs, her orgasm overtaking her body. She cums in your mouth and you swallow it all.

Once Natasha stops shaking and gets off of you, Wanda gives you permission to cum. Your pussy clenches around her strap and you scream out. The pleasure is too good, it overtakes your body and leaves you spent. Your body turns to jello as Wanda slowly slips out of you.

Wanda takes off the harness and throws it off to the side. The two women collapse beside you, one on either side. Wanda uses her magic to untie you and the ropes disappear. The only sign that they were ever there are the faint rope marks around your wrists, which Wanda notices.

"Give me your wrists." You give Wanda your wrists and she magics some ointment beside her. She opens the jar and rubs the cream on one wrist while Natasha does the other.

"Anywhere else hurt?" Natasha asks.

"No," you say.

"You sure honey?" Wanda's use of the nickname honey has you melting against her.

"mhm I'm sure."

"Good girl," Natasha says, proud of you for speaking up. Her words have the flame in your core reigniting. The praise goes right to your pussy.

"Daddy," you whine, wanting the two of them to use you again. Wanda notices your excitement and puts a stop to it.

"Natalia!" Wanda exclaims. "Stop teasing her. She needs to rest before we use her again."

"But she likes it when I tease her, don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy," you agree.

"Shhh baby your mommy's right. You need to rest so we can have some fun later okay?" Natasha says, like she wasn't just instigating and teasing you.

"Okay," you pout, not truly happy about this decision, but you know you need the rest. Your muscles ache, your body spent in ways it hasn't been in a while.

The two women choose to ignore your pouting, this time.

"Rest baby. Then we'll make you feel good later," Wanda says. You nod in agreement and situate yourself in between the two women. Natasha wraps an arm around you while Wanda tangles her legs with yours. The quiet, calm atmosphere lulls you to sleep. You fall asleep excited for what's to come, knowing round two will await you when you wake up.

[alliwritespuck]

Afterglow [Will Smith]

𓂁 Summary: After a fight ensues between you and Will, you’re quick to learn that his anger and frustration is driven by a deep-rooted insecurity, and he just wants you to tell him that it’s alright

𓂁 Warnings: cursing, fighting

𓂁 Word count: 1.6k

﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏

The fight was inevitable. And you didn’t like that. Not one bit.

The Sharks, while not in the best position in their division, conference, or the league, a playoff spot was possible. Not by much, but if by some miracle they win the rest of their games and do well, they could clinch a playoff spot. But the chances of that happening were slim to none.

And Will.

Well, Will didn’t know how to handle all of the pressure. The pressure of only having one year of college under his belt and then signing his ELC. The pressure of performing well when he knew he could very easily be sent down to the AHL. The pressure of being compared to players he wasn’t.

Sure, he had been doing well since January, getting at least one point every game. But there was still that lingering, nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

That he wasn’t good enough.

He wasn’t Macklin. He wasn’t William. He didn’t compare. He wasn’t them, and that was his fatal flaw.

At least that was what he thought.

The door to your apartment slammed shut, the harsh sound shaking the walls. The loud thud of the hockey bag landing on the floor. The sound of shoes squeaking against the tile as he took them off. He was eerily quiet. Too quiet. And that was even worse.

“Hey, hun. How was practice?” you ask, standing over the stove, making dinner for the both of you. A simple chipotle chicken pasta, easy to make, but full of protein and carbs for him for his game tomorrow night.

“It was fine,” he says, response short and clipped. That should have been your first clue that something was off. Usually, he was talking your ear off. Mack said this, Toff did that. Delly wants to go golfing on our next break. Sharkie played a prank and we answered a question for a TikTok. You usually couldn’t get him to shut up.

“Are you okay?” you ask, testing the waters. If something was wrong, letting it fester and sit, bottled up in Will’s mind wouldn’t help.

“I’m fine, Y/N. Just drop it,” he says, finally snapping. He doesn’t continue, he just walks out of the kitchen and into the living room. You hear the TV come to life, some show playing, filling the once quiet apartment with the noises of reality TV.

As you finish dinner, you tentatively walk into the living room to tell Will.

“Will. Dinner’s ready,” you say, not saying a word more than necessary.

He walks into the kitchen again, sitting at the fixed dinner plate on the side of the island. You stand across from him, but on the other side of the kitchen, keeping your distance. You didn’t want to fight. And you knew if you ask more questions, continue to press, it would end up in a fight.

“Come sit down,” Will says. His nonchalance and easy-going tone makes you question his earlier mood. The switch was unexpected, and while it confused you, it put you more on edge than you already were.

“I’m okay over here,” you say, voice quiet. You didn’t want to push him, knowing that sometimes that could make it worse, or could make him totally spiral into a fit of anxiety.

“What, are you scared of me now?” he asks, and you’re kind of shocked. Scared, no. Careful of what to say? Yes. You haven’t seen him like this before. And you didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“No. I’m just eating over here,” you say, pleading with whatever, whoever could hear you that he would just simmer down a little.

“Y/N, just come eat over here.”

“I’m fine over here, Will. Just eat.”

“So I’m not good enough for you to sit next to me to eat?” he asks incredulously. Now you feel you might need to say something because you had no idea where that was coming from.

“No, that’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant, right?”

“Will, what’s wrong? I tried just dropping it but something’s wrong. You never act like this,” you say, setting your plate on the counter.

“Nothing is wrong Y/N. I’m just tired from practice. It’s been a long week,” he says, fork clashing against the plate. His anger, while not unusual, was seemingly different than any anger of his you’ve experienced before. You didn’t know how to go forward. What could you say, do, to stop him from whatever was going on with him?

“Bullshit, Will,” you say. You may not want to fight, but if he wanted to, you would.

“What the hell is your problem?” Will’s chair screeches across the floor as he stands up.

“My problem? What the hell is your problem, Will? I have felt like I’m walking on eggshells tonight because you’re in a pissy mood. Now will you tell me what is wrong?”

“No. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh my gosh, Will. You’re being ridiculous,” you say, eyes rolling as you turn back to your food. You’re trying to remain calm, trying to keep your anger under control. Because his anger was one thing, yours was a culmination of a million different things. It was different entirely. And that would not make things any better.

“Well then leave me if you think I’m so ridiculous!”

“It’s my apartment! But that’s not what I want! I want you to tell me what’s wrong!”

“No, you should! Go be with someone who doesn’t play like shit, who isn’t benched, who is a lot better than me!”

“I don’t want someone else, Will,” you try to say, but Will doesn’t want to hear it. He cuts you off before you can say anything more.

“Go be with someone like Mack!”

It clicks. Everything clicks. You’ve seen what people say. What people think. Saying that he isn’t Macklin and should be sent down to the AHL. That he should’ve spent another year at BC. You’ve seen all sorts of comments from nobodies that can barely understand hockey, let alone play in the NHL. You knew these things, had seen them being said. But it never occurred to you that it was affecting Will. And you felt like shit for not noticing just how deep he was in everything.

Despite this, you knew that it wasn’t true. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. You knew Will.

You only want him, and it hurts that he’d think you didn’t.

“I don’t want Mack, I want you!” you shout, and everything goes quiet. Will’s tirade ceases, and you two are left standing there. You could hear a pin drop. It’s silent, neither of you knowing how to proceed next.

The sound of the TV still playing from the living room makes it less awkward. You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling out of place in your own apartment. This was new territory for you.

“What?” Will asks, voice broken, quiet. And your heart breaks. He believes you want someone else. That he isn’t good enough for you. That he treats you like the other guys before him. That he doesn’t deserve you.

“Why would you think I want Mack?” you ask, making hesitant steps toward him.

“Everyone says I’m not Mack.”

“But you’re not. You’re Will. And that’s just as good. That’s better than Mack. I want you, Will. And I want you for you. I don’t want someone else,” you say, finally coming to stand in front of him.

“You mean it?”

“I do. I don’t care if you’re a good hockey player or not. It’s a bonus, for sure, but that’s not why I love you. Your performance in a game doesn't determine the amount of love I have for you. The wins and losses don’t determine how much I love you. I won’t love you any less for failing, Will. You’re human. I’d be more surprised if you didn’t fail. I love you for the way you treat me, the man that you are. I don’t care what everyone else says because I get to see the Will that they don’t. The sweet, shy, absolutely loving William Smith that I get to call mine,” you say, arms looping over his shoulders. “I love you, and no hockey game, no social media critic, no other man is ever going to change that.”

As you finish your monologue, you see the tear land on his cheek. And as quickly as it fell, you wipe it off with your thumb just as quickly.

“I love you too. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. Please don’t yell at me, and please don’t shut me out. I’m here for everything. The ups, the downs, and the everywhere in betweens. If something’s bothering you, I want you to trust me enough to talk to me.”

“I do trust you. I don’t know what happened. I just got in my head, thinking that everyone was right. I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, Will,” you say again, moving your hands to cup his cheeks, wiping any lingering stray tears.

You look him in the eyes, his all bloodshot but swimming with a hopeful glint. You pull him closer, placing your lips softly on his. The unspoken words flow into the kiss, ones that were too vulnerable to ever be spoken, saying everything he couldn’t bare himself to speak.

You felt the desperation, the longing need, the insecurities Will held onto for what seemed to be far too long. He kissed you like his life depended on it.

And when you pull away, his eyes look a little brighter, and a small smile starts to form on his face.

“Are we okay? Tell me we're alright,” he asks, pleads quietly.

“Yeah, baby, we’re good,” you say. And you were.

It may take a while for him to be completely willing to talk to you when he feels down, but you would remain here, by his side, waiting for when he finally could.

﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏

alliwritespuck © 2025

Do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own

[bjlipss]

— bug, part iii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. also there is a use of “girlfriend” in here so ig fem reader should be mentioned.

part ii <- part iii -> part iv

he finds you again by accident.

or maybe not. maybe he took the long way on purpose. maybe he passed the vending machines on his way to nowhere in particular just to see if you’d be there again. he tells himself he doesn’t know.

but you’re there. sitting on the floor with your back to the wall, knees pulled to your chest, hood up. it’s raining today. the hem of your jeans is damp. there’s a closed umbrella beside you and a half-eaten rice ball in your hand. you look half asleep, half haunted. a little like a ghost, a little like a kid left behind at a train station.

he stands there for a second. quiet.

you look up like you heard his thoughts, not his footsteps.

“…hi.”

it’s soft. a little hoarse. like you haven’t used your voice much today.

he shifts. runs a hand through his hair. clicks his tongue.

then wordlessly slides down the wall to sit next to you.

you don’t say anything for a while. neither does he.

the rain patters against the windows. people pass by outside with umbrellas and hunched shoulders. inside, it’s warm. still. slightly buzzing from the vending machine beside you.

you nudge the rice ball toward him.

“you can have the rest. i ate the good side.”

he squints at it. “…the good side?”

“the side with more filling.”

he snorts. then drags a hand down his face like he hates himself for laughing. he doesn’t take the rice ball, but he lets it sit there between you. just in case.

you lean your head back against the wall. sigh softly through your nose.

“you ever feel like you’re the only real person in a world full of cardboard cutouts?”

he glances at you. frowns. “…what?”

you don’t look at him. just blink up at the ceiling. “like everyone’s just going through the motions. classes, clubs, whatever. and you’re just… weird. wrong. floating.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

his knee knocks into yours gently when he shifts. not on purpose. probably.

“…no,” he says eventually. “i usually just think people are stupid.”

you smile, slow and cracked and real. “same thing.”

your eyes drift shut after that. you stop talking. stop moving. a couple of minutes later, your breathing evens out and your head falls forward, glasses threatening to slide down the slope of your nose and hair framing your face.

he watches you out of the corner of his eye like you might disappear if he looks too directly.

but you don’t.

you just stay. strange and quiet. steady.

and for some reason he does, too.

—

it happens on thursday.

campus is loud today—midterms are eating everyone alive, and there’s that frantic, twitchy energy in the air that only college kids and caffeinated panic can produce. sukuna’s cutting through the quad with his usual scowl, earbuds in, hoodie up, bag slung low over one shoulder like he might swing it at someone if they breathe wrong.

you fall into step beside him like you always do now.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t greet you, either. just shoves one earbud deeper in and keeps walking like he didn’t notice you materialize beside him with your juice box and some kind of fuzzy creature drawn in black ink across your sleeve.

you’re quiet today, too. not humming. not talking.

just there. like always.

but people are noticing now.

a group of girls near the psych building glance over. one of them giggles.

“is that sukuna? holy shit, he has a girlfriend?”

sukuna hears it even with his earbuds in.

his jaw flexes. not because he cares what they think—he doesn’t. he never has—but because the word sticks in his head like gum. girlfriend.

he glances sideways at you.

you’re squinting at a leaf on the ground. then up at the sky. like you’re thinking about something profound. or nothing at all.

he waits for you to say something. to react.

you don’t. you never do.

and that’s what makes it worse somehow—how unaffected you are. how unbothered you seem by the fact that you, the weird vending machine cryptid with banana rituals and penjamin the pen, are being seen next to him.

you don’t look embarrassed. you don’t ask if you should walk somewhere else. you just keep sipping your juice and watching the clouds.

“you know people think you’re, like…” he mutters suddenly, “my problem or something.”

you blink at him. “am i?”

he scowls. “you tell me. you started this.”

you consider this. “you’re right.”

you reach into your bag and pull out a folded paper star. it’s red. a little crumpled.

“this one’s for stress. i read that if you keep it in your pocket, it absorbs negativity.”

he stares at it. then at you.

then at the girls still watching from across the quad.

he takes the star without saying anything and shoves it deep into his pocket.

the girls stop giggling after that.

you beam, unbothered and unchanged, and start telling him about a dream you had last night involving a talking vending machine and a raccoon in a top hat.

he listens. wants to be annoyed but finds himself smirking anyway.

[slaaneshsleftovergender]

*cracks knuckles* 

I have not been failing to beat the furry allegations for years, just to ignore this call to action now

I'm basing my takes on…vibes, mostly. Also there's no set system. Each primarch gets personal evaluation on Culture, Cannon, my view of what Big E would consider “sick as hell”, and just…them, ya know?

-

Lion - Obvious one*, very large and sturdy, leaning heavily towards a Dungeons and Dragons Leonin design. 

Fulgrim - My knee jerk reaction is snake, Slaneesh saw n made it happen, but I was torn because honestly when I think of Fulgrim, I think about his hair. Solution, hood like a cobra. I would love to draw Fulgrim as a Medusa now

Perturabo - Look, this all started with the Ultramoorines, and (possibly) bad news, Petty Turbo is also Bull. Same sacred symbolism situation between cultures, plus shit temper, and stubbornness. 

Khan - Okay, I'm not gonna say horse. He likes horses, I don't think he is one. I did think the basic bitch answer Cheetah, but that does not have enough flavor. He's a Hawk. That man is a hawk. 

Leman Russ* - Wolf. I really want to appologize for saying something so obvious.

Dorn - Gonna be real, knee jerk reaction is his Fursona is human. “Humans are animals” mfer.

For real though, wasp. The kind that makes nests in your rafters - builders, short temper, color scheme - I'd hear the argument for Bees as well. 

Konrad Curze - Now, a lot of people associate night lords as bats, AS THEY SHOULD. It is the morally correct thing to do. However, HOWEVER, might I interest you in cat boy Curze? 

Listen, feral bastard, actual night vision not echo location, one of the most efficient hunters in the animal kingdom. Also, someone here on Tumblr dot com said "Konrad with a cat mom" and I will never not wish that in my deepest soul. 

> Also people, normal ass people, with like cat ears and tail, do not count as furries....but like *holds up Catrad* 

Sanguinius - His alluded me. He's got wings, there's been jokes about him being a goose....but he wears a leopards pelt, maybe could take some licenser with that?

Until it hit me.

It's griffin. He likes big cats, has wings, and I want more mythical creature primarchs. Plus, they got an air of nobility while, also, kinda being a mutant in their own way. 

Ferrus - Armadillo Lizard. Look, imma be real, I don't know much about him. However, he's gotta be a reptile to match Fulgrim, and the metal arms translates to armor scales in my mind. I think the evolution of the scales would please him too, cause the Iron Fists got that whole weakness of the flesh thing going on. I think. Also cute as fuck

Angron - I was thinking maybe something that balanced before n after nails, but honestly, Wild Boar. Angry bastards. Also associated with gods of War :3

Guilliman - is locked in, Bull/Cow. I've heard Ultramoorines started due to either the symbolism, or Guilliman wanting to be a farmer. Either is fantastic….but if I COULD change it…Owl just because of Minerva? Felt worth saying lol.

Mortarion - I was thinking Spider for some reason, but I think ultimately it's another one where the chaos god called it. Also, I can see him really liking Moths in general.

Magnus - I've seen him likened to a jackal, and I do really like that. And it would be fun to draw. However, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think Ibis fits better. Ibis was associated with Thoth - God of Wisdom, so big point there, but, once more, chaos god involvement = birb. 

Horus - Capybara 

Okay, okay. So Horus obviously likes wolves, but bro is domesticated honestly. He's really good with people, he charms them. He is a dog. 

Lorgar - Ram!!! He's got that biblical sheep symbolism energy. And horns. And I can't think of anything else lol 

Vulkan* - Dragon. Big, happy dragon.

Corvus Corax* - Raven.

Alpharius and Omegon - "Well Hydra Dominatus, they would be some kind of Scaley-" WRONG! FOX BOIIIZZZZZ

Bonus: 

Jago Sevatarion's is shark.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfdbtvK/

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Bucky Helping You Through A Panic Attack

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Descriptions of a panic attack, hyperventilating, crying, hurt/comfort, Bucky breaks into your home, reckless driving, fluffy

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/N:) Went to go see Thunderbolts yesterday and now I'm back on a Bucky kick! I have so many fic ideas for so many characters that it's not even funny! The plot bunnies have been eating my brain so I hope all my readers keep an eye out as I start churning out some new stuff! Enjoy my brain rot for hot dudes! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Bucky gunned the engine, the bike taking off with a roar down the street. His phone buzzing in his pocket as he pushed the bike harder. One text is all it took and he was flying trying to get to your side. You didn't ask for much and you didn't like involving him in your what you called meager problems. But that one worded text 'help' was all that it took. If you reached out it was bad and Bucky wasn't going to wait around until you decided that you wanted to push your problems back down and call him off.

Skidding into your driveway while the brakes screamed at the sudden stop. Bucky quickly kicked the stand down and ripped the key from the ignition before running to your front door. He wiggled the knob but whatever was happening with you, made you forget to unlock the door. He rattled it harder calling out your name and waited a few seconds. With no answer Bucky made the decision and with his metal arm ripped the knob and deadbolt off your door. He called for you again and this time he heard you say his name weakly. Throwing the motorcycle keys and the locks on the floor he raced into your bedroom. His heart shattered at your pale complexion as you rocked back and forth on your mattress.

"What's wrong," Bucky frantically looked you over before pulling out his phone about to call for an ambulance.

You were panting, trying to fill your lungs as you hyperventilated. A crushing weight settling in your chest as your heart raced. Anxiety had been bothering you all day but for some reason when you had finally gotten home it had blown into a full panic attack. Normally you could breathe through them and walk yourself through. But you had been pushing feelings aside, tamping them down and it had caught up with you. They finally erupted and you couldn't calm yourself down. So you reached out to Bucky, your rock in this world. He understood what it felt like more than anyone. You had met him so long ago and you both had became friends so quickly. But when your relationship grew, he opened up and it made you realize just how much that he carried upon his shoulders. A bloody past and regrets as deep as the sea. You had been there for him and now he wanted to be here for you.

"Panic," you huffed. Fingernails biting into your arms as you continued to rock. "Attack. Can't. Calm. Myself."

"It's okay," Bucky knelt down grabbing your hands. He didn't pull them from your arms but he worked your fingers to loosen so you couldn't scratch yourself. "I know it's hard and it seems irrational but don't stomp them down. Scream. Cry. But you have to start breathing normal. Can you do that for me?"

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes.

"I've," you huffed again. "Tried. Can't. Stop."

Bucky nodded before going ahead and loosening one of your hands. He placed it over his chest and his dark eyes stared right into you.

"Breathe with me. Deeply. Slowly."

He started taking in a deep breath and you tried your best to copy in. It was a stuttering breath and it left you in a whoosh as Bucky breathed out slowly. But he wouldn't waver, keeping a firm grip on your wrist. Once again he breathed in deeply and you followed. This time a little bit easier. You could hold the breath a little bit longer but you breathed out faster than Bucky again.

"In and out," he ordered. Never wavering and keeping calm. "You can do this. Slowly with me."

Bucky breathed again and leaned in his nose touching yours. This time you were able to sync with him. You breathed deeply along with him and holding a few seconds before you both breathed back out. Your breath mingling with Bucky's as his puff of air brushed against your lips. You shivered but your rocking had begun to calm and even the weight that was crushing your lungs was beginning to ease. You shivered a little but still Bucky held on. He refused to let go until he knew for certain that you were ready or you told him in all honesty that you were okay.

"One more time," he coached and you listened.

Finally you were breathing better on your own and all the tremors in your body had stopped. Bucky rubbed your arms, trying to will comfort into you before he felt comfortable to leave you just for a moment. He gave you a gentle squeeze before leaving your bedroom and going into the kitchen. Filling a glass with a bit of ice and water he made his way back to you. Taking a seat on the bed beside you, he offered the water and you took it gratefully. You downed it quickly before sitting the glass on your bedside table. You sucked in a breath through your nose and started to cry.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed.

Bucky stiffened but it took him only moments before he was embracing you. Shushing you as more emotions began to slam into your mind. Battering your walls as you clung tightly to his leather jacket.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Bucky argued. "We all have days like this. There's nothing wrong with you and you don't have to apologize to me."

"But I made you come all the way here just because I couldn't control my emotions."

Bucky sighed rolling his eyes but he only held you tighter. "It takes five minutes to get here and like two if you break all sorts of vehicular laws and make yourself a public menace."

You snorted before sniffing to keep your nose from running onto Bucky.

"I don't think you could ever be a public menace," you squeezed him back as the storm within you started to calm.

"You would be surprised. Don't break into any government records on me, you'll lose faith in me."

You finally were able to pull away and look straight at Bucky for the first time since he arrived, "Never."

Bucky awkwardly patted your back and rubbing soothing circles as you drank a little bit more water and grabbed some tissues.

"I'm terrible at this thing called life," you groaned.

"I'm over one hundred years old and I'm still terrible at life," Bucky sighed making you giggle.

"I don't know," you wiped at your tear stained cheeks and eyes before blowing your nose with a tissue, "I think you're doing a pretty good job."

"Thanks and I think you're doing just fine yourself," Bucky tugged you back into his arms. Holding you close and giving you a tight squeeze. "Also I think I owe you a new lock for your door. Cause I kind of broke the one to get in."

"Who knew James Buchanan Barnes was a Dr. Phil and a handyman," you teased while drawing patterns in the dark worn leather of Bucky's jacket.

"Don't tell anyone I have a Winter Solider image to uphold," Bucky stood back up and offered up his hand. You took it as he gave your hand a squeeze.

You had hated texting Bucky, you knew he was a busy man but you were so thankful that you did. He had come racing to your rescue and you knew you could rely on him. Bucky stopped walking when he noticed that you weren't following him and the sight of the adoration in your eyes towards him had him sucking in a breath. He never thought he could earn any normal moments like these. Where he could be loved and wanted. Life had been hard and he wanted to make yours a little bit easier. If it meant he had to speed across town to get to you because of a panic attack so be it. From aliens to rampant emotions he wanted to be there for you no matter what. And now that one thing was fixed at the moment he wanted to focus on a certain doorknob that he needed to replace. But he wanted to do normal life things with you by his side forever.

[mintyys-blog]

You should make up your own little drabbles for prisoner mark since people seem to like him least cause hes not conventionally attractive 💔⛓️⛓️⛓️

ok this man is so fine, maybe I’m a little freak but damn!

PRISONER MARK | dabbles

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: smut, pregnancy

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work, whether AI-generated or otherwise, without my permission. © @mintyys-blog

It happens in the hallway.

You’re strutting past the living room in one of his old, worn-down shirts—thin, soft, practically see-through in the light, and just long enough to almost count as decent. You know he likes this one. It still smells like him.

You didn’t expect him home yet.

But then that voice cuts through the air—low, rough, and sharp like a blade dragged across gravel.

“Where do you think you’re going… dressed like that?”

You stop mid-step, spine tingling. That voice—hoarse and frayed from years of screams—always does something to you. Makes you ache in places only he gets to touch.

You glance over your shoulder with a slow, knowing smile. “Just getting some water,” you say sweetly, deliberately bending just enough to show the swell of your ass beneath the hem. “Why? You jealous of the fridge?”

He’s in front of you before you can blink. One hand wraps around your hip, yanking you flush against him. The other slides under the shirt, dragging up your thigh with a heat that makes your breath hitch.

“You think I haven’t seen the way you squirm when I talk like this?” he rasps in your ear, voice like dark silk pulled taut. “You get wet the second I growl.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers trace the edge of your panties, teasing, claiming. “Maybe I like being hunted,” you whisper, voice breathy, coy.

He chuckles, low and predatory, lips grazing your jaw. “Then stop running.”

And just before he lifts you off the ground, before your back hits the wall, you moan softly as he growls: “Then let me give you something to moan for.”

Your back hits the wall with a soft thud, his body caging yours in, heat radiating off him like fire barely restrained. His hand is still under your shirt, sliding up—past the curve of your hip, the swell of your waist, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast, slow and teasing.

You arch into him, shameless, lips parted, eyes locked on his—those molten, dangerous eyes that always see too much. “You gonna keep talking, or are you gonna do something about it?”

A twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile—he doesn’t smile often. It’s darker than that. Something feral. Possessive.

“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he growls, voice scraping along your skin like rough velvet. His mouth trails along your jaw, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath catch. “You know what I’ve done to men who look at you the wrong way… and you’re out here flaunting yourself like this?”

“Maybe I want to see what you’ll do,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding against the hard length pressed to your core. “Maybe I like when you get mean.”

He groans, deep and guttural, hips rolling forward until you’re pinned between him and the wall, heat flaring between your thighs. “Careful,” he murmurs, sliding your shirt up inch by inch, baring you to him. “Keep talking like that, I’ll ruin you right here.”

“Then ruin me,” you challenge, licking your lips as you lean in and bite his lower lip. “You’ve been gone all day. I missed you.”

That’s all it takes. The last thread of restraint snaps.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the nearby table and shoving the clutter aside with one sweep of his arm. You gasp as he lays you out like an offering, spreading your legs with a growl.

“I should fuck you until you forget your own name,” he says, kneeling between your thighs, voice a raspy promise. “Mark you so deep they’ll smell me on you.”

Your back arches, heart pounding. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He doesn’t wait.

His mouth claims you first, tongue hot and skilled, dragging obscene sounds from your lips until your thighs shake and you’re gasping his name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

And when he finally rises, eyes wild, lips slick, he leans over you—his scarred body towering, his breath ragged—and growls in that voice you crave: “Mine.”

Sex with Prisoner Mark is never just physical—it’s a war cry, a claim, a silent vow. He doesn’t make love in the way people expect; he devours, he takes, and when he gives, it’s overwhelming. He treats your body like the only thing that ever truly belonged to him, and in his touch there’s a desperation—a lingering panic that one day you’ll vanish like everything else he’s ever cared about.

He starts off rough. Always. It’s in his nature. His hands are heavy, gripping hard enough to bruise, and when his mouth finds your neck, he bites down like he needs to taste how real you are. He likes it messy, raw, grounding. The sounds you make—the gasp when he growls in your ear, the moan when his hips slam into yours—those are sacred to him. Proof you’re alive. Proof you’re his.

But beneath all that dominance is something far more intense: reverence. It slips through when his hand cradles the back of your head as he thrusts into you, or when he kisses the inside of your wrist after binding them. He never says it aloud—he doesn’t know how—but the way he moves inside you, the way he stares at you like you’re something holy, it’s louder than any words.

He has a voice like smoke and static—wrecked from pain, deepened by rage—and when he uses it, low and right against your skin, it sends you over the edge. He knows it, too. That’s why he’ll say the filthiest things, slow and deliberate, rasping out every dirty promise until your legs shake. He loves when you beg, not because he needs control, but because it reminds him that you want him. That you’re still choosing him, even when he’s unrelenting and monstrous.

Mark’s favorite moments are right after you’ve come undone—when you’re dazed and panting beneath him, and he’s still buried deep inside you. That’s when his touches soften. That’s when he presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in like he’s terrified you’ll disappear. He may fuck you like a man possessed, but he holds you after like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.



To him, sex is a claim, a promise, and sometimes—quietly, in the soft afterglow—it’s the only way he knows how to say “I love you.”

Being in a relationship with Prisoner Mark is like loving a loaded gun that only ever aims to protect you. There’s an ever-present tension in him, a coil wound too tight under the surface—aggression, trauma, and the fury of someone who survived hell by becoming something harder than steel. But somehow, with you, there’s softness. A version of him only you get to see. It scares him more than anything else he’s ever faced.

At first, he’s skeptical. Paranoid, even. He’s used to betrayal, manipulation, people pretending to care until they get what they want—or until someone stronger threatens them. When you stay… when you don’t flinch at the scars, the nightmares, the bone-deep anger in his voice… it shakes him. You’re not just some distraction. You’re real. And that terrifies him.

Mark doesn’t know how to love gently. He’s possessive, sometimes dangerously so. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s ready to end it—no threats, no warnings. You’re his. He says it like a fact, not a fantasy. Like gravity, inevitable and absolute. But it’s not because he wants to own you. It’s because, deep down, he doesn’t think he deserves to have you—and he’ll burn the world down before he lets anyone take you away.

He struggles with vulnerability. He won’t say “I love you” often, and when he does, it’s rough and quiet, like it physically hurts to let it out. But he shows it in the way he shields you in a fight without hesitation, in the food he learns to make because he noticed you smiled the last time he cooked, in the way he memorizes your breathing patterns at night just in case something’s wrong.

Physical affection is intense with him. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, hugs you too tightly sometimes, runs his hand over your back like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every breath. And when he’s gone for too long—on a mission, or just away clearing his head—he comes back like a man starved, devouring you with his eyes, hands, mouth, as if time without you was unbearable.

He watches you sleep. Not in a creepy way, but like he can’t believe you’re real. Sometimes he gets up in the middle of the night just to sit at the edge of the bed, stare at you, and calm the storm still thrumming under his skin. You’re the only thing that quiets it.

Prisoner Mark isn’t vain, but he knows what he looks like. His body’s a battlefield—scarred, brutal, solid muscle wrapped in a history no one dares to ask about. There are burns that never fully healed, jagged slashes from blades that weren’t meant to cut a Viltrumite, and a few places where the skin doesn’t quite feel like it used to. He’s not ashamed of it. But he doesn’t expect you to admire it, either.

Which is why it always catches him off guard when you do.

Like when you come up behind him while he’s fixing something—shirtless, arms flexing, back covered in old wounds—and you wrap your arms around his waist. Or worse, when you jump on him with zero warning, legs locking around his hips, giggling in his ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Baby, you’re built like a god,” you murmur, hands boldly sliding down his abs, then further. “Still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He barks out a surprised laugh, low and raw, the kind that makes his chest shake. He grabs your wrists, pulling them away just before you can grope anything too distracting. “You’re trouble,” he says, voice warm and rasping with amusement, even as he tosses you over his shoulder with playful ease.

You squeal, kicking lightly while hanging upside down. “You love it.”

“I do,” he admits, giving your ass a sharp smack. “You just better be ready to deal with what you start.”

Later, when you’re tracing your fingers along the ridges of a scar that cuts across his ribs, he watches you quietly—eyes shadowed but soft. “You still call me handsome,” he murmurs, like he doesn’t understand it.

“Because you are,” you say simply, pressing a kiss just above his heart. “You always have been.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at you like he’s memorizing you again. Then he grabs your hand, presses it flat to his chest where the beating is hardest.

“I don’t need the compliments,” he says, voice low. “But when they come from you? I believe them.”

And the next time you jump him—hands roaming, lips nipping, giggling like a menace—he doesn’t stop you. He laughs again, full and rare, and lets you feel every inch of him. Because if there’s one person allowed to touch the ruins of him like they’re gold, it’s you.

The sun’s barely up, golden light slanting through the windows when you spot him in the kitchen—shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, steam curling from the coffee mug in his hand. His back is to you, and your grin curves slow and wicked as you take in the wide stretch of muscle across his shoulders, the sharp grooves of his waist tapering down, and the deep, pale scars that map him like ancient runes.

You creep up without a sound. Then pounce. He grunts when you jump on him, arms wrapping around his torso, legs clinging tight around his hips. “Morning, handsome,” you purr into his ear, hands sliding down his abs without a hint of shame. “God, you’re carved. You could crush me and I’d say thank you.”

Mark lets out a rough, startled laugh, setting his mug down with a clink before catching your wrists and yanking you off him.

“Trouble,” he mutters, flipping you with practiced ease onto the counter behind him. “Absolute menace.”

You bite your lip, eyes shining. “You saying you don’t like it when I feel you up like a horny housewife?”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “I’m saying you’re playing a dangerous game.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, dragging him closer until you feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against you. “Good. I like when I lose.”

He growls low in his throat, hands sliding up under your sleep shirt, palms dragging over your thighs, hips, waist—claiming. “One of these days I’m not gonna let you walk after you pull this shit.”

“Who said I want to walk?” you whisper, lips brushing his.

That’s all it takes.

He crushes his mouth to yours, teeth grazing, tongue demanding. One hand grips the back of your neck while the other pushes your shirt up over your chest. He doesn’t stop to undress you properly—he never does. He needs you now. Raw. Real. His fingers find you slick and ready, and his mouth is all over you—neck, chest, the soft underside of your jaw.

“You want handsome?” he growls as he slams into you with one hard thrust that has your head falling back. “I’ll show you what handsome does to a woman like you.”

And he does—relentless, rough, whispering filth in that ruined voice that you feel everywhere. He fucks you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the planet. Every thrust says mine. Every bite, every bruise, every gasped-out moan from his lips is a chain around your soul.

But after—after your legs are jelly and your heartbeat finally slows—he softens. He always does, just for you.

You’re still perched on the counter, his body leaning into yours, your legs loose around him as his hand strokes slow circles on your thigh.

You’re tracing one of the scars across his collarbone, your fingertips gentle, your eyes distant with thought.

“You know,” you murmur, “I don’t call you handsome because I want to flatter you.”

His brow furrows. “No?”

You shake your head. “I call you that because when I look at you… all I see is strength. Survival. Fire. That’s what’s beautiful to me.”

He stares at you, quiet. Too quiet.

Then he leans in, brushing his lips over your temple, over your cheek, until he reaches your mouth. The kiss he gives you isn’t hungry. It’s slow, reverent. It lingers.

“You touch me like I’m not broken,” he whispers. “And when you say things like that… I almost believe I’m whole.”

You cup his face, your thumb running over the sharp edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to be whole. You just have to be here. With me.”

And he is.

In every scar, in every laugh you drag out of him, in every breathless moan and soft kiss after. He is yours.

It’s late—one of those quiet, restless nights where the moon spills cold silver light across the floor and the house is hushed but for the occasional creak of old wood. You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of Mark’s shirts that stretches tight over your belly now. It used to hang loose. Everything used to feel easier.

You brace yourself against the counter, eyes squeezed shut as a dull ache pulses through your lower back. Your hands press into the edge, trying to stretch, to breathe through the pressure sitting heavy on your spine. The baby’s gotten bigger lately. You feel it in every movement, every shift, every slow minute that drags by with gravity working overtime against you.

You don’t hear him approach. You never do—not unless he wants to be heard.

But suddenly, he’s there. Warmth at your back. Big hands settling on your hips, grounding you.

You feel his breath before he speaks. Low and quiet, rough as it always is. “You should’ve woken me.”

You shake your head, keeping your eyes closed. “Didn’t wanna bother you. I just… needed a minute.”

His hands move then—slow, careful—sliding beneath the swell of your belly. He lifts it gently, taking on the weight that’s been pressing into your spine, holding it with such reverence it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

The relief is instant. You groan softly, head tipping back against his shoulder. “God… Mark…”

He says nothing, just keeps holding you like that, breathing steady behind you, letting you lean into him while he takes the burden you’ve been silently carrying.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs finally, voice like gravel, like smoke. “I know I can’t carry it all, but let me carry this.”

Your fingers slide over his scarred forearms, gripping them gently. “You already carry so much,” you whisper. “But you always make me feel so light.”

His arms wrap around you fully now, belly and all, his body curving around yours like armor.

“I’d carry the world if it meant you didn’t have to hurt,” he says, lips brushing your temple. “You and the baby… you’re the only good thing I’ve got left. I’ll never let you break. Not while I’m breathing.”

And in that moment, it doesn’t matter that he’s feared, scarred, ruined by the world. Because here, holding you like you’re sacred, like you’re life itself— He’s nothing but yours

[originalscreenname]

OK first of all you cant expect most Israeli people who just lived through tragedy to say "our best course of action was to be slaughtered" the wounds are still fresh and so is the anger so I say that "response been about right" is an improvement over "should've been more severe And people dont support a genocide that doesnt exist, while what is happening in Gaza is absolutely horrible a genocide it is not. That's like saying the allies commited genocide against nazi german civilians because 350,000 people died. They support military action against Hamas to eliminate an active threat against the Israeli population. I dont think that many of them support careless murder of innocent civilians of which there are plenty in Gaza, who Hamas actively uses as human shields or at the very least they dont do anything to actually protect said Palestinians from Israeli attacks. And dont forget that there are many hostages still being held in Gaza which is another reason for the military attacks, though I, like many other Israelis, just want a hostage exchange deal to go through and have our people back home. And yes, I know that the Israeli government is also at fault here, I hate our government and how they behave and want them replaced You may understand this but I think that is terribly wrong, a person should be judged individually by their own merit regardless of where they come from and not harassed or stereotyped based on their nationality Personally I want the whole thing to be over and I want peace between Israel and Palestine, many Israelis do and quite a few Palestinians want that too but we are both stuck under shitty governments and people spreading misinformation about both countries doesnt help

can someone tell anti zionists that indigeneity does not infact have an expiration date

[cherrygirlfriend]

DRUNK & SEEING STARS 🌌

⟡ pairing: aaron x bau!reader

⟡ summary: everyone knows that sleeping with your boss is a bad idea, but what’s even worse is drunkenly confronting said boss for avoiding you.

⟡ warnings / tags: angst & comfort, allusions to sexual activities but no smut, MDNI!

⟡ author's notes: first hotch fic let’s gooo!!

if you were sober, maybe you'd have cared about the fact that this was the worst idea in the world, but the buzz from the bottles of wine you had split between three of your co-workers during a weekly girls' night didn't care even though it knew that this could very well lead to you being terminated. you simply stared out of the window at the passing, hazy streetlights in the back of a cab that smelled of booze even more than you did.

it all started a month ago, the events of that night also coincidentally caused by having one too many drinks. what started as casual drinks with your team after a case turned into stumbling into your apartment, your lips pressed against your unit chief's as the two of you couldn't get out of your clothes and into your bed faster.

what started with you falling asleep naked in his arms ended up with you waking up to a cold bed, empty of anything except for a note consisting of two words.

i'm sorry.

and the next time you saw him, hotch acted just like he always did, like the two of you had slept together, to the point that you could almost be convinced it didn't happen, except it was as if his touch had been engraved into your flesh, as if his fingerprints left permanent marks in their wake, as if you could still feel his lips press against your inner thigh, as if you could still feel him inside of you...

when the taxi pulled up in front of hotch's building, you handed the driver the money you owed, before heading inside. the entire elevator ride to his floor, your head kept screaming at you to stop, to turn around, that you were being an idiot. but it was as if your body had a mind of its own, because your feet led you to his door, and your hand balled into a fist and knocked without even realizing what you were doing.

the door was pulled open, and you were faced with a familiar figure; it was one in the morning, but he was still wearing his suit, having ditched the jacket and tie, the top buttons undone. the black-haired man wasn't one to show much emotion, but you could see his eyebrow twitch slightly, making it clear that he was as confused about why you were here as you were.

"agent, what-"

but before aaron could finish his sentence, your legs had moved on their own, had made you press yourself into him as you let out soft sniffles. the man let out a small sigh, wrapping his arms around you as quiet, warm tears began to run down your cheeks. one of his hands went to the back of your head, holding you closer as he stroked your hair.

"come on." he mumbled quietly, leading you over to the couch. aaron sat you down, one of his arms still around you, pulling back slightly to look at your face, one of his calloused hands reaching out to wipe away the tears, "what's going on?" he asked in his gruff voice, trying to say it as gently as possible.

"is there something wrong with me...?" you asked quietly, avoiding looking at his face, into the eyes that you remember gazing into that night. he lifted your head up by your chin.

"there's nothing wrong with you."

"then why did you just leave?" you countered, making aaron let out a sigh, bringing his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. "it has nothing to do with there being something wrong with you, and everything with you working for me."

you swallow the bitter taste in your throat, "do you regret it...?"

"i... i don't know." aaron said, tugging you close to him as another tear ran down your cheek, but this time the man didn't wipe it away. "it's complicated. i don't regret it, but i don't think it should've happened."

"i don't regret it." you sniffled, wiping the tear away yourself, "and i'm glad it happened. why do you keep acting like it didn't happen?"

"because... if i don't, then i'd have to admit to myself that i wish it happened again."

you don't think you'd ever been as stunned as you were when those words left his lips, your head spinning at his words, "you... you wish it happened again?"

"i wish it could happen again." aaron sighed again, leaning his head back on the sofa cushion, staring up at the ceiling, "but it can't. we both know it can't."

you curl into his chest and closed your eyes, letting out a small hum. you agreed. it should've never happened in the first place. but you couldn't help but want it to happen again, and again. you listened to the steady beat of aaron's heart, your mascara tears surely leaving stains in his button-down, his thumb stroking your back in a soothing motion, pressing a kiss on top of your head. and the last thing you heard before you fell asleep were three little words that would mean nothing to anyone else but everything to you.

"i'm not sorry..."