#I have two friends I reached out to bc I was struggling

[the-cooler-king]

Also since its 9am in going to have a baby moment.... I don't feel lonely and I'm not like forlorn or sad but I really. Wish. I. Had. Friends.

[noxtivagus]

i've been less shy lately so damn i realized how. idk how to say it. wait

[satoruan]

THINK I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABY w/Jujutsu Kaisen

( TW ) f!Reader, Breeding kink, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum inflation, hair pulling, sex toys, overstimulation, stepdad!Toji, daddy kink, overstimulation

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru & Choso Kamo

authors note: repost bc tumblr took it down for no reason...

☾ GOJO SATORU

“Fuck Love, you’re sucking me so good.” Satoru groans, struggling to not crash the car. During dinner, you two kept passing each other such heated looks that even your friends commented on the tension. Earlier today, you got a notification from your health app that you were ovulating. Satoru jumped on you as soon you told him, he wanted to stay in all day and fuck, but your guys’ friends blew up his phone reminding him of the promises you both made to them. After dinner you couldn't keep your hands off each other, you were desperate for his cum and Satoru was desperate to breed you. “Don’t cum ‘Toru.” You warn before sticking his cock back in your mouth. “Can’t help it Love, mouth too fuckin’ good,” he says, sighing in relief when he pulls onto your street, clicking the button in his car that opens the garage. He barely has the chance to take the keys out of the ignition before you pull him out of the car. “Don’t have time to make it up to the bed, just fuck me right here.” You demand, leaning over the car and presenting Satoru with your ass. Satoru pulls your dress up and shoves his cock into your pussy. He reaches over your hip to stimulate your clit. “‘Toru, just cum in me, I don't care ‘bout gettin’ off.” You move your ass in perfect sync with his hips. “You sure Love–” “Breed me ‘Toru!” You moan, feeling his cum fill you up. You drop your head to the still-warm hood of the car, finally able to catch your breath now that his load was deep in your cunt. “C’mon Love, let's finish this in the bedroom.” 

☾ TOJI FUSHIGURO  

You peak over the corner of the hallway, winking at Toji who was busy talking to your mother. ‘Come fuck me.’ Your mouth once you catch his attention before running back up the stairs, careful not to make any noises. You told your mom that you weren't feeling well, that during the drive back from college you must’ve caught something. In all honestly, you just wanted a chance to freely fuck your stepdad without your mother coming in and out of your room. Specifically, you wanted to be bred by him, and the best way to keep his cum in you was to use several pillows and put them under your ass so his cum didn’t spill out, hence why you didn't want your mom to barge into your room. Thank God she's a germaphobe. You strip out the Pj set you threw on and lay yourself face down, ass up. Your stepdad’s favorite position. As expected, you hear your stepdad softly shut the door a few minutes later. “Desperate now, are we?” He grips your hips. “Always desperate for you Daddy.” you mumble into the bed. “Huh,” he slaps your ass before pulling you up by the hair. “Didn’t hear you slut.” “Said ‘m always desperate for you Daddy, even prepared myself with the dildo you bought me.” You whimper. “Such a good girl,” He pulls his hard cock out of his slacks, gives it a few tugs before stuffing your cunt to the brim. “Now take this dick slut.” He pushes your head down into your lilac duvet. You try and fail to be silent when his dick hits that special spot every time he goes deep enough. “You okay in there, y/n?” You hear your mother's muffled voice through the door. You clench down on your daddy's dick in surprise, causing him to fuck you faster. “Y/n?” “Y-yes mom, I'm fine, just go away p-please.” You gasp out, throwing your head back into the bed in ecstasy when you hear her mumble and walk away. “Daddy, 'm cumming! Cum with me!” You whisper-yell. “Gonna fill this pussy, get you so full of my seed you can never leave this house again.” He grunts, slamming into you at a bruising pace. “Yes, please Daddy, fill me up!” You orgasm and Toji follows suit, filling you with so much cum it spills out.  

☾ GETO SUGURU 

“I'm so full Sugu.” You mumble, dazed. You fight the urge to close your eyes and fall back into Suguru’s big, warm chest. “Wake up sweet girl. ‘M not done yet.” He mumbles into your sweaty neck. “B-but Sugu–” “Shush Lovebug, one more time.” Suguru looks over your shoulder to see where you two are connected. He plugged you up good, but after so many loads a trickle of his cum slowly travels down his almost empty balls. “O-one more.” You grab his chin and kiss him sweetly. He rubs your noses together before grabbing your hips and moving you down the shaft of his cock. He pays close attention to not pull you over the tip of his cock. You hold onto your stomach, feeling it protrude slightly more than normal, Sugu’s cock and cum inflating you. You feel like a cum filled, flesh light as Sugu moves you to his liking. It’s hard to believe he has more cum in him. “Fuck Lovebug, you feel so warm and tight.” He mummers, giving you a few more neck kisses. You lean closer into him. Right now, you want to live in his skin. “Love you Sugu, can’t wait ta have your baby.” “I Love you too, can’t wait to see you carryin’ my child.” He grips your hips tighter at the thought.  “‘bout to fuck another load into you sweet girl, you wan’ it?” “Yes please, more than anything.” You rest your head back into his shoulder. He shrugs at your head until your mouth is close enough to kiss. He slams your hips down and cums as you two make out and whisper sweet nothings. 

☾ CHOSO KAMO

“Again, Baby.” Choso holds the vibrator to your clit. You arch your back and forget the fact that you have nipple clamps on. You scream when the clamps move. Your entire body is sensitive, Choso came up with the idea to simulate you to the max when you said you wanted to have his baby, that you wanted him to breed to and fill you to the brim with his cum. You readily agreed to his idea because you knew that the more orgasms you had the better chance you had to get pregnant, something about the virginal walls relaxing when women orgasm. Now though, you’re regretting it. Choso’s been holding the vibrator on your clit for the last hour and every time you think you’ve gone numb to the sensation; he finds a way to make you cum harder than the last. “N-no Choso, ‘m done down, I've cum as I can, wan’ you to fuckmenow!” You slur your words, the pleasure making you lightheaded. “One more Babygirl.” He soothes you, rubbing your stomach and imagining what you’d look like full of his cum. Beautiful, you’d look beautiful. “At least fuck me while you give me another orgasm!” You argue, staring at him with glossed-over puppy eyes. Choso gives in and situates himself between your legs, still holding the vibrator over your clit. You sigh happily when he sets the vibrator down and thrust his cock in you. You thought you were completely numb down there but the feeling of Choso thrusting into your hole that’s been contracting nothing felt godly. Adding that with the vibrator that he put back on your clit, you come immediately. “Choso!” You scream clenching around him so tight he can’t help cumming. “Fuck! ‘M filling you up so good baby!” 

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, ok? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Ok, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, ok?” Your eyes are shining.

“Ok,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic��king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, ok?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you ok?” he asks after a second.

Ok? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[norrisainz33]

new beginning || ln4

☆ summary: y/n is in the cursed second red bull seat but finds the opportunity to thrive in indy car

☆ pairing: ln4 x racingdriver!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none and hate comments

☆ requested: yes!! thank you for the request 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

redbullracing has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, mclarenf1, yourbff, user4, user5, and 765,249 others

redbullracing: a dominate race from max here in qatar! only one race to go in the 2024 season

view all 873 comments

user1: glad to see max back on top

user2: y/n has the worst luck i feel so bad for her

user6: y/n has so much more potential than this

user8: being max’s teammate is not easy

user3: get y/n off this team

user5: we are losing the wcc bc of y/n

user2: oh don’t be so dramatic

user4: super max back again

ynuser has posted a story

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patriciooward: ohhhh you two are getting real cozy over there

ynuser: maybeeee mr nosey

patriciooward: just looking out for mi amiga is all - be careful with him

ynuser: gracias mi amigo. lando is a good guy

patriciooward: he is and i know that. i just love you like my dear sister

ynuser: and i love you patito

user5: maybe instead of spending so much time with lando you could be learning how to drive

landonorris: diva DOWN

ynuser: this diva is up not down

landonorris: yeah you right. i am on a high after seeing you

ynuser: 🥹 smooth

landonorris: trying

user6: oh he’s a cutie

maxverstappen1: tea

ynuser: subtle but yes

josefnewgarden: 👀

ynuser: 🫣

user7: are yall together or

f1 has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user8, user4, user5, and 453,139 others

f1: BREAKING 🚨 y/n y/l/n and red bull have reached an agreement to part ways for 2024. this comes after a tough season for y/n who has had her fair share of struggles. we can also confirm that y/n has signed to drive for Arrow McLaren for the 2024 indy car season. we wish her the best of luck in her next endeavor!

view all 423 comments

user5: it’s about time!

user2: she’s gonna thrive in indy car i just know it

patriciooward: to new beginnings with my best friend as my teammate 🧡

user33: i love this friendship so much

redbullracing: thank you ynuser

user2: that’s really all you have to say?

user3: good riddance

arrowmclaren: welcome home ynuser

user12: wishing y/n nothing but the best. everyone should watch indy car it’s going to be so much fun with her this season!!!

ynuser has made a post

liked by patriciooward, landonorris, arrowmclaren, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, and 634,984 other

ynuser: its been a while. back to remind you that the indy car season starts this weekend in st. pete 🤍

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user2: she’s back!! i missed you y/n

patriciooward: let’s go teammate

ynuser: my teammate and mi hermano 🧡

maxverstappen1: can’t wait to watch you this weekend

ynuser: i miss you so dearly. can’t wait to see you

user21: omg is max going to st pete?????

user11: cant wait to get into indy car this season

landonorris: where are my pic creds

ynuser: thanks for the ocean pics!

landonorris: 🙄🙄 you’re welcome

user7: they’re together!?? he took the pic in the second slide???? omg

elbaoward: my babieeeessssssss

ynuser: my lovey 😘

arrowmclaren: our favorite papaya girly 🧡

ynuser: 🤍🧡🤍🧡

user13: y/n crumbs!!! i’ve been waiting for this

arrowmclaren has made a post

liked by ynuser, landonorris, maxverstappen1, yourbff, elbaoward, lance_stroll, and 438,120 others

arrowmclaren: an incredible first weekend back in st. petersburg! p1 for our girl y/n with a great result from pato and nolan.

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elbaoward: i am so proud

patriciooward: me too

ynuser: don’t make me cry more 🥹

user19: my favorite sibling (not really) trio

user2: i’ve never cried so much watching a race in my life. i am so proud of y/n

ynuser: an incredible weekend. thank you for believing in me 🧡

arrowmclaren: we are so proud of you y/n

user44: see this is how you treat your drivers redbullracing

landonorris: incredible work ynuser

ynuser: thank you my muppet 🤍

user18: this season is going to be the best season for us i just know it

maxverstappen1: that’s my girl

ynuser: my bestie 🥹🥹

user22: i’m so glad y/n is here in indy car

user43: y/n and mclaren championships incoming

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, and 12,967 others

f1gossip: lando norris and max verstappen have been spotted at the st. petersburg indy car grand prix to show their support of ex-f1 driver, y/n y/l/n, as she makes her debut. it’s been rumored for months that lando and y/n are more than just friends and after y/n’s p1 finish it’s all but confirmed. following the race, y/n got out of her car and ran directly into lando’s arms giving him a rather passionate kiss

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user2: best news i’ve seen all day

user20: them flying out to florida to be there for y/n days before they have to be in australia is so dear to me

user33: they are two of the best friends anyone could ask for

user32: indy car is the perfect home for y/n

user67: the love those two have for y/n speaks volumes about her as a person

user21: i’m so proud of her 🥹😭

ynuser has made a post

liked by landonorris, patriciooward, maxverstappen1, arrowmclaren, oscarpiastri, and 765,928 others

ynuser: i can’t describe how incredible these first few races with arrow mclaren have been. in these first 5 races, i haven’t placed outside of the podium and i can’t even begin to explain how proud i am of myself and of this incredible team. thank you to everyone who has cheered me on through the ups and downs - i love you all. next up, the indy 500. (p.s. yes that is lando)

view all 529 comments

user2: she found her home 🧡

maxverstappen1: you are a superstar ynuser

ynuser: that’s you max

user89: the most impressive career turn around i’ve ever seen

landonorris: proud of you my love

ynuser: thank you 2025 wdc

landonorris: don’t jinx me

ynuser: i wouldn’t dare

user2: she can say these things now that she’s not on rbr lfg

patriciooward: you’re making me look bad (jk i adore you and want nothing but success for you)

ynuser: impossible to make you look bad when you’re one of the most talented drivers out there 🤍

user99: landoy/n supremacy! him making time to see her race is everything!!!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thank you for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[cvnt4him]

Emergency request bc I’m literally struggling so bad and feeling neglected as shit rn

ofc if you’re up to it pooks ik ur alr stressing over stuff and I don’t want to make it worse :(

Maybe some iida or monoma x reader that try’s hard to do stuff but always gets neglected? Thanks pooks 💕

I hope I got to this in enough time for you, I'm sorry for whatever you're going through n trust you're not making my situation any worse, you're actually helping me get rid of writers block so ty for this n I hope this reaches you well and is what you hoped for🫶🏽🫶🏽

mha boys x reader.

Included; izuku midoriya, kirishima ejirou, bakugou katsuki, tenya iida, monoma neito, denki kaminari.

Not in order.

Genre: angst? comfort/feel-good/fluff.

Izuku midoriya is none other than a saint. He helps everyone around him and he strives to keep his good boy/golden boy title. You admire him for that and you know others do, you also know one day he'll not only be yours but belong to the world. It gets to you but you try so hard to not let it.

When you two started dating no one knew at first, but izuku couldn't just stand by and let people not know that you were his. That he finally had a girlfriend who thought he was worthy of love. You truly felt that he deserved to be loved and he felt so seen with you, more than anyone else had ever made him feel.

Sooner or later after people found out, people began giving you such disgusting looks. Mostly girls you noticed. They would whisper about you when you were alone and look at you with mean and disgusted looks and they would laugh at you while you walked. No matter what you did you always had eyes on you. People laughing at the way you ate or spoke or dressed, it was draining.

You knew why it was happening and you tried so hard not to let it get to you. But none of that could even begin to compare to once your friends found out the two of you were dating.

You walked into the girls locker room to see all of the girls standing in a circle, you had already heard through the door they were having a conversation however you didn't exactly try to make out what they were saying. They all turned to look at you before slowly looking away to continue dressing, the silence had gotten rather too loud for your liking. They were just having a conversation before, why stop now that you were there? It bugged you the wrong way but you didn't want to make a commotion.

"so you and midoriya?"

Mina questions looking you up and down with a pointed look. She was one of your best friends, why was she looking at you like you're being investigated in a murder?

"uh.. yeah! We're dating."

You confirmed turning away to finish undressing. She hummed sucking her teeth and crossing her arms.

"you're dating him.. whilst knowing ochako liked him the whole time?"

She instigates, trying to get you to admit something. What the hell? Why would she say this? It's not your fault ochako didn't confess to izuku in enough time. It's not your fault he agreed to date you. It's not your fault he wanted everyone to know, so why was she trying to grill you like it was?

"look. I don't know what you're trying to get out of me, but--"

"just that you're a backstabbing bitch."

Silence filled the room once more as you scoffed clearly offended. She and the other girls stared at you with such disgusted and disappointed looks. You look around the room to see everyone staring at you with hatred and spite.

"are you fucking kidding me?!"

You ask around looking at all of them, there was no way they all hated you this much because you liked a boy.

"I mean.. you did kind of steal him off from under her.."

"you knew she liked him. Kind of bitchy."

"what about girl code, dude"

All the girls began saying their own opinions ganging up on you and practically eating you alive. They all shared their own fair share of mean words and side eyes before you finished getting dressed and slammed your locker shut making them all quiet down.

"fuck all of you."

You spat out while flipping them all off and leaving the room. You couldn't believe they're trying to decapitate you because ochako didn't have the balls to do what you did. Why does that make you a bad person.

The week started getting harder and harder as everyone, even some of the boys who knew ochako liked deku, started distancing themselves from you, al because of what mina would whisper in their ears, feeding them whatever she could pin in her web. And like the idiot fools they were, they believed her.

You were being neglected by your friends, all because you liked a boy. It began to be too much for you. Putting up this front for everyone who didn't even bother to see it or even your side of the story. You can't be happy with someone who has all these people liking them and making you feel shitty for also liking them. Maybe you'd have to break up with izuku.

When you came to him with this information he was furious. But not even with ochako or mine. With everything. The fact you'd been feeling shitty and didn't tell him and the fact you didn't tell him these people were bothering you. Izuku loves you more than he does himself and he isn't afraid to show that. He also loves his friends but he isn't going to let these people sit here and make you feel like shit because you're together.

He held you close that night, assuring you he wouldn't let this stand any longer. He was going to confront everyone for whatever they said to you and he wouldn't give a single shit about it. You were his and he loves you.

"I'm sorry for the way you've been feeling, love. I'm sorry that people have been treating you shitty and neglecting you because of our relationship. But you don't need any of them as long as you have me."

Tenya iida, one of the most compassionate hard working and caring people anyone has ever been graced to know. He is strong resilient and brave. He cares so much about everyone and it's so admirable. Some people see him as a wack job robot who just yells and screams or dotes too hard but to you he's perfect. An angel sent from the heavens above.

You've been working hard on something for a really long time. You hadn't told anyone about it because when you planned on it you wanted to also tell them the good news that would come with it. However that good news nevwr came. What you were doing wasn't good enough and it effectsd you deeply. Your grades fell, you started getting rather sluggish with your movements and you jardlt had the energy for anhone kr anyrhing.

Not getting the good news for what you've done was draining. It drained you to the point you wanted to break down and cry, yet nothing would come out. When people told you what you worked hard on, for so long, wasn't enough. It broke you, scarred you deeper than you could even begin to imagine. But tenya seen, he seen how you began to act, how you began to look more and more dead, how you'd began neglecting yourself. It was all too much for him to bear or watch you go through alone. He couldn't sit by and watch the love of his life perish.

Tenya held you in your dorm and let you cry on his shoulder for as long as you needed, having tissues on standby and rubbing your head gently. Placing kisses on top of your forehead and shushing you lightly as you both cuddled, he would be patient with you. He would wait until you were ready to talk or open up about what you were going through, but for now he wanted you to know you were loved and that he was proud of you.

"I love you, y/n. So much more than you could possibly fathom. I see you, and I am so incredibly proud of you. You are worthy and deserve someone who would move heaven and earth for you, I hope I am adequate enough for you."

Dating bakugou katsuki was hard. Not because he was an angry fiery shit head, but because he had such a burning passion for what he did. He never stopped striving and fighting to get what he wanted. He knew what he wanted and grasped at it and held onto it tight. It was nothing less than admirable.

The fact he could come back to you and tell you he loves you was admirable. He loved you and that meant so much to you. You loved him just as much and tried so hard to show up and be there for him. Through thick and thin, lows and highs, you wanted to be by his side regardless. He loved you for that reason alone, but he'd give you so many other reasons why he loves you.

He seen how hard you were working, how hard you were trying, how no one dared to even glance at you. He seen a faller bird that had potential and was worthy. Bakugou katsuki seen you. He wanted you and promised you he'd love you.

But for fucks sake, it always angered him to watch you get in such moods. To watch you neglect yourself and struggle with bad things. To put yourself under so much pressure and stress for no reason. When you'd cry your eyes out alone because you were tired.

He wanted to do so many things to you in that moment, but all his body could do was rush to you and hold you. He held you tightly, his fingers digging into the side of your hip. He buried his face in your neck and inhaled your sweet scent that always made him go feral.

You were his and he wouldn't dare let you sit here and feel shitty over whatever it was that was making you feel this way. He pushed and poked at every corner he could to get you to talk. Once you did he told you to shut the fuck up. You wanted to cry even more but you were sure he had reason to it.

And boy did he, he had such caring words laced with such menas things that were all wrapped in the cutest bow. He was emotionally constipated and had a hard time making people feel better. But watching him slightly struggle to find nice words to make you feel better while holding you close in his arms makes you feel so much better. Giggling at how he stammered over his words and how he tried to uphold a gentle voice to match the gentle strokes of his fingers on your side.

"look.. just. sigh. You're great okay. I love you and I'm not gonna just sit here n' let you whine n' shit for nothin'. Don't let whatever stupid shit is bothering you get t'ya. Or I'll beat yer' fuckin' ass."

Being kirishima eijirou's girlfriend was nothing other than a pure utter blessing. To be blessed with such an amazing caring and helpful boyfriend like him was genuinely a gift from the god above. He treated you like a queen who deserved to be worshipped.

It didn't take long for him to notice how hard you were struggling with things. He made sure before you got back to his dorm that it was all cozy and comfortable for you. One of the most romantic gestures he could have ever done for you. The way he had his laptop on his bed with so many plushies and comfortable pillows, and the fluffy cover he has and all the snacks you could ever imagine. He was nothing more than a blessing.

He held you tight and let you watch whatever you wanted, kirishima doesn't care about weight or anything like that, [yes I had to add this bit, bite me.] He loves training and working out with you, sure but he would never force you to do those things. He wants you to be nothing but comfortable with him and your body, so he would never shame you for how much you are or how you are in front of him. He loves you, all of you and he made sure you knew that. He kissed you and told you he loved you so many times. You fell asleep in his arms while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

"I love you.. I hope this could make you feel better. I will always be here for you."

Denki kaminari. Where to even begin with him. He was such a funny guy that it was hard to tell when he was joking or being serious about committing arson. He always made sure you knew that he loved you. He always hung by you and stayed by your side. He wouldn't ever tell you but he was a bit insecure. There were some things about himself he wished he could change for you, some things he wished he could do for you. He never intended to bring himself down but sometimes he thought you were this super cool goddess who was worthy of something more than a tiny little pebble like him. He felt like he was gum beneath your shoe.

Denki knew he wasn't good at a lot of things, he knew he could be dumb or even useless at times but when he seen how short you were feeling and how you would start crying because of how stressed you were he couldn't just sit by and let you feel this way.

He let you vent to him like you laid in his arms. He let you out face masks on him and let you do his hair or paint his nails or draw on him and just let your rant to him about all of your worries and woes. He wanted you to feel the way you made him feel so he tried hard to keep his mouth shut and listen. Whenever he'd notice you quieting down because you thought he was getting tired of listening he'd ask you "why'd you stop?" It'd make you feel so happy to have someone like him.

Finally after you were finished he decided to carefully pick and close his words to make himself sound just a bit smarter and more cool for you.

"hey...I'm sorry that you're going through this.. I wish there was something a bit more that I could uhm.. do? I don't want you to feel like I'm a burden but I promise you I'm here for you, if you ever want to vent like this again or just have someone to talk to, or-- or even just sit in silence with someone.. I'm here."

Neito monoma, he's quite the distinguished fellow. He always hated class 1A and he seemed to make his whole personality about just that. Or so you thought. You two getting together was not on your 2024 bingo. But he knew how to make you feel things.

He gave you butterflies by just smiling. His laugh was loud and carefree. He wasn't afraid to boast and brag about anything you did, he even did it in front of you. It was hard to feel insecure with him around. He wanted the world to know you were better than them, especially class 1A.

He would give you flowers or cute bows or just things he felt you'd like. He learned you and your every move well. He'd even practice certain conversations before the two of you have them. He felt you were rather predictable in an exciting way. A way that could never make him unlove you.

You being in a bad mood angered him, he confronted you about it and was so ready to beat someone's ass. With his words. But once you assured him why you were feeling this way his gaze softened. He grabbed you by your shoulders and pulled you into a hug. One that felt like it could last an eternity. One that you hoped would.

He sighed and just held you for a while and took it to his bed which led to a cuddle sesh. He rubbed your shoulder while you buried your face in his chest, he felt the way your breath fanned all over him and it made a shiver go down his spine.

You listen to his heartbeat and breathe in as much of him as you could, you were afraid if you didn't take all of him in right now he might disappear. Every time he kissed your forehead lightly or peppered kisses over your ear snapped you back into reality and helped you realize this was real, that he was real and was with you. That he loved you and would do anything for you.

"I love you darling and I hope you know just how much I do. I'm rather angry that you hadn't told me how you were feeling but I suppose I can let it go for now.. get some rest, my love."

AN: so I decided to make it a to character thing n don't even mind that I basically made a whole story for izukus... We all know how I feel ab him..

Also off topic and not that anyone cares but I'm thinking ab updating my masterlist yk? Js make it more aesthetically pleasing to myself. Also I wrote this all in one go, this took ab maybe two hours?????

[quixotical-lymbo]

OMG I LOVED YOU ORION PAX FIC (this bot needs more love) can you do an Orion pax x reader, but it’s the reader’s reaction to Orion falling in that hole thingy? (yk at the end of the movie that D-16 dropped him in) like does

1. the reader goes crazy and bets up D-16 ?

2. jumps in after him?

3. cries and says "HE WAS MY FUTURE"

I need to knowwwww (also take some food bc i know you cooking with your fics 🍎🥐🥯🍔🍗🍟🌯🌮) TYY

Pairing: Orion Pax/Optimus Prime x gn!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: What happens when a bot witnesses their conjunx endura die in front of their eyes?  Warnings/Tags: Transformers One SPOILERS, guard!reader, cybertronian reader, mild descriptions of violence. Word Count: 1300+ words 

The first time you met Orion Pax was a blurry moment of rushing figures and yelling. This red and blue bot had a reputation, but you didn't know his designation at the time where you first started your job as a guard. 

Well, you certainly knew all about him, especially after your first run in with the troublemaker making his grand exit through a balcony. Of course, you just had to be making your rounds flying around the perimeter of the building when you were tackled out of the sky and pinned against the rooftop of the neighboring building. Groaning as the mech on top of you sputtered a flurry of apologies. The mech ran away without even offering a servo to help you up. 

The second time the two of you met, you learned his designation from the gossip about a miner always sneaking in and out of government buildings which held old records. You connected the name to the face of the mech you ran into again when patrolling indoors. 

It was…a unique exchange of pleasantries as Orion Pax attempted to sway you out of sounding the alarm. His attempts at distracting you with those flirty glances and sweet words did nothing to stop you from cuffing him and bringing him back to his station.

Over the deca-cycle, the interactions between you two grew warmer as the forced proximity bred an intimacy between you two. 

A conjunx ritus later and the two of you were an odd couple in the optics of Iacon. 

All because you managed to 'catch' the mech of who stole your spark. 

So why couldn't you save your conjunx when he needed you the most? 

It all happened too fast for your mind to react in time, but your frame moved before you could even scream the name out of your conjunx as his battered form dropped into the pit. You rushed forward, cables feeling like they were on fire as you reached a servo out in hopes of grabbing hold of something. Yet, you were too late and Orion was swallowed by the abyss right as something grasped your arms and yanked you away from the edge. 

You struggled to throw them off of you, blurred edges of your vision and the muffled shouts of your name didn't stop you from trying to fly down there—it didn't matter whether or not your spark would extinguish in the process. All that mattered was finding Orion Pax, your best friend, your companion, your everything. 

A voice heavy with grief managed to snap you out of your haze. You glanced over to meet Elita's optics, her face twisted with a pitying look that nearly sent you over the edge–metaphorically and literally. 

"The age of primes has ended....no more false prophets, follow me and you will never again be deceived!"

Cheers broke out from the high guards scattered within the shocked crowd of Iacon's citizens. 

"I will lead us all into the future!" Megatron opened his chassis and replaced the cog in his chest with Megatronus's cog. Purple electrical sparks emitted from his frame as his body transformed into a bulkier form.

"I…am…MEGATRON!" 

"Burn it down…all of it!"

Shots fired from the crowd as Megatron began shooting at the Sentinel statue and the structures surrounding it. 

 

"He's going to kill everyone." 

"We have to stop him-" Elita-1 was cut off as your form rushed past her and headed for the silver mech. Bee and Elita-1 glanced at each other before nodding and hastening after you. 

As Megatron continued shooting his cannon, a pede slammed into the side of his helm knocking him onto his knees. Megatron whipped around to find your fist heading toward his faceplate, he dodged and managed to grab your wrist in time to swing you around like a rag doll. 

Despite having a cog all this time, your frame was still shorter compared to Megatron's—but that didn't make you any less of a fighter. 

"You took him away from me! Your own best friend!" You bellowed and wrapped your legs around his arm to twist out of his grip. You swung your body weight to shift behind him and pummel him in punches. 

"He was your friend! My conjunx…my future….mine!" You grunted as Megatron ripped you off and threw you away. You rolled onto your servos and knees before jumping aside before the energy blast could hit you. The weight of losing Orion hit you all at once as you realized you had just rolled near the place where D-16…Megatron had dropped him. Your optics dimmed as your vision blurred from the rising dust and smoke. Your helm dropped and you couldn't see the massive cannon pointing at your pathetic form. 

"I took down the only thing standing in my way," Megatron sneered. The purr of his weapon charging up became a roar as the light within readied to snuff your spark. "And now? I will make sure you join him along with the rest who stand against me." 

"Not if we have anything to do about that!" Elita-1 charged in and snatched the cannon in time to redirect the shot elsewhere. 

A fight ensued and a multitude of thoughts ran through your processor. Your distraught and grief melded your frame into the floor. The noises and smell of destruction around you all blurred into one as you curled into a ball, wishing to disappear into the same abyss your conjunx had dropped in. 

After all, why continue this seemingly never ending cycle of injustice without the bot who made life worth living? 

No, Orion wouldn't have wanted you to think that way. Nor would have sat there wallowing in his own misery if your spark had stopped beating. He would've fought for you and you…will do the same.

Slamming your clenched servos into the ground you shot up and barreled toward the fight. Snarling as you drew closer and pounced onto Megatron just as he kicked Bee away. Before anyone on the tower could react, something exploded a piece of it and shot up into the sky. 

 

Amidst the chaos, you, Bee, and Elita-1 slid off the dome and landed on the lower platform again. 

Snapping your gaze up you found an familiar yet strange mech donning a similar color scheme to Orion standing before Megatron. 

 

"It can't be…" Bee began.

"It is." Elita-1 finished with wide optics. 

"Orion?" You whispered. 

 

He was alive. Alive. 

 

He was…different. 

 

…he wasn't dead and that's the important part. 

When all was said and done, Megatron was banished from Iacon and Energon returned to Cybertron, cogs being returned to the cogless citizens, you were finally able to have a moment alone with your conjunx now named Optimus Prime. 

His optics shone brightly as they landed on your faceplate. He turned to you fully and stretched his arm to reach you. You eagerly leaned into the palm of his servo, cheek pressing against the warmth of his hold on you. The faint hum of his spark calmed the raging storm within you, allowing your tense cables to ease up. 

"You've…changed." You sighed as you blinked back the liquid in your optics. 

"...so have you," Optimus craned his helm down to hold your gaze. "Come, we have a lot of things to discuss." 

You interlocked your digits with his, reluctant to drift away from him, but his softening gaze and even softer words persuaded you to let go. 

Trailing after the three but sticking close to Optimus's side, you nearly tripped over your own pedes as you felt the weight of his love through the bond. Keeping your expression neutral, you smiled inwardly and returned his affections tenfold. 

Primus, you were happy he was alive. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. banner(s) by @enchanthings !!

[taegularities]

colour me in: translucent | jjk (m)

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

The whispers cease the moment your door closes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he doesn’t say anything at all.

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

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

If he hadn’t started, you would have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because the sight is one to behold.

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

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

“Why is your mouth open like that?”

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

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

God, this guy…

And he actually doesn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

“Looks a lot better on you.”

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

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

“What, baby?”

“Just…” 

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Why?”

But you soon get why.

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

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

Your face burns.

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. I’m sure you’re not a sore lo—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

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

“No! Oh god—”

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

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

“Sorry…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re the worst.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

And god, does he do it well…

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

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

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

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

Like he’s at some meeting. Goddamn.

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

“I… Shit, you’re… hot as fuck.”

Right.

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

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

And that’s it — back to business.

“Nnnghkook…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fragments of sentences. They make him smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s already a finger to your pussy.

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

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

No, he can’t. Liar.

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

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

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

As if…

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So far… do more, please.”

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

Like now.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhyes, yes, please.”

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

“…Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Perfect.”

And then, everything seems to happen faster.

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

What might he be looking like right now?

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

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

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

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

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

Sex is only one instance of his attentiveness.

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

It must be.

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

“Holy shit…”

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

And.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No objection. So you turn around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you order, “Sit. Please.”

“What?”

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

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

And whatever happens next, passes by fast.

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

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

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

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

“You’re so funny, aren’t you?”

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

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

“Must be. Too good to be real.”

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

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

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

“Hnnngh, this is just…”

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

“Go— slow,” he pants behind you.

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

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

God. You’re overspilling.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yeah, baby. This is…”

“I know. I know, keep talking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he’s actually so distracted by must be…

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

“It looks…”

Must be art.

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

Glistening. Sucking him in. It must…

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

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

And you do know your Jeon Jungkook well.

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

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

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

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

“H–huh?”

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

Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You too,” you murmur.

“Yes. Patience, love.”

No. Fuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really? 

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

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

“Mmmmhm. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Then I’ll…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold– hold onto me, okay?”

You do. And then — he thrusts up once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ngh, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, you’re off the cliff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a pain the two of you share.

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

Like something’s burning on his tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn. Damndamndamn.

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

“Jungkook.”

“Huh— yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s fucking buckets of it, shit…

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. The kisses aren’t over yet.

For a while longer, the profuse heat lingers.

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t going to.”

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

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

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

“My god. Stop saying it like that.”

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

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

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

“You kinda do. Like cherry blossoms.”

“Shut up.”

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

Oh… oh?

Wait.

Your mouth shuts tight.

Did he…

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I… like the sound of it.”

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

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

“Yes. You are. Of course you are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…There’s more than one?!”

Hmm…

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

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

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

Girlfriend. Boyfriend.

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

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

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

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

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

…At this time?

Did you leave her this desperate?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give yourself closure, babe.”

“I got closure.”

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Alright then…”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“Kook—”

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

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

You don’t know.

Maybe you don’t need to know.

Not more than what his eyes say, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No… I don’t think she’d want that.”

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

“I don’t know…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Breathe.

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

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

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

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

You sigh…

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

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

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

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

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

Feel a sense of responsibility. Like an adult.

Okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeopardise. Holy fuck.

She has a whack understanding of villainhood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That I can receive affection, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—”

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

“Because you almost killed yourself!”

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

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

No…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have her attention. Her lips stay sealed.

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

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

And that should be it.

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

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

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

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

And then… something miraculous happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because. Because that’s all you ever wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mundane tasks, like shopping for casual things together.

Groceries. Decoration. Plants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, he promised me burgers today.”

“What for again?”

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

“‘Kay. Understandable.”

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

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

“I would want it.”

He always does.

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

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

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

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

You actually mean it, don’t you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To be fair… I agree.”

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

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

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

“Dork. You must survive.”

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

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

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

And before you can answer, he kisses you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. And there’s nobody outside, waiting.

Until, someone is.

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

Strange. Oddly familiar voice.

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

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

It takes a moment. Then another.

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

You blow a raspberry at the boxes in your backseat. 

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

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

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

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

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

“It feels… quiet.”

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

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

“Absolutely. You’ve no idea, really.”

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

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

A sting jabs your chest.

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

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

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

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

“Just ninety-nine, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah. You’re gonna upset Eun.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck.”

“Buy me sushi.”

One last laugh before you cut the call.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you rambling?

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her touch feels… good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah… I thought so,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better. Pressure’s on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will. Thank you so much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not funny!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re the worst, I mean it.”

But his evil snicker isn’t.

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

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

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

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

Forget about the issue.

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

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

“Babe—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Ah?”

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

“Shut up. You’re impossible.”

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

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

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

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

“Not the microwave.”

“Jungkook—”

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

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

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

Shut up. You’re impossible.

His prior agitation truly wasn’t one at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The difference was still never quite veiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? I’m always cosy.”

“Mmmh… a bit more tonight.”

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

“A healthy balance? How so?”

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

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

“You’ve always been mean, actually.”

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

Now you do slap his tits.

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

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

“And yet…”

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

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

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

Is he zoning out?

“Jungkook,” you call again.

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

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

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

“I hate you.”

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Like you adore me.”

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

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

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

“Uhh…”

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

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

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

“And you are, too.”

Hold on.

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

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

Is he thinking of the same thing?

Because you’re speechless.

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

Oh god.

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

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

“Only if you feel like it.”

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

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

Shit.

“Where is the wedding?”

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

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

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

Which is… such a huge fucking thing.

Especially for a girlfriend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I actually might cry.”

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

You could cry.

Because you talked about this so long ago.

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

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

Is that it? Is that now?

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, you’re already daydreaming. Because…

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t stall.

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

You’ll freaking screech.

“Jungkook!”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“What am I gonna wear?”

Jungkook puffs out a breath.

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

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

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

“Kook—”

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

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

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

“Or will I seem overdressed?”

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

“And… if I’m underdressed?”

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

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

“I am, too. But…”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Good. Oh.”

“Hm?”

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

“Oh…”

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

And now you’re here.

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

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

“Just…”

“…What?”

“Okay. Hold onto me.”

“Hold ont— oh, f—”

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

“And— off we go.”

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

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

“You better not.”

“No. Just wait.”

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

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

Holy shit.

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

[girlokwhatever]

i have an emily idea cooking … ok so they played together at louisville (maybe reader is a year or two younger than em) and dated. they broke up and emily left for the wnba. reader transferred to uconn bc louisville reminded her too much of emily. two years later reader is drafted and ends up on the mystics with emily 🙈

(guys i’m switching up the draft picks a little bit to fit the plot ok i know washington wasn’t second pick)

𖤓✎⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*ੈ✩‧₊˚ end of beginning,,

part two

emily engstler x fem!ex!reader

“i am happy for you emily, truly i am.”

“then why are you breaking up with me? you don’t know that long distance won’t work.”

tears stream down both of your faces, a consequence of your decision to end things with emily. she committed to the draft that was only days away and was projected to rank very high. she was leaving louisville, which meant she was leaving you and the life you built together.

you weren’t mad at her at all. you really were happy for her and her accomplishments. it was going to break you to watch her leave and not come back, which is why you made the decision you did. selfishly, you needed to focus on your career. you needed to let her go so that the two of you could grow on your own.

“emily..”

“please don’t do this. we can try. i’ll try. please.”

you meant the world to emily, encouraged her to do great things and be a better person. she felt as if she owed the entire past year to you and your motivation that kept her going even through the darkest moments. you’d been a great comfort to her. there would be late nights when nothing else mattered but the feeling of you in her arms. she’d do anything for you.

she’d do anything for you.

“i can’t,”

your voice is barely above a whisper. you’re trying to hold back the sob threatening to spill over. sometimes the best choices were the hardest ones to make.

emily drags her hands down her face and peers over at you. you’re not looking at her anymore, head turned and eyes squeezed shut. she reaches out for you and cups her hand around the side of your face. when you lean into her touch she feels sick, finally letting the reality of having to let you go sink in.

“it’s okay. i get it, i know. i love you.”

she kisses your forehead as she stands, letting her hand drop back down to her side. you relish in the feeling before it’s gone because you know this will probably be the last time you feel it. that same feeling that still gives you butterflies.

“i love you too, em.”

that was two years ago.

you went to watch her get drafted, eyes teary and gleaming as you followed her figure walking to the stage after getting picked forth overall. you cheered and cried for her as if nothing had changed.

a few days after that you entered the transfer portal. everything reminded you too much of her. her name was still plastered on the cubby next to yours in the locker room, her scent still lingered in your sheets, her spot on the couch was left untouched, her absence in the home court was noted heavily.

you ended up signing with uconn. the last two years of your collegiate career were spent there, growing and expanding as not only a player but a person. the friends you made were phenomenal and helped you grieve with the ones you lost.

due to the extra work you were putting into your dream, you grew exponentially in popularity on social media along with your fellow teammate paige bueckers. you were close to everyone on the team, especially her. it led to people shipping the two of you much to your surprise.

you hadn’t dated anyone since emily.

but now it was your turn to be drafted. you committed to the draft alongside your two teammates nika and aaliyah. life was good. after two years of struggling and trying to find yourself, things were finally falling into place.

you’d gotten second overall pick in the first round. the washington mystics selected you and you were beyond grateful for the opportunity. you turned to give your coach a hug, noticing paige and azzi recording in the back with wide smiles on their faces.

it felt like a fever dream honestly. the rest of the night flew by, interviews and interactions seemingly only lasting seconds before you were pulled off to the next person. through the haze, you forgot what would be waiting for you once you arrived in washington.

or who.

emily watched the draft, nervous with anticipation to see where you’d end up. when she heard your name and washington mystics in the same sentence, her heart started pounding in her chest.

she never got over you. it made starting the league hard for her considering she lost her main pillar of love and support. her year with the indiana fever was full of intense moments and anger, always feeling like she wasn’t giving enough and kept having to prove herself.

the next year was even harder. she suffered a rough shoulder injury, leading to countless days of physical therapy and doctor visits. all without you.

to know that she’d see you again in only a short number of days was terrifying. you’d both be in training camp together which lasted weeks, spending day after day seeing each other. though it made her anxious, emily was also excited. she would get to see you again in all your glory, hopefully being able to smile and laugh together like you used to.

emily walked into the mystics gym, setting her bag down and standing to observe the room. there were a few people there already, you being one of them. her eyes immediately found you and your figure, so recognizable to emily.

you seemed to have this glowing aura around you. a smile was plastered on your face as you talked to ariel. you dribbled a basketball between your hands effortlessly, adjusting to the weight and getting used to your new surroundings. your eyes also wandered after you broke away from ariel, finding emily across the room.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss her. two years without her was a major struggle for you. sometimes, late at night, you wondered what it would’ve been like if you had never broken up with her. there were countless times when you regretted your choice. you never considered the fact that you could possibly be teammates again one day. certainly not so soon.

you wandered onto the court, leaving all your aimless thoughts behind. the rest of the trainees gathered with you and started a simple drill where you and a partner would take turns shooting and guarding one another.

by second nature you and emily found each other, shyly muttering a quick, “do you wanna be my partner?”

“yeah, i’d love to.” her heart was pounding at your words, imagining that maybe, just maybe, you missed her too. she smiled at your shyness, finding it ironic how your relationship had devolved.

emily was considerably taller than you, so shooting over her was not easy feat. at some moments you felt like she was letting you drain shots purposefully, even if she swore she wasn’t. you were even able to block a few of her shots, mostly when she kept her feet planted though.

after awhile and a few rotations, the coach offered a different drill. he split the group in two and let you scrimmage, you and emily somehow ending up on the same team.

it was giving you deja vu. anytime you’d get the ball emily was there either setting a screen or opening a path for you. it felt like she never left, like you never split, like you two were still the dynamic duo you were known to be at one point. like she was still your emily.

being here with her made you feel like your old self. the you from louisville, playing with the emily from louisville. in a time where you were both still in love and happy. another version of yourself was here, the best version of yourself.

after hours of sweating and nearly collapsing from being breathless, the day’s training was coming to an end. you drained one more three point shot, finally feeling satisfied with your performance. everyone cheered for you playfully as you collected your bag, quickly heading back to your car. you made it all the way to the parking lot before hearing a voice.

“you did really good today.”

you turned to see emily standing behind you, slightly disheveled and out of breath. she was smiling softly at you the same way she used to. it still made you flutter to this day, especially when you remember all the memories the two of you share.

“thank you, you too! your defense is still so good.”

“thank you,”

you both stood there in silence, not quite ready to break away. being around her offered you some sense of comfort in such an unfamiliar place.

“how’s paige?”

“paige? i mean, she’s good.”

“are you two, like.. together?”

“what- no. we’re just friends.”

emily nods, satisfied at the information. she’s slightly embarrassed for even asking, but she had to know. she had to know if you moved on with someone else.

“so then, is it okay if i take you out to dinner?”

“like, right now?”

“just tonight. you can shower and stuff of course.”

you don’t even have to think about your answer. you’d been wanting a moment like this for over a year. you missed her so much, too much. it was starting to affect you mentally. you’d wonder about her too often, having to fight some of the strongest urges to reach out to her and ask how she was doing.

“yeah, yeah. i’d really like that.”

she’s smiling, allowing it to reach her eyes as she waves you off. she felt like she was home again, even though she was still thousands of miles away. you were here, and that’s all she needed. any moment with you felt so right.

she took the time apart from you to grow as her own person, but now she was ready to grow again with you.

hopefully, you’d be ready too.

𖤓✎⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*ੈ✩‧₊˚

guys hopefully the song makes sense for this fic

should i make a part two idk?!!?!

also i will spell check this tomorrow.

[slixqrta]

yandere! childhood friend x reader

synopsis: going back to your hometown was something you’ve been planning for a while, to visit a friend for a few days. however, with a snowstorm coming, you learned a new side of an old friend.

TW: 18+ writing, noncon, gn! reader, amab! yandere, forced cheating bc of yandere, self victim blaming, reader is no having a good time.

a/n: sooo this was meant to be released in christmas…however there were some complications at home such as going to the beach with family and a bunch of my father’s friends inside an old house and getting some skin allergies due to the beach. but no worries, because i am back and ready to write more for everyone! enjoy this one my dear readers!

yandere! childhood friend who you almost fail to recognize when visiting your hometown. he is now taller, stronger and definitely more mature compared to the last time you saw him.

long gone was the short boy that often hidden behind your back when bullied. and instead of that voice that always failed when talking to anyone, there is a husky voice that makes you wonder if he forcing it or not.

unlike the old times of using a stool and the ladder to reach for the cookie jar at the highest shelve, pierre just extend his arm to grab it for you. he doesn’t even put try to keep the jar way from your reach, already taking pleasure in seeing how you lack height in comparison to his.

yandere! childhood friend who takes advantage that you are going to stay at the town for a few hours to see his extended family at the house he grew up in.

his parents’ house couldn’t be more full during holidays season. his uncle and aunt are there with their children, a bunch of little rascals that don’t waste time in climbing pierre at first opportunity.

the kids begging their dear old cousin to play a snowball game with them at the backyard and of course, he dragged you in.

you couldn’t believe your eyes in seeing a grown up man actually playing seriously against a bunch of little kids. it’s almost comical seeing scott trying so hard, yet losing the instant when the kids overthrow him with your help.

by a slight moment, he looked defeated. giving a performance worthy of an award as gets up from the snow, seeing how the children continue to play with you.

scott struggles to not imagine a future when seeing you like this, acting so docile and gentle with the hypothetical children you two might have in a future. it’s a cliche, he knows, but he can’t help to imagine it.

yandere! childhood friend who accidentally forget to tell you about the incoming blizzard that is going to hit the town. now, you struck with him inside this whole big house without any contact with the outside world due the electricity being out.

call it bad, but scott is grateful that his extended family are struck in the town’s mall. they will be there for hours and hours until the snow storm ends. which means he will be trapped with you inside home for a long time, just the two of you.

yandere! childhood friend who light up his mother’s aromatic candles to set up a mood. scott’s childhood bedroom—now turned into a guess room has become the perfect place for both of you to spend during the snowstorm.

the little chitchat between you two is something that he missed so much. things could be like this forever, a cozy place to call home as scott becomes the breadwinner of the family and you turns into a stay at house partner with small versions of you running all over the house.

it would be a dream of his to this to happen. but you had to spoil everything with those little words coming from your lips:

“my partner is probably wondering why am i not back home…”

yandere! childhood friend who can’t let you ruin the future he imagined. scott shaped his life around you, to make things easier and better just for you! and you dare to throw everything away for another person? he can’t let you do that.

scott’s room, a place full of memories and sweet dreams that made your childhood a memorable experience. the shelves still carry some of his favorite toys with pictures of the two of you.

a place full of dreams turned into a cage thanks to him, the boy who you believed to be the most precious and trusted person to ever exist.

the boy who made you smile when younger is the same one who is making your body so painful.

“don’t cry, [name], it’s okay…” he whispers, his blue eyes filled with softness. his words were meant to soothe you, to make you feel less scared of him during an act like this. but this isn’t working. “i’m sorry, but there is no other way to make you stay with me.”

you know he isn’t being sincere with you, not when his cock has already made his way inside your entrance.

it’s already so deep. even with the stretch is bearable as he moves inside you, you continue to cry against an old shirt of his that scott forced inside your mouth.

he leans over you, kissing your tears away and then your neck—gently, which only makes you cry harder. his cock hits you again, making you wonder how much energy this man has.

his hips slowly crash into yours as he fucks you slowly and steadily. there are the sounds of a sweet love making, a contrasted to the snowstorm outside.

it’s obvious that scott won’t last long, too entrenched with the moment and too focused on his pleasure alone as he holds your hips closer to his.

“oh-fuck,” he yelled out as his hips buried themselves into you, fully, sketching you once again before spilling himself into you.

his cum deep within your insides. it ruins the remains of the remains of your underwear when some of the fluids escape from the entrance, even though scott hasn’t remove himself from you.

it’s warm and humid—you don’t really know how to explain, but it’s gross and you want it out of you.

you don’t have any strength to fight your way out, not when you are exhausted after fighting him earlier and as result, leaving the room messy as it is now. so, the only option is to plead.

“scott—“

the front door from downstairs opens.

you hear the voices of scott’s younger cousin and his parents coming from downstairs. they are celebrating the fact they arrive just in time to surprise their beloved old son with a gift and they also brought one just for you too.

it’s only then that scott removes himself from you. he stands up, zipping up his pants before spraying one of the colognes from the dresser. there is a big smile on his face, one that you used to love so much before.

you stay on the ground. pondering what will your life be like after this.

there is the relief of him being away from you, to not to feel his intrusion at your entrance that slowly repels the fluids from your insides. however, there is the fear of him.

would your parents believe on you? they often praise the golden boy as if he was their own child, always hoping and trying to hint at the idea of you marrying him when older. you still remind how disappointed they were when seeing you dating another man that wasn’t scott.

would his parents believe on you? there is a problem when hearing their oldest child—the perfection in person has done something unspeakable to another human being. you can already imagine how disgusted and horrified they would look at you, calling you a liar for telling the true.

you know deep down they won’t believe you.

everyone always prefer to stand next to a man who has the perfect smile, a prosperous future with an incoming promotion at his job than a struggling college student who has problems with alcohol and an argument with your boyfriend before returning home for the holidays.

and so, you cry.

the dried tears getting replaced by new ones as you feel scott cleaning the fluids from your thighs with wet handkerchiefs. it’s a humiliating experience having a man violated your trust, but having him clean with a delicate touch you is even worse.

“it’s okay,” his lips turning into a smile as scott forces you to wear his clothes. your ruined underwear and outfit are replaced by an old pair of his pajamas shorts and a big shirt that makes you feel too small for your own good. “everything will be alright, sweetie. for now on, it will be the two of us, okay? and i almost forget, call that stupid man and end that relationship. i don’t want to hear any references about him.”

you can’t say anything.

not when scott drags you downstairs to meet with his family. his little siblings and cousins are happy in seeing you, showing off their newest toys as your mind is too far gone. none of them notice it, they are too innocent to realize that something is wrong with you.

but the adults does. scott’s parents question him about the lack of enthusiasm from your part—they are worried if you are already too tired, yet their worries disappear when their son replies with the magic words.

“they are just too anxious in making our relationship public. nothing to be ashamed, [name] is just thinking too much for their own good.”

his parents' face light up with visible joy. after years of whising to see you and scott as a couple, their long-held wish has finally come reality—or so they think. both of them eagerly spread the news to the others guests, their joy so overwhelming that they don't even notice the silence hanging over you.

you are no longer playing with the childre. instead, you stand near the huge window of the living room, gazing on the snowflakes dfiting softly to the ground outside.

the world feel quieter for a moment, enough to pretend that nothing from before happened, but he arrives. scott steps closer and wraps his arms around you, his touch gentle and steady unlike before.his presences makes you tense, it makes you want to scream for the others about he did to you and yet, you remain in silence.

"i promise, [name]." he leaves a kiss at the back of your neck, making your skin freeze under his touch as he whispers. "i will make you the happiest person in earth as long you listen to me, okay?"

taglist!

-> @kiiyoooo

[prythianpages]

When I Kissed the Teacher | Cassian

summary: After shameless flirting and one drunken confession, you decide to finally own up to your feelings for Cassian.

warnings: fluff, some suggestiveness/reader thirsting for Cas bc who wouldn't??

a/n: @daycourtofficial suggested this song and idea so big shoutout to her! Though I did a poll and Az won (you can find his version here), I decided to also write a version for Cas as a huge thank you for following me! I just reached 1k ♥ For the sake of this fic, Nesta and Cas are just good friends.

This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (:

Cassian strolls along the hallway, a carefree whistle coming from his lips. A towel is draped casually over his shoulder, barely doing anything to cover his well-defined upper half. A satisfying workout has left his muscles pleasantly fatigued and a content smile on his face. He usually trains in the morning but unfortunately, he had to rearrange his schedule to accompany Azriel on trip to Windhaven.

A creaking sound halts his steps and he turns his head to find you, his favorite trainee, struggling to open the door that leads to the infamous ten-thousand steps. Cassian watches you struggle for a moment longer, suppressing a laugh at the way you huff out in exasperation, allowing your forehead to fall against the door in defeat.

“What are you doing?”

Your head whips around in response, a dizzying blur causing a momentary loss of balance. As your entire weight leans against the door, it finally yields with a creak. Both the house and Cassian spring to action. A sudden gust of wind sweeps through, slamming the door shut and sending you stumbling forward instead.

Cassian catches you in his arms, one hand securing the small of your back while the other cradles the back of your head. Seemingly unfazed by the dangerous fate you almost, quite literally, threw yourself into, you appear nonchalant as you pull back slightly.

"I'm going out.”

As you speak, Cassian catches the subtle scent of ripe red berries coming from your breath. He recognizes it as Mor’s favorite wine. His hazel eyes graze over your body, taking in your thin cami top and shorts with heart patterns that match the hearts on the fluffy slippers you wear.

“Are you drunk?” He asks, his voice warm with amusement.

You don’t answer him, seemingly distracted by his bare chest. A thin line of sweat makes the black ink of his tattoos glisten, enticing you to lean in and have a taste. If you had drank a bit more, perhaps, you would’ve. But for now, you're content to place your hands on his chest instead, heart fluttering at the sensation of the hard muscle beneath. 

“Mmm, you’re absolutely delicious. Has anyone told you, you should be shirtless more often?”

Cassian chuckles. He’s caught you staring at him during training, often flexing his muscles on purpose for you to give you a better show. And it’s no secret that he finds you attractive too, especially after you coaxed it out of him one morning.

“Get off that pretty ass of yours and give me fifty.”

Your mouth falls open but it’s not the fifty push ups you’re gasping over. “You think I’m pretty?”

His gaze lowers, trailing down your body appreciatively before lifting back up to meet your eyes again. His lips twitch upwards and there’s a sparkle in his hazel depths. “I think you’re many things, sweetheart. Doesn’t keep you from giving me fifty. On the floor. Now.”

Flirting is common between you two but even then, there’s no way you’d say those words sober to him. “Yup, you’re drunk,” Cassian says. He makes a mental note to chide Mor the next morning for letting you out of her sight.

“And you’re Cassian. My favorite teacher.” You grin lazily at him, a finger grazing a path over to where his heart beats. Your touch creates a ripple of warmth, prompting his heart to lurch forward, craving for more of it. 

Get it together, he thinks as he reminds himself that you’re drunk.

“Mr. Cassian. My Mr. Cassian. My Cassian.”

A flush of warmth paints his cheeks at your slur of words and he doesn’t care if you don’t mean those words the way he’d like you to. You probably won’t even remember tonight and it’s this thought that gives him the courage to reciprocate. His fingers grip your chin lightly, thumb sweeping over your cheek in a tender caress.

“Your Cassian,” he affirms gently, a soft smile playing on his lips. If only you knew how much he adored you... 

Hearts take shape in your eyes, softening your gaze.  You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into your drunken embrace. Cassian responds, his hands securing beneath your knees, effortlessly lifting you. A playful giggle escapes you, only to be hushed when you notice him carrying you away from the door.

“No, Cas,” you shake your head at him. Attempting to squirm away, you insistently gesture back towards the door. Yet, his arms around you tighten, holding you in place. “We’re going the wrong way! Rita’s is that way!”

“We’re going to bed.”

Your squirming stops and you draw back, looking up at him with a flirtatious flutter of your eyelashes. “We are?”

“You–you’re going to bed. Your own bed, where you will sleep…alone,” Cassian finds himself stammering as he avoids your gaze.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you reply and he can hear the frown in your voice. “I want to be with you.”

“Cauldron boil me,” Cassian curses, quickening his steps. The faster he can get you to your room, the better.

When Cassian finally reaches your room, he thanks the house for opening the door for him. Your silence prompts him to assume you’ve fallen asleep. As he carries you to your bed, his eyes wander around your room, taking in the small details. His heart swells with warmth when he catches a glimpse of the book he had given you over training methods–his favorite book–sitting on your nightstand.

Cassian pulls the covers off your bed and feels you stir in his hold, arms and legs tightening around him as if you could sense his impending departure. He literally has to pry your grip off of him so he can lay you down on your bed. He tucks you in with such tenderness that it sobers you up for just a moment, eyes blinking open. “Can’t you stay?”

The pout you give him is endearing and tugs at his heartstrings.  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“But–”

He brushes your hair back with a soft expression on his face that would’ve had you melting, if you weren’t upset by his rejection. 

"Not when you’re like this.”

“But…,” you begin again. A pleading look fills your eyes and there’s a subtle wobble of your lips. “What if I tell you I love you?”

Cassian pauses. His eyes study your face in contemplation. He would love nothing more than to slip under the covers with you but he remains firm in his resolve. So with a soft pat to your head, he says, “tell me when you’re sober, sweetheart.”

**

“Tell me when you’re sober, sweetheart,” you mock Cassian’s voice with a scowl the next morning. Contrary to Cassian’s belief, you remembered everything. “Ugh! He might’ve well just told me he hates me!”

“Or maybe, I don’t know, hear me out,” Nesta begins, raising her hands before you could interrupt. She sits across from you on your bed, already dressed in her training leathers. “He wants you to confess to him when you’re sober.”

Emerie, who leans against your desk, giggles at the look on your face. “Don’t be rational, Nesta,” she says in a teasing tone. “He totally hates her.”

The door to your room creaks open and Gywn steps in with a slight frown. “Hurry up! We’re going to be late for our morning session,” she then looks at you, her frown deepening when she takes note of your disheveled state. “Y/n, what are you still doing in your pajamas?”

 “I’m not going today. Tell them I’m hungover,” you tell her with a grimace, pretending to be sick. Nesta rolls her eyes at your dramatics. “I think I’m going to throw up. You should go before I do.”

Gwyn glances toward Emerie, who had also been drinking with you and Mor last night. She then turns back to you with narrowed eyes. “Emerie seems just fine to me.”

Emerie shrinks back with a small blush. The two of you exchange a look. Yes, you had been drinking with Mor and Emerie last night. But you had done most of the drinking while your friend snuck off with the pretty blonde.

“Leave her be,” Emerie says as she stands up straight, covering for you the same way you had for her.  “I’m sure Cas will understand, given the state he found her in last night.”

“What? Don’t tell me you confessed your feelings while drunk,” Gwyn says with an amused giggle. As the silence stretches, her eyes widen, head turning to you. You're quick to avoid her gaze, prompting her to remark, "No wonder he's blushing like a fool today."

That makes your head perk up almost immediately, eyes finding hers only to see the playful glint in her eyes. Nesta and Emerie laugh while you fling one of your pillows at Gwyn. She catches it with ease and throws it back at you. Surrendering to the inevitable teasing, you let the pillow hit you, collapsing onto the comforting expanse of your bed, hoping the blankets might swallow you whole.

“Can you all just leave me be?” You groan. “I’d like to wallow in my own embarrassment alone.”

"Fine," Nesta sighs, patting your leg as she hops off your bed. "But don't think about skipping tomorrow's training!”

**

The next morning dawns, and you find yourself unable to face training, still grappling with the aftermath of your drunken confession to Cassian. Out of all the fish in the sea of Velaris, your heart chose to hyperfixate on him. Your teacher. 

As night falls, you're contemplating skipping training again. It's only another day, and with Friday approaching, the weekend promises a much-needed break. This extra time might be just what you need to gather the courage to face him once more.

Turning in for the night, you cast a glance towards your nightstand. There, beside the book Cassian lent you, sits an untouched hangover tonic. It appeared the morning after your first skipped training session. When you thanked your friends, they had only looked back at you in confusion. You didn’t have to guess who left it there for you after that.

With a sigh, you close your eyes. One of these days, you'll tell him you dream of him every night. Until then, you savor the bittersweet anticipation and allow sleep to pull you into its embrace.

In the sweet haven of your dream, you and Cassian stroll through the center of Velaris as the city shimmers around you. Cassian laughs, the sound echoing like a sweet melody. The two of you then find yourselves in a meadow bathed in moonlight. A sea of luminescent flowers surround you and as the wind blows around you softly, Cassian sneezes. It’s your turn to laugh then.

Cassian rolls his eyes at you and then reaches for your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. He pulls you into a dance with a smile that fills your heart with warmth and–

Your body stirs at the sudden loss of warmth and the soft smile that was on your lips morphs into a frown. Something seizes your ankles, yanking you down the bed. With a sudden jolt, your eyes fly open, and a scream escapes your throat. It takes a moment to recgonize the hazel eyes glaring down at you.

“I hope that dream of yours was beautiful because you’re about to have a nightmare of a training session,” Cassian huffs but there’s a teasing to his tone. “Come on, get up.”

Staring up at him in surprise, your heart flutters, still entangled in the remnants of the dream. Unsatisfied with your lack of response, Cassian leans forward and effortlessly picks you up, hoisting you over his shoulder. The trance shatters, and you protest, kicking and punching.

"Hey! Let me go!" you exclaim, your resistance met with Cassian's apparent indifference as he heads towards the door.

"At least let me freshen up and change!" you plea in exasperation. "You can't expect me to train in my pajamas!"

Cassian rolls his eyes because if you had woken up early like usual, you would’ve had more than enough time to change into something more comfortable for training. He doesn’t care. He just needs you to be there. On time.

“I’ll catch a cold or freeze to death on the rooftop!”

He pauses, his wings shuddering at the thought. While he doesn’t care about what you wear,  he does care about you. Setting you down, Cassian regards you with a stern expression, though his stomach flutters. He hadn’t seen you since that night.

“You have 5 minutes.”

Cassian watches as you spring into action, your hurried footsteps echoing through the room as you run toward your bathroom. He bites back the urge to laugh. He’d never seen you run so fast.

**

Cassian was not exaggerating when he said you were in for a nightmare of a training session. Much to your dismay, your friends were all under Azriel’s instruction for the morning, allowing Cassian’s attention to solely focus on you. Something you normally would’ve swooned over but given your current tension…

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You let out a huff and lower your sword, dragging the pointy edge along the gravel. A scowl taints your features. “I need a break.”

Cassian shakes his head at you. “Not until you get this move right.”

He moves to stand behind you, placing his hands at your waist. Suddenly, you're thankful for the vigorous activity Cassian pushed you into. It allows you to put full blame for your heavy breathing on the demanding training and not on the way Cassian’s warm breath tickles your ears as he instructs you on how to properly position yourself.

“Like this,” he tells you, using a knee to prod your legs further apart.

Your knees wobble and once again, you blame it on your exhausted muscles. Cassian chuckles, the hands on your waist helping hold you steady. “Are you drunk, y/n?” He teases.

You turn your head to glare at him. “I’m sober.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”

You toss your sword aside, freeing yourself from his hold, and spin around to face him. "And you want to know something else?"

Crossing his arms against his chest, Cassian's lips twitch upwards. He’s fully aware of the way your gaze momentarily dips down, catching the flex of his biceps. "What?" he prompts, the hint of a teasing smile playing on his face. 

Suddenly, the words die at your throat as you meet his gaze again. The intensity in his eyes rattles your nerves and you feel the courage slowly slipping away. Desperate to not let this moment slip through your fingers, you curl your fingers into his leathers and yank him down to your height. Choosing to show him instead, you lean forward and press your lips to his.

You pour out all your feelings into the kiss, heart quickening when he begins to reciprocate. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He’d dreamt of this moment just as much as you did and now that he had a taste, he didn’t want to stop.

Unfortunately, for him, the screams tearing through the training grounds have you pulling away. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Emerie and Gwyn, going wild and playfully tugging at Nesta’s arms while she laughs. Even Azriel indulges in a chuckle.

Blush creeps into your cheeks. You hold your breath as the world seems to stand still. However, instead of an awkward response, Cassian simply smiles, the flush of his cheeks matching yours and you feel like you can breathe again.

“I like you,” you finally confess, exhaling as your gaze dips downward. “Like might not even be sufficient enough at this point…"

Cassian's fingers gently grip your chin, coaxing your gaze back up to his. His thumb sweeps over your cheek in a tender caress—the same way it did on the night of your drunken confession. But this time, he doesn't hold back. He allows his thumb to trace the soft plush of your lips next.

And if the gleam in his hazel eyes was not enough to send you to the seventh heaven, his next words did.

“I’m falling for you too.” Cassian says with a fond smile.

Your lips lift into a smile of your own as you look back at him. But it's short lived. There's a flash of red and then Cassian is forcing your sword back into your hands.

"I thought we were done for today," you groan, knowing that you in fact were not done. You just hoped your confession would've distracted him enough.

The soft smile on Cassian's face is replaced with a smug smirk. "Not until you get this move right, sweetheart. In position. Go."

a/n: hope you all enjoyed this one! ❤️ idk how siphon powers work 100% but let's just roll with Cas's siphons being able to pick up a sword.

tagging: @hellodarling1357 , @kennedy-brooke, @scooobies

[ominous-horse-noises]

im ab to be annoying ab dimension20 fhjy but im genuinely loving the character arcs for the bad kids this season?

kristen going from self-annihilatingly stupid to trying to build a genuine bridge with the man who not only wielded the religion that traumatised her (bobby dawn), but also was trying to ruin her life, just bc she thought a grieving father ought to be comforted in some way? her genuine distress at being unable to revivify buddy even though the two had only had negative interactions, or her biting her tongue in front of her parents so she could better look after her little siblings? grappling with the fact that she still, on some level, expected practising religion to be easy and convenient for her as a holdover from an entire childhood spent being a Chosen One, and finally putting her nose to the grindstone and committing to working her ass off for a deity that couldn't even benefit her for a hot minute? making an effort to be cordial with tracker's new gf and letting go of that codependency? the kristen applebees from ep20 would NOT do all the same stupid shit as ep1 and i love that.

fabian being humbled by the narrative again and again has been an absolute treat for his character. the whole ivy/mazey situation was great: freshman/sophomore year fabian would've gone for ivy no sweat, i mean her character seemed pretty similar to pre-redemption aelwyn and he had a huge crush on her then. but this time, when he realised he'd hurt a genuinely great person, and intentionally swallowed his pride to make it up to mazey, even though it required him being 'uncool' with the whole twister thing. his general arc of learning that earnestness and humility doesn't make him less of a man felt like a natural extension of fabian defining his own version of masculinity- sure, a 'maximum legend', but also someone deeply involved in the arts, and someone who is less afraid of saying sorry and being vulnerable in front of someone he likes

fig. fig fig fig. what a woman. its been absolutely fascinating watching build her sense of identity over these three seasons. at her core, fig is a character that loves so deeply. in freshman, she was terrified of the depth of her own devotion, so she tried to distance herself emotionally from everyone. in sophomore, she built herself around that love for other people. in junior year, fig's arc has been learning she can do both: that she's defined by her love for others, but not solely by it. ik emily wanted to retire the character before this season but i think fig's paladin arc was the best capstone to her journey possible.

gorgug's arc has been about establishing clear boundaries for himself and i love it. im aware there's been some Discourse ab the mango soda scene but to me that was pretty easily chalked up to teenage insecurity. a big part of gorgug's arc was trying to believe in himself when everyone around him told him he was too dumb to follow his passion- imagine struggling in an area that you have no natural aptitude for, and someone comes along and also trounces you in the one area you thought you were the best in. i'd be petty and reactive too (gorgug follows up calling her a freak with the fact that she beat the shit out of him, so its clearly him just still smarting from a bruised ego and not actual malice). in general, i've really like gorgug learning to put his foot down and say enough is enough without completely losing his gentleness.

adaine hasnt had an obvious arc, but considering she addressed most of her baggage in the first two seasons, i'm not surprised. i would've liked to see the other bad kids address her 'teenage adult' behaviour, but her self-awareness about it and relying on fabian to pull in clutch for the oracool stuff still felt like she'd learned to rely on her friends at least + her reaching out to aelwyn and the two of them healing from their parents together has been rewarding it its own right.

riz is perfect and has learned nothing. his neuroticism is part of his natural swag

[theapangea]

I love your fics omfggggg

can you do one where fwb wants to be in an actual relationship but lip doesn’t so they end things with him. then lip realizes that he loved her after it was too late. Angst with fluff at the end 💞💞

(I’m sorry this is like my first time requesting anything 💀)

Thank you so much for trusting me with writing this for you and pls do not be sorry - seriously means so much to me <3. This is a long one bc I feel there is just so much that goes into this story so I hope you like it! I went the route that Lip is kind of afraid to be in a relationship which is why he doesn't want one with the reader. Hope you enjoy my love!!

It's Always Going To Be You

Lip Gallagher x reader

wc: 2.4k

Contents: 18+/ MINORS DNI!!, There is like two paragraphs of smut and the rest has no smut, p in v, unprotected sex, idk why I had to add smut but it’s Lip so kind of makes sense, verbal fighting, swearing

Fingers digging into your hips as you continue on your euphoric ride, your juices dripping down his balls as you grind against his length. Your head is fuzzy, your thoughts scattered as Lip holds you down tightly while he increases his speed. His throbbing tip hits your sweet spot repeatedly, twitching under his grasp as the feeling is mutual. Lip watches as your face contorts into pure pleasure, riding the wave of pleasure as you both cum.

A whiny moan escaping your lips as Lip pounds hard into your core. Your heart pounding in your center as you roll over onto the bed. Falling softly onto the mattress, the sound of heavy breaths quickly overtake the room, replacing the moans that once littered the space. 

Turning your head to look over at the man who just rocked your world, once again. The sun hitting his face perfectly as it shines brightly through the window, watching the sweat trickle down his temple and a playful smirk dancing along his face. His thoughts are foggy from the amazing time you two just shared. 

Rolling over onto your side, your left hand snaking its way along his chest, fingers grazing over the soft skin, goosebumps trailing not far behind. 

Lip takes your hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze as his other hand reaches for the loose strands of hair that fall into your face, tucking them neatly behind your ear. Then pulling you closer by the chin to place a soft kiss on your lips.

You are in love.

Lip has your heart so deeply that you cannot fathom feeling anything else. His touch, his voice, his laugh, his everything making you completely head over heels for him. 

Unfortunately for you, the two of you are just friends who happen to have sex with each other. Though you definitely yearn for something more. 

Taking a deep breath as you work up the courage to ask, “Do you ever think about being more than just friends?”

Lip’s eyes are still fixed on yours but his face changes to an indescribable stare. The question obviously makes him think more than you would like. Humming before answering, “Uhh, not really.” Dropping both of his hands as Lip looks back towards the ceiling. 

A wrenching punch to your fragile heart. 

“So you just want to have sex and that’s it?” You question, your tone becoming venomous as you push back from Lip. The feeling of love slowly dissipates.

“Pretty much yeah.”

Pretty much? 

Pretty much?

Has Lip Gallagher completely lost his fucking mind? 

Your body begins to shake, your blood boiling inside your veins as his words repeat over and over and over in your mind. You want to scream, yell, push, punch…cry. All of these emotions build in your body as you stare at Lip who doesn’t even look like he gives a shit.

“Fuck you Lip Gallagher.”

It is all you can muster up the courage to say. Immediately following the words by getting off the bed. Grabbing your underwear off the floor, murmuring to yourself as you struggle to put them on. 

Lip groans as he lifts himself up, “Don’t be like this.” Scooting himself to the edge of the bed. Reaching out his hands towards you, his fingertips brushing against your bare waist and arms. Grazing along the skin until he reaches your hand, squeezing light with sincerity in his eyes.

He makes your heart flutter, but you can’t shake his words, “Lip, be honest with me.” Your free hand gripping the cotton fabric of your shirt, “Do you ever want this to go further than just sex?” 

"Like a relationship?"

"Yes a relationship."

Hesitating before answering you, “Not really.”

Dropping your hand from his instantly at his hurtful words. Heart sinking to the very depths of the holes in your stomach, the burning sensation tickles the back of your throat as you hold back your tears. “Then we’re done.” Your tone is quiet, continuing to fight the urge to collapse, to cry into his arms as you hurry to put on your clothes.

Lip tries, but fails, to get your attention. Reaching out towards you to talk to him, but every time you take a moment to just stare at him. Your stare no longer holds the spark of love that radiates for him, but the resentment you now hold towards him. The way he just let your heart hit the cold ground without any care in the world. 

And as soon as you have your pants on, you are out the door of his room. Practically running to get out of the house, away from him, away from the heartbreak. 

You can hear the heavy footsteps behind you, knowing he is following close behind. His voice follows as it pleads for you to stop. 

Finally able to grab your arm at the end of the staircase, the argument is in full display of his family that occupies the living room. “Why do we have to ruin what we have now?” Lip whispers.

“We don’t have anything now, Lip.” You harshly say, louder than your normal tone of voice, “It’s just sex, all we ever do is fuck and I want more.” You can feel the burning sensation come back, your eyes shifting downwards as the tears start to become too hard to hold back, speaking softly, “I deserve more.”

Ripping your hand hard from his grasp. Pausing just a brief second to look at Lip, wishing this day turned out differently. Wishing you never had sex with him in the first place. You leave without saying another word, the door slamming loudly behind you.

Lip is beyond furious with you and how you reacted. He couldn’t believe how childish you were being over something so silly, over something that wasn’t even serious. He shakes his head before departing up the stairs, before anyone of his siblings can make any sort of remarks about the shit storm that just happened. 

Lip ignored the world for the first couple of days since your break up, that wasn’t really a break up, at least not to him. He constantly replayed the fight over and over again until his head hurt. Trying to understand you but he couldn’t he could fucking understand you at all.

Why did you get so mad?

Why did you want to ruin what you both currently have?

Why did you want more?

Why couldn’t he give you more?

After a couple of weeks, Lip wasn’t mad at you anymore. A little annoyed but not mad. More mad at himself and frustrated with how he always handles these situations. If anyone shows just a little bit of feelings towards him, he completely shuts down, shutting anyone and everyone out. Anyone who could break him.

Lip’s life eventually went back to normal, or as normal as a Gallagher’s life could get. But there was definitely something missing, and he knew it was you and your laugh and your smile and the way your eyes light up when you look at him. 

Lip finally realized that it was never about the sex, even though it was definitely great. It was you, it was always going to be you. 

He was just too much of an idiot, too heartbroken by other girls to see that you are perfect for him in every way.

He is in love with you, and finally ready to admit it. 

The realization hits Lip like a ton of bricks on this hot, sunny Tuesday afternoon. The puzzle pieces finally click into place as his mind is no longer questioning his feelings. He understands how he feels and he needs to tell you right now.

No more waiting, Lip thought, it was now or never.

And he couldn’t face forever without you.

His heart beating faster, the adrenaline pumping through his body as he practically runs to your house. His feet moving quicker than ever before, his body rushing on the pure thought of love coursing through his vein. 

The high races in Lip's head, sending him higher than any joint or orgasm ever could. 

Lip is in love.

The rapid pounding on the front door shakes you from your slumber. It’s been a couple very hard weeks since your stupid, little break up with Lip. God, why couldn’t you get him out of your mind? 

Taking a pillow to place over your head as the pounding becomes louder and louder, more and more frequent. You groan aggressively throughout the quiet house, wishing the person on the other side will just go the fuck away.

Huffing as you begrudgingly take your little heartbroken body down the stairs to answer the door. The knocking still at full volume, shaking the windows. Unlocking the door to see him…the boy who broke you. The boy who wants nothing from you but sex. 

You can barely look at him, making the quick decision to shut the door. Wanting to leave him and everything about him far away from you. But before you can close the door completely, Lip jams his shoe into the open space. Pushing to try to stop you from shutting the door, shutting him out. 

“I just want to talk.” He states, sticking his hand to help himself keep the door open.

Now leaning your whole body on the heavy door, attempting to close it on him, but unfortunately Lip is far stronger than you. “I have nothing to say to you,” Pushing hard until he finally loses his grip and in one final push, you close the door and lock him out.

Chest heaving as you watch him on the other side of the fogged glass. You can feel your body start to give in as he calls your name. Begging for you to talk to him. 

But you physically can’t. You won’t let yourself be hurt by Lip again. You deserve better than that and if that means never seeing him again, then so be it.

Walking away from the door, back up the stairs, continuing to hear him call your name. Each time is like a knife being twisted deeper into your heart. Plopping on the bed, grabbing a stuffed animal and crying, because at this point there is nothing more you can manage to do.

Lip huffs as he tries to figure out what to do. Obviously his first attempt at talking to you didn’t work out very well but he can’t just leave and hope that some day things will work out between the two of you. He needs you to know how he truly feels. 

Puckering his lips as he walks out into the front lawn, looking up towards the second floor at your bedroom window. And that’s when the idea hit, just like every classic 80s movie, just needs a little bit of romance. He looks around for a couple of rocks, taking two or three of them in his hands before tossing them at your bedroom window.  

The tapping sound clicks through your room, hearing it in between sobs. Looking up to figure out where the noise is coming from as another rock hits your window. Wiping away the snot from your nose and the tears from your eyes as you stumble over to the window.

Peering out to sit Lip down below, waving up at you. Opening the window to shout, “Go away Gallagher before I call the cops.” Your voice still reminisces of hurt as you try your best to sound tough.

“I just want to talk.” Lip yells back, picking the dirt off of the rock in his hands.

“Well I don’t.” You begin to shut the window until he yells for you to stop. His voice is about to break, tugging at your heart strings. You can see his cheeks start to get rosy and the strain in his eyes as he holds back tears.

“Please stop,” He feels like he can’t catch his breath, “I just need to talk.”

You pause, staring at him as he begins to break down in your front lawn. Opening the window again, poking your head out and nodding for him to continue. 

“I was- I am a fucking idiot. Because I didn’t see what we had, b-but I do now. You have to believe me.” Dropping the rocks in his hand as his palm wipes away the lone tear that runs down his cheek.

“I LOVE YOU Y/N!” His whole heart is in his words. “I am so madly in love with you.”

You can’t help but smile, smile at him for being such a dork who is shouting his love for you. Smile because it feels like you can actually breathe after so many weeks of being under water. Your lungs so full of air they could burst at any second. 

“Please come down here and talk to me.”

Rolling your eyes playfully as you make your way out of your room, down the stairs and out onto the porch. A little laugh catching in your throat as Lip continues to shouts to the neighborhood how much he loves you. How much he adores you.

Only stopping when he notices you are outside. “I’m serious, y’know. About us.”

Crossing your arms over your body, as you so desperately want to give yourself to him, but after what happened between the two of you. You can’t help but want to continue to build your walls. “I don’t know, Lip.”

“I was scared. Wh-when you told me that you wanted something more. I didn’t think I could feel this way after- well after Karen. But here you were, here you are making me feel fucking stupid and like over the moon for you.” Lip rants, “I could be doing the most interesting shit, and somehow the thought of you will pop up in my mind, uncalled for, and then I end up thinking about you for the rest of the day.”

“I am in love with you. I am always going to be in love with you.” His eyes are soft as he tries to study you, tries to indicate what you are thinking. Hoping that you will forgive him. 

A small smile creeps onto your face as you can’t help but understand where Lip is coming from. You know what it’s like to not trust people, to want to close yourself off from others. Hell it’s easier than falling in love. But you can’t help who you fall in love with.

Taking a couple of steps closer to him, hand extending to touch the buttons on his shirt. Eyes, doe-like as they bat behind your eyes lashes. Heart fluttering as you pinch the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer towards you.

Inches away from one another as Lip grabs your face with both hands, kissing you deeply, needing you more than oxygen. 

~~~~

“I could be doing the most interesting shit, and somehow the thought of you will pop up in my mind, uncalled for, and then I end up thinking about you for the rest of the day.” - writing prompt from @dumplingsjinson - prompt list here.

I super hope you enjoyed!! Let me know what you think <3

[sscieloz]

New Year’s kiss

Huh Yunjin x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Yunjin isn’t sure of how she’ll tell you about her going back to Korea to debut, but as the deadline to present herself approaches, she doesn’t have much of a choice.

Warnings: dom!yunjin x sub!reader. a little angst and a little smut (rushed bc I rlly wanted to finish this and I won’t be able to tmr).

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: happy New Year! See you in 2024 ^^

“Your parents have outdone themselves, this year.” Yunjin says, opening the door to the balcony. The party’s going hard inside the penthouse, but she’s surprised to find you alone, staring at the bright lights of the city.

You give her a small smile, accepting the champagne she hands you. “You know they always go all out. It’s their thing, I guess. Partying.”

As your best friend, she’s fully aware of the pain in your voice. Part of herself wishes she didn’t have to add sadness to your night, too.

“But not yours.” She remarks, nudging you. You laugh, nodding. She knows you well.

“But not mine.” You confirm, drinking from the glass. “What time is it right now, by the way?”

“We still have a few minutes before midnight.” Yunjin answers you, after looking at her phone to check for the time. Only ten minutes until midnight, she remarks. She has ten minutes to tell you the news.

The two of you stay in a comfortable silence after you hum in acknowledgment, one that only comes from knowing someone for so long. You can’t help but notice the way her grip on the glass tightens, aligned with deep breaths and a twitchy, uneasy posture. You let your best friend take her time, though, not pressuring her to answer. Part of you is already aware of what has her so hesitant, anyway.

Perhaps it’s best for her to not talk at all.

Yunjin breathes in, once, twice, before brushing your hair out of your neck, silently trying to get you to look at her. Leaning front to the balcony, you still pretend the city lights are the most interesting thing to ever exist, as if the girl besides you isn’t the only thing who’s ever had your complete attention.

“Y/n.” She calls, huffing in frustration when you only hum, still refusing to acknowledge her. “Y/n, would you please look at me?”

Unable to deny your best friend the simplest requests, you turn your body towards the red-haired. You take her in, fearing she’d go away with a blink: her plumpy lips, her rosy cheeks… her big, expressive eyes, looking at you with such hopelessness it nearly drives tears out of your own. She’s as hurt as you are, you know it as much.

Although, knowing that doesn’t keep you from blaming her.

“I-“ Yunjin struggles to have the words come out of her mouth, choking softly in her own saliva. Her breathing is erratic, and her nails have been deeply bitten, by now. Even though you feel like a cracked glass, threatening to shatter, you manage to grab your best friend’s hand, giving her strength to continue. You’re always caught in that loop, of selfishness and selfness, when it comes to her. The urge to comfort and protect Yunjin while wanting to shut her down, trying not to get yourself hurt. “Source Music called. They want me to be their trainee and debut in their new group, next year. I’ve finished reading the contract copy they sent this afternoon.”

Yunjin was nothing short of surprised once the company had reached out to her, talking about her performance in Project 48 and how they considered her to be a great fit for their upcoming group, Le Sserafim. It felt unreal; unbelievable and too good to be true— she had dreamt about receiving such a call for countless times, wondering when she’d be enough, and it was finally happening. Her agency was into the final steps of negotiation with the company, since the talks have been going nonstop for weeks now. They were starting to get impatient, demanding she flew back to Korea to adjust her contract’s final enclosures. She was supposed to be in Seoul for days now, but Yunjin refused to leave without properly addressing you, her best friend and most feverish supporter, first.

And she’s been trying so hard to talk to you, but the words disappear from her mind each time she intends on doing so. Her palms sweat, her mouth dries out, and she’s suddenly gasping for air, unsure of what to do. She just can’t disappoint you like that. She’s promised not to leave you too many times now.

“I-“ You stop yourself, reminding your brain to be gentle towards your best friend, who looks at you expectantly, like you’re the most precious gem in the world. For that reason, you force a smile to grow on your face. “That’s phenomenal, Jen. You’ll shine bright. It’s what you’re born to do, after all.”

She smiles, feeling the blush adorning her face. Even if she knows you’re not entirely sincere, it’s always nice to be praised by you. Yunjin has always found herself doing the silliest things, just to earn one of your proud smiles or encouragements. She quickly recomposes herself, though.

“Now be truthful. Say what you really mean.” She demands, fixing your hair. Her fingers brush your ear, and it’s hard not to shiver at her touches, always so delicate around you. Loving, caring. Just how she’s always been.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you allow your body to feel how Yunjin always makes you feel: like the fireworks are actually inside your stomach, erupting slowly. Now leaning back completely on the banister, you try your best to keep your voice from quivering. It’s the reason you bite your lip hard, looking up to the stars to prevent tears from streaming down your face.

“I know it’s selfish to say, but y-you just got back.” Your attempts do little to hide your fragile, faltering voice fail, the moment you open your eyes again. Yunjin is playing with her hands, not looking at you either. All in favor of keeping herself from touching you. “I-I thought you had warmed up to BU. You even said you were excited to be my roommate, despite the mess I always make.”

With her decision of enrolling later than most students, her belongings weren’t even fully unpacked, waiting for both girls to come back from winter break to be put into their places. And, despite being devastated about her decision of leaving the K-pop industry, you’ve been noticing how Yunjin has been smiling and engaging more with every passing week, slowly returning to her usual, bubbly self. It was subtle, but you were always there, giving her strength, and Yunjin was starting to enjoy the college experience.

Or so you thought.

Now, with her confession, you were beginning to overthink about how good of a friend you were. Sure, her revelation was something you had been expecting, over the last days; she’d been restless, jumpy—almost sneaky, wordlessly confirming something was wrong. However, hearing her actually say it was entirely different. Your heart hurt, already aching with her future absence, and your cries got stuck in your throat.

“Please, please don’t cry.” Yunjin mumbles, unable to keep herself from touching you. She pulls you close, caressing your hair as you hide your face in the crook of her neck, shoulders moving with your hiccups and cries. She feels so guilty: you’ve been best friends since kindergarten; she shouldn’t be one to bring you pain. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. But it’s my dream. I don’t think I’m ready to give up just yet.”

She’s completely right about that, the rational part of your brain knows so. You’re aware she’ll finally get what she’s worked so hard for, and be able to fulfill her passion.

The other part of your brain, however, can’t think past the loud bang inside your head, screaming mainly one thing: Yunjin will leave. Like all the others, she’ll leave you all alone. That’s the only thing you can think of, as you dampen her white tank top with your tears.

You lose track of time, embraced by her cozy arms, and soon your cries are reduced to whimpers. Brushing your nose, you detach yourself from Yunjin, still sniffling slightly.

“When do you leave?” You ask, so focused on the girl staring right at your soul you miss the start of the countdown.

“TEN!”

“On Monday.” She answers, face filled with sadness. She tries to reach out for you once again, but you move sideways.

“NINE!”

“You should’ve said something, anything, sooner.” Yunjin flinches at the sharpness of your tone, along with the way you bring your crossed arms to your chest, seeking protection.

“EIGHT!”

“I couldn’t. I swear, Y/n, I swear I tried so fucking hard to tell you, but every time I tried to it was just…” She’s breathless, representing exactly how she felt whenever she attempted to tell you she was going away.

“SEVEN!”

Yunjin takes two steps closer, trapping your frame between her arms on the balcony. Preventing you from running away, like you so desperately wanted.

“SIX!”

You sigh, defeated, interlocking your hands behind her neck. Her skin feels so familiar, yet completely foreign to you. You wonder how long will it take for you to forget her smell, her mannerisms. Her sweet accent, talking into your ear ever so sweetly. “Is it a good… firm, at least? Will they take good care of you?”

“FIVE!”

“They are, and they will.” She nods, tracing your arms with exquisite touches, almost as if she were afraid you’d push her and leave. “A respected and well-renowned company, I promise you.”

“FOUR!”

You hum, and she’s more than satisfied with your silence, this time— desperate to have even the tiniest bits of your approval.

“THREE!”

Yunjin stares into your eyes, suddenly self-aware of the (lack of) distance between you. She reads your body, looking for any signs of hesitation or discomfort. Instead, she only finds you looking at her behind your lashes, with a pouty gaze.

“TWO!”

“I’m really, truly sorry.” She says, tone serious and regretful, so upset to be hurting you.

“ONE!”

She leans in, brushing your lips. Bringing you in.

“I know.” You say, and nothing else.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The kiss you share is bittersweet, filled with melancholy and the promise of what you could’ve been, besides best friends. You love each other—always have, in all the ways one could possibly love someone. As best friends, as lovers… you’ve always welcomed Yunjin just as she is: a kind-hearted, caring, loving soul, so attentive towards others. You know the best act of love you could do is let her go, watching her fulfill her dream of being an idol. Still, you’re too flawed to do it that easily. 

So you kiss her, soaking up as much of the girl as you can before she leaves. Your hands grip her jacket, bringing her even closer as you break the kiss, gasping for air. You clasp your foreheads together, not wanting to be parted from her, ever. You feel hot, and surely aren’t thinking clear in the slightest. Perhaps, that is the reason you drag her inside, carelessly bumping into the hundreds of guests until you reach your bedroom.

“Room, now.” You murmur, locking the door from inside. Her lips crash onto yours once again, pushing you onto your bed. She straddles your thighs rather harshly, separating and positioning herself in between them, hands everywhere, applying an overwhelming pressure.

None of you care about being patient, taking off your clothes and well aware of the lack of time there is for you to enjoy yourselves. Her mouth attacks your neck, nibbling and sucking on your skin with increasing pressure, letting herself go along with the sounds that come out of your mouth. Yunjin’s hands still haven’t let go of your thighs, pinching and gripping as her thumb brushes the inside of your skin, conscious of the heat it sends down your core. If all, she’s able to feel you shiver, biting your lip in anticipation. The reaction makes her laugh, her hot breath making itself home against your clavicle.

“No t-teasing.” You whine, jokingly trying to push her off you. Your pleads work, though, as she makes her way down your breasts, licking her lips with hunger.

“Be extra loud for the guests, Y/n.” She says, before latching herself onto your nipple. Her teeth graze through your skin, suckling and pinching your boobs to her liking. She blows on them gently, taking pleasure in the way your body was so responsive to her touches— your back arches, and lustrous moans evade your mouth within seconds. A doll, all hers.

Yunjin’s mouth wanders lower, then, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach.

“How do you want to cum?” She stops briefly, staring at you with her big eyes, always so expressive, letting you choose.

“M’ want you to stay close, please.” You murmur, pushing her, so your lips can meet again. “Don’t be far.”

“So well-mannered.” She praises, pecking your jaw as her hand cups your cunt, still not where you want it the most. “Fingers it is, then.”

Before you can move your hips towards her hands —all hot, bothered and impatient to feel her inside of you, two of Yunjin’s fingers enter your cunt in a single motion, stretching your walls in ways only she could. You let a high cry, loudly just as you were told to be, as your head drops back, nearly colliding with the wall.

You feel complete, finally: with Yunjin’s marks displayed all over your body, the pressure you feel when she towers over you, yet holding you gently, spreading you out to her liking. And the way she just stares at you, with such lust in her eyes… it makes you feel so loved your heart aches, promptly reminding you she’s not yours at all, nor will she ever be.

You don’t even realize the tears streaming down your face until Yunjin hovers over, patiently kissing each one away. They’re salty reminders of the reality, one where you and her can’t coexist— at least not in the way you both want to: without being an ocean away from each other.

“You'll leave me.” You murmur, letting your voice falter as you distract with yourself sucking hickeys on her fair skin, marking her just as she’s done to you. “Just like the others, you’ll leave me. You promised not to, J. You fucking promised.”

And even though Yunjin kisses you sultrily instead of answering, you both know it’s the truth.

“Shh… It’s okay.” She soothes you, still keeping her fingers in and out of your cunt, now adding a third finger. You gasp, loving the new sensation, and she takes the moment of distraction to guide your wrist down your core, “Here.” She collects enough of your juices, bringing your hand up, all shiny and wet. She’s hypnotized, “Look at how soaked up you are. And it’s all for me, right?”

You nod, still letting a few hiccups escape from your mouth, feeling like you should be shy. Yet, you can’t, not with the way she sucks on your fingers so erotically, making sure they’re all clean before shoving her own inside your pussy again. “Always for you, Yunjin.”

“No.” She says, too fast. Kisses you sweetly, then, before begging. “Never call me that. It’s Jen, to you, Y/n. Just Jen.”

Jen. Just how it always has and will always be.

“Ok.” You murmur, letting go of thinking clearly as her fingers pluck in and out of cunt, so wet the noises echo through the room. She’s going so fast it burns, and it’s the most delicious sensation you’ve felt in so long.

“Say it, then.” She avoids your clit entirely, wanting to drag this moment for as long as possible. Yunjin knows she won’t have you like that, so pliable in her arms, ever again. So she savors it. “Say my name, Y/n.”

And you do, moaning her name multiple times. Her rhythm increases more than you thought possible, and as her thumb circles your clit, barely applying any pressure at all, you cum, letting out a high cry and whimpering her name, orgasm hitting deep in your body. It was already on fire, ever since the kiss you shared on the balcony, but now you truly felt as if you were going to explode.

You’re still clinging to Yunjin as your orgasm fades away, taking your time as the waves of pleasure wear off at their own pace. You stay tangled until all that’s left is the sounds of your breathing, steadying with each passing minute.

Once you’ve both cooled down, you grab your clothes, putting them on in silence. You’re not quite sure of what to say to her. Part of you wants to tell Yunjin of how you’re sure she’ll excel at being an idol— she’s already sweet, talented, and bright, so surely doing so in front of others won’t be an issue. However, you also want to scream in her face: she’s promised to not be like everyone; to be always by your side, present no matter what. Now she’s broken such a promise. It leaves you nauseous, feeling so conflicted.

Thankfully, Yunjin knows you too well. She speaks first, tone hesitant.

“I’m not letting you go, ok? I won’t.” It’s a promise, Yunjin’s determinate eyes announce so as she nods, almost as if to convince herself of the fact.

So you nod, too, even though you know it’s a lie. You’ll take whatever she gives you, always.

She knows you need time to process things. Yunjin is well aware of how you work, and for that reason, she goes for the door as soon as she finishes getting ready, too.

“Jen?” You call, making her freeze her hold on the door.

“Yes, my Y/n?”

“You know I’ll always cheer for you and for your success, right? No matter what.” You tell her, smiling weakly. It hurts, and it takes all of you not to push her back into the bed and fuck her brains over, until she was so fucked out the only thing left in her brain was the thought of staying home, with you.

You don’t, though. You know what’s best.

“Of course I do.” She says, quickly drying off her tears, too. “I love you.”

“And I love you more.” You complete the phrase, just as you’ve always done since elementary school.

And when Yunjin leaves, part of your heart goes with her, too.

-

You only notice the gift hanging on your bedside table in the morning, after waking up with your eyes all red and puffy from crying. It’s a necklace, beautiful and delicate, identical to the one you had found while thrifting at an antique store, weeks prior.

“I’m sorry, young lady, but this is much valuable to me. I don’t even know how it got on the selling pile in the first place. I can’t sell it to you.” The elder had told you, even after minutes of you begging for it.

Your hands felt empty without the heart locket, and it took Yunjin a whole afternoon of pampering and buying you gifts until you’d forgotten about it, no longer bearing a pout.

Now, said necklace sits beautifully in your hands, although it’s slightly different from when you took hold of it, at the shop. Instead of flat, it is now carved with your initial, at the front, and Yunjin’s, at the back.

Without any second thoughts, you grab your phone to text her, even though she’d only see it once her plane landed, in Seoul.

Shine bright, always. You text her, well aware she will.

[elllisaaa]

Hiiiiiiiiiii!! I love your work, and I get so excited whenever i see one of your posts pop up 💗💗

Idk if you'll be able to do anything with this, but this was just a random thought I had after a very real experience at the gym but

What about reader getting intimidated by a member bc of their muscles/height? Like maybe they're friends or in a relationship, and it's just like a cute sweet little moment (i can see this with anyone in svt tbh, but obv gym line would be best)

It's okay if you don't wanna do this! I just thought I'd throw it out there lol

Anyways, I hope you have a great day/night!!!!! 💖

you're so cute anonie !! thank you so much for reading my works, and i'm so glad to bring you joy with my silly posts ! but i totally get what you're saying, whenever i go to the gym without my friends, i'm so intimidated by the big guys so i get you ! plus i looove it whenever someone comes in my inbox to let out some random thoughts like that, keep doing that please !!

and to this screams MINGYU, who is so tall and big, but sometimes forgets how impressive it can be for other people. he sees you struggling to reach the bar of one of the machines because you're too short, and he runs to you to help you pull it down. you shyly thank him, and he goes back to his workout, but he cannot help stealing glances at you whenever you're at the gym at the same time as him. and sometimes, he catches you also looking at him but you always turn your eyes away and he doesn't understand why.

but mingyu doesn't want to annoy you during your workout, so he doesn't say anything. except that one day he sees you preparing to squat and he comes by quickly and asks you if you need someone to spot you. he's so cute with his cheeks all red that you cannot say no.

from this moment on, the two of you keep talking and you become his gym crush immediately. he already thought that you were insanely pretty, but now he's also aware that you're the sweetest human on earth and he's smitten by you. some weeks after you grew closer and started to workout together, he will start to wonder why you didn't approach him sooner.

"do i look like a bad guy ?" you giggled at his little joke, shaking your head. "not, that's not it. but you're… well, you're quite impressive." mingyu seemed so surprised you couldn't help but laugh again at how dumbfounded he was. "impressive ? me ?" - "don't play dumb gyu, you're so tall and big, it's a little intimidating at first."

mingyu tries to process the information for a moment, as he didn't think he could've impressed you just because of his size. but for some reasons, it fuels his ego and it feels good to know that he must also look dependable because he wants you to ask for his help everytime you need it.

"do you still find me impressive ?" he questioned, honestly curious about your answer, but he also had other thoughts in mind. "physically ? yes, don't think i didn't count how much you can bench press. but i also know that you're very sweet, and cute, and you take good care of me, so how could i be intimidated ?"

a soft smile takes over mingyu's face as he leans in, getting closer to you until your lips are only inches away. "does this intimidate you ?" - "no… not at all." this time, you take it upon yourself to make a move and kiss him softly. you can feel his lips stretching in a big, gummy smile against yours. and you can't help the giggle you let out when he looks you in the eyes, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes letting you know everything you needed to.

[loveharlow]

I neeeed a friends to lovers with rafe. like you’ve been friends for ages and always been a bit flirty but he’s get a girlfriend so you back off and he gets annoyed. so he invites you to the gym bc you always went together and he’s touchy and ends with a love confession.

i'm only doing blurbs rn so I had to shorten this a bit but i still feel like it encompasses your idea which is just chef's kiss btw😚 (also, this idea reminds me of that new Lay Bankz song thats been going viral:)

cheating, sexual innuendoes, heavy touching, allusions to sex

"Your ass is getting tighter." Rafe breathed out, setting the barbell down, letting the metal clank against the padded gym floors.

You scoffed, taking one last swig from your water bottle and shifting your weight, letting the now closed cup fall gently to the floor. Your hands were on your hips as you spoke through heavy breaths. "You can't say things like that to me anymore, y'know?".

The boy simply shrugged, standing from the bench and leaning against the metal that supported the equipment. "You never had an issue before."

"You didn't have a girlfriend before." You added, cocking an eyebrow and turning away from him to where the dumbbells were lined up against the wall and adjusting your sports bra. "Or are you just gonna pretend Sophia doesn't exist?"

The wall where the weights were had a large mirror behind it, allowing you to see Rafe creeping up behind you, swiping a hand down his face to reveal a smirk. "Is that why you been dodgin' me? What, she say somethin' to you?" He inquired, sliding a gentle hand around your waist to which you brushed off immediately, sighing and turning on your heels to face him.

"No, Rafe, she didn't. But I wouldn't blame her if she did." You informed, crossing your arms and paying no mind to the little distance between you two. "The flirting, the touching — you can't keep doing this. I'm not a home-wrecker or a side-piece."

"You wouldn't have to be if you had said somethin' first." He said so nonchalantly, reaching around to tap your ass as your jaw dropped.

You struggled to find words, stuttering over your sentences before he cut in once more. "Next time you want advice? Don't ask Top. A little vodka and he's an open book." He basically laughed out.

"...Well, whatever he told you, it's over now." You gained your composure, feigning confidence and carelessness as you pulled your workout shorts higher up on your waist and attempted to turn away once more.

"So, you don't wanna fuck me anymore?"

You couldn't help but laugh, partly out of shock and amusement, throwing your head back as your eyes zoned in on Rafe. "That's what he told you?" You asked incredulously, scoffing. "I've wanted to fuck a lot of people, rich boy. You're not special."

The sweaty male simply jutted out his bottom lip, ruffling his hair. "I didn't think you'd want me to bring up the part where he said you were in love with me." He retorted. "Y'know, since I have a girlfriend 'n all..." He mocked your previous statement, throwing his hands out and turning away from you now.

"That's..." You started, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear, feeling your face heat up. "...completely untrue." You muttered under your breath. The somewhat playful banter had turned into dangerous territory for any conversation to take place.

You'd been trying to keep your distance from Rafe ever since he popped out with Sophia for this exact reason.

You bent down to pick up two ten-pound weights in hopes of ending the conversation there when an all too familiar hand fully grabbed your ass in one hand, squeezing so tightly that you let the weights fall to the floor, whipping around in shock.

"Rafe! Dude, what-"

"I wanna hear it." He whispered, a hand grasping your jaw and directing your gaze up to him.

"Hear what?" You forced out, your speech slightly slurred from the way he was pressing your cheeks together.

"You're too pretty to play dumb." He spoke lowly, eyeing you up and down. "We both know you still want me. So, just admit it and I'll give you what you want."

Your mind fiddled with the idea for a moment. You never considered yourself a homewrecker or anything of the sort but something about Rafe was so tempting at this moment, making your knees shake as you stood.

You knew what you said next would forever make you the villain in most people's stories but self-control was always something you struggled with.

"...I'm still in love with you."

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"He spoke against your lips, your faces just centimeters apart.

His free hand hooked into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down as your eyes fleeted around the empty gym room. He dropped to his knees in front of you, dragging your bottoms the rest of the way down as he licked his lips.

"Next time, let's not make this so hard on ourselves, yeah?"

©loveharlow.

heads up: i added emoji anons to my blog, so feel free to send an ask to take one if you frequently send in asks!