#I CAN’T WAIT THIS LONG FOR THE NEXT CHAP | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamechrissy · 17 days ago

Text

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Law Professor Satoru Gojo x Student Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is like 29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. In this chap- oral sex (fem recieving) titty fucking, light slapping, breed kink, basically them being cute!

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ this chap- 7k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right? That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU

Chapter 13 ♡ ♡ Masterlist ♡ ♡ Playlist

Chapter 14

Right inside the little courthouse, standing in your wedding dress, with Maki holding your hand, you look at your soon-to-be husband Satoru Gojo. There's a hung over Suguru standing next to him, Nanami and Yuta are clearly hung over in the bench seats as well, but you still focus on that gorgeous man directly across from this room, in his white tuxedo.

Satoru Gojo.

Professor Gojo.

Or, as you know him, Toru.

You’ve come a long way from ‘Professor Dickhead’ and ‘Miss Brat’ haven’t you both? From a bathroom at a club to an undying love, from aching for his touch in your seat to him being constantly all over you. From tentatively becoming boyfriend and girlfriend to being insane and getting married in the span of a few months, it feels so surreal.

You should be worried it’s too soon, worried about this or that, but all you can do is be so damn happy. You just feel euphoric, so enamored of him, by how much you adore him, love him, need him, and are unable to imagine your life without him. Can’t imagine yourself before him.

His eyes catch yours then, and he’s looking up and down your body carefully, before he gets the biggest grin on that handsome face, and instead of waiting for you to walk up to him… well, this is Satoru Gojo we’re talking about… he decides instead to run to you and pick you up in the center of the room, spinning you in the air, making you giggle breathlessly.

“Toru, stop it! Put me down!” Nanami and Suguru are chuckling, though tired, hungover chuckles, and Maki is just smiling at you two.

“You look so fucking gorgeous . I’m such a lucky man.” He eases you down, hands firm on your waist now, and you look up into his sparkling blue eyes, your lips trembling, arms wrapping around his neck.

“You’re insane too, you know. You’re supposed to wait up there for me!” He sighs, stepping back and looking at you again.

“God, this body in this dress…” He kisses you then, lips pressing on yours. You’re clinging to him, sighing into his lips, as his big hands take over your waist, cinched in the pretty wedding gown. “So beautiful.”

“And you’re the most handsome man in the world.” You whisper, looking up at him then, he’s exhaling, blue swirling gaze drinking in your face, as you drink him in, how perfect he looks, how he is your everything.

“Of course I am.”

“You’re also the most insane.”

He smirks now, grabbing your hand and yanking you along to where the justice of the peace is smiling, watching the two of you. “You knew that already.”

“You already kissed the bride!?” Suguru says, hiccuping then, you click your tongue at him.

“Too many shots, Suguru?”

“Yeah, yeah. Your fault.” He grumbles, you just giggle.

“How are you so bright eyed?” Nanami demands, leaning his head back on the bench with a grimace.

“Because I only had like two drinks, silly boys.”

“Silly boys! I’m older than you.” Suguru says.

“Hmm, still silly.” You stick your tongue out, and Suguru chuckles.

“You have your hands full.”

“Oh, I will.” Satoru says, wolfish grin, wiggling his brows, all of the room is laughing now, even Yuta, before he goes back to looking sick.

“Water.” He pleads, Maki hands him a bottle, he chugs and sighs. “I’ll be fine, promise!”

“Ahem, is everyone ready?” Says the young man in front of you now, amusedly watching you all, you nod shyly, taking Satoru’s hands now, your own are getting all sweaty with your nerves.

You’re doing this.

You’re marrying your Professor.

You’re marrying the best lawyer there is.

You’re marrying Satoru Gojo, the love of your life.

It’s like a dream, but it’s your reality, this goofy, silly, gorgeous man, that since you met him, you just cannot stand to live without. How could you ever spend even a day without being in his arms, without looking into the most beautiful set of eyes that existed? Without your favorite person, who has become so dear so fucking fast, as if he’d always been yours?

“Should I bother to say the typical stuff?” He asks Satoru then, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Keep it to the basics. We have our own things to say to each other.” The man nods then, looking at you now.

“Then would you like to go first, with what you’ve prepared?” You nod, taking several breaths to prepare. “Perfect, so we’re gathered here to celebrate the union of…” He says your name, making your heart race faster. “And Satoru Gojo. They’ve both got… well, a lot to say as I’m sure you all know.”

They all laugh, then eyes are on you. You look up into his eyes again, snowy lashes lowered, his face a little more serious, big hands clutching yours tightly, then you know, Satoru is just a little bit nervous too. The most calm and collected lawyer, who can laugh right in the face of any danger, is a nervous thing just like you, something about it melts you even more.

“Satoru, we met… well, in a nightclub. It’s not the most romantic place, is it? But somehow, it was romantic, when I bumped right into you, spilling my drink all over your very nice shirt.”

“It was four hundred dollars.”

“Stupid.” He snorts and you playfully shove him. “Let me finish!”

“Always.” You blush at his tone, then take another breath.

“It was romantic regardless, because it’s you, and you make any place in this world something beautiful, with your presence, with your light that just shines from you, with your beautiful soul.”

“Fuck off, brat.” He whispers, eyes glimmering with tears. You smile, blinking back your own emotions.

“You never let me finish my sentences, you’re so annoying, you’re childish, and you’re basically a hyper kid on chocolate.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true.” Suguru agrees.

“You… Satoru Gojo…” You hold his hand, bringing it to your lips, brushing them along the backside of his knuckles. “You fight for what you believe in, you are so authentically yourself, no matter what. You hold true to your convictions, and never waver. You’re so amazing, just as amazing as you like to say you are.” He smiles just a bit.

“I sure am.”

The room rolls its eyes. “You are also the love of my life. Truly, with you, it’s like I finally have a home. I meant what I said that day, the day I confessed my true feelings, the love in my heart, that I will always be by your side. You never have to worry, or wonder, I’ll be right here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” You say, shaking as you do, overwhelmed by so much emotion.

Now you’re wiping his tears, he huffs, swiping them with the back of his hand, as are your friends, even the usually more stoic Nanami is swiping at his eyes. You feel your own tears falling, as you pour your heart out for him, knowing it’s safe to do so, knowing that.

“You accept everything about me, without question, you challenge me, make me think, make me do more, do better . You are the best man I’ve ever met, and I know you’ll be the best husband. And one day, I hope, an amazing father.” Satoru sighs now, resting his head on yours. “I love you Satoru Gojo, and I will love you, until the day I take my last breath, and even after.”

“Shit.” Is all he manages, and you giggle a bit, as now he’s kissing your salty tears, cupping your face.

“I’m ready for this, it’s insane, it’s probably too fast, but our relationship has been fast, intense, a hell of a ride. One I’m never getting off. I love you.” He kisses you again, your hands gently gripping his wrists as he keeps kissing you.

“You know you’re supposed to wait?” The man says, but even he has tears in his eyes.

“She’s a brat, she loves to make everyone cry like her.” Satoru says, and you glare, shoving at him.

“Now, it’s your turn Mr. Gojo. Can you top that?” He teases, clearly he is one of Satoru’s friends. Satoru grins now, nodding, swiping back that silky white hair, and looking down at you, eyes still glassy.

“Miss Brat.” You roll your eyes, giggling at him, looking at Maki for a moment who’s snuggled with Yuta, tissues smushed on her face with Yuta’s hand, not a sight you thought you’d see. Then you look back at your love.

“Professor.” You tease.

“I knew you were trouble the moment you ran into me, you were so clumsy you know.” You glare, and everyone laughs. “You didn’t belong there, something about you just seemed… different. When I first saw your pretty face, it was like a punch to the gut, like I couldn’t breathe for a moment.”

Your turn to be a ball of emotions, you are choking on a sob as he speaks. “You really felt that way?” You ask softly, he nods then.

“Fuck yeah I did, I played it off cool, or tried to, but you tilted my world on its axis, I knew you were so special, without even knowing you. Then, when we reconnected… god I couldn’t get you out of my head. I thought to myself, if I don’t have this girl, I can’t even go on, I need her in my life in some way. I couldn’t get the feel of your lips on mine out of my mind, like a brand on my mouth.”

His every word intoxicates you, touches you so deeply, how can you keep falling ever deeper into him? “Satoru…”

“I love you so much, I can’t even begin to really explain it, me… a man who can never shut the fuck up.” You smile, but it’s getting hard to see now, the tears flowing down your cheeks now. “But you left me speechless, you left me breathless, but then… now, I need you to breathe.”

“Like oxygen.” You whisper back, and he nods eagerly, cupping your face gently once more, thumb brushing your lips.

“Like oxygen. I need you, there is nothing without you, you are my world, and I will do everything to take care of you, every day, no matter what.”

“Oh Satoru…” You’re barely hanging on, in this little court house with a beautiful dress, and a gorgeous soon to be husband, saying things you once only heard in your dreams from him. Now, he’s yours.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness, and in health, for as long as you live?” He asks now, and you nod, taking the beautiful ring that Maki runs up to you, Satoru’s eyes widen at it.

“Of course I do.”

“The ring! It’s badass as fuck.” He says, earning more laughter in the emotional little room, you slide the gleaming jeweled ring on his finger, your own hands shaking so much that he has to hold them again.

“And do you, Satoru Gojo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and health, for as long as you live?”

“Oh, even after I’m gone, I’ll always love you.” He says, and fuck... You hope your waterproof makeup is doing its job, because you’re officially a wreck, when he pulls out a gold band that matches your ring, delicate with little diamonds all around it. Your heart swells when he kisses your hand once more.

“I now pronounce you both, husband and wife. I mean… you already kissed a ton, but, kiss again.” Satoru grins, as do you, then he’s got you lifted in his arms, spinning you in a circle, you cling to him like you did the night you met, when he’d first kissed you.

Your lips meld together, salty tears mixed with sweet breath, he finally eases you to stand, and your friends are clapping for you all, but your eyes are locked on his, as if he is the only thing in this room, in this world. You choke on your cry, sniffling now, but Gojo’s emotional too, as he strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers, tilting your chin up.

“I love you, Miss Brat. Wife. Bratty wife.” You giggle again, leaning up and pulling him down by his jacket, kissing him over and over.

“And I love you, husband. My Toru.” It takes damn near everything to separate the two of you, friends dragging you apart just to get to reception (basically a big ass party you all are throwing) when all you can think of is fucking your husband .

Six Months Later

“All done for the day, Professor Geto.” You are interning with Professor Geto, you finally are done with your first year of law school today, the end of a very insane year. Though the school allowed you and Satoru to have class together, they took you out of any running of his internship, for favoritism reasons.

Little did they know Gojo was still hard on you in class, and pushed you to your limits, he certainly wouldn’t have given you that internship if you had not earned it, but you were lucky enough that Suguru chose you to do his. It was brutal, long hours, but you learned so much with him, it worked out perfectly.

The bonus was that Satoru, Nanami and Suguru all worked close together, and Maki and Yuta interned with Nanami, so you all saw each other constantly. The six of you were extremely close, even though you all had your own lives, especially you and Satoru now more so than ever.

Suguru smiles at you now, lips quirking up. standing and taking the thick binders you have for him. You’re the last one there in the office on his team, as you were trying to get all your work caught up to finish the semester, so that you can help Satoru with his next big case. You yawn again, and he pats your head, tilting his own as he studies you.

“You work too hard, you know. In your condition.”

“Hush!” You shut his mouth with your palm, looking around, and he’s chuckling against it. “What if someone was here!”

“They’re all gonna know next year, anyway, you know you’re gonna have a big ass kid with those Gojo genes.”

“Ugh, you’re telling me! Can you tell!?” You turn now, and he hums to himself, smirking now. “Oh tell me, already Suguru!”

“Not by your tummy, no… but…” He wiggles his brows, and you scowl.

“Oh you perv!” You cover your breasts with your jacket, fuming as you realize it’s not buttoning, only to hear more of him snorting in laughter. “Shit, you’re right.”

“I’m sure Satoru’s loving that.” You roll your eyes with a smile.

“You know he won’t leave me alone for two minutes-”

“Shnookums!” Satoru pounces into the room now, leaping to you and bringing you into his strong arms, kissing your neck over and over.

“You all are going to do great, promise.” He says to you both, and you melt, as does Satoru, grinning big at his best friend.

“And you’re gonna be the best Uncle, Sugu.” He says, before grabbing your breasts, and you smack his hands, as Suguru blushes, looking up at the ceiling of his office.

“Jesus, Satoru.”

“Toru, really!?”

“What they’re so comforting to squeeze. Fine…” He lets your breasts go, pressing on your tummy instead. “I just love touching you, been all day I just missed my girl…”

“Go on now, good luck with him, love.” Suguru says, waving you all off as Satoru drags you out of the building, you can barely keep up with him as you dart to the car waiting for you, Ijichi is there to greet you both, smiling tiredly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo.” You give him a peck on the cheek and a smile, making him blush, before Satoru slides in next to you in the back of the car.

“You can’t just grab my tits like that in front of Sugu!” You huff, shoving at him, and he’s pouting, like he’s an innocent baby, and not a fiend.

“I’m sorry, but they’re so pretty! I just wanna love on you.” He nuzzles your throat now, pulling you to him, and you sigh as you sink into his embrace, inhaling that scent you love so much, body reacting quickly.

“Fine, you get away with it this time. Oh gosh, Toru, everyone will know I’m pregnant next semester. I’ll be a whale.”

“Will not! Don’t be a meanie to yourself. Gonna be beautiful.” He has you on his lap now, sideways, rubbing your tummy gently. You blink back emotions now, and he notices, kissing your lips softly. “Promise you will be.”

“I’m so excited, but so nervous! Do you think I’ll keep up with these studies with a baby?” Your hand joins his over your tummy now, bringing a sense of peace that washes over you, every time you’re with him.

“You are a nerdy brat, you can do it.”

“Hey!” He just chuckles, cradling you in his arms.

“You can do some at home studies for a while, maybe come back to campus in a bit, you know we can just bring the baby to law school. Get it in early.”

“A little scholar, huh?”

“Mmm… it’ll be a challenge, but you got it. We got it, you’re not alone in this, ever. I promise.” Satoru kisses you deeper now, still gently rubbing your tummy, you’re only three months along so not much has changed yet, but you both know, and can tell the smallest changes.

“I know you’ll help me no matter what, we are a team.” You caress his face softly as you speak.

“Damn right, also you’re young, you don’t have to knock out law school so fast, it’s not like you can’t come with me and learn any time. And I’ll be there to teach you, my favorite student.”

“Teach me, hmm?” You tease now, he grins.

“Yes, Miss Brat. You still have a lot to learn, you know. You’re a good student but you have some discipline issues.”

“Me!?”

“Mmm.” Satoru is stumbling with you as you kiss fervently, inside your home now, lips barely leaving yours, only to breathe, you all kick off your shoes, you toss your purse, he tosses his wallet, you yank off his tie, he shoves off your blazer.

You’re slowly just leaving a trail of clothes and items everywhere, until you’re in your bra and panties, tits overflowing already, aching and tender. Satoru’s full lips part, thin nostrils flaring. He’s unbuttoning his dress shirt, shaking his head slightly, you’re biting your lower lip, eyes lowering shyly, the whirl of the giant fans overhead cooling overheated skin.

“ Fuck… these tits, lemme see em, baby girl.” He pleads, and you unsnap your bra then, exhaling at how good it feels when they’re released, they bounce as they do, and Satoru’s on you in a flash, picking you up and sitting you right on the kitchen table, squishing them in his hands.

“Mmm, be easy, please.” You whisper, as his thumbs brush over your nipples, making you tremble at how sensitive they are already. He exhales, eyes locking as he presses you back gently, one hand sliding up your chest, the other playing with your breast easier now.

“They’re so sexy. Imagine when they’re all full of milk.”

“Toru!”

“What, it'll be hot.” You’re a blushing mess, and he chuckles, kissing down one of your breasts, to your nipple, sucking a peak in his hot mouth. “Mmm.”

“Mmm!” You both moan as he sucks on one, the pressure between your thighs building, the tension coiling in your lower tummy. “Toru…”

“Let me take my time, eager little brat.” He murmurs, now kissing your other breasts, tongue swirling around an areola, before he sucks the nipple in his mouth, making you wetter. You’re grinding your hips on the table, biting your lip, aching for more and more.

“Please…”

“Impatient, hmm?” Satoru’s big hands now slide up your thighs, smirking so sexy as he studies you. “Oh, those thighs love to shift for me, rub together, don’t they?”

“F-fuck off.” He glares then, yanking you off the table, turning you and unzipping your pencil skirt, you laugh breathless when it gets stuck then. “I’m getting all big already.”

“Shut up, you are not. I can’t wait till you do though.” He unzips you finally, revealing your lacy panties, he presses you down now, your breasts on the table, he’s kissing a trail between your shoulder blades.

“Mmm… Toru please touch me.”

“Not yet, patience, remember?”

“Fuck that- ow!” He smacks your backside, making you tremble at how good it feels, eyes fluttering shut when he grabs your ass now instead.

“You know I will still be your professor next semester, expect me to take it easy on you?” He smacks your other cheek now, and your thighs are trembling.

“Well, yes! I’m pregnant with your little baby lawyer!”

“No exceptions or favoritism in my class.” He says, acting so stern, you can’t take how sexy his voice is.

“But you’ll beat my ass, Professor!?”

“It looks so pretty with my hand prints.” He smacks each cheek again, stinging and burning, his free hand now sliding up your spine, entangling in your hair and pulling, you’re soaking wet against your panties, craving his touch. “Aw, you’re so, so eager, aren’t you baby?”

“You’re a tease, Satoru Gojo.” You whine out, earning that sexy chuckle. “I’m hornier more than ever.”

“I know, I love it. And so wet… oh fuck .” He’s rubbing you over your panties now, which are hopelessly soaked, wet spot soaking through. “You’re that wet?”

“Please, Toru…”

“Begging?”

“Mmhmm.” Is all you manage, normally you’d both play, a push and pull, tug of war of sorts, but you are needy for him, you’re clenching around nothing, wanting his fingers, his cock, wanting him .

“So easy for me?”

“Just for you.” You whisper, then he moans, and you hear his belt buckle, you arch up, earning another laugh.

“That easy!?”

“Put it in, please.” You are begging, pleading, arching your ass up, wanting more and more of his touch.

“Fuck…” Satoru is not one to just do that, he loves foreplay, but when he finds your dripping wet folds, pulling your panties to the side and rubbing, he’s moaning. “You’re stupid wet.”

“I know, I know. Please, just- ah!” Satoru slips his tip in barely, groaning as he feels you, you’re dripping all the way down to the kitchen tile, it’s so bad. You look back at him and watch his face contorted in pleasure, then your eyes roll back as his tip hits your clit, rubbing. “Mmm!”

Your clit is twitching under his tip, rubbing on it, and you’re just wetter and wetter, Satoru slides his cock up once more, coated in your slick now, pressing into your entrance, and you’re so ready you fall apart from his tip stretching you. Satoru is groaning, gripping your hips tightly, you’re nearly sobbing it’s so fucking good, when he presses further.

“Toru!”

“Oh my god… you’re so tight.” He whispers, sinking inside fully, so much pressure, you’re cumming then and there, and he stays there for a moment, unmoving, tense behind you. “You cummin already?”

“Fuck it, yes. More, please. Please .”

“Needy little brat.” He’s fucking into you now, tip dragging on your g spot, making you stupid, one hand back to pulling your hair, your thighs he spreads, to slide in with a long stroke once more, filling you so full.

You scream out now, hands gripping on the table as if it will tether you, but you’re falling apart under his strokes, getting wetter and wetter, walls clenching tightly around his cock. His balls are smacking your clit over and over, your ass is jiggling with every thrust of his pelvis, an ass he smacks again, stinging as the cool air above hits it, making you tighten around him more in response.

“Feel so fuckin good, baby girl. So good…” He huffs, slamming in and rolling his hips, tip grinding on your cervix, pulling you more until he has an entire arm wrapped around you.

“You feel s’good Toru…” You whisper back, then he’s flipping you, exhaling and kissing you deeply, you’re shivering when he sits you back on the table, sliding his cock back in, cupping your face with a free hand.

“Need to see your pretty face.” He whispers, and you shudder as he’s sinking deeper, clutching to his bare chest, kissing his lips softly, biting his plush lower lip, before your head falls back, and he’s kissing down your neck.

“Love you. Love you.” You whisper it over and over, now Satoru’s leaning over you, rolling his hips just the right way, until you unravel again for him, he presses every button, pulls every switch, he knows every bit of you. He has known you, the night you even met.

“I love you baby.” He whispers back, your lips slam together, tongues so messy, teeth clicking against each other as you feel his muscles ripple under your hands, as you feel his cock thickening. “Got you pregnant, hmm?”

“You did, you d-did…”

“Making you a mommy.” He murmurs, making your thighs tense around his hips, hands clutching in his silky white hair, desperately kissing him now.

“You did. You - ah - did!” You’re closer to the edge as your husband’s thickening now, throbbing in you, and your eyes lock, those glittering blue eyes that you could drown in for eternity, and never want to take a breath.

“Gonna fill you so good… f-fuck…” Satoru’s crying out right with you, his cock is pumping those ropes of cum inside your velvety walls, filling you so deep. You’re both drinking each others’ cries, moans, whispers, as you both come down, and you’re still feeling the aftershocks, pulsing his cum out down between you.

“Mmm… Toru…” You’re cock drunk, eyes fuzzy as he comes into focus, Satoru is stroking your hair, sighing, pecking little kisses all over your face now. “How is it even better than before?”

“I don’t know, it is though… you never could take me like that. You’re so slutty pregnant.”

“Slutty!” You glare, and he just laughs again, the sound filling you.

“Mmm, still just as tight, just sluttier.”

“Oh you- ah!” He pulls out of you then, picking you up carefully, bridal style, even after half a year of getting married, he likes to carry you to the room like this often, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

Marriage has been not without some trials, sometimes you both got on each other’s nerves, you had little debates and spats. Satoru was messy as fuck, and you didn’t like leaving a mess for the cleaners, he thinks that’s the job anyway, and just wants you to focus on school, or fucking him in every position possible. Or just wants you to look pretty when he gets home.

You are independent and strong willed, he knows you’ll never be his little housewife, and you know he really doesn’t want that, but he jokes all the time. He always pays for everything, and spoils you, buying too much jewelry, too many clothes, and any new gadget he thinks is cool, sometimes you have to take things back you don’t need, and earn his puppy dog eyes.

There are beautiful moments of being married to him, too, like having him constantly be there with you, hold you in his arms at night, and wake up to see his precious face next to yours. And the most beautiful moment so far, was when you all found out you’re having a baby, although you were on birth control, you both were surprised but then both of you had been elated.

You love the little peanut already, that’s what you all call them, they’re too tiny to know a sex yet, and they looked just like a peanut on that ultrasound. Satoru and you had it framed and sitting right on one of the dressers in what would soon be the baby’s nursery, you all have set up some of it already. It’s too early for all that truly, but Satoru got too excited.

And that’s the best part about Satoru, his excitement, his infectious happiness, in the face of anything, though he always shows you how he really feels, when he’s genuinely so happy, it radiates. He makes even the worst days so much better, massaging your back, buying your favorite cappuccino (decaf now, Satoru is reading too much about babies) or anything to comfort you.

And you comfort your husband, rubbing his neck after a long day, running him a bath and washing that silky white hair, bringing him his favorite drink after work. You both constantly read each other, it’s like you can feel what the other is feeling, a constant connection, a beautiful one.

“What are you thinking about, Miss Brat?” Satoru asks softly, he’s sat you on the edge of the sink, starting a hot shower, already steaming in the bathroom, the warm fog filling your lungs.

“How happy we are. How good this is. It feels like…”

“Perfect.”

“That.” He is between your thighs, cupping your face, your head falls back to look up at him. “It’s so perfect, us together.”

“And there are going to be three of us soon.” He murmurs, making you smile, looking down at your tummy, it’s a little poochy, perhaps only you and Satoru notice for now.

“A baby Gojo.” You whisper, smiling then, and he’s hugging you tightly, burying his face against your neck. “I want to be the best parent ever.”

“You will be.”

“And they’ll be… rich already. Holy shit.” You murmur, Satoru’s family had sent a cool five million for the baby, to have when they’re eighteen through a trust. Satoru had scoffed at it, but you did appreciate the gesture, of course Satoru had plenty of money, but your future baby Gojo could do a lot with that to start with.

“They did one decent thing, it’s still fuck them.”

You laugh then. “I’m still team fuck them.”

“Now… let’s shower, we have all weekend to relax.”

“You mean study your case!”

“Well that is relaxing for us.” You step into the hot shower now, head falling back when Satoru begins to suds up your hair, eyes shutting in bliss.

“I so love your hair washing skills.”

“Of course you do. I love washing your hair, little shnookums.” He kisses your forehead after he rinses the fragrant shampoo out, then it’s your turn, but of course he’s so tall he has to sit on the bench seat in the shower for you to wash his hair. “I’m so glad I fucking built this at the right height.”

He’s burying his face between your breasts now, making you giggle, as the hot water cascades down your back, easing stiff muscles. “I was curious that day when you told me to stand there.”

“Had to be at titty height.” You rinse his hair out now, before he stands, turning and sitting you on the new bench, a pretty black granite he’d recently installed. “I also had it made for…”

You hold your breasts together, and he slips his cock between them, already hard again, you whine out at it, at the sexy, lewd sight of his pretty pink tip pressing up between your lush breasts. “Fuck… that’s so…”

“Hot.” He finishes, whimpering out now, and you nod, looking up at him, holding your breasts together for him as he pumps, his free hand caressing your face. “God you’re so pretty .”

“You’re pretty.” He smirks down at you, now you’re spitting down his cock, making him lose it, he kneels once more, spreading your thighs right on the bench. “Aww look, she missed me.”

“You just fucked- ah!” You scream out when he’s lapping at your pussy, your head is resting back on the tile walls, his mouth devouring your pussy, blue eyes looking up at you, lashes dripping wet, water falling all over his perfect skin. “Toru…”

“Shh, let me and her talk. Rude.” You laugh but it’s cut off as he sucks your engorged little clit into his mouth, humming on it then, you’re gushing arousal all over his mouth, legs shaking violently, panting as it overtakes you. His hands glide down and up your slick thighs, fingers pressing in as he works you.

Your pussy is drooling down his mouth, he’s groaning as he keeps lapping at you, your screams echoing in the shower now. You’re starting to come down, so sensitive just his breath makes you jerk, and he relishes in it, in making you so weak and losing all your senses except how good he feels, how your entire body is just humming for him.

“You’re so yummy, Miss Brat.” Satoru slides back up, sitting on the bench with you now, pulling you into his lap. You look at him, grinding against his length. “Look at you, such a mess.”

“You make me that way.” Your words damn near slur, the heat of the shower, the orgasms, Satoru himself sapping it all from you.

“I love this bench.” You smile just a bit at his enthusiasm.

“You’re so cute- ah!”

“Cute, huh?” He’s shoved his full eight plus inches so deep in your pussy, grabbing your ass and slamming you down his length, stuffing you so full.

“Toru, fuck !”

“Not so cute, now. Aww, poor baby can’t take dick?” You glare, earning his grin, positioning your knees on either side, clinging to his back with your fingers, slipping and sliding, and lifting yourself, breasts pressed against his chest.

“Give it to me, Professor.” You whisper, only for him to pick you up then, pressing your back against the shower wall, fucking into you so deep it hurts, but it hurts so fucking good you’re falling apart in his grasp.

“Bratty, slutty student.” He huffs, shoving up, your thighs clinging to his slender hips as he pumps into your eager little pussy.

“I’m a… good student… fuck, fuck, fuck!” He bites the fuck out of your neck now, with those sharp teeth, you gasp as your pussy is clenching around him.

“A good girl, are you?”

“Yes!” You breathe out, between pumps.

“Mmm… you feel good, but I don’t know. Should I let you cum?”

“Please!”

“Since you asked so sweetly.” He pulls back his head, shoving his cock inside you, watching you, studying you, your eyes flutter shut as you’re about to cum once more, but he grabs your chin. “No, look at me.”

So you do, you struggle to keep those eyes open, looking at him as you’re cumming even harder than before, so hard you’re crying, tears slipping down your cheeks. “T-Toru…”

“Aw, you crying?” You just nod weakly, moaning out, and then he’s pulsing inside you. “So fucking pretty crying for me, too.”

He busts inside you now, groaning as he finds his release, clinging to your body, crying out, filling you up so full. “Yes, yes… fill me.”

“Two loads already, so slutty.”

“You… you’re slutty.” You manage, both of you laughing then, he eases you down on wobbly legs now, holding you by your hips.

“And you’re weak.”

“Fuck you!”

“I just did.”

“Sure did.” You’re grinning, and you both laugh, before you kiss each other, and clean up further.

Later on, you both are having dinner, while Satoru has his next case sprawled all over the table. You both snuggle up next to each other on the couch as he spreads files, pictures, and notes out on the table, nibbling on take out together, the white boxes and little red symbols and chopsticks, no dishes for you all. You look over the glossy eight by ten photos as you nibble on your rice.

“She was my age, fuck.” You say softly, as you look at the picture now, she was a pretty young woman, a young environmental activist as well.

“The worst part, she had a kid.” You sigh, putting the food down, and touching your tummy without thinking, and Satoru wraps an arm around you, protective and strong. “I know, baby.”

“Fuck… so the suspect is this guy?” You tap a nice looking guy with glasses.

“Mmm, yeah but I don’t know if I should buy it.”

“You think he’s a scapegoat?”

“Sure the fuck do.”

“So who are the suspects?”

“Him, him and him. They’re all super corporate, rich as fuck, whereas the guy I’m representing is Pro Bono, so he’s…”

“Not wealthy at all.” You finish.

“Exactly, they wanna pin this shit on him. This is something on the higher ups, too.” The distaste is apparent in Satoru’s voice. You snuggle to him now, and he brushes your hair back, kissing your forehead gently.

“We’ll help them, if he’s wrongly convicted, you’re the best defense attorney there fucking is.”

“And you’re going to be the best prosecutor there is.”

“Imagine us going against each other!?” He laughs then, shaking his head at you. “Bet I’d kick your ass.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“Whatever!” You both pour over more of the documents together, it’s been a while since you could help with a case with school, but the break will be so lovely, so much time spent with your husband. “I’d win.”

“You wish, little brat. Damn, our baby is gonna be a menace.” He says, smirking, and you grin so big, images flitting through your mind.

“The most competitive lawyer ever!”

You both laugh then, eventually setting aside the evidence, Satoru is putting on a movie, but you’re not paying much attention, starting to feel sleep tug at you. You’re yawning, and Satoru is stroking your waist gently, you snuggle even deeper against his hard body, letting the warmth sink in.

“You’re always sleepy now. Can’t make it past a trailer.” He teases, you sigh, hiding another yawn.

“It’s the baby I think. It’s like sucking all my energy.”

“Gonna be a six foot tall kid.”

“Let’s hope they take after the shorter side of this family!” His shoulders shake with his laughter.

“Ugh, family though.” He says softly.

“Family.” You repeat lovingly, cupping his face and looking up at him. “Let us get some rest, we can study more tomorrow.”

“You wanna cuddle, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Anything for you, Shnookums.” Satoru carries you to the bed. “Spoiled, lazy little thing.”

“You spoil me on purpose.” You snatch his best pillow with a wicked grin, earning his narrowed eyes.

“I’ll tickle you to death.”

“No! Fine, we’ll share then, meanie.” He snuggles behind you, long limbs taking over much of the bed, even as big as it is, wrapping around you tightly. You feel such peace, so comfortable, you can barely hold your eyes open for another minute.

“You’re like a little old lady, always crashing out. Drooling.” He says then, stroking your tummy gently, he’s been doing it since he found out. Your hand joins over his own, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“I’m too comfy, your fault.”

“Is it now?”

“Admit your guilt.” He’s grinning, you’re trying to keep your eyes open, but Satoru feels too heavenly.

“I admit no fault, brat.”

“Mmm… contempt of my court.”

“You’re silly. Go to sleep.” You both smile against each other’s lips, and you fall fast asleep, dreaming about this baby on the way, dreaming of Satoru holding a baby in his arms, and the love in your heart, like you’ll burst.

Satoru studies the smile on your sleepy face, wondering just what it is his pretty student thinks of, before burying his face against your neck, and falling fast asleep, where he feels so damn good, with you in his arms.

Taglist: @jjknanamin @chiyokoemilia @marie-is-in-the-dark @seeing-stars-alt @maskedpacific @aldebrana @toffeebrat @antisocialinlw @trishiepo0 @jkslaugh97 @makingtimemine

Final Chapter

#gojo x reader #jjk smut #satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x you #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x oc #lawyer gojo #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo #jujustu kaisen

150 notes · View notes

morgluvsconnie · 5 months ago

Text

BOUND, c.springer

chap.11 | fluff, comfort, short ending | chap.10

self defense.

they didn’t justify it as murder, they justified it as self defense.

just as you prayed they would, the videos of it proved everything they needed to prove. what reiner did to you proved everything it needed to prove. but that only shortened his sentence.

sitting down at the chair and tapping the table with your fresh set, sitting for a minute before they finally brought connie out. his uniform tied around his waist while his muscle shirt showed.

for some reason he looked different every time you visited.

the whole year he’d been locked up, you saw him every time you could.

his hair was slightly fluffier, somehow faded on the sides, probably some trick he learned. he looked stronger, boredom had him working out, but in your eyes he was still the same old connie.

you both grabbed the phone and held it to your ears, as you looked at him, a smile creeped onto your lips, him immediately mirroring your actions.

“hey babyyy.” he dragged along, realizing you were happier than the first few times you visited. “hey connie.” you smiled and looked down. connie smacked his lips and leaned back a little, the phone still to his ear. “don’t act like you ain’t happy to see me.”

you couldn’t lie, all you wanted to do was go home and go to sleep so the next day could come quicker.

so he could be standing in front of you without the uniform and the cuffs, without holding a dumb phone to his ear.

“you got yo nails did? lemme see.” he said, looking at your hand. you looked up and held your hand up. “i put your initial right there, and your favorite color, ‘cus i love you.” you teased, making connie looked to the side out of embarrassment.

“i love you more. i got sum to show you tho.” he mumbled. you tilted your head, resting it on your hand.

connie pulled his shirt up, showing your name tatted across the top of his stomach. you covered your mouth with your hand and looked at him. “how’d you do that?” you smiled. connie sucked air through his teeth and pulled his shirt down.

“shittt, a mirror, pen, and hope. almost got in trouble, ian worried though.” he laughed a little before crossing his arms, putting the phone to his other ear. “but yeah, i miss you. ready to see you.” he mumbled, staring at the table.

you slowly nodded. “i can’t believe it’s been a year without you. ian go out in so long, or rarely, it just don’t feel right when you not there.” you pursed your lips together.

connie bit the inside of the cheek. “you visited mama?” he asked. you smiled. “yesss, she so nice every time.” you looked at your nails more. connie nodded.

“you been eatin?” connie tilted his head a little. “yeah it’s different from when you first came here.” you waved him off. “ight now, don’t be lyin.” he pointed at you. you laughed and nodded.

connie huffed. “shit i can’t wait to eat right. this shit in here weak as hell, boys is too.” he shook his head. “you been in any fights, baby?” you asked. connie looked at the ceiling for a few seconds before looking back at you. “been on my best behavior.” he flashed a quick smile, making you laugh.

“i can’t wait to hug you, i miss you like a bitch.” he rubbed his eyes, staring into yours. “me too.” you mumbled, but connie shook his head. “you ain’t no bitch.” he said, leaning up on the table. “you been on yo best behavior right? don’t end up like me, ima lose my shit.”

“yep, just like you asked. no fights, no serious arguments, nothing.” you assured connie, him trying his best to detect a lie.

“i’m glad.” he smiled a little. “you know i did that tattoo like… three months ago. the day i gave you yo tattoo is that day i did this one.”

“and we missed our lil one year anniversary.” you smiled. “now i gotta surprise you with yo name.” you laughed, making connie laugh. “nah, nah. you good.” he scratched his head.

“don’t cut your hair when you get out, connie. it’s cute like that.” you looked at his head. connie hummed and nodded. “gotchu.”

“two minutes.” the man behind you spoke, making you glare at him and look back at connie. connie stared at him before looking at you, playfully rolling his eyes.

“well.” he leaned back again. “ima see you tomorrow, ight?”

you nodded, looking at connie. “i love you.” you said, blowing a kiss. connie held his hand out to catch it and put his hand over his lips, like he always did.

“i love you back.” he said, waving bye as he put the phone down. you did the same, glancing back as the guard walked back over to you and a different one walked to connie, grabbing his wrists and cuffing them before standing him up.

“can i kiss my girl?” connie asked the guard.

he’s been asking the same question since he first got locked up, and it was always a no. but as the guard looked at you, then at connie, he led connie back to the table, you leaning over the plastic screen that separated you, grabbing connie’s face and pulling him into a long kiss.

just like he did you.

as he pulled away, hands still behind his back, he smiled at you, finally being able to feel your lips again after a whole year.

“i love you.” he mumbled as the guard pulled him back.

you smiled.

“i love you back.”

ANDDDD SCENE.

THIS was lowkey very fun to write even tho it’s short but thank you sm to the people that stuck around the whole story, if it was on wattpad or something it would’ve been sm longer tbh 😭 BUT I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKED IT, yk i would never (i think) finish yall off with a bad ending.

THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

#𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚕𝚞𝚟𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎₊✩ˎˊ˗#aot connie #connie springer #connie springer x black reader #connie springer x reader #connie x black reader #connie springer headcanons #connie x black y/n #connie x reader #connie x you

317 notes · View notes

captainwinterrsoldierr · 4 months ago

Text

Title: Trauma

Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

Syn: reader and Percy comfort each other after experiencing Tartarus

You limped through the Argo ii. You desperately wanted to rest and shower. Percy paced behind you with a hand on your shoulder. With an unspoken agreement you two went to his cabin on the ship. “Do you mind if I shower in here Perc? I’m not ready to be alone yet?” You urged. Percy looked at you with a worry glint in his eyes. You knew he wasn’t ok. But he always put on a such a strong act for you.

“Of course I’ll wait right here,” he gestured towards his bed. He flopped onto his cabin’s bed and closed his eyes. You grabbed fresh, clean clothes from your room quickly and made your way back to his restroom. You closed the door and looked at yourself in the mirror. Your face was scarily thin. You had soot everywhere. Your lips were incredibly chapped and damaged. Your arms were scattered with scrapes and bruises from the horrors of Tartarus.

You turned on the water to a nice temperature and removed the garments you had gained from hell. Aching is all you felt. You stepped into the shower and instant relief washed over you. You closed your eyes and breathed in. Flashes of Tartarus raced through your head. Mansion of the Night. Drinking fiery red hot river water. Almost losing Percy to the Arai. You cried. You couldn’t tell the difference between your tears and the water from the shower. As you sobbed you slid down onto the floor. You were safe now but all the images kept recycling through your head.

*knock knock*

“Hey love are you done now?” You heard Percy asked. He must’ve cracked the door open.

You wiped your tears and stood, “Yes sorry Percy I’ll be out in a sec.”

You didn’t hear the door closed. “Babe are you ok?” He questioned.

“Yes- I’ll be out now,” You choked out. You heard the door reluctantly close. You quickly swung the curtain open and changed. You propped open the door and found Percy showered and dressed, sat on the edge of his bed.

“Frank let me shower quickly in his room, I really needed that stench off of me,” He said. He studied you. You sat next to him.

“They’re replaying in my head too,” He muttered.

Your lip quivered. Without even saying out loud what was wrong. He knew. He knew exactly what was wrong with you.

“Percy- I,” You sobbed. “I’m so sorry I dragged you down there, I’m so sorry you almost died multiple times cause of-”. Percy pulled you into his chest. His hands cradled the back of your head. You sobbed into his chest. “I was so scared Percy I thought I was going to lose you.”

“It was never your fault, it was that damned earth goddess.” He kissed the top of your head gently. His warmth. His sea salt scent brought peace to you. You pulled away gently and his hands grasped your face. His sea green eyes seeped into yours.

“I was scared I was going to lose you sweetheart, I don’t… I can’t live my life without you,” He breathed.

You hadn’t realized how scared he was from Tartarus. How much did he actually put up a brave wall for you.

“We’re going to be ok,” You assured.

“As long as we’re together,” He confirmed.

Your thumb grazed his cheek. You pulled him closer. Your lips touched softly. He kissed you. His other hand pushed your head for a deeper kiss. A mew escaped your lips. You were safe with Percy now. The war wasn’t over yet. But for now you two were safe. The kiss went on for long. His embrace was all you ever needed to feel ok.

He pulled away and kissed your temple, “Now let’s get some proper rest.” You nodded and you got cozy in his bed. He wrapped his arms around you and you sighed contently. “I love you seaweed brain,” You murmured as you drifted into a peaceful sleep with your soulmate by your side.

#pjo fandom #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson headcanon

237 notes · View notes

pearlfeline · 5 months ago

Text

rookie

peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 900+

tw: black eye

a/n: this is short and it was in my drafts forever. and it was shorter than this before i added some stuff last night. posting it now for some validation and i want to feel better for my job interview tomorrow lol. hope its good enough.

“plwase unlokc your window!! OMW”

“I told him not to text and swing.” You mumbled to yourself.

You huffed, making your way to the window to save him the trouble and just lifted it wide open.

Peter flops in immediately, earning a yelp from you.

“Are you crazy?!” You held your hand to your chest.

“Heeeeelp.” He groans. Peter tugs at his mask, rolling his head back for you to see.

He had a black eye. “Make sure when you fall, you don’t land face first into a fire hydrant.” He tries his best to pry his swollen eye open.

“Since when do you fall?” You shake your head. Not expecting an answer, you walk off to the kitchen and open the freezer, grabbing a bag of assorted frozen fruit.

You come back to Peter flipping through channels on your TV, slumped on the bed.

“Put this on your eye.”

Peter gingerly takes the bag, holding it up to his bruise.

”Why are you getting hurt in the middle of the night?”

“Avengers make mistakes too.” He grumbled.

“Peter. It’s late.” You sighed.

“I know I know but I needed your help specifically.” He sits up mirroring the posture of someone who would hold a corporate meeting.

“Do my makeup please.”

You stare at Peter expressionless.

“Like with the skin paint thing.” He adds.

“For your black eye?”

“PLEEEAAASE! I can’t have May see me with another black eye. She said if the kids keep picking on me she’s gonna call the school.”

You roll your eyes, motioning him to follow you to your makeup drawer.

“Concealer.” You handed him the small bottle and heard him repeat after you.

“Concealer.” He nods.

“How long will this last?” He twists it open.

“Stop, you’re gonna dry it out. And not forever. So I’ll let you borrow it to reapply in the morning.”

“How do I do that?” He starts blinking rapidly the same time your finger pats into his under eye.

“No blinking! Just do what I’m doing here. See? You don’t even need a sponge sometimes.”

You try to ignore how close you were to him. Seeing Peter from this proximity was something you’d never think to do. You never noticed how many little freckles he had. They’re so faint. He had a little stubble from running around all day and chapped lips. Your eyes follow the line of his bottom lip, like a crack in the pavement. You could feel his breathing hit your hand as you pat into his skin. As you look up from his lips, you find him staring at you back.

“Done.” You reeled your hand back, clearing your throat.

Peter looks at himself through your small light up mirror. Seems simple enough.

“See? Good as new. Just a little swollen.” You comb his curl away from his forehead so he could clearly see the coverage.

“You’re the best.” He stares at his reflection in awe.

“I know.” You shrugged.

“Don’t touch it or it’ll come off.” You grab a small pouch to put the concealer in.

“Here. Don’t lose it. I splurged for this one.” You hand him the pouch and he nods profusely.

“Guarding it with my life.” He puts it in the small pocket of his backpack.

“Thank you.” He smiles.

“No problem.” You avoided his eyes, hopefully he didn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t keep May waiting.”

Peter nods, giving an awkward wave. “Right. See ya.”

Peter jumps out onto the fire escape. Quietly this time. Out of sight.

“See ya.” You said quietly to yourself.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of messages from Peter.

“she didnt suspect a thing HAHAHA” 12:32 AM

“thank u again btw” 12:33 AM

“it hurts to blink.” 12:34 AM

“ok goodnight ill let you know how it lasts thru the night.” 12:34 AM

“hi it disappeared a little bit but im gonna add some more i hope that’s ok” 9:12 AM

You bit your lip, your finger hovering over the facetime button. You click it without thinking too much of it, waiting for him to answer.

Peter comes into frame with a newly pale complexion. His entire face was covered in concealer.

“Hi.” He grins at the camera, oblivious to how ghostly he looked. This would’ve scared you if he didn’t answer the call in that ridiculous angle.

“Peter…” You sighed.

“What? Did I miss a spot?”

“…No. You can’t possibly miss any more spots I don’t think.”

Peter frowns at the camera, he thought he did well.

“Too much?” He chuckled, embarrassed.

You roll your eyes.

“This stuff covers everything. I don’t have freckles anymore.” He runs away at his cheek, showing that it wasn’t coming off.

“Did May see you yet today?” You sighed.

“No.. Should I take this off?”

Before you could answer, May quickly knocks on Peter’s door, and doesn’t wait to open the door.

“Hey, I’m thinking pizza for lunch-“

Peter turns to look at May and you could see her blurry face peek through behind Peter's shoulder on your screen. She widens her eyes and blinks a couple times.

“What�� What is that?”

“Sunscreen.” Peter blurts out.

“Y/N and I are going to the beach.”

May knits her brows together, thinking if that’s really believable or not.

“There’s no beach near by.”

Peter silently stares at his aunt.

“...I’m eating this pizza with or without you .” May shrugs. “Have fun at the… beach.” She gives Peter a look and then closes the door.

Peter turns his attention back to his phone.

“The beach?” You squeaked out, attempting to stifle your laugh.

“I would hang up if I didn’t need help taking this off.” Peter says flatly.

You let out a groan. “Just get over here.”

#pearlfeline #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #mcu!peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker #mcu!peter parker #peter parker x fem!reader #marvel mcu #mcu imagine #mcu #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

285 notes · View notes

sexyandcringe · 6 months ago

Text

Hopeless romantic

Part 2 ◇ Part 3 ◇ Part 4

Warnings: none, osamu feeling inferior to tsumu :(

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt/comfort

A/n: Osamu's POV! I swear i'm gonna continue the story-line in the next chap.!

All of his childhood, Osamu felt like he was divided in half because of his brother: half food, half clothes, and half affection from their parents. It was almost like people didn’t see him as his own person. To the world, they were “The Twins”, never just “Osamu” and just “Atsumu”.

Time changed, things changed, they each started to become their own person, dreaming of different futures and places to go to.

Osamu always felt like he was the shadow to the light named Miya Atsumu, but he loved him dearly, so much that even today he half-expects to find Atsumu tangled up beneath the sheets of their childhood bunker bed, only to be greeted by the disappointing sight of his mirror, where his reflection gets blurred with the lines of his twin brother.

Osamu loved Atsumu but he didn’t want to hurt people like Atsumu often did; he told his brother that he was never going to become like him, so he became a little less selfish, less stubborn and less greedy.

With you, though, he is greedy. And he wants all of you.

He wants to hold you while you two watch some stupid anime called Haikyuu that you’re obsessed with, he wants to listen to you rambling about your day and your disdain for Alice, the insufferable colleague of yours; he wants to cook for you and feed you with his own hands and he wants to wait for you in your shared bed.

Osamu didn’t want a lot of things in his life, except his restaurant and his family, but since the day he saw you walk in with wet hair and drenched clothes, he started to want a lot more than he could afford, from the most mundane acts of waking up together to the intimacy of making love to you.

He is patient though, he lets your relationship grow steadily.

He thought that he would be happy with the leftover crumbles of affection that you gave him, but when you stopped coming to his shop, Osamu lost it completely.

He was waiting for you around 7 PM like every Friday, he was feeling confident that day and wanted to suggest a casual outing to the neighbouring town's food fair.

(Nothing like a date, just a friendly hang out, he told himself).

His resolve wavered when you didn’t show up, not for one, not for two, but for three weeks in a row. He thought of all the possibilities as to why you didn’t come for so long, and he tried his best not to imagine the worst-case scenario. That can’t be. Nope.

On the third Friday of your absence, Osamu was crumbling. He closed the shop earlier than usual and went straight into the supermarket to get his guilty pleasure: the Butter Cookies.

His grandma always used to get them for him and unlike many other children, he never found sewing tools or anything of the sort in the box; his grandma knew that that kind of disappointment would be far too great for a six-year-old, food-enthusiast ‘Samu.

Well, grandma, that kind of disappointment is too great for a twenty-six-year-old ‘Samu too, because the guy was nearly panicking when he couldn’t find the boxes of Butter Cookies at their usual place.

He was positive, though, because even after searching everywhere and not finding them, he didn’t lose hope. They will be available in another grocery store for sure. He got his priority straight and redirected his steps to another store across the town.

Luckily for him, the store was still open for another hour and it didn’t take him long to finally see his comfort food, in all its glory, staring at him from the shelf in the second aisle.

He was just about to go and pay for his box when he caught a glimpse of your silhouette, halting him in his tracks and confirming that it was, in fact, you.

Concern etches across his features as he looks at your tired and empty eyes, wondering if you have been taking care of yourself. Did you eat enough? Sleep enough?

The desire to call out to you is strong, leaving him no time to think before he is already approaching you, “That one will go bad in like 2 days.”

You look like a deer caught in headlights, doe eyes staring at him in what he wants to believe is awe. You smile timidly before saying: “Hi Osamu, long time no see.”

Yeah, long time no see, indeed. Osamu wants to be mad at you for making him so worried, for not coming to his shop, for not letting him know if you were doing okay, but he is just the owner of a restaurant and you’re just a regular client.

At least, you used to be a regular client. He can’t force you to like his company or his shop, no matter how much he wishes it.

Despite this, he can’t stop the bitter remark that slips past his lips,“Yeah, because someone hasn’t been coming to my restaurant lately.” you visibly wince, though he can’t seem to care enough.

You stutter some poor excuse as he inspects the other vegetables in the aisle, handing you one with a clean surface that will last at least five days, per Osamu’s calculations.

His hands touch yours and it makes him blush like a middle schooler.

You both talk about nothing and everything and in between the mundane banter and playful jabs, Osamu finds himself agreeing to a cooking lesson at your apartment.

And he couldn’t be happier.

Reblogs are really appreciated!

Tags: @lees-chaotic-brain @writingsofanomnivore @pressuredtreasure @k4sumis0u

#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu comfort #osamu miya comfort #osamu comfort #osamu angst #haikyuu angst #i love him sm

166 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 5 months ago

Text

RASPBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and luna)

genre: smut, angst

word count: 10.5k

summary: a step towards breaking the curse of your life—nothing could be sweeter than that, could it?

pinterest board: raspberries / taglist: join

warnings: anal sex:), blowjob, a bit of an argument?:), bathtub sex, ass eating, pussy licking, this whole chapter is a warning itself, oc and hobi are just horny, anger, crying, daddy issues, breeding kink, praise kink, spitting:), their emotions are all over the place, brief mention of suicide.

note: okay, this chapter might have salvaged this entire series. i wrote entirely through my feelings and the plot took a whole different direction. like i had something planned, but the characters do what they want. :) SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. THE CHAP WAS GETTING LONG. and i want the last (next) chapter to be juicy! please, send me your thoughts via my inboooox. i'll be waiting. do we trust jk or not? skfhskfhs. enjoy, my loves!

Perhaps, you should’ve seen it coming—the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t pick up. The rosily gold sunlight warms your fire of anger as you try and try again, the number beside his name on your screen rising and rising until another digit joins it. Something about it feels like a childish payback and you don’t really know why you like it so much. Why you like making him feel the way he made you feel when he spammed your phone after you made the worst mistake of your life by accidentally sending him the video of you professing that your intimate parts belong to Hobi.

Perhaps, it's as simple as that—it’s childish. And you find yourself to be in a safe realm for your inner child to come out and live. Come out and take revenge.

Another layer of warmth is pressed against your bare back, heavier, more homely. You swivel your head to bump into Hobi’s jaw, to catch the furrow of his brows as they serve as a shadow from the morning sun, along with the antique structure of his body. His trembling hands hook onto your shoulders, squeezing once before they drift down your arms. Inching closer, he wraps them around you in a suffocating hold. And it isn’t until he closes his lips down onto your temple and steals your phone, flinging it away, that you realize he did it in order to stifle the fire.

“That’s enough,” he whispers and it graces you with the notion that it should be saved for another time, the picture of his tremor coming forth and the question of why. It kills you, slowly, the liveliness of his emotions, portrayed so gently by his hands. Why are they shaking?

They snuffed out the fire, but the residue of the painting, colorless and bland, remains. It lines your skin—you can even see it in the streaks of the sunlight. The curves, the message. What was he punishing you for? It’s a question that now unfolds within the strange calmness descending down your body. Was he punishing you for having a man? For returning to your salvation that is in a lung burner? For going against him? Or for raising your fists—feeding him the poisonous negativity of your emotions?

The need to reach for your phone and talk to Jungkook seizes you again and you fight against Hobi’s hold, but he says no. Sternly, seriously. Tightens his hold. Doesn’t let go.

“Let it be,” he adds, rubbing your arm with the hand that lays across your chest. But you can’t, you can’t—

“Hobi, I can’t—”

Your sentence is silenced by the sudden kneading of his hands upon your knotted shoulders. Relief evaporates every need, every black fume of your doused fire. His hands bear strength now as his thumb focuses on the tightness of your muscles and you droop, you crumble. And what you didn’t expect—Hobi droops and crumbles with you.

The violence of his heart against your back, it becomes yours when he pulls you into the shadows of the wavering structure of his body. Its stones ricochet off of your decaying figure, dropping onto the floor with a loud, thunderous thud. You feel the saddened line of his mouth against your cheek, into which he sinks, quietly as a mouse, his whimper. He doesn’t cry and he doesn’t yell, his infelicity, bound to yours, radiates the entire room in gloom. Clouds swim past the sun and linger, the rosy glow snuffed out—just like your fire.

The wedding of your joy has been put off. The groom has been left at the altar, and it’s all your fault.

Why is everything so temporary?

Why are you unable to be stable? To stay submissive amidst the ups and downs of your life? To stay calm, unaffected?

You’re so weary of it. Weary of yourself, weary of your life, of the curse.

You turn around and embrace him. Feel like it’s the only right thing you can do at this very moment. Hobi welcomes you in, lets you sign and recuperate in the kingdom of his arms. Rubs your back, gathers the ends of your hair in his hands as if it were a stream of water he longed to refresh himself with.

It’s so different, to be given love when you don’t ask for it. Something opens within you, a circle of mildness that cracks its mouth wide to consume the edges of the curse until only its axis, its middle core remains. Lightness drives your hands to embrace him tighter, only for Hobi to follow the movement—lungs in sync while your heart tries to mimic his rapid movement.

It’s like a wordless eulogy. Goodbye to the old life, to the old pain, so the new can settle. Hobi can sense it, too. Supports it when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the crown of your head, wets his mouth, prepares himself to speak.

But then your phone starts ringing.

Your heart lurches forward, but you dwell in motionlessness. You don’t care anymore. Hold the serenity, the lightness in higher regard.

“Let it ring,” Hobi whispers, tracing circles on your back, the same pattern that has opened within you.

You nod against his clavicle. “I will.”

His hands descend to your waist and clenches it for a while, a sensation of groundedness washing over you, cleansing you. You kiss his collarbone. Then, a message dings.

“How about I run you a bath?” Hobi asks in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair, muffling out the sound of another Jungkook’s intrusion. The idea resembles a paradise to you and you beg for it with a singular, pretty word.

Scooping you up in his arms, he sets you down in front of your bathtub, your nipples brushing against his chest with the descent, awakening the dried pool of your arousal deep in your core. A fresh spring of water fills it until it brims over and so you don’t waste a drop, you slam your mouth onto his, kissing him. He hums, lowly, into your mouth, not foreseeing something like this, and the sound splashes in the pool, drenching you whole, showering your orchard in the life it needs.

Slipping your tongue inside, he lets you taste him for a mere moment, before he clasps your mouth in his hand and stares you down. “Hold it.”

Hold what? Your incessant stream of horniness for him?

Reaching over, he fills up the bath with warm water with one hand, its mist rising up your body, spreading little dots of anticipation on your skin, erasing the lines, the curves and the message of the painting you never saw, but envisioned. And before he can straighten, you pull him back up. He smiles down at you, kissing you, tenderly, mouths smacking within the briefness and the pool within you heats up.

Except for the orgasm he gave you in the middle of the night, right before dawn, neither you or him got the release you needed when you were connected. Pity ripples in your water and you grasp his manhood in your hand, semi-hard. How did he get excited this quickly? You coo, but only for yourself, drifting your hand down his poor, blue balls, squeezing them, coaxing a pained sigh out of him.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, softly, flicking your gaze up into his. They must be hurting, considering the amount of arousal that swirled inside without an ounce of alleviation.

He doesn’t respond, but that’s an answer for you. Light flows from his eyes as seriousness draws his features tight, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You kiss his chest, gripping him a little before you let go, threading your fingers through your hair, parting them into three sections and, blindly, instinctively, you plait them into a braid, securing the end with a silk, thin scrunchie. Pink, like his imaginary wings.

“Come join me.”

Hobi shakes his head, though. Holds you steady as you swing your leg over the lip of the bathtub, sinking into the warm, misty water. At the sight of you kneeling, he lets out another pained sigh, prolonged this time and you feel so bad for him that you don’t think twice before you take him into your mouth.

“Pup, fuck,” he moans, grabbing the crown of your head as his knees shake. All of his emotions are expressed through the tremors, you note, and it drives you to open your mouth wider, swallowing him deeper. “Oh, yeah, that’s so good.”

Your walls clench and you mewl around him, dragging your tongue flat on the underside of him as you draw back, swirling the muscle around the tip of him as you grip him. You use your saliva to stroke him, making him cage in his bottom lip between his teeth again. Eyes rolled back, his reddened lip springs back, and he gazes down at you, fingers trailing down until they meet your loose plait, acknowledging themselves with the newness.

“I love your hair like this. You’re so pretty,” he comments, voice so terribly strained, and you hum, pleased to hear such a compliment. You hollow out your cheeks on his tip, sucking him, slowly, and he repeats those words you love so much, your noises of pleasure rising in pitch. “You really do love it when I say that, don’t you? God, I adore you. All of who you are.”

You withdraw, completely, without losing your grip on him, panting. Can feel your eyes send waves of love towards him as you bore them, piercingly, into his. He groans, divulging to you that he received the message, and you could burst, you could fly—turn this water into fire as his godliness from his precum sweetens your throat once you swallow, the aftertaste of him transforming you into an unknown being of holiness. You’re not God, you’re not an angel, either. You’re something else, entirely. A figment of his creation on the cusp of awakening and living. A moving picture of stability, submission and feline softness. Something he adores. Something he’ll soon love.

And it pleasures you, intensely.

“Do you adore me, pup?” Hobi asks as he wraps his hand around your braid. One time, two times, three times—until your hair is pulled so tight that he inclines your chin up to him, waiting for your answer. And he doesn’t have to voice it out—the dark side of his desire, the bad things he wants to do to you. You perceive them clouding his pearlescent eyes, making them brighter.

You wish the moon would turn its face towards you, so it could see the change that is occurring. So it could see the way you’ll use its magnetism to blanket yourself with Hobi’s darkness.

Now you’re able to. Now you’re prepared.

“I adore you, Daddy,” you breathe out, stroking him faster, your chest mimicking the rhythm. “And I want to show you just how much. You said you wanted to make me forget. Let me do that for you.”

His moan transmutes into a vulgarity, a tender shade of pink scattering along his cheeks and you could eat them. Your heart thumps, colorfully, your longing to help him forget the taste of the bane of your life growing and growing like a thick bush of raspberries. He deserves it—needs it, considering the infelicity of his that he poured over you when he held you, his lack of words shared with you. He deserves the fucking world and you’re willing to go above and beyond to give it to him. To give it to your boyfriend. Your husband.

“How? Tell me how you’re gonna do it.”

You draw your face to his cock, but he pulls you back by your braid, coaxing a dark mewl out of you. A drum begins to beat in your clit—the start of his song, incited by his darkness.

“Did I not tell you to use your words?” Hobi scolds, so awfully sternly, and you flutter all over, the peaks of your nipples stiffening, the drum picking up its rhythm. Your eyes widen as that darkness of his overwhelms you and you want more of it.

“Help me say it,” you say, your heart not letting you lie to him as the words, ‘I don’t know how to say it’ were on the tip of your tongue.

Hobi smirks, tightening his grip on your braid. Pain shoots up your scalp and even though you hiss, you like it. He inches forward, his lips a mere centimeter away. The radiation of his pleasure hits you, drifting down to your core. You almost reach your hand down to it, so the ache disappears, but you yearn to focus on him, wholly.

“If you want to suck on this cock and if you want me to praise you, then you’re gonna have to give me those pretty words that I know you’re capable of saying,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue at the halt of your hand around him and you resume, pressing play on the movie of his guttural moans—and you moan along with him, enjoying the sound.

Is that a hint of his pent-up anger? You believe, wholeheartedly, that it’s somewhere hiding in him, that he’s keeping inside, adamant on not letting it out in your presence. You want to unlock that cage and beckon it out, meet it, learn its name and its desires. And you’ll do it—just so Hobi feels better.

You can handle it.

And to do it, you linger, intentionally, in your quietness, ceasing your movement on his cock. In fact, you withdraw altogether. Arch your spine when you sit back, your breasts bouncing a little. And he lets you, unbelief slackening his hold on your braid, mouth parted. Perhaps, he’s thinking you don’t want to go along with the foreplay, so he’s taking a step back, but what he doesn’t know is that what you’re doing is as much of a means of it as it is one of healing.

There’s no way he isn’t angry at your ex-boyfriend for punishing you silently for whatever he thinks you did. There’s no way there isn’t the same fire in him that burned in you at the sight of him marking you with the palm of his hand. He saw the painting, you didn’t. There is simply no way he doesn’t want to explode.

Hobi does lots of things for you. Stifling his emotions until they lash out in the form of his tremor is one of them. And you crave, with your whole being, to do the same for him. Let him feel like he let you feel. Make him come, vividly, like he made you come.

Adore him like he adores you.

“I’m such a bad girl, aren’t I?” you purr, lifting your fingers to your breasts and swirling them around your hardened nubs. His eyes flick to them and enlarge. You spread your legs and let him see all of you, bolts of pleasure swaying your body like the water lapping at your stomach. “Withholding my words on purpose when you’re so hard, when you need me. Hm, don’t I deserve to be punished? Don’t I deserve to be punished so hard that I willingly give you my words?”

Hobi pants and his nostrils flare, chest heaving and slightly shuddering in tandem with the drum in your clit. Sweat coats the antique structure of his body, darkening it as if rain fell upon it, staining it for a little while. You want to stain it with his ivory arousal—make a magnificent sculpture out of him to remember this important moment.

His anger will change everything. His anger will be a step to breaking the curse—to settling the process of the bane, Jungkook’s intrusion. You may have decided to do this alone, but it was wrong of you. He should be the one to make order like the father he is while you stand behind him, clutching the material of his pants.

You will get him there.

“I want you to spank me.”

He doesn’t let a second pass. Doesn’t blink. “I can’t.”

Your heart cracks, but you will strength of the raspberries into it. “Yes, you can. You can make me red and you can show him. You can show him who’s the boss. Who owns me. Who has his handprint on me. It’s you and it’s always going to be you. You have every right to do what I know you want to do, Hoseok.”

He raises his brows, mouth agape. Clenches his fists. “You want me to spank you and send a picture of it to him?”

You nod, dipping your hands into water.

“Why would I stoop to his level?” he asks, scoffing, and your throat dries, struck with shock. You didn’t anticipate this kind of answer from him and you don’t know what to say, his fatherliness and dominance enveloping you in a milky blue aura of smallness. What does he want to do, then?

Hobi steps closer. Doesn’t bend at the waist. Doesn’t crouch. Doesn’t get on his knees. He lets you look up at him in your smallness. Lets you feel his control, the manliness of his stature and energy and you gulp. Turned on and intrigued at the same time.

“I’m not a boy, pup,” he says and you wish he would touch you, touch your pebbled nipples, soothingly, feeling yourself needing it as he reprimands you. “I don’t need to play games. I’m too old for this shit. This is what pubescent boys do when they feel threatened, when they feel jealous. If I were to play his game for you, I’d only encourage him. I wouldn’t be stopping it, I’d be kicking the ball over to him. Do you really think I want to do that?”

You let out a breath. Your muscles tense, ready to scream out the question that has been boiling in you all this time.

“What do you want to do?”

He sucks in a breath, baring his teeth. There it is—there is that anger, the whole resplendent, monumental rawness of it.

“What do I want to do?” he asks as if he couldn’t believe you’re asking him that question, as if he couldn’t believe you’re allowing him to have a part in it. It thrills you—and as it thrills you, it moves forward your transformation.

“Yes, tell me what you want to do. Tell me how you want to settle this.” You stand your ground, inviting him in, inviting him into your life, to have a say in it, to have a fatherly hand in it; letting the sunlight make it right, make it alive, real and serious.

“Is that what you want? For me to step in?” he whispers, that disbelief still ringing—and you pout, touched by it.

“Yes, Hobi,” you hush out, leaning over and grabbing his hands. He lets you hold them for a second before he untwines your hold and cradles your face, kneeling by the bathtub.

The light in his eyes is too overwhelming and you melt into it, your breath hitching in your throat as you surrender. He presses his lips in a firm line, his thumbs brushing away your flyaways, and you lean into his touch, head tilted to the side.

As he tastes the newness of the conjunction to your life and his, you ask again. “What do you want to do?”

He sighs and takes in heavy breaths right after, seething, pressing his forehead against yours. And as you and him close your eyes simultaneously, he finally answers. “I want to break his fucking face.”

Dots of gooseflesh chill your skin and you don’t stop yourself from humming out your pleasure of hearing that. “Yes, Hoseok.”

You feel his gaze on you as he continues—and it might as well have been him who opened your eyes. “I want to break his hands for creating that degrading, shitty painting of you. And I want to break it. Destroy it. So it never sees the light of the day again.”

You choke out a moan, your whole body set on fire—a different one, this time. A blue fire, milky blue like your aura of smallness. “Yes, Daddy.”

Hobi groans, kissing you, nastily. Tongues and clashing of teeth, hunger and anger gratified as he pours it out into your mouth. Lets you taste it, swallow it. The same fire, but brighter, bigger, scorching hot, so alluring.

You don’t have to fan the flames of his will. He’s already decided.

“Once I’m done with you, you’re gonna send him a text,” he shares his plan with you between hard kisses; you can only whimper in your neediness in response. “You’re gonna tell him that you’re coming over to his place to talk, to look at the painting.” A sigh, a suction of lips, a moan. “Alone.” A swirl of tongues until the details of his plan spiral in the same dance in your brain. “I’ll come with you. And I’ll settle this once and for all.”

He withdraws, letting you breathe. Your body tingles, your lips, especially, every nerve ending crying out in need, whimpering at the way he studies your form—eyes lifting and falling over your swells, curves and marks. And something about the way he ogles you like that makes you feral.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asks, that urgency flashing again in the light of his eyes, and you nod—a thousand times. “Repeat it back to me.”

The drum in your clit becomes unbearable and you can hear its song in your brain. All thoughts fade to nothingness, memories, triggers, pains. All of it evanesces, but one thing remains.

His plan.

“I’m gonna text him that I’m coming over to his place alone to talk and you’re gonna come with me and settle this like the Daddy you are,” you stream out, panting, focusing on the sudden numbness of your lips as his kiss still engulfs them as a new memory.

Hobi grins, pleased, and it propels you so fucking quickly to lean over and lick up the underside of his now fully hard length. Even though you can’t see it, you know the grin breaks as he deeply moans, your tongue circling his sensitive, red tip. You begin to suck it, bobbing your head up and down in a short, curt motions, and he fists your braid in one hand while the other digs into your hair at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as you give him what he befittingly deserves.

“Good girl. My good fucking girl. Oh, yeah. Like that, pup. Fuck, it feels so good. Just like that,” he praises and your whole body clenches and doesn’t let up, your nectar dripping into the water. “I’m gonna fix everything and then I’m gonna make you a Mommy, arasseo?”

You growl around him, taking after him, his words intoxicating you enough to withdraw, yearning to have him inside you. But not in the place, where he engraved his enigma, the breaking of the curse. You burn to have him stretch out the hole, where no one has ever been—the one you teased him about on your first date.

He blinks at you, hearing your sound, and his grin grows all over again, massaging the back of your scalp as if you were a puppy. You reciprocate it, devilish with your own plan. Feral, feline, and incessantly horny for him.

The water reaches your belly button and you turn off the tap without breaking the contact. Then, you tug his hand, inviting him into the bathtub.

“Let’s pretend,” you say, knowing beforehand that he’ll get the message, the meaning of your vague words, and Hobi curses, pleasing you, brushing his hair out of his forehead, exposing the undercut that makes you even wetter.

Such a beautiful Father.

You tug him again. Create space for him in your tiny bathtub and he loosens your breath when he gets in and manhandles you—pushing you flush to his body and over his lap, his hands coming over your bum, kneading it, his slender fingers sneaking to the little hole that craves him. The sunlit water sloshes and it’s so intimate—the way it ripples around your body and his, stilling as he looks deeply into your eyes, the two of his digits circling around that virgin part of you.

He’s going to consume the little purity you have left and there’s nothing you want more at this moment.

“You want me here?” he murmurs, growling as he feels you open for him there when he prods it, and you drip, drip, drip onto his thighs.

You kiss him, chastely, in his fashion, willingly giving over your purity. “And from the back.”

He chuckles, flashing his white teeth, and you want them all over your body. The effulgence of his blush, too.

“Lie back. I’ll get you ready for it.”

Preparation, such an important word in your relationship.

You do as he says, giddy, leaning against the rounded wall of the bathtub. Yelp as he raises your hips above the surface of the water and right onto his mouth, delving onto your pussy without a second spared, licking over the entirety of her, mouth open, letting you see everything.

“Fuck,” he moans, smacking his mouth, and your legs hanging in the air begin to tremble. “I can feel you throb for me. You wanna be Mommy so bad, don’t you?”

You can’t stop it, the scream of agreement that emits out of your mouth; that goes on once he swirls his tongue around that drumming pulse, learning its song—because as soon as he does, he sucks it, possessing it. Your orgasm crests and his hands never shake, never waver, holding you up as if in Greek celebration.

You can feel the stone burst forth from your legs, completing, little by little, your transformation. He’s creating a sculpture out of you. Not of Virgin Mary, not of Mary Magdalene, either. A sculpture, authentic, of you. And on the cusp of your orgasm, he takes his tongue to your other, tiny hole, fucking you there with a verve as if he sensed the work of his hands that resume the godly abuse on your clit after he tells you to place your feet on the rim of the tub.

And when you come, you’re white, smooth, magnificent and whole.

You’re you, in the simplest of words.

Mind spinning, swimming in the delight of groundedness, authenticity and love, all your body asks for is to be taken. You go to turn around, but Hobi stops you with a hand on your waist.

“I want to look at you when I fill you up,” he croaks out, shades of pinks adorning him. As he is the God of everything, you think at heart he must be the God of all pink flowers with the way they blossom underneath his skin. You believe the same flowers will sprout out of your stone as soon as you’re stuffed full and feignedly bred. “I want to see the look on your face when you feel our kids inside you.”

Our kids. You close your eyes at the wave of a profound emotion sprinkling over you and you feel like crying, feel like sobbing, begging him for it, wanting your old life to be finally ended, killed, destroyed, wanting to cling to him with your whole being and newness, to his godliness, his flowers, his masculine fatherliness. You want to live in him, and the notion, the craving is so intense in you that you exhale it out with every breath, with every pleading word you give him.

“Please, breed me. Please, please, please.”

He sucks in that breath, eyes large and dazzling, filled with so much tenderness and adoration. Pulls you flush to his body again, raising you just a little bit as he lines himself up at your little hole. Spits on his fingers while boring that gaze into yours, so terribly up close, his knuckles brushing against the flesh of your bum as he spreads that lubrication over his tip. Does it again, rubs it over your hole. And a perverse obsession with it overpowers you, seizes you in its grasp, and you crave it.

You gaze your lips along his, sharing a breath that is perfumed with the scent of roses. “Spit in my mouth.”

Those eyes of his narrow in dark, dark pleasure and he nods in a promise. Driving your fingers up his undercut, you let your body follow his guidance as he sinks you down on him, stealing your mouth in a deep, long kiss that showers your figure in those familiar tingles. Discomfort parts them while you stretch around his tip, though, and he doesn’t stop kissing you, even when you mewl. In fact, he steps into that realm of the painful sensation by thumbing your clit, by toying with your tongue, and whimpering into your mouth when you convulse around him. Gets rid of anything that prevents you from accommodating him.

Your thighs burn at the slowness of your descent, but once he’s nestled, at home, and you feel so full that you could come from it alone, Hobi breaks the kiss; and using the height difference, he spits into your waiting mouth, growling. Even his saliva is filled with powerful godliness and when you swallow and show him, the same power becomes yours.

And he smiles. It seems as though he can see it on you and his mouth widens in a lopsided grin. You clench around him.

“You’re such a good pup,” he praises and you do it again, coaxing a growl out of him. He still remains motionless, waiting for you to get used to him, and your love for him grows owing to that. “That was your reward.” A sigh, a grin. “Now I’m gonna fuck you hard.”

You latch onto his neck, trembling like him. “Yes, please, Daddy.”

It’s not just your life and his that joined. It’s your soul and his that becomes one singular face of joy when he begins to pound you. He whispers to you to keep holding onto him like that as he drives in and out of your little hole with such rapidness and hardness that you lose your own knowledge of your name. All you know is his.

Hobi. Hoseok. Daddy.

And you whisper it, you say it, you scream it. All while the water sloshes around you; all while you stretch and tighten around him and his praises for you are strained, choked out, giving you all of his strength while remaining full of it as if he never gave you an ounce of it.

His eyes never leave you, never stray away from your emotions, your pleasure, the twists of your features, the opening and closing of your mouth. And you look right back, your feline energy dousing him in sweat and ardor, the force that furrows his brows, that tightens his lips in a firm line and loosens it in pleasure as he bares his all.

And suddenly, you’re up in the air and your wet back soaks your bed sheets. Hobi rummages in your Nike box under your bed and you feel yourself stretched open, a gaping hole for him. You gasp when you drift your finger along it and you already miss him there.

Hobi chuckles at your disbelief, your most favorite toy in his hand. A pink egg—a clit sucker and a vibrator at the same time, though the vibrations never did much for you. It’s the pressure, sucking waves that kept you company in your singleness before Jungkook and after, save for the waves of the sea.

“You never thought you could stretch like that, huh?”

The ‘huh’ pinches you, but you shake that feeling away, understanding Hobi’s dislike when you asked him to spank you. A momentary sensation before your horniness washes it away at the soft sound of the toy coming to life.

“Do you have lube somewhere?” Hobi asks, but you can’t speak. You point to the bedside table and he’s quick to slide it open, fishing out your raspberry and strawberry scented lube.

What a coincidence.

And you laugh when he squirts it on you from a distance, its coldness refreshing like a lick of ice cream to your heated body. And Hobi laughs along, smearing it all over you, especially over your still gaping, red hole, fingering you there with two fingers, fleetingly, just to tease you, just to pull those sounds out of you that get his head back in the game.

Then he’s inside, back home. You can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi can’t swallow down his noises, growling and humming as loud as his body asks, ramming into you until all you can hear is his pleasure and the music of skin slapping on skin.

And when you least expect it, he places the pulsing toy on your swollen clit.

Your muscles strain, tense and taut, your throat dead silent as you can’t speak, can’t compose any sort of song of the delight that paralyzes your body. You scratch your nails down his back in effort to declare to him the beauty of his artwork and Hobi whimpers, pounding you into the mattress while keeping the toy steady, your breasts bouncing up and down, gleaming in the sunlight, pebbled, aroused, begging for his tongue when he looks down at them, his blush deepening.

“Look at me,” he commands, stopping, so you can focus, and you begin to inhale quick, staccato breaths as your orgasm nears, the pressure in your tummy coiling and coiling, threatening to rip. You open your eyes, just in time to catch his endeared coo—because he can see how close you are. His lungs mimic the same rhythm, abdominal muscles prominent and defined as he, again, gives you his all. “There, baby?” he asks, speaking of the placement of the toy, and you’re only able to nod. “Ready to become a Mommy? Daddy is right there with you, pup. You squeeze around me so well, you’re doing such a good job. We’re gonna come together, yeah? You want to come with Daddy?” Another nod—because you’re trying your hardest to stall your orgasm as he jackhammers your little hole. You thank him in your heart, like the God he is, that he’s keeping the toy steady because if he were to move it… you’d come on the spot. “Say ‘yes, Daddy’ or I’m not letting you come.”

You hiccup, shuddering so awfully pitifully while your cat-like aura of power strengthens, giving you all that you need to say it. And your eyes narrow in that sultriness, mouth pouts and you dig your claws deeper into his back, making him fuck your ass harder in payback that feels more than fucking delicious.

“Yes, Daddy. Fuck, fuck. Give it to me, please. Make me a Mommy, please, fuck. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—”

And it’s a litany without end as Hobi moves the toy side to side and sweeps you off your feet, bringing you over the threshold of your shared home with you as his bride in his arms. You come, violently, its electric sparks shocking Hobi and he pumps you full of his cum, never stopping his hard motions, even as he twitches, growls—praising you, groaning the two words you like—and shudders just like you. He fucks you through your feigned impregnation, throwing the toy away when you squeak in overstimulation in the middle of your delirium, and he kisses you as if he hadn’t done so in a thousand years, sucking your lips so hard that they must bruise, his mound hitting your clit and stimulating it further. The warmth, the wetness—tears line your eyes and the same ones wet his eyelashes as he presses his elbows on either side of your head, panting against you, his nose brushing yours. He stares down at you, a look full of shadowed, yet pure love, the realization that you’ve done it, at last, but differently, bathing his face in light that blinds you—and blinds your tears, drying them as you smile up at him, running your fingers through his hair, through his undercut.

“I got a big load for you, pup,” he croaks out, fucking you, slowly. “I can’t fucking stop coming. You feel so good. I’m weak for you, fuck.”

You sob, finding your voice, made tender by his cock. “Give it to me, Hobi. I want it all. All your kids.”

He moans and proves it to you how weak he is by emanating such a pathetic sound that forces you, most saccharinely, to clench around him all over again, milking him out of every drop you stirred but never drank.

And for it, Hobi marks you in the middle of your breasts. A big, red hickey, redolent of your raspberries. You hold him to your chest, like the Mommy he made you into, as he sucks onto your skin, nibbling, licking, the noises akin to blowing those raspberries while he makes sure the bruise lingers for as long as possible. Then, he travels to the peak of your left nipple, trailing his tongue flat over the curve on his way up, and you’re wet, bespeckled with his children that trickle out of you as another wave of sopping arousal comes over you, because he begins to make love to that stiffened pebble. You cry out, tug his ruined hair, try to tell him you can’t anymore and Hobi hears you, takes care of you.

Drags his teeth along your nub. Flicks his eyes up to you as he sucks. “Milkie, please, Mommy.”

You burst into a roaring laughter, your shoulders shaking, arousal erased, and Hobi chuckles, lifting himself onto his hands and kissing your forehead. He moves you to your side of the bed, your skin dry and scented by him, soothed by his natural scent and the residue of his patchouli fragrance. And you revel in it, as he leaves you for a moment to fetch some wet wipes, with which he, mirthlessly, cleans you off his stickiness. His aversion to it makes an indentation in his face as his brows curl downward, features solemn and terribly serious.

Such an abrupt, speedy change of energy. Laughter dies out and fades into nothingness that spreads across your private atmosphere shared with him. Your mouth emulates the form of his dourness, cheerlessness blotching your now clean skin with invisible, downcast glitter that scarcely shines in the sunlight—and even that lessens, a cloud expanding over it, dimming it.

You touch his face and he looks up.

“Just a little more time and it’ll be here,” you say, seeping that hope, that promise into his pores by swiping your thumb along his warm cheek. “And then my belly will be big and full. And you’ll be Daddy Hobi.”

He smiles, sadly, eyes glistening, and he kisses your nose, folding into your chest. You caress him, his hair, his back—discover plump, thick marks of your fingernails and you lighten your touch, barely grazing his skin with the tips of your fingers. When he resurfaces, another, different dents embellish his face—the fresh memory of the way he’s accepted hope on your bosom and you kiss him, sealing it. Kiss that downturned smile. That red nose, those brisk cheeks. And his eyelids, wetted by his eyelashes.

“How do you like your coffee in the morning?” Hobi asks, turning over a new leaf, moving past.

You brush his hair back, enjoying the silky feel of his strands slipping through your fingers. “With you.”

He blushes, profusely, and you’re struck by the impression that he’s falling for you. There’s no fight this time, no war, only housewarming, submission and stability. You grip his hair, thank him with the silent gesture that also expresses how much it means to you because you, too, have fallen for him. With your heart, with your soul—with your entire being that has undergone so many transformations.

Now you’re climbing a mountain with him and on its peak, your children, your home, your future await you. You’re almost there. You’ve become who you were meant to become and Hobi has received the promise of his deepest longing.

One more thing, one more lift of the knee and you’re there, hand in hand with him—your husband, your God.

He kisses you one last time, tells you to rest while he makes you coffee and breakfast. Hands you your phone. Helps you think of a short message that you immediately, without a thought spared, send. And while you lightly slumber, you dream of the promise, of the hope. Dream of your swollen belly, the ethereal picture revealing you looking at yourself in a floor-length mirror as Hobi stands behind you, assuaging you of the weight of your child by holding it with both of his hands, his imaginary wings, fully rosy, carrying half of it, folded over his knuckles, your fingers sunk between his and the feathers, silky, soft like his hair. It melts into another scene, in which you both hold the child, hip to hip, gazing at the mountain you climbed together once upon a time and the child, bearing a heavenly, delectable concoction of your and his features, cannot pull away their eyes from the peak. Their hair blows in the wind, rippling like their Father’s wings, and you and Hobi break their hypnotion by kissing each of their cheek.

Hobi wakes you up with the same kiss—as if he was kissing you and not his child. And something about it heals you, gravely.

You tell him about it over coffee and breakfast and he weeps. And while you weep with him, your tears fall for another, secret reason. For the period that you slept, Hobi baked vanilla pastries with raspberries and you would tell him about it, too, but you’d sit at the table all day. He has a curse to break and you don’t wish to prolong the time, not when you sense that it’s burdening him.

Because his shirt is blood-splattered, he takes you to his house. And what you’ve never expected to happen—you meet his roommate.

A munchkin cat with the littlest legs you’ve ever seen. Black and white coat blankets her chunky body and you sink onto your knees, extending your fingers to her tiny pink snout, just like her Daddy’s, and you die as the fur baby sniffs you and doesn’t run away in fear. It keeps smelling you in curiosity and you think it’s due to the fact she can recognize Hobi’s scent all over you. You’re so absorbed by the furry animal that you don’t even care to look around the vastness of its home and, like your child, you get broken out of the spell when Hobi chuckles.

“Pet her. She likes you,” he says and you hear the familiar clanging of keys being set on the table, the leather of his wallet sliding along the wood and the thud of his phone as he empties out his pockets.

Giddiness seizes you.

You stroke down the baby’s fur on its head, cooing at its softness, at the way the wisps whirl in the air the more you pet it. And you squeal when she leans in into your touch as Hobi did not that long ago. Now you know who he gets it from.

You take it into your arms, scratching its neck. It purrs and your heart springs, eager to embrace it.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” you ask, enthralled by it, nuzzling your face into her fur.

Hobi pets your head and you feel as small as the baby. You look up at him, knowing you radiate, visibly, the energy. He smiles down at you, shines down his love and joy clutches you so hard that you can’t breathe.

“A girl,” he says, his smile widening, and before you can ask about her name, he already tells you. “Her name is Luna.”

Luna. She’s your new best friend, your little baby, and you begin to entertain the idea of bringing her along to your misfit visit to your ex-boyfriend’s apartment because you can’t let go of her. Not when she purrs most homely, most happily. Not when she likes you so much that she’s not afraid of you.

You haven’t grown up with animals, so when the opportunity comes and you get into contact with them, it’s difficult for you to unattach yourself from them.

Luna is yours now.

Hobi pivots on his feet and you’re quick to scurry onto yours, following him into his bedroom. As you carry her, you take a moment to look around his living room. The color beige lines every detail of its spaciousness. From the walls, to the pigmentation of the stones that decorate the side, where a huge flatscreen hangs up, to the smooth floors that glow in the light. Beige, whites and grays, with the tiniest hints of browns, greens and yellows. Small plants and bigger palms sit in the corners, by the windows, and they give the room those colors—as well as his collection, which comes as the biggest surprise of all, of his modern art. You can see a rainbow of Bearbricks everywhere you look, especially in the brown kingdom of his bedroom.

Those pretty one-eyed fuckers stare at you there. Along with their KAWS brothers. And they’re colossal.

Hobi’s back faces you as he rummages in his closet. You kiss Luna on her empty head before you set her on the bed, walking over to Hobi amidst the dimmed light. His curtains are pulled in tight and you think about how he must’ve been getting ready for bed when he called you last night, only to sleep in your light-filled bed. You wrap your arms around him, too hasty with your need to give him your affection—you smear your foundation on his blue shirt, staining it further. And you kiss his back, planting a red lipstick mark right in the middle. It’s going in the laundry bin, anyway.

Hobi reaches his hands back, fingers tapping along the open back of your white top, drumming there and you smile, finding it cute.

“You really like those figurines,” you murmur, propping your chin on his spine, drumming your fingers on his abdomen in similar fashion.

He laughs, softly, as if embarrassed, and you dig your claws, faintly, into his skin. No embarrassment for him—you’re not letting that in within him.

“Don’t you fear they watch you while you sleep?”

Now he laughs through his nose, swiveling his head halfway. “They’re my dream catchers.”

You hum, endearingly, in high pitch, liking the sound of that. Wonder if he knows that he’s such a poet. “Everything you say is so poetic.”

He massages your waist, deepening your hum. “Something tells me that’s your doing.” You punctuate the sound with a vulgar word and he squeezes the place he holds. No laughter, only alluring, affectionate seriousness. You sigh, blissfully. “I actually have a book of poetry here.”

Your brows rise. “What?”

Hobi clasps your hand, dragging you to his small library that is organized with his dream catchers. He pulls out a thick book with a white cover and hands it to you.

Birthday letters by Ted Hughes. The husband of Sylvia Plath, the reason behind her suicide. The female poet who loved E. E. Cummings, the female poet, whom you loved, too, in your lonely girlhood. Who always inspired your longing to die as the curse over your life went on.

It’s surreal to be holding a link to her when you’re standing at the end of the chapter of this curse.

You didn’t die.

“I stole it from my school library,” Hobi explains with that lopsided smile of his, so fond, so full of old memories that you’re learning at this moment. Time stands still and you strain your ears, wanting to hear every syllable of it. “Everytime I would go hide there, mess around or just study, I’d always see this book. It would always be right in front of me. I thought, and I still do, that it has some kind of meaning. That it somehow needs to be in my life. So I took it. And it’s been here for more than a decade. I’ve never even read it.”

You pout, touched by the symbolism, by the fact he never opened it. “Never?”

Hobi shakes his head, shortly. “Never.”

You look down at it, caress its cover. “Maybe it’s a dream catcher, too.”

His mouth ends curl. “Open it. Read me something.”

His fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt and you sense the magnetism of the symbolism attached to the book closing over you. You watch the work of his hands as you slip your digit into the middle of the book. Page one hundred and forty two. Portraits, the title of the unknown poem. But you don’t read it until he bares his chest and sits down on the edge of the bed.

You stand between his outstretched legs. He rubs the back of your knees, waiting.

You skim your eyes over the page and break, prematurely.

Licking your lips, you begin.

“What happened to Howard’s portrait of you? / I wanted that painting.”

You lose a breath, your throat constricting, and you gaze down at Hobi to see him lost in a thought that you can’t discern.

Can he perceive the link? Does he realize who Howard is as you bring that poem into reality with your recitation?

You continue, biting your lip, momentarily.

“Spirits helped Howard, ‘Sometimes / When I’m panting, I hear a voice, a / woman’s, / calling Howard, Howard — faint, / far-off, / fading.”

Your phone dings in the front pocket of your ivory mini skirt—Howard has texted you back. The book droops out of your grasp as you fish out the device, your screen enveloping the room in a small twirl of brightness.

Jungkook: my door is always open for you

You pocket it back, the light snuffed out. The book quivers and you steady it with your other hand. “Jungkook texted me back.”

Hobi is deathly still, in an uncanny way. “What did he say?”

You lick your lips, but it’s not enough moisture. “That his door is always open for me.”

He props an elbow on his knee, his teeth nibbling on a fleck of skin upon his thumb. “Keep reading.”

Your breath shakes. You risk the question swathing your heart, needing to know whether you’re on the same page before you can go on. “Can you see the correlation?”

He blinks, rapidly, as if awoken. “To what? You mean to the painting of you that I’m about to break?”

You nod, relieved that he sees it, but the heaviness loiters. Slightly, you fear the next lines. “Jungkook is Howard.”

His eyes stray, his being crestfallen, his mouth biting into his cuticle. He doesn’t say anything and you’re not sure if you should read on, but he taps the back of your knee that he still holds, propelling you to do so.

In fact, he tugs on it, guiding you to sit on his thigh—like you did in your favorite reading armchair when you cleaned his wound. You flutter a kiss on the healing bruise that has the colors of his home and with a wet thumb, Hobi angles the book so he can read along with you, staining the page with his humanity, imprinting his presence, the gravity of the moment into it.

It took a decade for the time to be right. Enough for him to read this.

With you.

You push away the panic regarding him not reacting to your affection, figuring the importance of this moment is held in higher regard. Clearing your throat, you continue.

“He got carried away / When he started feeding his colors / into your image,” you stop, the words affecting your vocal cords with emotions. Hobi is the only one who knows what colors Jungkook used in the painting. How can a random page in a random book describe the flavor of the bane of the curse upon your life? How is it possible? You take a moment to regain your composure, willing smoothness into your voice. Hobi rubs your thigh with his hand, thumb tracing patterns, a help in need. “He glowed / At his crucible, on its tripod. / How many sessions? / Yaddo fall. Woodstoves. Rain, / Rain, rain in the conifers.” The rain that fell upon Hobi when you exited the museum after you talked to Jungkook. The rain that brought you closer to him as he shrouded you and himself in your trenchcoat. The memory is sweet, another help in need.

“Tribal / conflict / Of crows and their echoes. You deepened. / Molten, luminous, looking at us / From that window of Howard’s vision of you.”

Your scream in the middle of the night after that morning at the museum; the physical violence that followed after. The painting that was created in the same hours.

“Yourself lifted out of yourself / in a flaming of oils, your lips exact.”

The flaming of your reddened bum within Jungkook’s made-up world of the painting; the punishment that you broke out of his clutches and became your own person.

You suddenly understand it, the painting.

You feel sick.

The poem is a maze, but Hobi looks as though he has the sixth sense that enables him to navigate through it. You’re burdened by your emotions, dragging your feet as you follow him, looking at him. He burns his sight into the scattered words, not breathing, not blinking, his thumb stuck in his mouth. He’s connecting the dots, the wheels turning in his brain.

Luna crawls onto the other side of his lap, the third help in need.

You take a deep breath.

“Suddenly — ‘What’s that? Who’s that?’ / out of the gloomy neglected chamber behind you / Somebody had emerged, hunched, gloating at you, / Just behind your shoulder — a cowled / Humanoid of raggy shadows. Who?”

The squeaks of breaks behind you, Jungkook stepping out of his car and joining the demon of shame looming at you, waiting for you to end your phone call with Hobi.

“Howard was surprised. He smiled at it. / “If I see it there, I paint it. I like it / When things like that happen. He just came.’ / Came from where? Mystery smudge extra, / Stalking the glaze wetness / Of your new-fired idol brilliance. / I saw it with horrible premonition. / You were alone there, pregnant, and unprotected.”

You snap the book shut, the lump in your throat so enormous in size that it alone begs you not to read on. Your chin quivers, but no tears come out, mind barren as the words alone, pregnant and unprotected echo within there. On an ungodly, immoral loop.

Hobi takes the book from you and flings it into a corner of his room, hitting a lonesome gray figurine that topples over. Your eyes witness the movement, but you don’t grasp it. Numbness seizes you, the paralyzation of bizarreness that causes bile to push through the lump in your throat.

You gag.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

Hobi is quick on his feet, but you don’t make it. The vomit spills through the cup of your palm over your mouth, staining your white top. Hobi carries you to his toilet, stained just the same. Holds your hair as you retch your guts out—the letters of the poem, the realization of its meaning, the symbolism, the raspberry pastries. Presses his lips against the nape of your neck, holding you together.

Wipes your chin with toilet paper. Puts his plastic cup with cold water to your mouth to wash it clean with.

Rips the three pages of the poem out of the spine of the book in taciturn fury, its ending never to be known.

You watch him do it, with the same speechlessness, and you’re not sorry for the prosaic lawlessness—it strengthens you and it relieves you. Watch the tremor of his hands, after, as he constringes the poisonous papers in his fists. The book abandoned back in the corner with the figurine, vanquished.

He paces the room, fleetingly, stopping in front of you. Gets on both of his knees. Grips your hands, with the crumpled papers. Kisses them. Over and over.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers onto them. The noise of the papers is like the shaking of leaves and you want to leave. You want this wretched thing settled. The smell of your puke hits your nostrils and it’s what prevents you from folding into him in the way he did this morning.

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. It’s fate,” you reassure, tearing the papers from his hold and throwing them away from his sight. Yours, too. It’s not his fault that the curse sneaked into something intimate he desired to share with you. But your heart aches that it did it before he knew you all those years ago, planted in its mind false beauty, only to cause ruination. You need it gone. “Help me take this off. Let’s go.”

He sighs and the sadness of the sound deepens your ache, though all you can do is accept it and fight. The will is enough—if the conscious will is there, things will change, things will move forward and all will settle into place.

Tomorrow will look different.

Hobi dressed you in his clothing. A white linen shirt, to match your skirt. One would say it’s oversized, the way the fabric puffs and slides off your shoulder, not an item of masculine affection. You left your bra hanging by its strap on the handle of his closet. Left the buttons undone. Left the bruise between your breasts unconcealed, proudly, for every eye to see. He tied it in the middle, a tiny sliver of your midriff exposing tanned skin, because the hem would only bunch up the waistband of your skirt as it reached way down below. It could’ve been a dress alone, meant for loungewear, but you weren’t going to do much lounging.

Hobi dressed you for war.

He himself matched you. A white polo, beige pants, a vivid green beanie to hide the sweat coating his tousled hair. A king, ready to march.

The king is dead, long live the king.

You know the ending. You trust Hobi, you believe in him. So did Luna when he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet. She meowed so much encouragement that it curled a smile on yours and Hobi’s face. You nuzzled her, considering saying goodbye to her harder than facing Jungkook, the dead king, but her purring made it better. It was a promise that she would be here with another set of fluff balls of encouragement once you come back from the war.

You thought the ride to Jungkook’s apartment would be silent, but no. Hobi put on his The Weeknd playlist, the dark, ambient songs from The Trilogy album saturating the shifting atmosphere. Placed his hand on your thigh while he drove. Things seemed normal as they did before shit hit the fan. Your body submitted to that impression and so you pretended it was so. Relived, quietly, in your mind the way you rubbed your clothed pussy on that very seat, steering him into insanity, which he controlled so well.

A coping mechanism, that lustfulness. As you know it. But oddly, it didn’t turn you on. No, it composed you—tranquilized your emotions, so they wouldn’t be burdensome in the battle.

“What are you thinking about?” Hobi asked, knowing he was five minutes away from Jungkook’s apartment. He didn’t live far away from him.

Bizarreness.

He probably noticed your lack of visible reaction to your favorite singer.

“I’m having flashbacks.”

A beat of pause. “About?”

“About the way I drove you insane when I stuck my hand in my panties.”

He hummed, softly, the noise barely audible. “You got so wet just from me praising you.”

You sighed, delighted. “I did.”

“I’ll never forget the fact that I ate you out first before I kissed you.”

You smiled, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. “It comforts me,” you admitted, baring your private soul. “Sex. Lust. It’s not always dirty to me and it doesn’t always make me horny. It makes me feel safe.”

He thought about your words, thumb searching for yours, waggling. You closed your palm over the back of his hand on the shift stick, hooking your thumb over his.

“How did that painting make you feel?”

You didn’t feel much. Just one singular emotion. “Furious.”

“Why?”

“It makes me angry that he thinks he still has a right to control my life. That he took what I consider to be safe and made it unsafe.”

He ruined the act of spanking for Hobi, which ultimately ruined it for you. It scarred him enough that he wasn’t able to do it to you when you asked him. And for that, you’ll never be able to forgive Jungkook.

Hobi clenched his jaw. “When we get inside, I want you to think twice before you look at that painting. You’ve gone through a lot these past twenty-four hours. Put your well-being first, okay?”

Your veins pump warmth into your heavy heart due to his care and you kiss his knuckles, leaning your cheek into them. “Okay.”

“Good. I’ll break it anyways.”

The deal rings in the hallway as you walk towards his door, Hobi two steps behind you, obfuscating his presence. You rack your knuckles on the wood, your stomach rolling, your blood curdling into bits of frozen cranberries, and your lungs lack air. You don’t know if you can do this, if you can be posturing stoicness when the threat is right in front of you. You wish Luna were here with you, her fluffy wisps a reminder of her encouragement. You can’t even find her on the material of your skirt, for she’s as much clothed in white as you.

The door opens, revealing a distressed, wrinkly Jungkook with the stars in his eyes tear-stained. The lines of his sleep shoot across his bare chest, down to his abdomen that he sucks in at the sight of you. And you don’t hate him for the way his eyes skip to the bruise in the middle of your breasts—because it were your eyes first that skimmed that low on him first.

Shame stops your blood flow, which restores your forgotten memory of how further aroused your body became when you saw his excited manhood in the picture he sent you. It floods back at full speed, in tandem with the bile in your throat.

“I didn’t expect you to come over so soon,” he says, confusion rasping his tone, and his wide eyes narrow once they whisk to a taller head behind you. He doesn’t say anything to acknowledge his presence, despite the fact you expected that much from him. A rude remark, the closing of doors. Anything but him opening the door wider and turning around, wordlessly inviting you in.

And Hobi.

The bile lowers. You exchange a worried look with him, but he runs a hand down the length of your hair upon your back.

Bloodthirst flashes in his eyes.

And you’re no longer sure if his plan is the right one to unravel.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four

140 notes · View notes

fungal-rot · 7 months ago

Text

How I Think Joel Would Kiss You (Jackson!Joel)

If it’s your first kiss with each other I think Joel would be a bit hesitant. His heart would race and his leg would bounce as he sat next to you, listen to you ramble on and on about your day and oh my g o d just kiss them !! fuck he hasn’t been in a real relationship like this for so long. Joel is learning to love again and good lord does he love you. he’s not very good at expressing it through words, but instead acts of services. would kissing you be considered an act of service?

his fingers twitch in his lap as he eyed you intently but can’t seem to pay attention because your lips are just right there !! waiting to be smooched !! then just saying fuck it, he rips that bandaid off and grabs either side of your face with both hands and pulls you to him while planting a fat, wet (and a lil clumsy) kiss to your mouth. suddenly he thinks about how your lips are so soft and nice and his are so fuckin’ chapped holy shit can they feel that? why is he overthinking this he’s a grown ass man, get it together.

then he’d pull away, and he’d see the awestruck look in your eyes as they flutter open, the way your mouth would slowly stretch into a wide, toothy grin. and he felt at home. because he was home.

after that it got a little easier. he wasn’t too keen on public affection unless someone was eyeing you too hard or too long, but at home he was always showering you with love, peppering your face with his lips, playfully nipping your jaw and neck. walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your middle and leave a kiss on your temple or the top of your head. he felt safe and comfortable around you, to let his normal stoicism drop and lighten up. you were his rock, his family. and you are so very loved and appreciated.

222 notes · View notes

ashblooddragons · 15 days ago

Text

The Red Queen (Chapter 7/?)

112 ac

Alicents pov

I sit next to Myrielle in the royal box waiting for the tourney to start and for Rhaenyra to show. I have no idea how she gets away with all she does, if I did even half the things she’s done today I would be forced to be a Septa by my Father, only love and lust for the gods.

I sigh and look over at you and your friends smiling as you excitedly show them your new necklace, you had shown me it soon after so excited and only wanting to show me your new gift.

“Ali! Look! Look! Kepus gave this to me, don’t you think it’s pretty? Oh, I love it so much!” You say and I can’t help but notice you have seemingly had your hair fixed into a proper style. I’ve been needing to fix that, wonder who did. I think to myself.

“Ah, let me see.” I say kneeling down so I can face you properly as I lift the garnet pendant watching as the rich red of the stone catches the light making it even more beautiful. “Lovely, a beautiful gift for a beautiful girl.” I say smiling when you beam with joy at the compliment.

“Mam– Ali do you have any jewelry that your family gave you that was a ancestirs?” You ask curiously as you play with the sapphire necklace around my neck. Your correction isn’t lost on me but I let you think I missed you almost calling me Mama.

It is moments like this one, where I know I am not alone in the feeling that I am your Mother. I may not have birthed you, nor carried you in my womb but you are my little girl.

“Ancestors,” I correct gently before I touch the necklace on my neck. “And yes, this used to be my Mother’s before she passed. I have many other necklaces, rings, bracelets, and earrings, that used to be hers.”

I know the moment you catch that my Mother is dead, I hae never told you nor have you most likely ever heard this fact so the tears that come to your eyes are not surprising.

“Your Mama is dead? Is there any way to bring her back, so you can have her again?” You ask seemingly trying to find any way to take my pain away from her passing which seems to bring your young mind to necromancy.

I can’t help but giggle at your young and innocent idea. “No, and besides she is in a better place, she is happy with the Stranger now, walking through fields of lilies and havig the sun kiss her skin at all times of day.” I saw with a mournful smile.

“Is the Stranger kind?” You ask wiping away your tears with the back of your dress sleeve.

“Very kind.” I say before teaching you more about the seven and what each one is for and why they are important.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when I hear the King start his speech before the tourney starts. “Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed–”

The King pauses when Rhaenyra tries to sneak in and take her seat. I suppress a scoff when she sits down smirking thinking she got away with something again, and to be fair she probably did with how the King bends to her will.

“When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share, the Queen Aemma has begun her labors!”

With that announcement the crowd erupts into applause and cheers, small folk and noble alike rejoicing at the future heir to be born. I turn to look at you and see you nervously biting ad chewing on you lower lip it is already getting bloody and chapped. I at times worry if my nervous habit with m fingers has led you to do the same only with your lips. I reach over to hold your hand comforting you the only way I can. you may not say it or show it, nor understand it, but I can tell you worry for the Queen and your future sibling.

“May the luck of the Seven shine on all combatants!” The King says finally finishing his speech witha sigh and sitting on his mock throne.

I turn to look at you after you tugged on the sleeve of my dress. “Yes, darling?”

“Where’s Kepus? He said he was going to be in the games, but I haven’t seen him yet.” You are confused as you search for your dear uncle, or should I say Kepus.

“He will be out soon, but first we have to watch Ser Cole and Ser Aldwin Sarwyck joust.” I say gently smiling when you nod, you don’t seem to like this information but you also seem to understand.

You’ve never cared much for tourneys, finding them too long and too boring. And I can’t blame you, as soon as it gets entertaining it is determined you must not see such violence at your young age. So when Ser Cole unmounts Ser Aldwin you don't clap nor cheer as loud as the rest, only clapping as you know you must.

“Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of ‘The Queen Who Never Was’.” Lord Boremund Baratheon declares holding his jousting stick up to the balcony.

You can hear the chatter of the courtiers gossiping. Do they ever stop? Probably not. I think to myself scowling when I see one of them point to you and your friends giggling over lemon cakes and tea.

“Good fortune to you, cousin.” Princess Rhaenys says obviously not happy with he cousins behavior but putting on a good face.

The less things for this court of vipers to gossip about you, the better. Or that is at least what my father loves to tell me when I even think of running through teh halls.

“I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it.” He says pompously like any true Baratheon would.

I hear a pained gasp beside me and turn to see Myrielle looking up at her brother and the lady Cerelle Celtigar seeming to be holding hands and talking. I had heard they are now bethrothed and getting ready to marry in three moons. Such a quick wedding has raised eyebrows as to why they are wedding so quickly, I have yet to hear one that makes sense.

“Are you alright, Myrielle?” I ask worried as to what has he nearly in tears.

“Yes, yes, sorry I must have gotten something in my eyes.” She says clearly lying but I pretend to believe her for her sake. That is until I hear Rhaenyra scoff.

“Is that what is’s called when you almost lay with your brother? You know it’s wrong right, to want to fuck your brother or family? That is at least what the rumors say.” She says crudely.

I turn back and see tears rolling down Myrielles cheeks, whether that be because of shame or rage I can not tell. I can’t believe Rhaenyra’s hypocrisy, she has always found the conquers marriage as beautiful, and yet she sits there berating a girl over a rumor? It must be this that pushes me to speak up, to try and take Rhaenyra down a peg.

“As if you Targaryens have any room to talk. Were the conquers not brother and sisters, or had I read the history books wrong?” I ask with a smirk knowing I’ve backed her into a corner.

I can see Rhaenyra is ready to lash back when the King clears his throat and when we turn to look at him, he’s glaring at Rhaneyra making her slump back into her chair with a scowl upon her face.

I turn back to Myrielle who is smiling thankfully. “I do not know if this is true, but as far as I’m concerned it is only a rumor about the new lady of court.” I say squeezing her hand reasuringly, before turning back to watch as the Rouge Prince comes riding into the jousting ring.

I can’t help but smile when you perk up at the sight of him, for if he can bring that smile of pure joy to your little face can he truly be that bad?

I was so distracted by your excited chatter that you had finally been allowed to make a favor for a knight that I missed the way Myrielle and my eldest brother, Lorent, were staring at each other. If I had I would have noticed the blush on Myrielles face and the look of lust in my brother’s eyes.

“Who do you think he’ll pick?” You ask as you watch Prince Daemon moving his horse up and down the line of knights to choose from. When I see my brother Gwayne I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach put push it down and smile down at you,

“I have no idea, though they musat be a extraordinary knight to be choices for the Prin–.” I say only to stop when I see he picked the one person I hoped and silently prayed he wouldn’t, Gwyane.

“Who’s the one with the tower helmet?” You ask curiously as you lean into me on the seate we are sitting on.

You do this often, looking for my touch and comfort, besides the Prince I am the person you seek out the most.

“My brother.” I say fighting the urge to bite and pick at my cuticles. It is not for my sake but for yours for I will not let you gain such a harming habit because of me, because of my anixites. So I will push them down for your sake.

“He must be a very good knight for Kepus to pick him.” You say in wonder.

Or the son of the Prince’s greatest enemy. I think coldly.

I hold my breath as I watch the joust, my brother seems to have almost knocked the Prince off his horse. But on the next joust, the Prince leans his jousting stick downward so it trips the horse making the horse and my brother flip through the air landing with a resounding crash that makes everyone gasp. But I do not get much time to recoup until the Prince is in front of the balcony smirking up at us, or should I say, my father.

“Nicely done uncle.” Rhaenyra says with a smirk batting her eyes ar him. I have to fight the urge to slap her as she seems to forger my brother was just carried out of the tourney ring.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra, now I am fairly certain I can win these games but what isn’t a little extra luck from the most beautiful maiden here?” He says smiling when you walk up with your friends smiling and waving at him.

“It would be my honor Uncle.” Rhaenyra says breathlessly getting ready to grab her favor when the Prince stops her.

“Not you, I meant the Realms Darling over here.” He says pointing his jousting stick towards you.

The look of pure joy crossing your face mixed with Rhaenyra’s look of betrayal and embarrassment almost made my brothers injury worth it, almost.

You run over to grab your favor only to run back and almost tripping and falling from your excitement, it’s a good thing I caught you or else you may have fallen off the balcony.

“I made it myself!” You say excitedly as you reach over just barely able to reach before letting your wreath slide down.

“It is a lovely favor, it is sure to make me win.” He says making you giggle as he rides off.

“He’ll win with my favor right?” You ask as you hold my hand as we walk back to our seat.

“If he does not then he must have terrible luck because you are the luckiest girl in the world.” I say tickling your sides making you giggle uncontrollably.

As the match goes on we don’t notice how slowly but surely the crowd seems to becomes mournful. It is only after your uncle lost his bout and whispered something to Ser Cole that we finally hear the news.

“Ali, please say it’s not true.” You plead tears rolling down your little face.

When I can’t find a response you burst into tears and sob into my chest as I hold you close praying I could take all your pain and put it onto myself. But there is no gods, or magic that would let me so I sit there holding you and carrying you to your chambers as you cry your little heart out as any little girl should after losing their mother.

This is the necklace I see that Alicent was wearing, the one made of Sapphires from her mom.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I be lost without you Girly!

Also Nymeria and Myrielle are my besties @sugutoad ocs so give her the love for these magical and beautiful characters!!

Taglist: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @baybaybear1 @sachaa-ff

79 notes · View notes

cursingtoji · 1 year ago

Note

SANDY!!! The way i ran here after seeing your event 🥹 Jiraiya with 46 plsplspls 💕 congrats on 3k sweets <3<3

❛ 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑠 𝑢𝑠? ❜ ┊ cause he can’t stay away from his pretty girl, not even when she’s in a public hot spring

plus when you have been apart for too long ┊fem!reader x husband!Jiraiya, public sex, pussy eating cause he does that it’s canon, anal stim, creampie ┊ The Clichés ™

You ask your husband as he starts to kissing you in a way you know where it’s going to end.

Prior to that, you were just returning for an assignment, before leaving the village you were at you sent a letter to him, saying you would stop by this onsen on your way and arrive fully rested in the morning.

Jiraiya, being the impatient man he is, couldn’t wait to see you, specially after being apart for too long.

The idea was to surprise you in your room (laying naked on your bed with a rose in his mouth), but once he saw how empty the place was and peeking at the women onsen — cause old habits never die, although he swears your bare body was the only one he wanted to see — he sneaks in silently until he’s right next to you.

“Hello beautiful” he whispers squatting beside you.

“Jiraiya!” you yelp opening your eyes and looking over your shoulder, “You know this is the women’s area, right?”

But that doesn’t stop the old man from discarding the towel around his waist and entering the hot waters.

“Something about the ‘men are forbidden’ sign at the entrance tipped me off” he kneels holding your waist and getting close enough for you to feel his excitement against your stomach, “Couldn’t wait to see my pretty girl.”

You look at the entrance, afraid someone might catch you two.

“What if someone sees us?”

Jiraiya keeps trailing his kisses down until he wraps his lips around your nipple flicking it with his tongue, he loves how warm your skin is, how soft… in fact he loves everything about you, his closed ones might even say he’s obsessed about you.

“I’m sure we are breaking a law here” you whisper but can’t find yourself doing anything to stop your husband from picking you up and placing you on a rock where your bottom half would be off the water and directly on his mouth’s height as you feel his breath fanning over your folds.

“You’re worth it” he blinks before going fully down on you while holding the back of your thighs. The first thing he notices is how actually hot your pussy is, hotter than normal, just the touch of his chapped lips against your lower lips are enough to make you flinch.

“Jiraiya, wait, I think I’m quite sensitive because of the hot water” you hold on to his white locks.

“Is that so? We should come to places like this more often then” he kisses from your inner thigh to your clit, carefully minding your sensitiveness. Being apart all this time makes him appreciate your natural scent even more, giving it a long sniff that makes your face heat up at his lack of shame. Even after being together for years his vulgarity still manages to surprise you.

He moves your thighs to his shoulder where he can balance you better and free his hands to play with your tits as he devour your cunt.

“S’ good, love” you mumble with your head throw back, your hand on top of the his pinching your nipple.

Jiraiya sucks your clit working two fingers into your hole as you whine and close your shaky legs around his head.

“Oh sweetheart, you really are sensitive, aren’t you?” he chuckles.

“Y-Yeah, it’s been a long time since we— agh” his thick digits rubs your sweet spot.

“So you missed your old man playin’ with this pussy?” he flattens his tongue on your clit as you rock your hips on his face, “Fuck” he curses retreating the hand that held your hips, “Hold yourself, love” your adjust yourself on the rock so you don’t fall from his shoulders. Jiraiya starts to stroke himself, too aroused by the taste and feeling of your cunt to not do anything.

“Baby” you moan pulling his hair as you feel your orgasm approaching, “Don’t— I wanna cum with you” your whiny tone and teary eyes are everything to him.

“Of course, doll” he maneuvers you down his shoulders until you wrap your legs around his waist then he holds you by your asscheeks.

“You haven’t even kissed me hello” you pout.

“Haven’t I?” he kisses your cheek, “You sure?” he kisses the other.

“Jiraiya” you call his name in a scolding tone he loves.

“Come to daddy then” he closes his lips on your bottom one, sucking and licking it just like he did earlier to your clit.

The old man guides his cock to your hole and takes advantage of your gasp by getting his tongue inside your mouth, shamelessly making out with his wife so publicly

He adjusts his grip on you and pulls out just a bit before thrusting again, he feels his own sweat trailing down his body, the humid environment combining with both your wet bodies generating a loud wet sound of skin slapping skin.

“Jiraiya~ too loud” you moan.

“Afraid someone will hear the sound of my balls hitting your ass?” he bites your neck, “Relax, love” his middle finger moves into the crack of your ass until it reaches your puckered hole, pressing it until it takes his digit, “If someone sees us— ugh” he cuts himself when you tight up around his cock having your asshole stimulated, “I’ll just have to take them down.”

“Fuck—“ he presses his torso against you, hard pecks squeezing your soft breasts, “Too much~” he tries to synchronize the thrusts on your pussy with the pace on your ass.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart” his thrusts become sloppier and he’s back at sucking your tongue, “Cummin’ ugh— shit” he groans bullying your insides with his thick cock, as it turns out he was also more sensitive than usual. The chances of taking you in a hot spring more often become an actual possibility after this.

“Come inside, baby, fill me up” you bite his lip as he curses and increases the speed of his middle finger on your back, the doubled stimulation pushing you through the edge as you moan your husband’s name, “That’s right, princess take it all” he keeps thrusting even after emptying inside you, overstimulating himself.

Your head fall on his shoulder, peppering his neck with kisses.

“Baby I wish we could fuck here all night but I don’t wanna be expelled” you kiss his lips sweetly, “Let’s go to my room, yes?”

“You’re no fun” he pulls his soft cock out, carefully placing you down and helping wrap a towel around you.

“If you behave well tonight I might reserve a private spring for us tomorrow morning” you caress his chest, especially the sensitive skin around his scar.

“There’s a private spring here and you didn’t tell me?” he puts his hands on his hips in disbelief.

“Now go, you’re not supposed to be here” you push him away.

“Can’t believe this and i’m the one supposed to behave…” he walks off bare naked and you just hope he doesn’t cross with any lady coming in or she’ll have a 26 centimetres surprise.

#jiraiya smut #jiraiya x reader #jiraiya x you #naruto x reader #naruto smut #— the cliches ™

788 notes · View notes

writemywaytoyourheart · 1 year ago

Text

Bedeviled | FINAL- Chapter 15b: Morior Invictus

warnings for this part: strong language, strong religious themes throughout, confusion, anxiety, JK is struggling help him, blood, mentions of torture, physical pain, heartbreak, despair, grief, loss, pls kindly let me know if I left anything out ty

WC part 2: 15.7k

read 15a first...HERE

JK sits a few feet from where you lay, biting the nail on his thumb as he glances at you every once in a while before looking back out of the mouth of the cave you’re in.

He isn’t sure how long it takes for you to begin stirring, face scrunched in pain as you once again become all too aware of the state your body is in.

Your face looks sickly, but there’s still a soft warm inner glow in your skin that he begins to realize has been there the entire time, he just never bothered to notice it.

He was too distracted figuring out ways to trick you into giving him your soul before you even reached the Flame, to save himself some time.

To keep moving up the ranks..

JK’s gaze is on a bloody stone sitting just outside the opening, when he hears your weak voice.

“You came back.”

He turns his head to see you still lying where he placed you, but this time your eyes are open and looking at him. Fresh tears linger there, waiting to fall.

The look you’re giving him makes a pit form in his stomach so he breaks eye contact and looks at the stained rock again, not responding to you.

“Where are we?”

“The fifth circle,” he mumbles, still refusing to look at you.

You blink slowly, feeling the ticklish tears slide down your cheeks as you gaze at him.

Despite the effort behind them, your next words crack as they fall from your chapped lips, “Why did you come back?”

It takes a moment and he still doesn’t look at you, but he answers.

“I don’t know.”

A tiny smile spreads on your face as your gaze runs up and down his form sitting against the rocky wall, long legs bent in front of him.

“I do.”

That finally makes him turn to look at you, confusion written all over his handsome face.

“Why?” He whispers.

Your reply is so soft he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Because you love me.”

His eyes lock on yours, unable to look away for a moment. Then he tears his gaze from yours and back outside.

“I told you that I don’t. I don’t know why you-”

“You told me that you can’t.” You correct him gently, watching carefully as he swallows and lets out a small breath.

“You’re an angel.” The way he says it is tinged with disgust. It doesn’t surprise you, but it does hurt, “I’m a demon.”

Silence falls between you for a few long moments.

Then he finally looks at you without darting his gaze away seconds later. There’s a hard look in his eyes, “What the hell did you think was going to happen?”

JK watches your eyes fill with tears again and chest stutter as you take an unsteady breath.

“I need you to trust me,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling slightly before you bite it.

His brows furrow.

“I already know you’re an angel, I know your secret. What is the point in trying to fool me now?”

“I’m not, I’m trying- I-…I wasn’t always an angel.”

JK takes a deep breath and shakes his head as if to clear it, then he looks back out of the opening in the mountain, “You angels speak in riddles, just like Him.”

You open your mouth to say something but he cuts you off.

“We can’t stay here long, we need to keep moving or-”

Struggling to sit up, you watch him carefully, your brow creased in worry, “Or what?”

He glances at you briefly before clearing his throat, “Nothing- be careful.”

You smile at the way he flinches to get up when he sees you moving into a sitting position. Then a pained hiss leaves your lips when one of the small stones that surrounds you digs into one of the several deep gashes on your palm.

“Are you okay?”

You look up to see him walking over to crouch by you.

“You look like shit,” he mutters as he takes your hand to look at the fresh blood oozing from the cut.

You can’t help but stare at him as he inspects your palm closely, mumbling something about the stone getting in it and how he’ll need to get it out.

“It’s going to hurt,” JK whispers before gently removing the stone.

At your lack of reaction to the undoubtedly painful process, he looks up to see you much closer than he thought. There’s a tiny smile on your face but a sadness in your eyes as you look at him like a pet you found after losing it years ago.

You lean a little closer until your noses are only a few inches apart.

Despite the dirt and blood on your face, the rattiness of your hair, and the pain radiating from you, your eyes are shining as they look into his. There’s an elegance about you that equally terrifies and intrigues him.

“Why?” He asks quietly.

“Why what?”

You watch his gaze drift along your broken body, the gashes and burns that decorate you, “Why didn’t you let me help? I could’ve made it easier for you.”

The look you give him is one he doesn’t understand.

You lean forward and whisper softly, “It was never meant to be easy.”

He watches as you blink slowly, clearly exhausted. You lean back again, your eyes full of a deep sadness.

“You weren’t always a demon, JK.”

His dark brown eyes look between yours a few times, trying to figure out what it is you’re saying.

A strained sigh leaves his mouth but he doesn’t back away. He shakes his head slowly, “Stop messing with me, I’m not stupid. I chose-”

“To trade your life for someone else’s.”

You see his eyes water a little in confusion before he blinks it away.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because it’s true,” your voice breaks.

“It’s not, and I don’t understand why you-”

“Please just listen to me-”

“Why should I?” He snaps, “You’re an angel and a liar. Not to mention the last soul down here I’d ever trust.”

When the hurt is evident in your expression at his harsh tone and choice of words, his eyes fall to the ground between you and he gulps.

“I’m not a liar,” you say quietly, voice full of hurt, “I just didn’t admit that I’m an angel.”

“So everything else is true? You’re here for the Flame then.”

You bite your lip, then after a moment of silence you whisper, “No. That I did make up.”

JK scoffs and backs up a little so he isn’t so close to you.

“You’re the one that lied to me,” your voice gains a little more strength and you lean forward with furrowed brows, “You acted like you were going to keep up your end of the bargain but all you could really think about was deceiving me in any other way you could.”

He doesn’t look at you but you see him gulp.

“All you cared about was taking my soul,” your voice cracks due to the previous torture you endured. You can feel the energy steadily draining from you, “You never actually planned on getting me out of here-”

“That’s not fucking true,” he hisses, leaning in and glaring at you as he finally snaps, “I offered to let you go. I got your ass through Hell and don’t you dare say I didn’t. You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”

His dark eyes flicker between your own. It takes him by surprise when he doesn’t see the irritation there that he expected to. Instead, there’s something that looks almost like relief.

He swallows thickly when he sees your eyes drift from his down to his lips.

There’s a faint smile on your lips when he glances down at them briefly before looking back up.

“You’re right,” you whisper under your breath softly, “Thank you.”

Your faces are only inches apart, you can feel his cold breath fanning over your cheeks.

“You look exhausted,” JK sighs, changing the subject.

You shake your head with a tiny smile.

“No more than usual.”

He knows you’re joking, but he can’t find it in himself to laugh. Even aside from the torment your body went through, he can tell that this exhaustion is something entirely different.

An angel in Hell is against all rules of nature.

“You should get some sleep.”

You shake your head again even as your eyes blink slower from the drowsiness that won’t let up. The faint smile on your lips doesn’t fade as you gaze at him with something he can’t decipher in your eyes.

Saying nothing, you watch as his brows furrow a bit when something occurs to him.

“You’re an angel…” he says quietly, almost to himself.

When he doesn’t say anything more and begins to look a little lost in thought, you hum gently to encourage him to continue.

“...shouldn’t you hate me?” He finally finishes, looking back into your eyes.

You stare at each other for a moment, then you lean in just a little closer, until your noses are a few inches apart.

“Do you think I hate you?”

He gnaws on his bottom lip a little before answering, “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

The demon tries to look away but is stopped by a gentle hand on his cheek.

Instead of answering, he takes your hand in his and brings it down so that he can look at it. You watch the anger flit over his face as he scans the cuts and burn marks littering your skin.

He mumbles something that you don’t catch, so you lean down a little to get closer.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” he says it louder this time, his voice cracking a bit at the end.

Your heart aches deeply in your chest and you fight the tears building up as you watch him have an internal battle with whatever else is going through his brain.

“You came back…” It’s answer enough for his unexpected apology.

Then you ask softly when he seems distracted, “What’s going on in your mind?”

He chuckles breathlessly, “They never shut up.”

“Who?”

It’s almost like he doesn’t want to look at you as he says it, as if he’s ashamed. He keeps his gaze from yours when he mumbles, “The souls.”

A fresh wave of tears comes over you and this time you can’t hold them back. They trickle down your cheeks silently.

He must always hear them, whispering their desires to fall. Begging one of the demons to come along and grant them any wish for one simple thing in return.

“Most of them don’t know what it is they’re doing,” JK mumbles, “And some of them don’t care.”

“How so?” You choke out.

You know the answer, but you’re curious as to what he has to say, considering his role in these things.

“They play games, open doors they shouldn’t, mock the existence of all of us,” he’s staring at a dirty smudge on your torn skirt, “Most of them don’t understand, that if they go looking for us, we will find them.”

You’ve seen first hand the chaos and disaster that ignorance can bring, so you don’t disagree.

He’s right.

“And you can hear them?” You ask, “All the time?”

“It never stops.”

“That sounds pretty horrible.”

He swallows, then you see him shift back into that other state, the one where he doesn’t care.

“Not nearly as bad as being a miserable little puppet and bending to someone’s every will-”

“I’m not a puppet.”

He looks up at you at the strong tone of your voice.

“I am lucky that I ended up where I did and I would not change it for anything.”

JK squints at you, “Seriously?”

“I’m loved, and happy, and safe up there. I’ve never been forced into anything, I chose every second of it.”

You brush a strand of black hair from his face with your finger.

“Out of the two of us, I think we both know who the miserable one really is.”

JK gulps at your words.

“I can help you,” you whisper, “I can make them be quiet.”

You see his dark eyes flicker up to yours quickly.

“What?” His breathless question matches the bewilderment on his handsome face.

You nod, excitement clear in your shining eyes.

“I can help, if you’ll let me.”

“H-...how?”

“You need to trust me,” you give him a look, “Do you trust me?”

It takes a few seconds, then he finally nods slowly.

Before he has a moment to realize what you’re doing, you move forward and peck his forehead ever so softly before pulling back.

By the time he’s registered that you just kissed him, he’s also realized that his mind has become terrifyingly silent.

You feel a spark of warmth in your chest at the look in his eyes.

“Better?” You ask after a few moments.

When he looks at you, you think you see tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away quickly.

“I-...I don’t…”

“Don’t hear anything?” You finish for him and he nods.

His chest tightens painfully at the smile on your face that is positively radiating with joy.

It confuses him.

You look joyful…for him.

His eyes go from your face and drag along your form, taking in the damage for the hundredth time. Blood is dried and caked along most of your skin, the gashes still oozing bright red. He can’t see your mutilated wings from where he sits, they’re tucked behind you, but he has already seen them more than enough for him to stomach. Your hair is tangled and dirty, dark bags sit under your eyes.

There’s a slight tremble in your whole body that seems involuntary. Even as you shiver while clutching his silk shirt to your otherwise exposed chest, your eyes are still shining with relief and excitement for him being free of something that’s tormented him endlessly.

You watch in confusion but don’t protest as he reaches for the black shirt covering the front of you.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he gently takes it from your hold.

He doesn’t so much as glance from your gaze to look at your naked form as he brings it around your shoulders to put it on you properly. You let him slip it over your arms and bring it together in the front to button it up slowly.

He always wore it with at least three buttons undone, but he closes them all the way up for you, his dark eyes still staring straight into yours even when he’s finished.

The demon’s hands linger on the last button after doing it up as he stares at you. After a few long seconds he brings them down, looking at the ground before you see him swallow.

Your eyes flicker between his when he looks at you again.

“They asked me things,” you whisper, breaking the dead silence.

You watch his dark brows furrow and the anger cloud behind his eyes once more, “What do you mean?”

“They wanted to know why you mattered so much to me.”

JK’s eyes dart away from yours and he nibbles his bottom lip nervously at your candid words.

You don’t look away from him, just continue to watch him as he seems to try and figure out what to say to that.

Finally, he mumbles lowly, making you lean closer to hear him.

“And? What did you tell them?”

Your response is soft, “I told them I only asked you to lead me because you were the first demon I stumbled upon.”

You aren’t sure what you expected his response to be, but the way his face falls the slightest bit takes you by surprise anyway.

He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes locked on the ground as he nods slowly and sucks on his teeth a little.

What did he expect you to say?

A dark chuckle slips past his lips quietly, and he shakes his head to himself.

“I guess you were right.”

He looks at you at your soft spoken words.

You lean in closer, but he doesn’t move away.

Even when you get so close your noses almost touch, he doesn’t budge.

“Maybe I am a liar.”

The next breath gets stuck in his lungs and he gulps.

“What do you mean?” He finally chokes out.

The tiny smile on your lips makes his heart skip a beat and he finally pulls away just a little.

“I couldn’t tell them the truth,” you mumble, “They would’ve hurt you more than they had already planned.”

An anxious huff of air leaves him and he looks away from you, “Why-” he gulps, “Why would you care what happens to me? Why did you go back? Why didn’t you just run? You could’ve called your pathetic angel friends to save you. There has to be another way for you to save your stupid little best friend-”

“JK-”

“Is that not why you’re here? Or was that a lie too?”

“It wasn’t a lie,” you respond quietly.

“I fucking knew it,” he says under his breath, shaking his head and pushing his tongue into his cheek, “The one fucking thing that had to be true-”

“Can you just let me speak?” Your voice shakes.

After a few tense moments of silence, he nods, but doesn’t look at you.

“Just think for a second,” you whisper, “Why would I let them hurt me instead of you? Why should I care about a random demon in Hell?”

The demon’s look turns from silent irritation into one of disbelief as he glances at you briefly. It’s clear that he doesn’t believe you, but the realization of what you're saying is clear on his face.

“JK….”

He shakes his head, but is too confused to speak.

“You love me, Jungkook-” your voice breaks with emotion.

Clearing your throat, you correct yourself quietly, but loud enough for him to hear, “You loved me…once.”

When his eyes meet yours, you can see the complete and utter bewilderment and fear there.

You reach a hand out, but he flinches away, still staring at you in wide-eyed horror.

His chest moves up and down rapidly and he finally rips his gaze from yours.

Your words make no sense.

Nothing makes sense.

He chose this life.

His existence started when He made him, and he refused to be His little puppet. That’s why he’s here, that was all his own decision. You were created by Him and said yes to serving Him for all your sad immortal existence, you’ve always been an angel, that was your decision.

He never knew you and he certainly never loved you.

“I-”

Your eyes are full of sympathy as his voice breaks and he moves further away.

“Jungkook-”

“Stop calling me that,” he chokes out as he stands up.

“I’m sorry,” you reach for him, “Wait, please. Let me help you, I can help you remember.”

His panicked and disgusted look doesn’t change as he stares at you.

“Please,” you whisper, holding your hand out to him, “Please…just trust me.”

JK is fighting every single instinct to turn and run, to get as far away from you as possible as he stands there and heaves in breath after breath.

“…trust me.”

You can see the gears turning in his mind as he stares at your hand.

Finally, he takes your shaky hand with his own trembling one and lets you gently pull him to sit again.

“I know you’re scared,” you say gently, never letting go of his hand.

JK shakes his head, but can’t seem to meet your gaze.

“I’m not scared.”

You smile softly at him despite him not even looking at you, “Ok.”

Silence stretches between the two of you for almost a minute, then you ever so gently squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He finally looks at you to see you smiling sweetly at him, your eyes still shining and still a stark contrast compared to your messy appearance.

You scoot forward a little until you’re closer to him and leaning in.

He’s fighting every instinct inside of him right now. There isn’t a single thing about this situation that is normal to him in any way.

The way your gaze drifts between his eyes and lips is enough to have his heart racing and stomach twisting.

He doesn’t know why there’s such a deep desire inside of him to close the distance between you. He knows what will happen when he does and that terrifies him. It doesn’t stop him though, from leaning closer after you’ve stopped.

You let your eyes close as he places his mouth against yours timidly at first, then the kiss slowly becomes more desperate.

The feeling of his cold hand sliding ever so gently up your arm and then the back of your neck to move and cup your jaw sends chills shooting down your spine.

JK squeezes his eyes shut tightly when the images start flooding into his brain without hesitation.

The bright sun and gentle breeze are painful, but he doesn’t pull away.

The sound of laughter and taste of something sticky and sweet is overwhelming, but he doesn’t stop.

He can see the girl again, running ahead of him through the lush forest.

JK’s brows furrow as he deepens the kiss; anxious, for some reason, to pull you even closer than you already are.

The child breaks through a small hedge moments before he follows and stumbles into a small clearing with an apple tree sitting tall and strong. A swing hangs from one of its branches, moving gently in the wind.

The girl grabs it and is about to climb on, but she stops before doing so.

Then she turns to him and steps away from the swing, “You go first! I’ll push you!”

All he can do is watch through his own eyes without a say in his physical actions while he takes a seat on the swing and is soon going higher and higher.

“Look up!”

He does so at the high-pitched request.

There’s a bright blue sky with a few puffy white clouds above him.

A bright shimmer closes in all around his vision until the scene is gone and he’s pulling away from your lips.

“Are you okay?” You mumble, eyes drifting over his face.

He doesn’t speak but gives a small nod.

After he takes a few breaths, you’re about to offer to give him a break, but he leans in before you can, cupping your jaw and pulling you into another kiss.

Cold rain and the thick sweet scent of roses fills his senses.

“If either of us finds a way, we have to try. Deal?”

Those same voices that he heard in the seventh circle whisper faintly in a dark corner, barely audible as they echo around before fading away entirely.

“Ok, deal…”

“JK- hey look at me.”

He opens his eyes to see you scanning his face, concern clear on your own.

“Are you oka-”

“Who are you?” He whispers, cutting you off as his voice breaks.

Your expression softens and he watches silently as you smile gently at him, “Is that really the question you want me to answer?”

It takes him a moment, but he finally locks his gaze with yours. His next question is asked so softly, just a quiet breath, that you barely hear it.

“...who am I?”

You touch his cheek with careful fingers, warm and soft.

“Jungkook.”

His brows knit together and you can see the wheels turning in his head, just not going anywhere.

“You’re Jungkook,” you lean a little closer and drop your voice to below a whisper, “And you don’t belong here.”

“I- don’t understand.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him gently, “You will, I promise. I’ll help you remember everything-”

“No.”

Your face falls and you pull back.

“What?”

“I don’t want to remember it,” his voice has turned hard again, “So don’t bother.”

When he stands up, you reach out and grab his wrist, “Jungkook, wait-”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“But-”

“We don’t have time for this. Can you manage?” He gestures to your form sitting on the floor of the cave. After a few seconds to gather your mind, you nod slowly.

“Then we need to go.”

It takes every ounce of willpower for you not to burst into frustrated tears.

You waited so long to be able to help him remember. You wanted to open his mind more before showing him, because you knew he would shut it down like he’s doing right now. You don’t know how to get him to stop freaking out and let you help though.

You look up and see him holding a hand out to you. You take it and let him help you stand.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when you fumble and nearly fall over again.

JK wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady as you sway on your feet.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, feeling consciousness slipping from you due to the agonizing pain that shoots through your body at the attempt to walk.

“Don’t push yourself- stop-” JK holds your arms close to your chest when you try to fight him off to move on your own, “Really? This is what you’re going to be stubborn about?”

You nod, head bobbing up and down as a yawn slips from you, “I c-can walk.”

“Like hell you can walk,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You wince as the pain spreads the longer you stand there, even though at this point he’s holding all of your weight.

“Just let me carry you-”

“You said- you w-” you clear your throat, “You said you weren’t going to drag my ass through hell. You said that.”

JK’s eyes widen and he scoffs in amusement at hearing you curse for the first time.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he whispers, a smirk playing on his lips, “I won’t be dragging you anywhere.”

You nod sleepily, still trying to stay fully conscious when your body is trying its best to go under; to do anything not to feel the pain rushing through it.

“Look at me,” he says gently.

You shake your head, a small frown gracing your features.

He chuckles quietly and touches your cheek, “I know you’re mad, but just look at me.”

You finally do, squinting at him.

“Before I pass out,” you slur almost incoherently before he can say anything.

He looks down at your movement, seeing you pull something out from where it was tucked into the makeshift bandage on your wrist from so long ago, when he first hurt you.

It’s some sort of cloth that you hold tightly in your fist, biting your lip.

“I almost lost it,” you mumble.

He knows what you mean by that, as sick as it makes him.

When you were caught, you must have known they were going to strip you down to torture and humiliate you as much as they could. You must have tucked whatever this is into the bandage as a last act of desperation to keep it hidden. It was pure luck that they didn’t bother ridding you of the bandage before chaining your wrists.

You got it out of the chest in the shack and kept it successfully hidden until then, you weren’t about to let them ruin one of your last chances to prove it to him.

“What is it?” He asks gently as you press the cloth into his hand.

“It was a gift,” you whisper faintly, and he can tell you’re about to pass out.

Your eyes flutter closed and the rest of your body weight slumps to the side, making him tighten his hold on you so that you don’t fall over.

As he holds you upright, he glances down at the handkerchief in his hand, his heart stopping in his chest when he sees the messily embroidered initials in the corner.

JK.

________________

The next time you find yourself waking up, there’s a gentle rocking sensation that almost lulls you right back into sleep.

You fight it though and force yourself to open your eyes in a squint to take in your surroundings. It’s a forest that he’s walking through and you’re on his back, head lying on his shoulder as his hands hold your calves to keep your legs wrapped around his waist. Your arms are dangling uselessly over his shoulders and down by his chest. Your wings droop behind you, still aching terribly, but the blood has long since dried.

“Where are we?” You mumble, voice cracking.

“Still in the fifth circle,” he says back quietly, but doesn’t slow his pace, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, pulling your sore arms to hug yourself closer to him.

His breath hitches for a second, but he keeps his composure.

“We’re about to reach the river.”

You sigh and lay your head down on his shoulder, “Are you going to leave me to get across by myself?”

You hear him scoff gently.

“You wouldn’t make it ten feet, darling.”

You smile to yourself, no longer minding the pet names he uses with you and probably any and every other soul he’s come into contact with.

He isn’t whispering it into your ear softly for only you to hear as you drift to sleep, he’s not breathing it against your lips when he doesn’t want to pull away, he isn’t even saying it with a tinge of annoyance after an argument when he’s assuring you that he still loves you.

But at least it’s something.

“You’re crying.”

You reach up a hand and wipe at your eyes, “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

The way he whispers that word makes your heart tear in two.

He feels your arms tighten around him and you place your lips close to his neck but don’t touch him. Your warm breath fans across his icy skin and he feels a chill run down his spine.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper, your voice low and thick with tears.

He’s about to ask what it is you mean, but before he can, he’s stepping out of the forest and into the open where the river is not far ahead, the bloody sinners tearing at each other relentlessly as they have done for many years and will continue to do for the rest of eternity.

You lift your head to look, but only briefly, then you put your face back into his neck to hide from the horror in the only way you can think of.

The feeling of him walking again makes your stomach turn. Despite not seeing anything, the sounds of rage and brutal violence still ring in your head.

He must be able to keep them from approaching you, because as far as you can tell, he’s just walking straight through the bloody massacre and none of the sinners have noticed.

It doesn’t take long to get to the other side going straight through, but it’s long enough to make you sick from the sounds that surround you.

JK steps off the river and you feel him carefully hike you up a little on his back from you slipping unconsciously.

“Thanks,” you mumble sleepily.

This horrible exhaustion is really killing you, it’s hard to keep your eyes open for more than a minute. You would never have made it far without him.

“I’m not angry,” you say softly, eyes closed and head still resting on his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“We’re in the fifth circle,” you take a shuddering breath, “but I’m not angry. I’m not even annoyed.”

“That’s good,” JK hums softly as he walks over logs and rocks strewn about the forest floor.

“Mhm.”

__________________

You once again blink into consciousness, your mind spinning with confusion.

After blinking a few more times, you see a multitude of blurry colors a few feet in front of you. Another few seconds goes by before you realize you’re lying down on hard stone.

Rubbing your eyes, you watch the colors start to come into focus before you can see that it’s quite literally a pile of treasure; gems and gold glittering in the light temptingly.

Good thing you have no desire for riches.

You sit up slowly, taking notice of the sinners rolling their giant boulders back and forth without acknowledging your presence.

The fourth circle.

“JK?” You look around, but don’t see him anywhere.

Your eyes land on the statue standing guard over the treasure, in the middle of the dilapidated temple you’re in.

The figure of the crouching naked old man still gives you the creeps.

He’s definitely looking at you.

“J-”

“You called?”

You gasp and turn to see the demon walking over to you, a small smile on his tired face.

“You scared me,” you whisper as he crouches next to you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” his eyes scan your figure, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” you rub your eyes and yawn, the strange deep exhaustion no less than it’s been. When he gives you a look you clear your throat, “Really.”

A few seconds pass as you look at him.

He’s still as handsome and flawless as always, apart from the fatigue you can see that has begun to weigh him down.

“Are you okay?”

JK nods, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” You press a little more.

His expression softens at your worried tone. When he lifts a hand to brush some hair from your face, you gulp, heart melting in your chest at the gesture.

“I’m not the one that was tortured for sport, little angel.”

A lump forms in your throat at the memory of what was done to him, and for so so much longer.

You reach up and take his hand, holding it in yours and noting how cold it is.

His hands used to be so warm against your skin, running up and down the length of your arms and legs and cupping your face to pull you in for a kiss. He would never hesitate to cuddle you into his chest and lift your night dress to put his hands under it and rest them on your abdomen while you were having painful cramps each month, the comforting heat from his touch soothing the ache.

Being unable to pull him into your chest and never let go is beyond the measure of grief.

You want to warm him, keep him close until all of the fears and pain have been erased. You want to look in his eyes and tell him how much you’ve missed him, hear him whisper the words back as he envelopes you in a warm hug.

“I’m sorry.”

JK’s brows furrow at your sudden apology.

“Wh-”

“I’m sorry I left first.”

He watches your eyes well up with tears, not knowing what it is you mean.

“Please,” you choke out, only one tear falling, “Please just let me give you everything, please-”

He shakes his head and moves to stand, but you grab his wrist, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I can help you,” you cry softly, looking desperately into his dark brown eyes.

The demon crouches again, letting you keep a hold on his wrist.

“I don’t want it,” he says gently.

“Please,” sobs are falling from your lips, chest shaking with each one as you keep a grip on his wrist.

“Hey,” he calls you softly, cupping your cheek so that you’ll look at him, “hey.”

You can’t see very well due to the tears clouding your vision, but you do your best to look at him anyway.

“I can’t, Apple.”

“Why not?” You whimper quietly, fighting the sleep that’s tugging on you relentlessly.

His eyes shift between yours.

“If I remember, I’ll never be able to let you go.”

“Let me go?” Teary confused eyes drift around his face. Your words slur as you blink slowly, “Wait…where are you taking me?”

He wipes his thumbs under your eyes to dry them.

“Get some sleep.”

____________________

Several times you wake up, but you can’t register where you are or how long it’s been before you slip back into the fog of endless dreams and nightmares.

The hundredth time you open your eyes, you see an orange glow surrounding you and feel a warmth that is trying its best to permeate the cold that has begun to settle in your bones.

You swallow and blink harder a few times before you can see the source of the glow.

A small fire.

Tears instantly choke you but you swallow them and clear your throat as you sit up, relieved that the exhaustion has taken a small step back for the time being.

The feeling of deja vu sweeps over you when you lift your gaze to see him lying on the other side of the fire; long legs stretched out in front of him as he messes with something in his fingers.

You don’t make a sound, so he must have sensed your gaze, because his eyes drift from the small object over to where you’re looking at him from across the flames.

“Second circle?” You ask quietly and he nods.

A small smile tugs at your lips.

“Should I expect you to order me to crawl to your feet and worship you?”

He chuckles lowly and looks back at whatever he’s fiddling with.

“Not unless you want to, little angel, but I won’t be placing my bets on that.”

You breathe a small laugh and look down at your hands, then start absentmindedly picking at the dried blood on your fingernails for a few quiet minutes.

“So it was me, then?”

You look up at the sound of his deep voice and lock eyes with him, a request to clarify his question in your gaze.

There isn’t even a hint of a smirk on his face as he speaks, “The one you gave yourself to.”

You blink a few times, letting the silence stretch on for a bit.

Then you swallow, “Yes.”

“And you were the only and first I gave myself to? Back then.”

You raise your eyebrows and make a face, “Well, yes. Unless you lied to me, which I doubt, considering how much more of a catch I was than you-”

He laughs at your words and you feel your heart lift at the sound.

When the laughter dies down, you see his brows furrow as he gets lost in thought.

After a minute he speaks up again, his voice so quiet you barely hear it over the crackling of the flames.

“What was it like? The first time.”

Your eyes lift to see him looking at you. Once again, there is no smirk or playful glint in his eyes. He is not asking this just for the sake of lustful conversation, you can tell. He is just genuinely curious.

“Well,” you shift so that you can lean back against the wall of the cave, “It was on our wedding night.”

He nods, but doesn’t speak to interrupt you.

“It-” you drop your gaze to the fire even as he keeps his eyes locked on your face, watching all the different emotions run their course.

The look in your eyes is faraway.

You are not here, you are somewhere else, somewhere so very very far away.

There’s a soft look there and a gentle smile on your lips.

“It was beautiful,” you finally say, voice barely above a whisper.

JK says nothing to break the sacred silence that has settled, he just watches your face. He watches the distant look of pure love slip away and slowly fade into one of deep sadness.

A grief he does not understand.

A grief he has begun to want to understand.

“Can you show me?”

Your eyes fly to his, your next breath getting stuck.

“I thought you didn’t want to know,” you choke out.

His eyes fall back to his hands, “I want to understand.”

You watch him with teary eyes as he stands up and walks around the fire to sit in front of you.

The demon that led you through Hell and back leans closer, “Help me remember…please.”

It only takes a second for you to jolt out of your shock and nod slowly, “Ok.”

You sit up on your knees so that you’re a bit taller than him, your throat closing when you feel his hands rest gently on your hips and ever so slightly pull you closer to him. You can’t stop yourself from falling into his gaze, those big brown eyes sucking you in and filling your lungs until you drown.

“If I give it to you, I give you everything.”

He stares into your eyes for a few moments longer before nodding in agreement.

JK closes his eyes at the feeling of your hand caressing his cheek in a way only a lover would.

Then he feels your lips press to his gently.

You pull back almost immediately before moving back in and gliding your tongue along his bottom lip, pulling a heavy sigh from his lungs then once again diving deeper.

He can hear the sound of his own heavy breathing, yours mixing in with it as the two bounce off the walls of solid rock. Then they slowly fade away.

The walls of home glow with a warm orange light.

You’re lying on the bed, hair falling past your shoulders as you snuggle into the blankets even as they don’t cover you. Giggles fall from your lips and his heart jumps in his chest at the sound.

“What’re you doing?” Your sweet voice reaches his ears and he smiles as he walks over to stand by the bed you lie on in nothing but your night dress.

You get up on your knees and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and touching your nose to his.

When you pull back, the candle’s golden glow dancing around the room reflects in your eyes as you look at him with a love so pure and so unconditional he knows not a single soul on this earth could ever be as lucky as him.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Jungkook whispers, fingers brushing a messy strand of hair from your face.

Your nose and eyes scrunch up the way they do when you make a silly joke.

“You dropped an apple on my head. Right here,” you place a hand on top of your head and laugh quietly at the smile on his face.

“Here?” He puts his own hand there, “Are you sure?”

“Mhm!”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes, it still hurts.”

“Oh no,” Jungkook pats the spot gently before leaning forward and kissing your forehead, “I’m sorry, love.”

You pull him into a hug, “It’s okay, I forgave you a long time ago.”

He puts his arms around you and holds you close.

If only he could pull you into him and share his body with yours so that you would never again feel pain. He would give you his breath, the muscles that help him to move, the very blood that flows through his veins.

He would give you his own life.

The slight chill of your skin against his as you pull him onto you makes his heart break. You don’t get out much, can’t go long distances to get the blood circulating through your body.

Jungkook places his mouth against yours, his hot breath filling your lungs and warming you up from the inside out.

He can feel you shivering in his arms, so he pulls the covers around you both before leaving warm openmouthed kisses down your chest.

If you can’t breathe, he will breathe for you.

Soft sighs leave your mouth as he explores your body with gentle kisses and hands that leave a comforting heat behind wherever they touch.

If you can’t keep yourself warm, he will do it for you.

The whisper of his name from your lips pulls him back and he brings his mouth to yours again.

If you can’t walk, he will carry you.

His chest is pressed against yours, so close you can feel his heartbeat as if it is your own.

His dark eyes look into yours with so much love and adoration that you lose your breath.

“I love you.” He whispers.

You see the tears sliding down his cheeks in the orange haze as he looks at you.

This is the closest you will ever come to being one.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

Jungkook feels his heart break just a little more as he takes in your sweet face, locking it into his memory so that he will never forget. He focuses on the feeling of his best friend’s heart against his chest, pounding steadily even as it grows weaker than his own.

He pulls you closer still.

If ever your heart fails to beat, you can have his.

__________

Everything comes back quickly after that; your first meeting, days and nights in the woods and village causing all sorts of mischief, your first kiss, finding out that you were sick and looking for a cure, seeing you again for the first time after you were healed, your pregnancy, losing the baby, everything. He even sees the sickness take hold, the things that happened in his absence. All up until the day he lost you. The memories stop when he’s curled up in a corner of the shack, three days after you left him.

JK pulls away, his lips detaching from yours slowly as his breathing becomes a little less labored.

He opens his eyes to see your face not far from his own, wide eyes curious as to what his reaction will be.

“Jungkook?” You whisper gently, hopefully.

His eyes flicker to yours but he doesn’t respond.

There is no recognition there as he looks at you.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces and he can see that on your face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Silent tears drip down your cheeks.

“You don’t- you don’t remember? You didn’t see?”

“I saw.”

Your red teary eyes lock on his, begging to understand.

“I know you came for the person you lost, but I’m not him.”

“What?” You whisper brokenly, beyond confused.

“He loved you, I could see it,” JK says gently, “And I’m sorry…but there is nothing left of that person, and I don’t love you.”

It feels like your heart is impaled, the breath being knocked violently from your lungs.

JK swallows the lump in his throat at the grief-stricken look on your face as you stare at him.

“Maybe it’s best that I forgot,” he whispers, “It will never be worth the pain it caused by losing it. Why would I want to feel and remember whatever amazing thing He supposedly gave me only to remember the fact that He took it all back? It’s just what He does, and I want no part of it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying-”

“Think about it,” JK interrupts you, “What the hell kind of fucked up shit was that? He asked you to be good and punished you for it!”

“What?” You cry, not understanding.

“The kid,” the demon’s voice has become bitter, filled with rage and resentment, “You helped that sick boy and fell ill because of it-”

“The boy didn’t make me sick.”

Your soft voice echoes off the walls of the cave.

JK stares at you for a moment, then he leans closer, “What the hell are you saying?”

“The child was not sick with typhoid,” your voice shakes and you keep your gaze on the wall behind him, “If he was he never would have woken up the next day. He was very sick, but not with what I caught.”

Silence weighs down on you for several long moments. Then he whispers darkly.

“Then how did you get sick?”

“The water,” you say faintly, “Our main water source was dry and I consumed contaminated water from the well in the village-”

“Why didn’t the entire fucking village die, then?”

Your eyes finally find his; your hard stare not backing down from his cold one.

“Why do you think?” You practically spit.

Your question is met with nothing but enraged silence.

“Why don’t you ask your leader?” You hiss, “Ask him why the ponds and river were dry, why I alone died from the water everyone drank, why he blamed it on the boy just to stir more anger and resentment into your heart. Why don’t you ask him?!”

JK’s mouth twists in rage.

He doesn’t know the pain from what happened, he cannot remember the feeling of loving you and the grief of losing you, but that doesn’t stop him from being angry at the one that caused all of this.

“I will ask him when you go to your Creator and ask why He abandoned me!! Why does He sit up there and play with us like dolls?! Why does He love to give and then take away, sitting back on His mighty throne and laughing at our agony because of it?!?”

You are about to snap back when an idea strikes you.

He can’t even register what you’re doing before you sit up on your knees and grab his hands, holding them to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as tight as you can.

“What the hell are you do-”

JK doesn’t finish his sentence before everything fades away, his sight, the feeling of your hands, the smells and sounds that once surrounded him.

He is in nothing but pitch blackness.

Then there’s a clear blue sky overhead, birds singing in the trees, and a soft breeze kissing his cheeks.

He sees a small boy climbing an apple tree, his short legs and arms causing a bit of a challenge for him, but he manages.

The child shimmies up one of the long branches and reaches for a bright red apple that hangs there enticingly.

“You can get it, you’re almost there!”

The voice belongs to a young teen boy that sits on a branch a few feet above the child’s head, his blue eyes that match the wings on his back and the toga on his body are shining with delight. Shiny blonde locks fall to the angel’s shoulders, not a hair out of place.

A laugh bursts from his lips when the boy makes grabby hands at the shiny fruit.

“Don’t make fun of me, Nehemiah!” The boy cries, but there’s a smile on his tiny pink lips as he reaches again.

The guardian angel beams with joy, then he flies over from his branch and grabs the apple, plucking it from the tree easily.

“Here Kookie, catch!” He gently tosses the juicy red fruit to the small boy, who laughs and stretches his hands out. He almost catches it, but it slips from his fingers at the last second and plummets to the ground.

Tiny Jungkook looks down to see that the apple has smacked another child on the head. He gasps and scurries down the tree as fast as he can to apologize.

Nehemiah watches with his hands over his mouth to hold in the giggles. His eyes meet the dark green ones of another guardian angel before his excited laughter breaks free.

There was never a friendship among angels and humans quite like theirs. Ever since the boy was born, he could see the angel that followed him everywhere and kept him safe. He learned his name and had complete and utter trust in him.

As Jungkook grew, Nehemiah stayed the same. He had existed for many many years, yet never appeared any older than fifteen.

When Jungkook reached the age of seven, Nehemiah realized with a sinking heart that the boy could no longer see him. He spoke to him sometimes, but that eventually faded away as well. The games and stories and laughter slowly fizzled out.

Nehemiah caught Jungkook’s tiny arm when the child tripped over a stone lying in his path. He righted the three year old boy and laughed as he thanked the guardian angel before breaking into a run once more.

That was one of the angel’s most fondest memories, the one he would always bring to mind during the hardest of days. The blue angel never left his side though.

He walked with Jungkook along the dirt paths and smelled the flowers the boy picked, sang along to the songs he hummed, and was quick to guide him to the dead rose bush that one frightening day at the river even though the boy couldn’t see him.

It was not time for Jungkook to leave Earth yet, for he still had so much to do.

Nehemiah cried with Jungkook the day he found out about your disease. His heart was aching just as much as the boy’s; if not more from just seeing him in pain.

There were many attempts to soothe his human’s heart as he traveled searching for a cure, but Jungkook only ever slipped further and further away from him with each passing day.

He could not hear his guardian angel’s voice anymore.

Nor did he want to.

---------

Nehemiah rejoiced loudly at the wedding and danced with Imelda to the pretty music that played, his bright grin never dimming. For that day was one of the most joyous he could remember, of course not nearly as joyous as the day Jungkook was conceived and he finally got to meet him in the womb after waiting for so long.

_______________

Nehemiah wrung his hands anxiously as Jungkook tied the bundle of herbs together in front of the fire.

“Jungkook please, please don’t do this. Go home to Apple,” his eyes stung with tears, “She’s alone, stop leaving her alone!”

He got no response.

“Jungkook, listen to me! If you go home now, Aera will be conceived before long. You will lose her and yes you will lose Apple too, but I promise you that it will not be the end. You will be there for her during death, to hold and comfort her to ease the struggle of passage. Apple will not die in agony if you stop this and go home to her now.”

Jungkook stepped back and looked at the fire, the bundle of herbs becoming wet in his sweaty hand.

Nehemiah flew in front of him and held his arms out to prevent him from tossing it in, “You will go with them soon, I promise! And we’ll all be happy together in Heaven, we really will!”

His heart sank at the way Jungkook looked right through him.

There was no memory left of the guardian angel, not after despair had sunken in.

The fire snapped and crackled when the herbs hit it and began to burn.

A cold breeze swept through the area and Nehemiah sighed deeply.

Jungkook turned and came face to face with Lucifer.

The Devil looked past the human boy’s shoulder briefly to see the young blue angel glaring daggers at him.

He smirked and went back to business.

Nehemiah tried, he tried his hardest, but Jungkook would not listen.

_______________

The blue angel practically tackled the brown angel, Nasya, who joined him and Imelda the day that Aera was conceived.

“Oh, you’re finally here, you’re finally here!!” He jumped up and down and cried tears of joy.

Nasya smiled, “For a little while, Nehemiah. I will go back soon, with Aera.”

Nehemiah nodded solemnly, knowing the time would come but that sweet baby Aera would be happy in Heaven and would not suffer long in her passing.

When the time came, Nehemiah cried all of his tears. He hugged Nasya, who cradled the infant Aera in her arms, before bidding them goodbye, then he was right beside Jungkook in his mother’s home.

You laid on the bed, face drained of color and eyes drained of life as you stared out the window. Imelda was caressing your face gently and whispering words of comfort.

Nehemiah laid his head on Jungkook’s shoulder and whispered his own words of strength and comfort.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” he whispered as a tear slid down his porcelain cheek, “It will hurt for a long time. You’ll be strong for Apple though, don’t worry. I know you're scared you aren't strong enough, but you won’t let her down, you will get through this and you will smile again. Aera is safe and happy, I promise, I promise.”

____________

Nehemiah couldn’t watch as Jungkook bid you goodbye.

He locked eyes with Imelda, who nodded sadly at him and waved after he called farewell to her, then he followed Jungkook and his mother as they left for their journey.

The screams that ripped from Jungkook’s chest as Taehyung and Yoongi pulled your limp body from his arms broke Nehemiah’s heart into a thousand pieces.

He knew you were okay, he knew you were no longer in pain and would soon be filled with joy beyond measure.

But Jungkook did not know that.

Nehemiah sat and cried with him for three days, never leaving his side.

He knew Jungkook was dying, and he knew what would happen when he did; what he would need to do to protect him.

The guardian angel stood his ground, sword held out and ready to strike any and every miserable wretch that tried to come close to his human.

Jungkook was curled up in the corner of the shack and staring at the dead roses that had spilled from the vase, his breath slowing down and becoming more labored with each inhale and exhale.

He was fading.

Nehemiah locked eyes with the first demon to approach.

“You will not touch him,” he whispered, sword pointed at the demon’s gnarled chest.

The creature howled with delight and moved to get around the angel, but Nehemiah was faster. He swung his sword and sliced clean through the demon’s stomach, causing it to recoil and screech in fury before fleeing.

The young angel took a deep breath and backed up to be closer to his boy, ready to defend him until the end.

Many demons came that day, and Nehemiah held off every single one on his own. They came at him in swarms and he was beaten and torn at for hours, but he did not back down.

The demons could not reach the soul they came to claim. There was an angel between them and their prize, and he would not let them pass.

Nehemiah struck at demons left and right, his cheeks tinted with the slightest pink at the exertion.

That’s when he heard it.

Jungkook’s last breath; the final beat of his broken heart.

Then he was gone.

Nehemiah turned slowly and saw Lucifer standing there, a smug smirk on the demon’s despicable face.

The guardian angel dropped his sword and walked over to his closest friend, his heart breaking more with each step. He was not seen, but that didn’t stop him from sitting beside his boy and wrapping his arms around him.

He laid his head on Jungkook’s shoulder and wept. He heard Lucifer speaking and did his best to talk over him but to no avail. Jungkook was never going to listen.

The broken mortal closed his eyes and did his best to conjure up an image of you.

Nehemiah hugged him tight and whispered to him as he used to when Jungkook was little and wanted a bedtime story, when he would tell stories of a place so beautiful it couldn’t be imagined. Where they would be together someday.

“Apple is somewhere safe and warm, where the sun kisses her cheeks and dances upon her fingers. Somewhere the apples are sweet and crisp, where the water is never too cold.”

He heard Jungkook grimacing at the sting of the image being scratched into his bicep.

“Look at how ruined you are,” the Devil whispered with shameless glee, “All because of love.”

Nehemiah wiped Jungkook’s damp cheeks gently, feeling him slip further away.

“She is somewhere she can fly with the clouds, never alone.”

Lucifer locked eyes with the guardian and glared with undeniable hatred.

The angel did not back away from the harsh stare, he looked right back at the blasphemous traitor as he whispered to his most beloved human that would soon be taken from him.

“Somewhere the roses will always bloom.”

_____________________

You open your eyes to see JK’s shut tightly, his cheeks damp with silent tears.

He takes a shuddering breath, his chest shaking a little when he blows it out slowly.

You say nothing, not wanting to risk him shutting down again.

It takes a few minutes, then you finally see him blink open his eyes, a stray tear trickling down. He pulls his hands out of yours and touches his fingers to his wet cheek, confusion written all over his face. It appears as though he’s forgotten what it’s like to cry.

The silence stretches on in the small dark cave, only the soft sound of crackling flames reaches your ears.

The pretty boy in front of you looks lost in thought, his eyes still squinted in confusion as he slowly wipes the remnants of tears off of his skin.

There’s nothing you can think to say to fill the void.

JK finishes drying his face, trying his best not to dwell on the uncomfortable foreign feeling that overtook him momentarily. Only seconds before, he had been yelling about how he had been abandoned, only to see the strangest images of quite the opposite.

Nothing makes sense and it’s terrifying him.

You two sit there for another few minutes, the quiet not unwelcome as you each ponder the thoughts in your minds.

The demon takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, closing his eyes so that he can think clearly.

There is no time to learn more, to find out what happened that made things lead up to this; to understand the feeling of loving someone and losing them.

He does not know what that is like, though he has begun to wonder if it is anything like the constant ache in his chest, the feeling of his heart being ripped to shreds without pause.

Perhaps there is something more to the torture he has always tried to pretend does not weigh him down every moment.

But there is no time.

JK forces himself to look back at you.

The way you stare off into the distance with watery eyes and a lost gaze, makes that awful feeling in his chest happen again.

The color is draining from your face quickly, and the warmth that usually emits from you is no longer there.

You jump a little when he takes your hand, your eyes falling to where he grabbed you before traveling up to his face.

JK runs his thumb along your knuckles softly, noting how cold your skin has become.

There is no time…for anything.

You’re fading.

“We need to go,” he whispers, the soft spoken words still echoing around the cave.

He watches your face crumple and a few more tears stream down your cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” you mumble tearfully, exhaustion and confusion clear in your voice, “I don’t understand why it isn’t working.”

“I’m sorry.”

A broken sob breaks from your lips and you pull your hand from his to cover your face.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” you choke out, “But now that you have, I wish you wouldn’t.”

He says nothing for a few moments, then he whispers again, clearly regretful, “We need to keep going.”

The demon watches the angel in front of him check out for a few moments before wiping at her eyes and choking down a swallow as she breathes out a couple shaky breaths.

“I’m not broken,” he eventually hears you whisper, your voice quivering.

His eyes lock with yours.

“I didn’t say you w-”

“I’m not broken.”

JK swallows, knowing that he can’t hide the thoughts running through his mind.

“Good,” he finally says, “Because I’m gonna need you to do your best to stay unbroken, just for a bit longer.”

He shifts, moving onto his knees in front of you and leaning down to brush the tangled strands of hair out of your face, “Can you do that for me?”

Your eyes are locked on his, quickly getting lost in them.

You nod slowly.

The smile that spreads on his face makes your heart lurch into your throat.

You don’t fall asleep again, but you might as well have.

You are so disoriented that you can’t tell up from down or right from left. All you know is that you are on his back, holding on weakly as he walks.

Eventually the gentle bouncing indicates that he’s walking up a set of stairs, although it’s too dark and you’re too out of it to know where exactly those stairs lead to.

Then there’s suddenly the uncomfortable red light that pierces your eyes and you close them quickly. When you open them again, you see a dark forest just ahead and stone ruins strewn about just outside of the stairway the two of you came out of.

The same ruins that littered the ground outside of the seventh circle.

The conversation surrounding them rushes back into your brain as you glance around.

“The earthquake.”

“Earthquake?”

“The one that shook the earth at the time of His death.”

The sound of soft weeping reaches your ears and slowly begins to gain in volume. A forest of thin trees surrounds you when JK keeps walking, misty figures of souls dart in and out of sight.

Limbo.

The silence that stretches on between you and him is unsettling. Your stomach is in knots knowing what’s about to happen.

What you’re about to do.

The silence doesn’t end, it continues all the way through the long dark forest, making you sick with fear.

There is no distraction to help you in any way.

Give me strength.

JK sees the gate not far ahead and swallows thickly as he adjusts you to be more comfortable on his back when you slide down a bit. Almost there.

He feels your arms tighten around him and your cold nose brush against the side of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

“I love you,” you mumble against his skin, the words making his stomach sink, “...it’s okay, you don’t need to say it back.”

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers.

“I know,” you whisper, “Me too.”

JK swallows, forcing his feet to keep moving forward.

He’s only fifteen feet away from the giant stone entrance to Hell, when a voice rings out through the forest and he freezes.

“Going so soon?”

A few more steps and you would have made it.

You feel the demon go rigid under you, then he turns slowly.

JK locks eyes with the blonde demon that’s leaning against a tree and smirking.

“Did you really think you could get her out? Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

You gulp as you watch Sav laugh to himself.

JK lets go of your legs and gently lowers you to the ground where you end up sitting uselessly. All the strength in you is gone, you can’t even barely hold yourself up as you watch your best friend straighten to his full height.

“No Sav,” his deep voice rings out, “I counted on it.”

“You’re in no position to threaten me,” Sav snaps, moving from leaning against the tree and walking closer.

“I could say the same about you.”

“Give us the angel and we’ll forget this little incident happened.”

JK chuckles darkly.

“You touch her and I will make you regret every choice you’ve ever made in your entire miserable little existence.”

You hold your breath as he stands between you and the demon that tortured you endlessly without restraint.

“Oh, I’ve already touched her,” Sav whispers, a seductive smirk on his lips as he glances at you. You pull your gaze from his, not wanting to revisit all that had happened.

“I’ve made her scream and cry.”

JK’s jaw clenches.

“Are you jealous?” Sav giggles maniacally, “Are you jealous I got to cut up her precious little skin until her blood coated my fingertips and she was sobbing for me to have mercy?”

You did nothing of the sort, there was not a single beg for reprieve from you. And Sav knows that.

“Are you mad that I was the one that got to strip the little angel-”

JK walks forward and grabs Sav by the collar, dragging him close to his face roughly and cutting off his sentence.

“You can try all you want to rattle me Sav,” JK seethes, his chest rising and falling with enraged breaths, “But we both know the bastard that resorts to that already knows when he’s fucking lost.”

Sav gulps, the fear in his eyes nearly hidden by the smirk on his face.

“Grasping at straws already, Savie?” JK chuckles, holding the demon in place when he tries to wriggle away, “How fucking pathetic.”

You watch silently, but can’t see much more than JK’s back, the way he towers over Sav is almost terrifying. You wouldn’t want to be in his place.

“I can’t imagine trying so hard to be important and failing so fucking miserably.”

Sav glares at JK fiercely, the words biting into his bones and nearly making him crack.

He’s about to snap back when a chill goes through the forest and both demons stiffen.

Your heart leaps to your throat at the sound of the gravelly voice that would not leave you alone.

“Really Sav, enough of this ridiculous humiliation you cause yourself constantly. How useless can you be? Can’t you see that you don’t need any more help to look so pathetic?”

All you can see of this new demon are large black wings and a looming figure.

No one says anything for a few moments, then the cold voice speaks again.

“Let go.”

You watch in fear as JK roughly lets go of Sav, making the smaller demon stumble back. You can see the dark-haired demon’s shoulders moving up and down with heavy breaths. It’s clear he had no choice but to listen.

It only takes one look from the newcomer to send Sav scrambling away into the trees.

You close your eyes after seeing the frighteningly beautiful devil in front of JK.

Lucifer glances at you over his minion’s shoulder and smiles.

“You’ve only just arrived in Hell, angel. Won’t you stay a little longer?”

You don’t answer him.

JK gulps, his whole body shaking.

“Kneel.”

He drops to his knees immediately, head hanging in shame as he stares at the ground and bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

Lucifer chuckles.

“Look at you. You really thought you could make your own decisions, you thought I knew nothing of your actions and that you could slip away unnoticed.”

“I didn’t-”

“Shut up.”

JK snaps his mouth shut, grinding his teeth in order not to let himself scream profanities.

The Devil leans down and whispers, “I own you. Has that also slipped from your knowledge? Must I remind you that I am the one that calls the shots?”

You can feel sweat pouring down your bloody back, the pain beginning to increase with each moment that passes.

Only a few seconds pass before you realize something is happening to JK too.

He’s hunched over, breathing heavily and grimacing.

“Jungkook,” you gasp out, horrible pain washing over you and rendering you incapable of moving.

“Shut your filthy mouth,” Lucifer snaps, his glare turning to you and the pain surging up into new levels as you cry out and lay your forehead on the ground, prayers falling from your lips desperately.

JK can’t move, he’s stuck where he is; kneeling at the feet of Lucifer and shaking with agony.

You force yourself to lift your gaze and look at the Devil, locking eyes with him.

Lucifer’s eyes widen in rage at your defiance and he steps forward, reaching to grab the demon kneeling before him.

He stops though, when his path is suddenly blocked by you throwing yourself in front of him.

JK opens his eyes, his gaze lifting to see you standing between him and his leader. The blood streaking down your legs and torn dress is a strangely vibrant red. His eyes lift more to see your smaller wings, still ripped to shreds.

You look miniscule standing in front of the Devil himself, but you don’t appear afraid in the slightest. Your fists are clenched so tight that fresh blood drips from them where your fingernails dig into the delicate skin.

Lucifer takes a step back and chuckles, crossing his arms, his dark wings resting behind him.

“You think you’re very brave, don’t you?”

You say nothing, only glare at him with a burning hatred.

“He cannot leave. You already know this…why pretend otherwise?”

When you still don’t respond, he uncrosses his arms.

“You don’t know your place, do you child?”

His voice has become lower and his expression softens, now uncharacteristically gentle.

Despite his words, he suddenly seems empathetic, in a way. It’s startling.

Your brows furrow but you hold your ground.

JK watches in confusion from where he’s still kneeling on the ground, unable to move and jaw clenched shut as the pain evens out to a steady ache across his whole body.

“In mortal life, living in the village,” Lucifer whispers as he looks you over, “You never belonged there, did you?”

Your eyes narrow more but you remain quiet.

“You don’t belong up there either, do you?”

“I belong there,” you choke out, wishing your voice to sound stronger than it does.

A sad smile spreads on the demon’s face.

“Do you? Because I see the same look in your eyes that was in mine the day I found out I didn’t belong anywhere either.”

You’re about to respond, but he cuts you off.

“D-”

“You don’t belong anywhere, little misfit, you know I speak the truth. Why not join me? Why bother suffering uselessly just to follow His ridiculous will? I chose to belong here. You can choose to join me,” A smirk spreads on his face, “We’re not so different, you and I-”

“I am nothing like you,” you whisper fiercely, “And I do belong there. I have never belonged anywhere more.”

You take a step closer, your bare feet numb to the warmth radiating from the earth.

“Did you really think you could convince me otherwise, demon?”

His eyes turn cold and angry at the dismissive title you use, as if he is worth no more than any other wretch here.

“Did you really think you could give me a moment’s pause? Are you that foolish?”

He’s about to snap back but you keep going, stepping closer with each word.

“I suppose you are. You experienced what it was like, you were there. You belonged there and you knew it, you just wanted more.”

The Devil glares at you.

“You were there and you gave it up,” You get up into his space, your eyes glancing briefly at the dead white rose on his bicep being strangled by the serpent, “You are the biggest fool in existence and I would rather suffer ten thousand times more in order to bring others to be with Him than ever be compared to the likes of you.”

“Enjoy that then,” Lucifer hisses, “Enjoy paradise all you like without him.”

You hear a pained gasp from behind you and turn in horror to see JK doubled over and groaning from the indescribable pain consuming him.

You rush to him, but are grabbed and yanked back harshly before you can get there. The Devil has a strong grip on your upper arm as he addresses his prisoner.

“You are mine,” he growls, his glare trained on the demon kneeling before him, “Your soul belongs to me and it can never leave the gates of Hell.”

“He’s lying!” You scream, fighting against him, “He wants you to think he’s the one in charge. He’s not! Lucifer knows he’s lost, he knows that at the end every knee will bend to Him. All he can do now is bring down as many souls as he can before that,” You’re practically sobbing, “Jungkook, he’s desperate, you know that means he’s already lost!”

Lucifer chuckles, satisfaction sweeping over him at the feeling of despair seeping from the poor pathetic soul knelt in the hot dirt.

“You can leave, Jungkook, don’t listen to him!!”

He watches Lucifer smirk down at him, still holding onto your arm. Tears are streaming down your face as you look at him desperately, as if trying to convey something without words.

He doesn’t understand.

“You can’t both leave,” The Devil whispers, “Can you?”

He looks at you at the same time that JK does.

Confusion is swarming the lower demon’s brain as he stares at you.

The expression on your face doesn’t make sense.

Why do you look sorry?

“But you knew that,” Lucifer continues quietly, “You came here knowing that, didn’t you little angel?”

JK’s eyes dart from his master over to you, and he finally understands.

“I’m going to miss you.”

That's what you had said, that’s what you meant.

You can see the horror sweep over him and he shakes his head, never looking from your gaze.

“No.”

Lucifer chuckles.

“____, no-” JK chokes out in disbelief.

Your heart rips in two hearing him say your name for the first time in over five hundred years.

“I told you not to call me that,” you whisper, tears in your eyes but an encouraging smile on your face meant to reassure him that it’s okay, “I don’t like it when you’re serious.”

He shakes his head again, slowly.

He brought you to the gate to get you out, you’re not going to trade places with him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this-

“Why not take her up on her offer?” Lucifer grins wickedly, “If you do, all of this pain will go away.”

A breeze rushes over the demon kneeling in the mud, and with it the feeling of instant relief.

All of the pain that has wracked his body and kept him weighed down for as long as he can remember, is completely gone.

He looks up to see you staring at him, wide-eyed.

The sound of a bubbling brook reaches his ears, like music on the wind.

Tears brim in his eyes as the smoky forest around him fades away and he’s suddenly in a sunlit field.

The beams of light from the sun do not hurt him.

The sight of bluebirds flying into the clouds does not fill his heart with anger and resentment.

The sweet smell of rain does not make him sick with disgust.

JK looks down at the grass he’s kneeling on. He slowly reaches a hand out and runs his fingertips over the soft blades, a broken gasp leaving him at how silky it feels. Blue and pink and purple flowers decorate the field, and he could swear he hears them singing praises.

Who are they singing for?

Soft footfalls reach his ears and he turns to look at who is approaching, but he can’t see them. All there is, is a human-shaped light walking through the meadow towards him. His heart aches with more and more immeasurable longing with each step closer they take to him.

He doesn’t know why, but it feels like he knows this person, even though he’s never seen them before in his life.

He wants them to reach him.

He knows once they do, he will never hurt again.

The closer the person of light gets, the louder the flowers sing.

The demon’s chest rises and falls rapidly, excitement fluttering in his stomach at the prospect of coming face to face with this being.

Tears creep to the edge, threatening to spill.

He’s never felt so at peace.

Then it’s all gone.

It’s ripped from him mercilessly.

In the blink of an eye he’s back in Limbo and screaming at the sheer agony that takes root once again. JK grabs at the place where his heart is and cries out at the feeling of it being ripped from his chest and crushed into dust.

He can’t breathe.

The pain is more excruciating than it has ever been, it was unbearable before but he was forced to endure it, now it doesn’t feel like he’ll be able to.

After experiencing the soft grass, the gentle wind, the feeling of relief...he cannot bear it.

You cry as you are forced to watch in gut-wrenching grief while he sobs, his body shaking and curling in on itself to try and stop the pain.

He can’t breathe.

“You tasted the sweet sweet feeling of joy, of the eternal relief you will feel once you leave,” Lucifer whispers temptingly, “She can’t leave anyway, JK. She gave up the one thing she brought that connected her to the outside. She already paid to cross the ferry, she cannot leave.”

JK looks up at you, tears streaming down his face.

You can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Once she takes your place, you are free to go. You will no longer be bound to me. If you stay, your punishment will increase due to this little act of rebellion.”

You smile at him softly, tears still falling down your cheeks.

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

JK drops his gaze to the ground.

You close your eyes and conjure up an image of her as best as you can, the one thing that can bring you comfort in this moment.

Aera’s small arms wrap around you and hold you tight as she whispers how much she loves you in your ear.

“Nasya says you are brave, mommy,” the tiny child pulls back and smiles at you, “Are you really going to save daddy? Are you going to bring him home to be with us forever? Can I show him the Garden??”

You cup her supple cheeks with your hands and lean forward to kiss her button nose.

Her bunny teeth appear as she giggles. You smile softly and touch your forehead to hers.

“Yes, Aera,” you whisper, “I’m going to bring daddy home and you can bring him to the Garden, I know he will love it. Make sure you show him the roses, okay baby?”

She takes your cheeks in her hands as you did to her and leans forward to whisper, as if she’s telling you the biggest secret.

“I will, mommy.”

JK looks up just as you open your eyes. His gaze locks on yours.

Lucifer lets go of you roughly and you stumble, falling to the hard ground.

“Choose.”

He thinks of the field, of the flowers, of the blue sky and white clouds.

And he wants it.

It would be selfish.

He thinks of the smell of crystal rain and honeysuckles, and the mysterious ethereal being coming to join him, to love him more than any other could.

And he wants it…

He’s selfish.

Demons always are.

Demons can’t be anything other than selfish.

JK looks into your eyes, the next breath getting stuck in his chest.

It’s okay, your eyes tell him, this is what I want, this is why I came.

You watch as he crawls over to you.

Despite the grueling pain tormenting him, he stands and pulls you up with him. He scans your face, bruised and bleeding and sweaty with grime.

You feel him grab your hand, open it, then hold it tightly.

He waits for a moment, just a few seconds to take in the beauty in front of him.

It’s just so breathtaking he can’t help it.

He didn’t try to, but it was inevitable..

So he stands there.

Just for a moment.

A few seconds to admire the way your cheeks shine with tears, the way your sad smile spreads as you look at him, the way that even your dress that’s always filthy; only adds to your beauty.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, still holding your hand tightly.

Three little words are right on your tongue, ready to spill from your chapped lips, to assure him why it is okay, why you will gladly take his place.

But you don’t get the chance.

Before you can say it, you look down at what he’s placed in your hand.

A ring made entirely of grass.

Woven with careful fingers.

It’s bigger than yours was.

Realization strikes you too late.

He stands there, only for a few seconds, to admire the beauty in front of him.

Your eyes find his.

And everything is okay.

And he can love you.

“Jungkook-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, not before he grips your arms and turns with you, then he’s shoving you out of the gate.

You land with a harsh smack on the ground, but you’re up again in a split second and running back to the entrance of Hell, screaming at the top of your lungs.

“Jungkook!! No, no no no no!!” You try to go back through, but it’s like an invisible wall is preventing you. You smash your fists against it as hard as you can, but it doesn’t budge. You can see forest on the other side, but you can’t see him or Lucifer there.

“Jungkook! Let! Me! In! Please don’t do this!!” You’re screaming and crying and pounding so hard that fresh blood drips down your knuckles.

But you don’t care.

“Don’t you dare do this to me again!!”

JK watches you scream and cry and pound against the gates of Hell, he watches you slide down to the ground and start digging frantically, trying to find a way back in.

He watches your guardian angel come and hold you, pulling you back from the gate and falling to the ground while hugging your sobbing figure.

The demon watches you shout at him in anger and denial, in confusion and betrayal.

He watches.

But he does not follow you.

___________________________

Lucifer smirks wickedly, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“You never learn, do you? Not in that life and not in this one.”

JK doesn’t respond as he watches you scream at the top of your lungs, tears pouring down your cheeks. He forces his eyes to leave and fall to the ground.

“You could’ve been free, and yet you chose to stay.”

JK stays silent, but his eyes lift to meet the demon’s in front of him.

Lucifer grins maniacally, “Want to see what you missed out on? Since you’re so fucking obsessed with torturing yourself in love. You don’t even love her, you don’t remember her.”

The prince of Hell sees the internal struggle in his slave’s eyes, smile widening when he feels the resolve crumble.

He wants to know, despite the eternal pain it will cause.

He deserves it.

“Don’t worry, by the end you’ll be tortured enough to satisfy your addiction to agony.”

The smoke and the fire and the wails of the desperate fade away.

There’s soft grass underneath him as he wakes sleepily from a nap.

The warm sun caresses his skin.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Jungkook lifts his head to see a small child running full speed ahead through the field, giggles spilling from her lips and her long dark hair flying around haphazardly.

“Daddy!” She shrieks again, little legs going as fast as they can, “Save me, save me!”

A laugh bursts from Jungkook’s lips when he sees you come out from the forest behind her, growling and laughing as you pretend to be a monster on the hunt.

The small girl, who is only just about five, flings herself into his open arms and squeals as he envelopes her safely into his lap.

“I’ve got you baby,” he whispers into her hair as he smiles, “You’re safe.”

You run up, laughing your head off along with them.

Jungkook looks at you tenderly, the love he has for his best friend only increasing the longer he does.

Your hair is a bit knotted from running with it down and your cheeks are tinted pink with exertion from chasing the little one through the forest. Your simple dress has mud smeared across it in several places and there are a few twigs in your hair that go unnoticed.

“Mommy!” Aera wiggles off her father’s lap and wraps her arms around your legs.

“Hi baby,” you coo and swoop her up into the air as if she weighs no more than a feather.

Jungkook smiles as he watches you dance around and giggle.

Aera is exactly like the two of you put together. Her sweet face resembles her father’s but her personality is all you. She wears a dress that looks like a mini version of yours, her bare feet dirty with mud and pansies stuck in her hair from your flower picking earlier.

It reminds him of the way you looked when he first met you.

His eyes burn with tears at how much he loves you both. It should be impossible to be filled with this much love and happiness.

“Can you push me on the swing, daddy?” Aera is running back to him and cupping his face with her tiny hands, “Please? Mommy said you will say yes to me always because I’m too cute.”

Jungkook laughs and glances at you hiding your smile.

“Mommy’s right,” he whispers before kissing her button nose. Then he stands up and scoops her into his arms-

The cursed howls of souls damned to Hell come rushing back, piercing his ear drums and making him wince.

He hadn’t realized that he fell to his knees again.

Tears drip down his cheeks and fall to the dirt, mixing in with the tears of the lost souls starting their journey here.

“That is what you missed…because of Him.”

JK chokes out a sob and puts a hand to his bleeding heart, the ache of loss worse than it’s ever been.

“You would’ve had everything, if He had really loved you. It’s a pity, really.”

The demon grieving in the grime and salty tears of fellow damned souls feels his heart break even more, then that nasty feeling of resentment and bitterness begins to swell.

“Granted, you were happy with her, this Apple girl, for a decent amount of time I suppose.”

JK says nothing, just continues to stare at the dirt where his tears fall.

“It never lasts though,” Lucifer muses, “Can’t imagine why humans crave it only to lose it in the end, to feel the grief ten times stronger than the love ever was.”

JK glances back to see you sobbing into your hands, wrapped in the arms of your guardian angel, blood and bruises littering your skin.

“Look at that,” Lucifer tuts with mock pity, “That’s what love makes of humans. Nothing but misery. You had her, and you lost her.”

JK stares at you, watching you grieve for him in a way he had long forgotten how to relate to.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” Lucifer whispers, leaning down, “Was it ever worth it?”

He sees you lying in the field, your fingertips alight with the sun, a bird song falling from your lips. The smile on your face that he got to witness.

Just for a moment.

A single tear falls from his eye, sliding down his dirty cheek and falling to the ground as he looks at you.

Jungkook’s voice is broken, weak with the pain of loss, but the Devil hears him anyway.

“Yes.”

________________________________

Imelda holds you closely, keeping you together. If she wasn’t there you would be falling apart, scattered on the ground like leaves that have fallen from their tree.

Gut-wrenching sobs are ripped from you as you look at the gate to Hell, seeing nothing but the empty forest on the other side.

“Why?!” You scream at the top of your lungs, another round of sobbing rendering you incapable of saying anything more.

Nehemiah is there as well, crouched on the ground and crying into his hands, his baby blue wings shaking with each breath.

You grab Imelda’s hand and hold it to your chest, holding on for dear life.

You cannot handle this grief, you cannot handle it.

“I was g-going to s-save him,” you sob between choked breaths, “I was going to give my life for him!!”

A warm breeze sweeps over the three of you and your next sob gets stuck in your throat.

Then a soothing voice filled with a regalness beyond compare speaks, trembling the burnt trees around you and causing the rocks to quiver where they lay.

You can no longer see the forest. Now there is only a hill in front of you, the silhouette of a cross against the golden sunset.

“I already did.”

The ground quakes and you see a large statue depicting Lucifer in front of the second and seventh circles trembling before crumbling down until there is nothing left but rubble.

You gasp, grabbing your chest and trying to breathe.

You’re back by the gate.

Watery gaze locking back on the invisible boundary, your heart leaps to your throat when you see a hand come out and grab onto the dirt, fingers digging into it as they try to pull themselves out.

Nehemiah is up and running before you can even register what’s happening.

The blue angel grabs the boy’s hand, holding on tight before pulling as hard as he can, a broken scream bursting from his lips at the effort.

You watch in disbelief as the guardian angel drags his beloved human, your best friend in the entire world, out of the gates of Hell.

_______________________________________________

After much deliberation: an Epilogue will be posted tomorrow.

a/n: thank you so much for everything you guys, you mean the world to me. This has been one hell of a ride (no pun intended) Don't kill me pls, again, there will be an epilogue tomorrow for those of you with weak hearts 💕 ur welcome

#jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook demon au #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts #bts reactions #bts angst #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts demon au #demon!jk #demon!jungkook #bts smut

307 notes · View notes