#I just wish to leave a mark in the world in one way or another | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kingofbodyrolls · 1 month ago

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Perfect Strangers (m) | jhs

When a man as warm as a crackling hearth steps into your cozy bookstore seeking the perfect gift for his friend’s Christmas party, you can’t help but offer him your brightest smile. But when he returns days later, with a spark in his eye and a bold request—to be his pretend girlfriend for this very party—you think, Why not? After all, Christmas is a time for a little magic, a little whimsy. Yet as you step deeper into his world, you discover a heart weighed down by scars from the past, a man more complex than the merry mask he wears. Still, what’s Christmas without a little hope, a touch of wonder, and a heart ready to spread the joy it knows so well?

→ Pairing: hoseok x reader (female) → AUs: bookstore!au, coffee shop!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / fake dating → Genres: fluff / angst / smut / romance → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.7k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (both), fingering, breast play, cum eating, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink, Hobi was a huge cock, creampie, aftercare, marking. → Author’s note: guess who’s back with another Christmas gift? Me! 🎁 And this time, we’re unwrapping a Hoseok story! 🥳 Brace yourselves, because this one’s got ALL. THE. FEELS. Seriously, it’s like a snowstorm of emotions—pretty sad at times, but also as warm and sweet as your favorite cup of cocoa on a chilly night ☕🫂 Because let’s be real, who doesn’t need a good hug this season? I actually wrote this in November, and it gave me all the feels while writing it. I hope you’ll love it just as much as I do—and please, pretty please, shower our sunshine Hobi with all the love and virtual hugs he deserves ��️💛 → Read the spoiler? [text messages] → Read on AO3? [link]

The air bites, sharp and unforgiving, and snow tumbles in silent waves. Hoseok pulls his green parka tighter, hands buried deep in his pockets, bracing against the chill that feels as much within him as without. He hates this season—Christmas and all its garish lights, the forced smiles and saccharine cheer that feel like hollow echoes in his ears. Every year, it pulls him back to a time when something precious slipped away, leaving only empty echoes and a bitter frost in its place.

He trudges through the drifts, his boots crunching with each step as he scuffs at the snow like it’s a living thing to be kicked away. Snow. He despises it—the memories it brings, the losses buried in its whiteness. Sighing, he drags his mind away, trying to escape from the grip of the past as he remembers his unfortunate task: a gift for Namjoon, drawn by fate and the iron-clad rules of Secret Santa. Namjoon, who seems like he’d raise an eyebrow at any attempt to impress him. What do you buy for a man whose tastes are as precise as clockwork? Hoseok’s mind wanders, a book, maybe—a neutral, safe bet. Or a plant? Or some gym gear, though he winces, thinking that might feel too impersonal. The book is safer, he decides, less likely to disappoint.

His friends won’t let him slip out of their gathering this year; the annual Christmas dinner. They’ve grown wise to his excuses, having humored them too many times before. This time, they said, he simply has to come, or they’d drag his sorry ass out of his apartment themselves. So he’d agreed, and before he could stop himself, he’d added a lie—a plus one. A date. Why he’d said it, he didn’t know. A flare of bravado, maybe, or a strange wish that he could bring someone to light the way through the season he loathes. But he hasn’t had anyone in years, and now the promise lingers uncomfortably, as cold as the snow itself.

Just as his thoughts are tangling around the dreaded dinner and the impossible gift, something catches his eye. Through the haze of snow, a flickering glow lights up the street. LEDs twinkle on a small shop sign, casting warm light onto the swirling cold. The words, “Books & Coffee,” curl across the sign in whimsical letters. Through the frosted windows, he catches a glimpse of cozy warmth inside—painted winter scenes, shelves filled with books, and the faint haze of steam rising from mugs. A chance, he thinks. A book for Namjoon, maybe, and a cup of coffee to thaw his mood.

With a shake of his head, he steps toward the shop, hoping the warmth within might push back, if only for a moment, the frost of memory that clings to him so stubbornly.

He pushes the door open, expecting the cramped and dim interior of a hole-in-the-wall shop. But as he steps inside, he pauses, surprised. The space stretches wide and tall, a quiet maze of towering bookshelves reaching toward the ceiling like trees in a literary forest. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and fresh coffee, as warm and comforting as a blanket against the cold. Each shelf brims with books of every size, color, and genre, neat little labels dividing worlds of romance, mystery, fantasy, and more. And there, at the back of the store, his eyes catch on something unexpected—a grand coffee station, part of the cashier’s desk, decked out with bottles of liquor that glint invitingly beneath the dim lights. He frowns, amused, wondering just what sort of bookstore he’s stumbled into.

Around him, people sink into overstuffed couches and mismatched armchairs, nestled beside little tables piled high with books and steaming mugs. Some read in hushed solitude, while others murmur in low voices, their laughter rippling like warmth in the cozy air. He laughs to himself, an ironic chuckle at the scene—it’s like he’s wandered into a romantic comedy set. Christmas decorations hang from every possible ledge, string lights wound like ivy around the shelves, falling snow draping down from the ceiling, like something straight out of The Great Hall in Hogwarts. It’s kitschy, as if the store itself is leaning into the absurdity of holiday cheer, its charm so overdone it loops back into endearing. He can’t help but picture it: a flower stand in one corner, and his “perfectly quirky holiday shop” bingo card would be complete.

Not knowing where to start, he begins wandering among the shelves, eyes skimming over the labeled sections—romance (divided by spice levels, he notes with a faint smile), “how-to” books, self-help guides, fantasy, young adult, crime thrillers. He feels lost, in more ways than one, unsure what might interest Namjoon. A philosophy book, maybe? Or poetry—something brooding and introspective, since Namjoon’s always been the type to lean into “the deep stuff.”

Just as he’s contemplating how ridiculous it is that he, of all people, has to pick out a “meaningful” gift, he glances up and spots you at the counter, your lips curved into a soft smile. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, he feels something unexpected—a flicker, like warmth pressing through the cold. You’re watching him with a light in your eyes, a warmth that, to his surprise, disarms him, even makes him feel almost…seen. Before he can look away, you’re already walking toward him, smile unwavering, and a strange, unfamiliar shiver runs down his spine.

“Do you need any help?” you ask, your voice soft and welcoming, your gaze roaming over him in casual appraisal.

If he had a flirting bone left in his body, he might have found a response, something charming to match the spark in your eyes. He thinks you’re cute, sure, and there’s no mistaking the interest in the way you’re looking at him. But he doesn’t have it in him, not anymore. It’s been too long since he’s let himself flirt, or even felt the desire to.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I’m…looking for a book. For a friend. Got stuck with him in Secret Santa this year,” he shrugs, hoping that explains enough.

You nod, listening with a gentle attentiveness that surprises him, as if every word he says matters.

“Alright,” you reply, a bright smile lighting up your face as you clap your hands together in delight. “What kind of books does he like?” you ask, leading him further into the store with a spring in your step, your energy contagious, warming the air around you.

For a moment, he finds himself smiling back, the heaviness he carries lifting ever so slightly. Following you, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, this little shop—with all its quirks and kitschy charm—has a kind of magic after all.

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugs at his lips as he watches you move, graceful and light, as if the weight of life has never touched your shoulders. You float through the shop like someone untouched by scars, unshadowed by loss. He envies that ease, that freedom—it stirs something in him he thought he’d locked away. For a moment, he wishes he could go back to that version of himself, the one who moved through life without feeling every step like a burden. He sighs, catching himself and remembering you’d asked him a question.

“Ah—Namjoon’s into poetry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Existential stuff. The deeper, the better.”

Your smile grows, wider and brighter, and he catches sight of your slightly crooked front tooth—a small imperfection that only makes you look cuter as you bounce across the store. “I know just the thing! Follow me,” you sing, your voice lilting with a joy that contrasts starkly with his own.

As he trails after you, he finds himself standing a little taller, rolling his shoulders back, almost as if he could let the weariness fall away. You lead him to a tall bookcase near the back of the shop, beneath a quaint little sign that reads, “Poems; a penny for your thoughts?” He raises an eyebrow at the cheesiness, but something about it is endearing, and he feels a hint of warmth sneaking in, thawing the corners of his frozen heart.

“So, this whole section is poetry. Anything specific you think he’d like, or should I recommend you something?” you ask, turning to him with eyes that feel soft and inviting, like an open door.

He hesitates. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He’s…well, his taste is kind of serious, and sometimes it’s just boring to me,” he admits, shrugging. A hint of worry lingers, hoping he hasn’t come off as rude—especially if poetry is something dear to you. But your smile doesn’t falter; if anything, it seems to soften, unfazed, still welcoming him in.

“Perfect! Then I know exactly what to recommend to you.” Your eyes light up with a spark of joy that catches him off guard, making his heart stir with an unfamiliar flutter. Reaching for a thick book, you cradle it like something cherished, a small treasure passed down. Your fingers trace the cover, vibrant and abstract, alive with colors that swirl and dance. He peers at the title, upside down but legible: Seasons Change, People Change: Thoughts on Personal Growth Inspired by Mother Nature.

You hold it out to him, gently, and begin with a quiet, thoughtful enthusiasm. “This collection is one of my favorites. Each page is filled with illustrations—paintings and sketches that bring the words to life. It’s divided into four sections, one for each season. It’s beautiful, but it’s also challenging, introspective. I keep it close for those days when I need something grounding, something to remind me to keep growing, even when it’s hard.” Your voice is soft, reverent, and the passion in your words flows freely, making his heart stumble a little, a pulse he thought had quieted.

Without a second thought, he feels himself drawn in, already captivated by your summary and the way you cradle the book like it holds some kind of quiet magic. He feels it—the warmth and lightness in your presence thawing the edges of something inside him. He thought he’d long forgotten this feeling, but as you stand there, glowing, he realizes maybe it isn’t gone after all.

“Do you want to get him this one, or should I find something else?” you ask, your eyes gleaming with a playful spark, the kind of light that could brighten even the dimmest of days.

He lets out a chuckle, low and gravelly, surprising himself. The sound feels foreign, rusty, like laughter hasn’t escaped his throat in a long time. “No,” he starts, and then realizes you’d offered him two options, so he clears his throat and clarifies, “I want this one. Thank you.”

Your smile widens, and there’s that same warmth in your eyes, shimmering with a joy he hasn’t felt in years. “Awesome,” you murmur, a quiet delight in your voice as you turn to lead him back to the counter. He follows, watching the way you move, the easy grace of your steps, the little bounce that seems so at odds with his own heavy tread. He can’t help but notice the care you put into even the smallest details—how your fingers skim over the cover as you scan the book, your voice soft as you tell him the price. He nods absently, hardly hearing you; he’s already decided this book, chosen with such thought, is worth every penny.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He chuckles again, awkward this time, and you respond with a light laugh of your own, a sound that melts the air between you. “I’ll wrap it up real quick,” you say, reaching for a roll of delicate paper. “Just a sec.”

He watches, captivated by the way you work. Your hands move smoothly, almost lovingly, as you fold the paper with practiced ease. You add a final touch—a bit of decorative tape, a couple of small stickers, a tiny pocket for a note. There’s a grace in your movements, a tenderness he hadn’t expected to find in something so ordinary. It strikes him that you must do this every day, that you’ve wrapped countless books just like this one, yet you treat each with the same reverence. For a moment, he’s transfixed, caught up in a little world where every gesture, every detail matters.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the book, now carefully wrapped and nestled in a paper bag.

“Will that be everything for you today?” you ask, smiling softly as if you can sense he’s still lingering, still caught in his own thoughts.

“Oh—actually, no!” he exclaims, a laugh slipping out, and it’s genuine, unexpected. “I’d like a coffee to go, please.”

“Of course,” you reply with a little nod, and he watches as you glide over to the coffee station, your hands moving gracefully as you work the machine, pouring a steady stream of coffee into a simple paper cup. You bring it to him with a quiet smile. “Here you go,” you say, handing him the cup, its warmth seeping through the paper and into his fingers, spreading heat into his bones.

“Thank you,” he says, reminding himself to return your smile. There’s a warmth there, an ease he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he finds himself thinking, just for a second, how pretty you look with that gentle expression, with the easy way you move through the world. If only he weren’t so closed off, so weighed down by his own wounds. You’d be the kind of person he’d love to ask out, if his heart hadn’t already been numbed by the cold.

But no—he’s too far gone for that. So he simply raises a hand in farewell, turns his back, and steps out into the biting wind. Snowflakes swirl around him, cold against his cheeks, but his coffee is warm in his hands, sending up gentle tendrils of steam that vanish into the icy air. He trudges through the snow, his footsteps muffled, his mind unexpectedly lingering on you—your warm laugh, the way your eyes glinted with life, as if joy itself lived inside you.

Maybe he should let himself try again. Maybe he should take a chance and see what could happen, let someone in, just once more. His friends have told him enough times how much he needs that, how he should stop closing himself off. But then he remembers how content you seemed, untouched by the darkness he carries, and he can’t bear the thought of bringing his storm into your sunlight, of tainting that brightness with his own shadows. It’s better this way, he tells himself, better not to risk another heart—especially not one that shines like yours.

The sun spills across the snow outside, making it glisten like a field of tiny pearls scattered over the earth. Inside your bookstore, the warmth of Christmas lingers in every corner, filling the air with the quiet glow of string lights, the soft hum of holiday music, and the scent of coffee mingling with cinnamon. It’s just the way you love it—cozy and inviting, a small world apart. The fragrance stirs memories of Christmases past, when warmth and wonder felt boundless. It’s nostalgic, yes, and you find yourself wanting to pass that feeling on, to wrap it up like a gift and place it into the hands of every person who steps through the door.

This is why you opened this bookstore with its coffee corner, a place where stories and comfort blend as naturally as words on a page. You’ve always been captivated by the written word, knowing full well how a single story can slip beneath your skin, change your world, and leave you breathless with a sense of wonder. A story can make you pause, whispering, wow, this was amazing, or surprise you with glimpses of yourself in its characters. Some books show you new paths; others mirror the parts of yourself you hadn’t quite understood.

This is the magic you’ve always chased—a quiet enchantment found only in books—and why you can’t help but adore recommending them. You believe in the power of words, that the right book at the right time can light up a reader’s world. And here, among the shelves you’ve lovingly arranged, you get to share that magic every day, welcoming others into a world that feels like home.

Every person who steps into your little winter wonderland is met with a genuine smile, and if they’re looking for a recommendation, you’re ready to sprinkle a bit of joy their way. Life hasn’t been simple for you, and you’ve had to fight for much of what you have now, but it’s made every small thing feel that much more precious. Every creak of the floorboards, every cover softened by countless hands, every whispered exchange about a new favorite book feels like a gift.

It’s midday on a bustling Saturday—one of the busiest days of the week—and today’s book club meets in half an hour. You glance at the clock and start setting everything up, filling the air with extra anticipation. You prepare an assortment of drinks: coffee, of course, but also tea for those who prefer it, poured into festive mugs that add a little extra cheer. You drape fluffy blankets over the cozy couches and scatter them with soft pillows, transforming your reading nook into a haven from the cold outside. Freshly baked muffins and cookies wait on the table, adding a hint of sweetness to the air.

In your hands, you hold today’s book—a thrilling, spicy fantasy where a young woman uncovers a hidden truth about herself, discovering magic and mystery with the help of a tall, dark, brooding stranger. It’s the perfect pick for this crowd, an escape into a world filled with intrigue and impossible love. Your bookstore hosts a range of book clubs, something for every taste, from cozy mysteries to heartfelt memoirs, so everyone who wanders in finds a place to belong.

As you check the time again, the chime of the door opens, and members trickle in, mostly women but with a few men scattered among them. They settle into the chairs, cradling their warm drinks and pulling out their books, eyes bright with anticipation. You begin, reading snippets aloud, leading discussions that bounce from laughter to quiet reflection as everyone shares their favorite lines, passages that moved them, questions that linger. Hours slip by in an instant, and even after the meeting ends, people linger, reluctant to let go of this cozy, book-filled oasis. Some stay to read, sipping slowly at their cups, while you return to the counter, greeting the steady stream of customers that fill your little shop.

As you move between the bookshelves and help others find their next escape, you feel a quiet pride. This place is yours, filled with stories, laughter, and a touch of magic in every corner—a small universe where people come to feel less alone, warmed by the same words that have guided you all your life.

As you wait, relaxed, watching for anyone who might need help, your mind drifts back to a few days ago, to that stranger who walked in with the quietest of presences, searching for a gift—a book for his friend. Namjoon, that was the friend’s name. You realize now you never caught the stranger’s name. He was handsome in an understated way, but there was a heaviness about him, like a cloud clinging to his shoulders. That sadness had tugged at something inside you, urging you to offer him a touch of the holiday warmth filling your little shop. Despite his guarded nature, you saw those small cracks, those fleeting moments when he softened, letting in a glimmer of the joy you tried to share.

Now, with closing time just around the corner, your thoughts drift back to him and that lingering, frowning gaze. Just then, the bell chimes, pulling you from your thoughts, and to your surprise, in he walks, the same stranger, stepping through the door with a hint of apprehension. For a split second, he looks vulnerable, almost unsure—but as his eyes meet yours, his expression shifts, confidence replacing hesitation. His small smile is radiant, a rare glow that catches you off guard, like a sliver of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to leave you wondering what storms he’s weathered to dim his light this way.

You greet him with a soft smile of your own as he steps up to the counter, stopping just before you.

“Hi,” he says with a steady voice. You return the greeting, about to ask if he needs help with anything, but he speaks first, voice a touch uncertain but warm.

“Remember that friend you helped me find a gift for?” he asks, scratching his head, as though he’s slightly unsure of himself. You nod, intrigued, and he clears his throat, glancing away for just a moment.

“Well,” he continues, his voice steadying, “we’re having a Christmas dinner tomorrow, and I thought... Maybe you’d like to come with me?”

You blink, taken by surprise, and a laugh escapes as you say, “I don’t even know your name,” your tone light, not saying no, but letting him know you’re curious, open to this unexpected invitation.

“Ah, right—my bad,” he says, stretching his hand toward you with a shy smile. “I’m Hoseok. And you?”

You take his hand, his warmth surprising you, and you giggle, “It’s Y/N,” you reply, your voice soft, the sound of your name feeling different in the warmth of his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeats, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but feel the faintest hint of flirtation woven in his words, though there’s still a nervousness in his eyes.

Then he takes a small breath and adds, “Just to clarify,” he hesitates, his voice wavering with a hint of uncertainty, “you’d be going as my girlfriend. Well, my fake girlfriend.” He chuckles nervously, almost wincing at his own words. “I mean—if you’re good with that?”

The words hang in the air between you, unexpected and just a bit surreal. Fake girlfriend? You blink, caught off guard, studying his face as he scratches the back of his neck, stammering slightly, realizing, perhaps, the absurdity of it all. “I told my friends I’d be bringing my girlfriend,” he explains, his cheeks coloring, “but, well… I don’t actually have one.”

There’s something so earnest, so endearingly awkward about him that you can’t help but smile. And before you know it, you hear yourself saying, “Yeah, sure. I’d love to be your fake girlfriend.” The words come easily, and even though you’ve only seen him once in your bookstore, something in his gaze feels steady, genuine. Maybe it’s a leap, but you’ve always trusted your instincts, and right now they’re telling you he’s worth it. If this brings him a little joy in the midst of whatever shadows he’s facing, you’re happy to oblige.

Hoseok looks stunned, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief, and then a broad smile lights up his face. “Thank you,” he breathes, his voice filled with relief and a soft gratitude. He tells you he’ll pick you up tomorrow, and you exchange numbers and addresses, the simple gestures somehow feeling significant.

As he heads out into the frosty night, his figure disappearing into the snow-dusted street, you’re left smiling to yourself, the weight of the unexpected encounter settling over you. You lock up the bookstore, half-wondering at the mystery of it all, but feeling strangely certain this is exactly the kind of magic the season brings—unexpected, a little reckless, and wrapped in the glow of winter lights.

You clasp your hands together, fingers intertwining tightly, nerves fluttering in your chest as you wait for Hoseok to pick you up. You agreed to join him at his friends’ Christmas dinner as his pretend girlfriend, but now, in the quiet of your apartment, doubt creeps in. You’ve only met him twice in your bookstore, barely know him beyond fleeting glances and brief exchanges. The thought of walking into a room full of strangers prickles at your confidence. But you remind yourself that it’s just like meeting new faces at the shop. Slowly, your shoulders loosen, and your breathing steadies.

Glancing at your wristwatch, you see it’s nearly time. You grab your keys, lock the door, and head down the stairs, feeling the soft knit of the Christmas sweater dress Hoseok insisted you wear, an odd sense of comfort in its silly design. Apparently, you’re “matching his ugly sweater,” as he’d said with a laugh. Wrapped in your winter coat and boots, you step into the night, the cold air crisp and bracing as delicate snowflakes drift through the air, illuminated by the warm amber glow of the streetlamps.

Headlights sweep up the road, and Hoseok’s car slows to a stop in front of you. He’s waiting, the dim light from the dashboard casting a soft glow across his face. You open the door, sliding into the passenger seat, where warmth radiates from the heater and a familiar cinnamon scent lingers in the air. Hoseok greets you with a quiet smile, though his eyes hold a hint of his own nerves.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says softly, watching you as you fasten your seatbelt. He shifts into gear, guiding the car down the snowy road. His fingers clench the steering wheel, and after a moment, he glances your way. “So…you remember our backstory from last night?”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I remember the texts,” you say, warmth lacing your voice. “We’re childhood friends from kindergarten who recently reconnected when you moved back into town.”

He hums approvingly, tapping his fingers lightly on the wheel as he stops at a red light. “Perfect. My friends are probably going to ask a million questions—I hope you’re ready for that.”

You shrug with a playful confidence, grinning as you glance over at him. “I think I can handle it.”

The two of you share a small, knowing smile, though the absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you. Here you are, headed toward a stranger’s holiday dinner, to pretend to be his girlfriend. You don’t gain anything from this beyond the joy of helping someone out, but still…there’s a little thrill in the adventure.

The city lights gradually fade as he drives out toward the quieter suburbs, snow dusting the dark roads until he finally turns into the driveway of a quaint little house, string lights twinkling around the doorframe like stars. Hoseok cuts the engine, the two of you sitting in the hushed stillness for a moment, watching as the snowflakes swirl gently outside the windshield.

“We’re here,” Hoseok murmurs, and you catch his smile, warm as the headlights reflecting off the falling snow. “This is actually my friend Namjoon’s place,” he says, reaching for a carefully wrapped gift on the seat. Watching him, you suddenly wonder aloud, “Should I have brought something, too?”

He waves his hands between you, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry—you didn’t draw a name for Secret Santa, so you’re all set.”

Relieved, you step out into the brisk night, following him along the snow-dusted path. As you approach the door, he reaches for your hand, his grip both grounding and electrifying as he gives a gentle pull, guiding you to the doorstep. You bite your lip nervously, a bundle of nerves and excitement building, when the door swings open. Standing there, smiling with dimples that carve deep into his cheeks, is a man who strikes an oddly familiar chord.

“Hi, Hobi,” he greets, his voice rich and welcoming, before glancing at you with a knowing twinkle. “And this must be your girlfriend?”

Hoseok’s hand presses lightly against the small of your back. “Yes, this is Y/N,” he introduces you with a soft squeeze that sends a rush of warmth through you.

You follow them inside, feeling the sudden coziness of the house—a subtle warmth, holiday lights casting a glow over walls adorned with paintings and art pieces. When you step into the dining room, you stop, eyes widening at the grand bookcase stretching along the wall. It reminds you of your own bookstore, and you can’t help the delighted laugh that escapes you.

You’re greeted by Hoseok’s friends, easy smiles and lighthearted jokes melting away your nerves. There’s a surprising ease to slipping into this role, to letting Hoseok’s arm find its way around your shoulder, his touch landing at the small of your back, drawing you in for a gentle hug every so often. His casual touches feel natural, and you find yourself leaning into him as if you’ve known each other for far longer than two brief meetings.

As the evening unfolds, though, you notice something. While you’re chatting and laughing with his friends, Hoseok seems quieter, reserved, watching more than talking, an unexpected contrast to the warm person who’s held you close all evening.

Soon, everyone settles at the table, and you find yourself between Hoseok and Namjoon, whose familiarity still niggles at your mind. Drinks are poured, laughter fills the air, and a delicious meal is shared. The room falls into a comfortable quiet as everyone eats, voices softened as plates empty and contentment settles in.

“So, how did you meet our Hobi?” a tattooed guy—Jungkook, you think—asks with a curious smile.

You recount the story Hoseok gave you, weaving it with a smile. Jungkook nods, seemingly convinced, and around the table, friends accept your tale with knowing grins—except for Namjoon. You catch the soft scoff he tries to hide, though the others brush it off. When you finally turn fully to face him, catching his eyes, recognition strikes.

Of course—he’s a regular at your bookstore. You’ve seen him countless times, tucked into a corner with a book in hand, quietly immersed, though he’s never spoken to you and always leaves without buying anything. You wonder if he remembers you too, if he feels the same familiar spark, or if it’s just you, standing in the company of strangers who somehow feel just a bit like home.

A pang of doubt twists in your chest. If Namjoon has indeed pieced together that you’re not Hoseok’s real girlfriend, then the secret you’re helping carry feels a little heavier. You remember Hoseok mentioning their long history, and you wonder how well Namjoon can see through this little charade. But as dinner goes on, he stays silent, leaving you in an unsettling limbo of half-glances and unsaid words.

The night drifts on, and laughter fills the room as everyone exchanges Secret Santa gifts. You can’t help but smile as each friend unwraps their present, the spark of surprise and joy lighting up each face. When it’s Namjoon’s turn, he opens Hoseok’s gift—a book—and he pauses, his gaze slipping to you in a flash of recognition. You avert your eyes, warmth creeping into your cheeks, uncertain of what he sees or thinks.

When the last of the presents has been exchanged, Hoseok turns to you, a small, wrapped package in his hands. “For you,” he murmurs, his smile soft, almost bashful. Surprised, you unwrap it, revealing a tiny sun plushie with a wide, beaming grin. Its warmth brings an involuntary smile to your lips, and you clutch it close. “Thank you, dear,” you say, leaning in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. Hoseok’s friends exchange giggles and knowing looks, and Hoseok whispers softly to you, “It’s for being my partner in crime tonight.”

As the evening winds down, you join in clearing the table. Hoseok has drifted to the couch, his figure outlined by the window, eyes distant and fixed on the winter night. A weight lingers in his expression, a deep-seated sadness that seems miles away from the warmth of the room. You’re about to go to him, to ask if he’s alright, when you feel a strong hand at your wrist, guiding you into the hallway.

It’s Namjoon. His presence is grounded and steady, like an oak tree catching you in the autumn wind. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see both questions and answers swirling there, like he’s holding onto a truth he’s not sure he’s ready to speak.

“So, should I be thanking you for the book?” Namjoon chuckles, his smile gentle yet curious, as though he’s only half-convinced of your innocence in the matter.

“Not really,” you reply, grinning as you deflect his gaze with a little shrug. “I just helped him choose because he’s hopeless with books—unless they’re comics.” You laugh, hoping your nonchalance hides the truth beneath the surface.

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, sounds like him. Comics are about as close as he gets to literature.” His eyes flicker with warmth as he continues, “So, what’s your kind of book? What authors and genres do you get lost in?”

Before you know it, the two of you are deep in conversation, voices lowered in the hallway like you’re sharing secrets. Time becomes a vague notion, and the room around you seems to fade, leaving only the vibrant world of books—their characters, settings, and journeys—alive between you. Talking about stories, you feel a rare lightness, as if Namjoon is the first person in ages who shares the same deep love for them.

“You should drop by the bookstore sometime,” you say with a smile that feels wider, warmer. “We have a book club, too. It’s not as fancy as this,” you laugh, glancing toward the festive room, “but it’s a cozy crowd.”

Namjoon hesitates, then rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of shyness breaking through his cool exterior. “I might just take you up on that.” He pauses, as if summoning courage. “Actually… could I get your number? There’s that book you mentioned earlier—I’d love to hear more about it sometime, but…” He glances at the room filling with laughter and goodbyes. “Looks like this night’s wrapping up.”

For a brief second, you wonder at the request, but something in his gaze, earnest and unguarded, assures you. With a soft smile, you hand him your phone, and as you exchange numbers, a quiet sense of possibility lingers in the space between you.

He must know, right? That you’re only pretending to be Hoseok’s girlfriend?

And yet, Namjoon has said nothing, given no sign that he’s in on the secret. With a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you find Hoseok across the room, engaged in conversation with Seokjin. You drift over and settle next to him, and he instinctively wraps an arm around you, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that feels almost natural, if not a bit intoxicating. It’s easy to lean into his warmth, to fall into step with this rhythm of borrowed closeness, though your heart betrays you with a quiet flutter. Hoseok is both charming and soft-spoken—the kind of person you might fall for. But as he laughs and smiles, you sense a faint veil behind his joy, as if he’s holding something back, a quiet sadness simmering beneath his surface.

Your curiosity pulls you closer, like you’re skimming a page of a novel you’re not yet allowed to read, catching only glimpses of the sorrow he hides. You wonder what story lies beneath his charming front but stop yourself; after all, tonight you’re nothing more than strangers playing at love.

Later, as he drives you home through streets blanketed in snow, a mellow Christmas tune hums softly from the radio. He’s quieter now, eyes focused on the road, his features thoughtful, even solemn under the glow of passing streetlights. You wonder what’s shifted within him, what’s brought on this sudden retreat. You want to reach out, to ask if something’s wrong, but the words linger on your tongue, uncertain. Instead, you fall silent as the car slows, then stops outside your building. A strange reluctance holds you there, as if the air itself has thickened, laced with words neither of you are quite willing to say.

After a pause, Hoseok turns to you, clearing his throat, his hand resting on your thigh—a gesture that’s both tender and strangely formal. His voice is low, soft as he murmurs, “Thank you for being my fake girlfriend tonight. You… really made it feel real.”

He says it softly, his voice carrying a hint of sadness that catches you off guard, a weight that settles around your heart like mist on a winter night. His words linger, unspoken emotions woven into the silence that stretches between you, and you find yourself wondering—what happens now, with this fragile connection suspended in the cold, quiet air?

“It was nothing. Really—you’re welcome,” you say, a gentle reply you hope sounds reassuring, though it feels distant, safer. Perhaps the middle of the night isn’t the time to unearth things better left unsaid. Yet the thought crosses your mind: will you see him after this? Wasn’t this just a single act, a temporary arrangement?

“Will I… see you again?” you hear yourself ask, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as if it too fears rejection.

Hoseok’s hand retreats, and he glances down, a subtle sadness clouding his eyes. “I… I don’t think so.” His words feel heavier than they should, an unexpected blow that leaves you feeling emptier than you thought possible. You hardly know him, yet there’s something unspoken etched across his face—something hurt, guarded, and you ache to reach out, to tell him that whatever he’s holding back, he doesn’t have to carry alone. But he’s closed himself off, walls too high for a stranger’s comfort to reach.

You sigh, swallowing the pang of regret, clenching your hands to steady yourself. “Oh… okay,” you say, masking the ache with a soft, hollow smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting to bridge the gap between you, to offer some small comfort—but his posture tells you he isn’t ready to accept it. He looks away, his expression distant, already far ahead on a road you’re not part of, his face cast in shadow.

With a deep breath, you open the car door and step out, lingering just a moment longer before whispering a soft “Goodbye.” He barely meets your gaze as you close the door, and before you know it, his car is fading into the darkness, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, wrapped in silence and the unsettling ache of missed chances.

You stare after him, shivering under the streetlights, wondering if you should’ve pressed, if you should’ve dared to ask what weighed him down. But the night stretches on, and you’re left there with only your thoughts and the haunting feeling that you missed something rare and beautiful that might never return.

Hoseok feels hollow, a sinking weight that hasn’t lifted since he saw that crestfallen look on your face when he left you at your door. He’s not blind; he knows he messed up. But there’s something about this season, the way it reaches into his chest and pulls him under, leaving him fighting against a tide that he’s been trying to ignore for years. And now Christmas Eve is almost here—an anniversary of grief he hates most of all—and the closer it gets, the more his mood tangles, turning dark and unmanageable.

Why does he always ruin things? You were so sweet, so bright, your hand fitting perfectly into his like it was meant to be there. It’s been so long since he’s felt even a spark of warmth like that. Having you beside him at the dinner helped, too, lifted the weight for just a moment. But now, he’s gone and left you with nothing but silence. He knows he’s worried you, knows he’s made you question yourself. And yet, his heart twists at the thought of texting back, at unearthing the reason for his darkness.

The worst part is he’s seen every message you’ve sent, each one left unanswered, and with every passing day, they’ve dwindled until now… there’s nothing. He can’t blame you for giving up—he’d have done the same. And still, something in him aches at the absence, at knowing he’s pushed you away when he’s wanted to tell you the truth. Wanted to let you in. But the truth feels as vast and heavy as the winter sky, and he doesn’t know how to share it. He doesn’t know if he ever could.

His friends have noticed, too, hounding him with questions that scrape against his guilt, asking him how he kept you hidden for so long. Namjoon even laughed and asked how he’d managed to keep such a “childhood friend” so secret all these years. Hoseok’s stomach tightens with the weight of his lie, the flimsy story unraveling before him like a thin thread he can’t control.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration thick in his throat. How could he possibly tell you what’s really going on when he knows it would change how you see him? How could he bare himself to you, darkness and all, without fearing he’d lose the brief light you’ve brought into his life? The thought circles in his mind, relentless, as he wonders if he’s ever been brave enough for the truth—or if, this time, he’s finally lost the chance.

The doorbell cuts through the heavy silence of Hoseok’s apartment, and when he swings open the door, there stands Namjoon—tall and composed, bundled in a long coat, a beanie tugged low, thick glasses catching the faint winter light. He’s holding a houseplant, its green vibrant against the muted backdrop of the street.

“Mind if I come in?” Namjoon asks, but before Hoseok can even respond, his friend steps over the threshold like he’s been here a hundred times. Hoseok stands, caught off guard, words barely forming in his throat.

“Uh, sure,” he finally stammers, wondering what could have brought Namjoon here at this hour, unannounced and unreadable.

Namjoon places the plant—small, resilient-looking—onto the dining table, then slips off his coat and drapes it over the chair, pulling it out with a quiet determination. Hoseok follows and sits across from him, still dazed, feeling like he’s been summoned to some private tribunal.

Namjoon clears his throat, fixing Hoseok with a steady, discerning gaze. “You and Y/N,” he begins, words deliberate, “have you told her why you can’t stand Christmas?”

Hoseok’s breath catches; his throat tightens. He forces himself to shake his head. “No, I haven’t,” he manages, the words heavy.

Namjoon leans forward, his posture stern yet somehow protective. “So you’re not serious about her?” he presses, voice low but insistent, as though each syllable is meant to peel back the layers of Hoseok’s tangled emotions.

“No...I mean—” Hoseok hesitates, feeling the urge to confess he’s cut things off, ended this entire charade before it grew more complicated. But Namjoon speaks again, his voice shifting, a rare gentleness threading through.

“I stopped by her bookstore,” he says, and Hoseok holds his breath, tension prickling beneath his skin as he waits, unsure of where this is heading.

Namjoon’s eyes soften, and a small, genuine smile flickers across his face. “She’s really sweet, you know. Bright. Kind. I think she’s exactly what you need—if only it were real.”

The words pierce through Hoseok, his heart stumbling. He feels his pulse race, the subtle grip of panic and dread mixing with something that feels painfully like hope. He knew this moment would come, knew someone would finally see past the lie, and yet there’s relief in the admission. He can’t hide, doesn’t want to.

“So...you figured out it’s fake,” he mutters, defeated, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

Namjoon nods, arms crossed, his expression shifting to something sterner, more disappointed than Hoseok could have anticipated. “What I don’t understand,” he says, voice firm but low, “is why you’d hurt her feelings like this.”

Hoseok flinches, each word like a heavy stone sinking into his chest. Hurt you? The idea stings, unearthing a guilt he hadn’t let himself feel fully until now. He’d thought this arrangement would protect him, keep everyone at a safe distance. But hearing it said aloud—that he’s hurt you—tightens the knot in his chest, makes him realize just how much he’s let his own grief pull him down, dragging someone else along with him.

He searches Namjoon’s face, but his friend’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding him accountable with a simple, unrelenting question. And for the first time in a long time, Hoseok wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s been too afraid to let himself feel something real again.

Hoseok’s gaze meets his friend’s, a trace of confusion flickering there, but then, with a pang, he remembers the look on your face when you’d asked if you’d see each other again. He can still see it—how your expression fell at his answer, the sadness that slipped across your features.

Namjoon leans forward, his tone gentler but resolute. “You know... I think she actually cares about you,” he says, stretching his arms out and shaking his head in amused disbelief. “I don’t know how you manage to pull that off while acting like the Grinch himself,” he scoffs, “but somehow, this girl’s worried about you. You really should go talk to her, at least apologize for being a complete ass.”

Hoseok feels his chest tighten, leaving him mute, almost stunned. He knows Namjoon is right; he knows it all too well. But saying what he feels, peeling back that scarred armor—especially around Christmas—is something he’s almost incapable of doing.

“I don’t know if I can, Joon…,” he murmurs, the words coming out more fragile than he intended. “I just think telling her everything will only make her sad,” he says, his gaze dropping to the table, his hands clasped tight as though they could somehow keep his emotions contained.

Namjoon doesn’t let him off that easily. “And what do you think she is now?” he retorts softly, but with enough weight that the words feel like they land with an impact. Hoseok’s eyes widen, struck by the truth that he’d been dodging all along.

He’d thought, maybe, you’d be angry at him—mad, frustrated, but surely you’d move on quickly, brushing him off as just another mistake. After all, you were nothing more than strangers bound by a silly pretense. But hearing Namjoon say it so plainly, he realizes just how deeply he’s been fooling himself. And underneath the weight of his resentment for this season and the pain tied to that distant, bitter December night, he can’t deny the truth—he finds you kind, thoughtful, even hopeful in ways that he barely remembers feeling himself.

If things were different—if his grief hadn’t swallowed him whole, if he could loosen the grasp of the past—he could almost imagine himself with someone like you. But here he is, still tethered to that haunting memory, letting Christmas slip by year after year in the shadow of that loss.

Namjoon watches him in silence for a moment, then speaks, his voice quieter but unyielding. “Hoseok, we’ve all tried to tell you. The past can’t be a place to live, no matter how much it calls you back.”

And Hoseok feels the truth of it—a weight and a choice lingering like the chill of winter air, urging him, perhaps for the first time, to break free.

It’s nearly Christmas Eve, and you’re setting up for the last book club gathering before the holidays—a special, spicy session in the fading afternoon light, centered around a tale of witches, dragons, and the tangle of morals. While you lay out the books, aligning them carefully on the tables, your mind drifts to Hoseok, stirring with thoughts you can’t quite suppress. Namjoon’s words echo in your memory, nudging you to give his friend a chance. But the emptiness of your unanswered texts lingers; despite the messages you’d sent with tentative care, Hoseok has remained silent. A part of you aches to reach out just once more, yet the other half insists on self-respect—if he doesn’t want the comfort you offered, the space to unburden himself, you tell yourself that’s fine. Still, beneath that quiet resolve, a sliver of frustration seethes, and it slips into your work, reflected in the books you place down a bit too roughly, each one landing with a defiant thud.

Tonight’s book club promises to be a lively one, with more attendees than ever before. You’ve even roped in a few friends to help rearrange the store, setting up extra couches and stools to welcome the crowd, and handling the front counter while you join the readers. Despite everything, the prospect of the gathering fills you with a kind of joy that’s untouched by disappointment. Here, surrounded by stories and souls eager to explore them, you feel anchored, reminded of the warmth and kinship that words can forge even on the coldest nights.

Everything is ready, and as people start trickling in, the space soon brims with warmth and laughter. Every seat is filled, and latecomers, wrapped in thick blankets, settle on the floor, adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. Soft candlelight dances across the room, casting a gentle glow over festive mugs brimming with coffee and tea, and you smile, savoring the joy that settles over your little bookstore. You begin speaking about the new indie author whose book you’re exploring tonight, diving into themes of morality, which quickly spark a spirited debate among the readers.

But then your phone vibrates, faintly insistent in your pocket. At first, you ignore it, but when it continues, you excuse yourself with a sheepish smile and slip away to the counter. A string of messages from Namjoon lights up your screen.

[19:23] Namjoon: Hi 😀 [19:23] Namjoon: Sorry to bother you again, but [19:24] Namjoon: TY for letting me visit your bookstore 📚 [19:24] You: You’re welcome anytime! 😊 [19:24] Namjoon: and finding that book for me [19:24] You: np at all 😀 [19:25] Namjoon: I know that your relationship with Hobi is fake, but I really wanted to say that I think you’ll be good for him ☀️ [19:25] You: Really? 🥹 [19:25] Namjoon: I hope you’ll want to get to know him. He’s a really great guy 👍 [19:25] You: I do! Yeah. I had a feeling there’s a nice guy under all that sadness 🥹 [19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, yeah. He actually used to be the happiest and brightest person, but… [19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, sorry 🙇 [19:26] Namjoon: It’s not my place to tell you. [19:26] Namjoon: You should talk to him 🙂 [19:26] You: DW! I didn’t want to pry. I’ll ask him himself 🥰 [19:27] You: TY for looking out for him. You’re a good friend 🫂 [19:27] Namjoon: Always. He’s one of my oldest friends and I just want to see him happy again 🥹 [19:27] You: I’ll try talking to him. I hope he finally responds 🙏 [19:29] Namjoon: Please do, otherwise I’ll kick his ass!

You smile at Namjoon’s last message, the warmth of his words lingering as you slip your phone back into your pocket. But a tangle of thoughts and emotions stirs within you. Namjoon seems genuinely hopeful for you and Hoseok, nudging you toward him with a gentle insistence that Hoseok might just need someone to reach out. You’d promised to try, but doubt lingers at the edges—what if it’s all in your head, an illusion woven by the quiet moments you shared and the loneliness he wore like a mask?

Yet, the image of Hoseok as the “brightest person,” as Namjoon described, sits heavy in your mind. What could have dimmed that light? And as you glance out at the book club gathering, a part of you wonders if, somehow, there’s still a chance to bring a bit of that warmth back to him.

Hoseok finds himself aching for your smile, the warmth you seemed to pour out effortlessly, and the sharp, clever humor that softened his edges in ways he didn’t expect. Namjoon’s words echo in his mind, words that have been unraveling him slowly, urging him toward the chance to make things right. With his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his feet carry him almost unconsciously toward your bookstore. He knows you’re working tonight, but he doesn’t care about timing or convenience; he only knows he needs to see you, to finally apologize and hope you’ll give him even a moment of your time. He’s prepared to accept whatever you’re willing to offer—even if it’s a closed door.

As he steps inside, the familiar warmth and scent of cinnamon and worn paper embrace him, comforting and bittersweet. You glance up from the counter, and the softness of your smile catches him off guard; relief flickers in his chest—you haven’t yet written him off. He makes his way over to you, offering a tentative, apologetic smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, noticing the subtle spark in your eyes, something between surprise and hope. “I came to order a coffee…and give you a proper apology,” he adds, his voice warm, almost pleading.

You let out a small chuckle, the sound light but genuine, and turn to make his coffee. “Is this one to go?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“No,” he replies, a hint of a grin breaking through his seriousness. “Actually, I was hoping for one of those festive mugs, and maybe to borrow a book and stay for a while—if that’s okay.”

A warmth lights up your eyes, and he feels his heart lift, his nerves unraveling just a little. “I think that’s a great idea,” you say, and reach for a whimsical reindeer mug, the kind with a scarf winding into the handle, speckled with snowflakes. You fill it with steaming coffee, setting it before him with a soft, inviting smile.

Hoseok’s gaze drops to the mug as he gathers his thoughts, then he looks up, meeting your eyes as he speaks. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “For everything. I know there’s no excuse, but Christmas has always been…well, it’s not exactly my season,” he trails off, catching himself rambling, and gives a nervous chuckle. “But I didn’t mean to take that out on you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, truly, and I’ll try to be better.”

The smile you give him is small but warm, like a flicker of forgiveness, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can start letting go of his past.

You hand him the reindeer mug, warm and brimming with rich coffee, smiling as you pass it to him. “I’m glad to hear it, Hoseok. You were acting like an ass there for a bit,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes, “but that’s in the past now—you’ve apologized.” Gently, you slide the mug across the counter toward him. “Here’s your coffee. Pick out whatever book catches your eye,” you add softly, your voice warm.

He nods, pausing for a moment as he clears his throat. “Actually,” he begins, a bit hesitant, “that poetry book you recommended for Namjoon…do you have another copy?”

“I do,” you say with a quick smile, nodding toward the poetry section. “It’s right over there.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around the mug and savoring its warmth. “Figured I could use a little introspective magic.” With that, he takes a long sip, the comfort of the mug slowly thawing his cold fingers.

He makes his way to the poetry shelves, pulls down the book, and settles into one of the plush armchairs in the corner. For a long time, he reads quietly, the pages offering him solace in ways he hadn’t expected. While his usual reads lean more toward comics, he feels something settle inside him as he lets himself sink into the rhythmic flow of the verses. Every so often, he looks up to see you moving gracefully through the shop, helping customers, laughing softly with a warmth that feels magnetic. He realizes, almost with a pang, that this warmth is something he used to feel too, before the shadows crept in. Maybe that’s part of the draw he feels toward you—you radiate the kind of light he’s been missing.

From the corner of his eye, he notices you glancing over at him, and when he catches your gaze, a soft blush creeps up your cheeks. You offer a shy smile, and he returns it with a gentle wave, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, nestled into that armchair, his coffee long finished and now sipping tea. Hours seem to slip by, but he doesn’t mind. As he flips through the poems, he’s surprised by how deeply they resonate with him. Some verses are quiet and sad, others comforting, and some seem to reach into the bruised places he’d long tried to ignore. He closes the book, his heart feeling just a little less heavy, and places it back on the shelf.

Finally, he walks to the counter, holding the empty mug in his hands. A grateful smile lingers on his lips as he approaches you, words forming in his mind like the first sparks of something new.

“It’s getting late, so I should head home,” he says softly, a smile spreading across his face. “Thank you for the coffee and…the poetry. Your store feels like a warm hug, honestly—cozy and comforting.”

You smile, touched by his words. “That’s exactly the atmosphere I was hoping for,” you reply, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on the tray to be cleaned later.

He lingers, shifting slightly, his eyes dancing around the room as he gathers the courage for what he wants to say next. “I, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing up at you, “I’d like to come back sometime soon. Maybe we could actually hang out?” His voice wavers just a little, and you catch the flicker of nerves in his expression.

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out on a date?” you tease, letting a hint of mischief dance in your gaze.

A blush creeps into his cheeks, but he nods, smiling shyly. “Yeah, actually… I’d like to take you out. Not here in your store. How about a movie or something?” he mumbles, trying to hide his hopefulness.

“A movie sounds nice,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your own chest.

“How about the day after tomorrow?” he asks, his eyes brightening with relief and anticipation.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile. “Sure.”

His blush deepens, and his grin widens as he waves goodbye, stepping out into the night air. As he heads home, he feels lighter, like a weight has lifted, the warmth of your smile lingering with him, warming him even as the winter wind swirls around.

Hoseok insisted on watching one of those cheerful Christmas movies, the kind that swells with improbable reunions and holiday cheer, even though you’d told him he didn’t have to—any genre would’ve been fine. But he’d insisted, almost stubbornly, saying that it’s what he wanted. Yet, even as the lights dim and you settle in, you can feel the irony of it: this bright, glittering warmth on screen, and something distant in his gaze that it doesn’t quite reach.

You’ve got a tub of buttery popcorn between you and sodas on the floor by your feet, but your attention isn’t really on the movie. Something about a girl rediscovering her family…you’ve seen it before, enough times to know every twist and turn by heart. Instead, you focus on the space between you, the openness of your hand resting on the armrest, waiting for him to close the gap. When he does, intertwining his fingers with yours, a soft thrill of warmth lights up your chest.

He hums contentedly, gently squeezing your fingers, and after a while, his head leans softly against your shoulder, his breathing falling into a slow, steady rhythm. When you glance down, you realize he’s drifted off, and a small smile tugs at your lips. He must be exhausted, though you don’t even know what he does for work, what fills his days with the kind of weight that would make him fall asleep so quickly.

You let him rest, his warmth comforting against your shoulder, and time slips away until the credits roll and the lights blink back on. As he stirs, blinking sleepily and straightening up, a hint of embarrassment flickers across his face, but you brush it off with a reassuring smile, finding that you liked the feeling of him resting against you.

“Want to come back to my bookstore?” you ask as you both step out into the cold night, snowflakes swirling gently around you. Your fingers find his again, as natural as breathing. “We could have a drink. It’s closed for the holidays, so it’d be just the two of us,” you add with a smile, looking up at him.

He yawns, nodding. “I’d really like that.”

You walk together through the snow-dusted streets, laughter mingling with your steps, until you reach the bookstore, keys jingling in your hands as you unlock the door. Inside, the quiet space welcomes you both, the ceiling lit with floating snowflakes casting a soft glow over the shelves and cozy reading nooks. You both shrug off your coats, and you lead him into the back of the store, where the barista machine hums quietly in the corner.

“How about hot cocoa?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s a little late for coffee.”

He nods, a soft smile touching his lips as he settles into one of the armchairs. You start grinding cocoa beans, the rich aroma filling the air, and set two festive mugs beneath the machine, watching as it pours thick, velvety cocoa. The air is warm, and somehow you feel more at home in this quiet moment than you have all season, the world outside reduced to the gentle hush of falling snow.

With the cocoa steaming in your hands, you settle into one of the oversized, cloud-soft couches, and he sits across from you, mirroring your small, hesitant smile. The bookstore feels like a world away from the outside, a sanctuary where the soft hum of holiday lights flickers gently, and the scent of chocolate mingles with the faint, comforting smell of old books.

You take a slow sip, letting the warmth fill you. “So,” you ask, voice gentle but direct, “do you want to tell me why you hate Christmas so much?”

He pauses, caught off guard, nearly choking on his own cocoa, and you watch his face flush, caught somewhere between embarrassment and hesitation. Realizing you’ve gone right to the heart of it, you quickly add, “You don’t have to, of course. I’m just…curious. But it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

For a moment, he seems to shrink inward, his face turning soft with a sadness that feels ancient, like a weight he’s carried for too long. He takes a breath that’s almost a shudder, expanding his chest as if even breathing through it hurts.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he says finally, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. “It’s that I’m scared you’ll look at me differently, that I’ll just…bring you down.” His words are vulnerable, stripped bare, trembling with the unspoken.

Reaching out a little, you reassure him, “I won’t. I promise. But really, there’s no pressure. You only have to share what feels right.”

He nods, but there’s something in his gaze that shifts—like he’s waging a silent battle, torn between hiding and the need to unburden himself. He fidgets with his fingers, then places his mug carefully on the table, as though any movement could shatter the quiet around you.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, casting his gaze downward, then continues, “I want to tell you, because…well, only my closest friends know. And I think you deserve to know too, since I’ve been such an ass to you…” he trails off with a nervous laugh, tinged with sadness.

Taking a deep breath, he begins. “It happened when I was seventeen,” he says, voice low and brittle. You set your own mug down, instinctively leaning forward, drawn to the rawness of his words.

“It was Christmas Eve,” he says softly, staring past you, somewhere into the painful fog of memory. “There was a storm—snow swirling thick, icy roads. And…” He pauses, his voice trembling, his words hitching, thick with emotion.

Instinctively, you move over to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he struggles for composure, his breath shaky. Leaning into your touch, he swallows hard, gathering the words from somewhere deep, each one a fragile release.

“My parents and my sister…” he chokes out, his voice shattering into tears, and you draw him closer, feeling him tremble against you. One of his hands finds yours, his grip tight, holding onto you as though he fears the memory might pull him under.

“They died,” he whispers, and the words break free like a dam bursting. His shoulders shake as the full force of his grief surfaces, raw and unrestrained. He buries his face in his hands, and you gently place a hand on his back, offering the quiet comfort of your presence as he unburdens himself.

He leans into you, surrendering to the weight of years of sorrow. “And it’s all my fault,” he sobs, the words barely discernible through his heaving breaths.

Softly, you murmur, “How do you figure that?” Your voice is low, gentle, as though you’re trying to hold him steady with your words.

“Because…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “I asked them to go out that day. The star on the tree was broken, and I’d wanted everything to be perfect, so they went out just to get a new one. And they never came back.”

His confession lingers in the air, heavy, each word carving deeper into the silence. You pull him close, holding him as he cries, his sobs echoing softly through the quiet bookstore.

You pull him closer, letting your warmth envelop him like a soft blanket, as if you could shield him from the pain he’s held onto for so long. “But it wasn’t your fault,” you whisper, gently, your words like a balm, “How could it be? They were adults, Hoseok. If they hadn’t wanted to go, they wouldn’t have. You didn’t force them, didn’t ask for a storm. It’s horrible and tragic, yes, and I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry this, but…it’s not your fault.”

A sob breaks from him, raw and filled with years of bottled sorrow. “But it is,” he cries, his voice catching, “If I hadn’t been so insistent about that damn star, if I hadn’t wanted everything to be fucking perfect…”

Tenderly, you tighten your embrace, gently rubbing his back. “But you can’t know that, Hoseok. No one could know.” Your words are soft but sure, reassuring, each one carrying a warmth you hope he can feel. “Sometimes…things just happen, things we can’t control.”

“It’s been over a decade,” he says, his voice a fragile echo. “But every Christmas—every snowstorm, every time I see the lights, I’m right back there. All I see is them, and I hate it.” His voice trembles with anger, grief, and resentment. “I hate the snow, I hate the holidays. That storm, those roads…it’s all ruined for me.” He breaks again, the words torn from him, and you hold him through his tears, letting him release everything he’s held in, feeling each tremor as he cries.

For a while, you just stay there, giving him the space to let the sorrow pour out, letting him lean into you fully. You say nothing, just hold him, until the sobs subside to quiet sniffles. His voice barely a whisper, he murmurs, “I just want them to come back…” and the raw ache in his words tugs at your heart.

Your chest tightens with empathy, the pain he’s carried so vividly there before you. The weight of it all is almost unbearable, and now you see why he’s buried his light under layers of grief for so long. But there’s something else there, too—a longing to break free, if he only knew how.

Finally, you find the words, speaking softly. “Look, Hoseok…I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. And it’s unfair, all of it. But you’ve carried this for so long, like a stone around your neck, dragging you down. It’s part of you, yes, but maybe…maybe it doesn’t have to define every part of you forever. What if you could let a little of it go?”

He’s quiet, thinking, eyes still glistening. “I don’t think I can,” he says softly, looking at you as though searching for permission to forgive himself. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy…”

You reach for his hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours. “Hoseok,” you say, voice steady but warm, “we all deserve to be happy. We’ve all faced loss and scars that linger, but we don’t have to carry them like this. I’m not saying you need to forget, but…maybe you can let the pain be something else now, something softer, something that blooms instead of weighs you down.”

He looks at you, brow furrowed, as though he’s trying to understand. “Like turning it into something beautiful?” he asks, his voice so low, so vulnerable.

“Yes,” you nod, a small smile breaking through. “Like tending to it, like planting seeds where the pain was, and seeing what beautiful things might grow. Hold onto that pain, but let it bloom into something beautiful rather than letting it scar. Nurture it like a garden, tend to it with care, so that the memories don’t define you, but become parts of you that you can cherish, like petals of a rose you keep alive. New memories, maybe. Or something to honor what you loved about them.”

He looks up, eyes glistening with tears, and yet you can’t help but think he looks so heartbreakingly beautiful like this—vulnerable, raw, his heart laid bare.

He stares into the distance, thinking, his fingers still laced with yours. For the first time, you catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes, fragile but alive. The weight is still there, but something else is there now, too—a softness, a beginning.

“Namjoon told me you used to be like the sun itself, and I think it’s time to let your light shine again. I can see glimpses of that warmth, those pieces of who you were. You deserve happiness, Hoseok. Don’t you think?” Your hand gently cradles his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin.

His breath shudders, voice rough and tremulous. “I… I’m not sure.”

You squeeze his hands, a comforting weight. “I’m not saying it will happen overnight. But you deserve the world, and maybe…maybe it’s time to let yourself imagine that.” You search his face, noticing the exhaustion in the redness of his eyes, the weariness clinging to him like a shadow. He’s been carrying his world alone, and it’s wearing him down, thread by thread.

“Listen,” you whisper, “we don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight. You look so tired. How about this—I’ll find some blankets, and we can sleep on the couch, together?” Your arms hold him close, an offer of sanctuary, one he so clearly needs.

He nods, and you rise to gather the blankets, arranging them softly around him before settling beside him. You help him lie down, his head resting on your lap as your fingers drift tenderly through his soft brown hair, tracing gentle circles. Your fingertips graze the shell of his ear, and you feel a delicate shiver ripple through him. Slowly, his breathing steadies, the tension in his face unwinding as you touch his cheek softly. His eyes flutter shut, though a few quiet tears slip free, trailing down the bridge of his nose to rest, shimmering, on your thigh.

“I’m so sorry you lost them,” you murmur, voice almost a breath against the quiet. “I’m so, so sorry. But I’m sure your parents and sister would want to see you smile again, to see you living freely.”

He hums faintly, a soft sound that melts into the stillness, leaning unconsciously into the warmth of your hand. With a tender impulse, you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your lips meeting his skin like a promise. “You’re a beautiful sunflower, Hobi,” you whisper, the words a soft caress.

A small, fragile smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his breaths deepening as he drifts, his body finally surrendering to sleep. Your heart aches for this gentle soul, and yet you feel strength in the quiet resolve settling over you. Though you’ve barely begun to know him, you feel an undeniable pull—to protect, to nurture, to help him find his way back to the light. You want to see him reclaim the happiness he’s buried, for you feel, deep down, that he deserves it more than anyone.

As you press your hand softly against his shoulder, you settle beside him, closing your own eyes, and together, under the soft weight of blankets, you both drift into the quiet peace of sleep.

His chest feels strangely lighter, as if the weight he’s carried so long has finally loosened its hold. The scent of old paper mingles with a trace of last night’s cocoa, stirring softly around him, and he opens his eyes to find two forgotten mugs, their contents now cold, sitting on the table. Morning light streams through the bookstore’s large windows, casting delicate beams across the room, where tiny particles of dust dance and swirl like winter snowflakes caught in a golden glow.

And then it hits him—he’s in your bookstore. He fell asleep here, his heart laid bare, resting in your gentle embrace. Last night, he poured out his grief, his regrets, his guilt, and you’d held him in the quiet safety of your lap, soothing him with words that linger in the air, as soft as the dawn light now filtering in. He feels a warmth settle in his chest, something lighter and more hopeful taking root, gently nudging the darkness aside.

He turns, catching sight of you still asleep beside him, your lashes fluttering against your cheek in the gentlest rhythm, like the delicate wings of a butterfly resting between flights. You look so serene, so quietly beautiful, and in this moment, he feels his heart expand, filled with a quiet gratitude and a strange, new kind of peace. He isn’t fully healed—not yet—but he feels the faintest beginnings of something brighter, a light beginning to shift within him.

You were right, he realizes. He doesn’t have to carry his grief alone, doesn’t have to let it take root so deeply. His friends had tried to tell him before, but somehow, he’d resisted. With you, though, it felt different. Maybe it’s the way you looked past the jagged edges of his sorrow and saw the flicker of light he thought he’d lost. Maybe it’s the way you listened, without pity, without judgment, your compassion flowing freely, like a balm to his worn-out soul. He feels a rush of quiet reverence—for your kindness, for the safe harbor you offered, for the hope you unknowingly planted in him. And he knows, somehow, he’ll carry this moment with him forever.

You stir softly beneath him, your body stretching as you wake. Your eyes meet his, soft and warm, and in that gentle gaze he feels understood in a way he hadn’t thought possible. You smile, a tender smile that feels like the start of something new.

“I loved our talk yesterday,” you murmur, voice laced with warmth and care. “How are you feeling?”

He hums softly, the morning light catching the hint of a smile on his lips, “I feel… lighter, actually.”

“That’s good. I’m so glad,” you whisper, fingers tracing gently along his cheek, your touch soft and warm. A shiver rolls through him, and he feels goosebumps rise, like your kindness has left its own quiet mark on his skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice tender and full. “Thank you for listening, for everything… truly.”

You smile, brushing a strand of his hair back with a quiet laugh. “I didn’t do anything—you did that,” you say, your voice a soft tease.

He chuckles, feeling his heart swell as he sinks a little deeper into your lap, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re good with words,” he replies, leaning into your touch, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long.

“I read a lot,” you chuckle, fingers weaving gently through his hair, each stroke grounding him more fully into this quiet moment.

He clears his throat, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an unexpected tenderness, “What are you doing tomorrow? On Christmas Eve.”

You pause, a flicker of surprise lighting your eyes before you break into a gentle smile. “Nothing, why?”

A smile spreads across his face, slow and earnest. “I’d really like it if you’d come to my place. I want to make dinner for you, to thank you. For all of this.”

Your eyes soften, glistening with a look he can’t quite decipher, something warm and unspoken that makes his heart beat a little faster. And then, leaning closer, you brush a kiss against his cheek, your lips feather-light and warm.

“I’d love to,” you whisper, and your words, simple as they are, feel like the beginning of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the quiet streets are bathed in the soft, amber glow of street lamps, their light dancing on the fresh blanket of snow as you wait for the bus that will carry you to Hoseok’s place. A warmth bubbles up inside you as you think back to yesterday—when you finally glimpsed the beautiful light that has always flickered behind his eyes. That warmth wrapped around you, like a blanket on a cold winter night, and filled your heart with a joy you can’t quite put into words.

Seated now in the gentle hum of the bus, you press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the world blur past in a whirl of twinkling lights and shadows. Your mind keeps drifting back to Hoseok, that ray of sunshine who’s somehow already become a quiet storm in your chest. You’ve never felt like this for anyone—never this quickly, never this intensely. You know you like him deeply, but there’s so much more to discover. This dinner, you think, could be the start of that journey.

As the soft strains of Christmas music fill your ears, you imagine what his home might look like—wondering if it would feel as warm and comforting as his presence. The bus slows, and you press the stop button when you realize the next stop is just a heartbeat away from Hoseok’s apartment. The doors open, and you step out into the crisp, dark afternoon, your breath puffing out in delicate clouds as you trudge through the snow, boots crunching with each step toward his building. Finally, you find it. You shake the snow off your boots before making your way up the stairs, your heart fluttering as you ascend to the right floor. You reach his door and knock gently, anticipation coursing through your veins. It’s only moments before the door swings open, and you’re met with an embrace of warmth—both from the cozy glow spilling out from inside and from the inviting scent of something delicious drifting in the air.

Hoseok stands before you, wearing a red Christmas apron, with a pocket embroidered with Santa and snowflakes at the edges. The sight catches you off guard, and you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Wow,” you begin, taken by surprise, but he grins back, the same joyful light in his eyes. “—Handsome, right?” he finishes your thought with a laugh, and you join in, smiling even brighter. “Yeah,” you laugh, nodding, “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” You slip off your coat and shoes, feeling the warmth of his home wrap around you like a soft embrace.

You look down at your dress, a silky golden thing that rests just above your knees, with the barest hint of your collarbone exposed. Beneath the apron, you catch the outline of his dress shirt, festively adorned with Christmas prints, and the way his dress pants fit him perfectly. Without thinking, you reach out, gently grasping his bicep, surprised by how solid and strong it feels beneath your touch. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but for a moment, the words slip away, leaving you with only the quiet flutter of your heartbeat.

“I used to go all out at Christmas,” Hoseok says, his voice soft, catching your gaze as he notices you watching him. “When my family was still alice… it was kinda our tradition. And,” he pauses, the weight of the memories hanging between you both, “I thought maybe I should replace those dark memories with new ones. Water the flowers, like you suggested.”

The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heart, and you feel a warmth spread inside you. He really took your rambling words to heart, didn’t he? It’s almost too much, the way he’s reaching for healing, for light. You blink quickly, trying to stop the tears from spilling over—because God, if he keeps this up, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it together.

He smiles softly at you, a smile that carries both gratitude and something more, before gently guiding you into his home with a hand resting at the small of your back. “Come in,” he murmurs, as if he’s sharing more than just his space, as if he’s offering you a piece of himself.

You step inside, and the atmosphere is instantly warm, comforting—like stepping into a dream where all the colors and memories belong exactly where they are. His personal items are scattered thoughtfully around the room, each object, each piece of art, telling a story of the man himself. The walls are adorned with splashes of color, vibrant yet intimate, as if the house breathes with the same life that hums in his veins. It’s the kind of home that makes you smile involuntarily, grounded and cozy, much like him.

You follow him into the kitchen, small but inviting, its walls holding the scent of simmering food and something more—something like hope. Your stomach rumbles with anticipation as you watch him finish off the last details of the meal, every movement graceful and purposeful. It’s like watching an artist at work, and your senses are overwhelmed by the delicious aroma that fills the air.

He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up with an easy, practiced motion, revealing arms veined and strong—muscles flexing as his hand moves to stir the pan. Your mind drifts for a moment, caught between admiration and the soft, flickering thoughts that begin to dance behind your eyes. His presence feels like the warmth of the sun—comforting, yet powerful.

“Do you want wine?” he asks, his gaze meeting yours as he reaches for a heat-resistant mat to place the pan on.

“Yeah, but just one glass,” you answer, your voice steady. You don’t want to cloud the clarity you feel in this moment—not today. Not with this quiet intimacy swirling between you two, a pull that feels magnetic, like you’re drawn in by the gravity of his kindness and the warmth of the space he’s shared with you.

When you step into the dining room, the sight before you takes your breath away. The table is set perfectly—candles flicker gently, casting a soft glow across the room, while a delicate Christmas playlist hums in the background. The ambiance feels like something pulled from a dream, and your heart flutters as you take it all in.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, your voice quiet with awe, still unable to fully comprehend the effort he’s put into making this evening so special.

Hoseok chuckles softly, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he drags a stool out for you to sit. “Actually,” he says, placing the food carefully on the table, his eyes warm and earnest, “I had to. It’s the least I can do.” He pours wine into your glass, his fingers brushing the stem gently, and as he looks up at you, something shifts between you both—something that feels like the beginning of a new story.

You blush and smile, warmth blooming inside you, feeling a kind of happiness that only his presence seems to create. It’s a glow that wraps around you like a soft, sunlit blanket, a feeling you know he brings to others when he’s not weighed down by his sorrow. But tonight, Hoseok is different—lighter, freer. He’s like a person emerging from the dark, letting the painful past be nothing more than distant echoes, fading into the background of his life. There’s a spark in his eyes, a lightness to his spirit that wasn’t there yesterday. You know the sadness still lingers in him, but damn, seeing him fight to reclaim joy is nothing short of beautiful.

His movements are more confident now, flowing with a grace that seems to echo his shifting mood. The pain didn’t vanish overnight, but he’s making a conscious choice to let go, to change, and that’s the most powerful thing. It feels like watching someone wake up, piece by piece, from a long and heavy slumber.

You take a sip of your wine, and the quiet hum of contentment fills the space between you. As you begin to eat, the flavors on your tongue are nothing short of heavenly, and you realize—he’s not just kind, not just tender, but he’s an incredible cook too. Your heart swells, and you glance at him, finding his smile—soft, genuine, a reflection of the warmth that’s spilling out from inside him. He’s smiling with his eyes, and it makes you feel elated, like everything in the world has aligned just perfectly.

Then, you feel something nudge against your foot, warm and gentle, and your gaze drops to see his foot brushing against yours. You can’t help but giggle, a little burst of joy that seems to bubble up from your chest. You drink a little more, letting the wine relax your senses as you continue eating, savoring every bite until you’re almost too full to move.

“This was so delicious, Hobi,” you say, your voice soft, full of admiration, as your hand stretches across the table, finding its way to gently caress his.

He smiles, his lips curling into a playful smirk as he meets your eyes. “Mh. Thank you,” he murmurs, the words wrapped in warmth.

“But you’re the one who deserves all the thanks and praises,” he adds, his voice thick with sincerity, his gaze never leaving yours. You blink, surprised by the depth of his words, and feel your heart stir with a tenderness you can’t quite explain.

“Me?” you laugh, a little incredulous, the sound light and playful, like you’re both caught in this beautiful moment of connection.

“Yeah,” he nods, his voice low and filled with gratitude, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the strength to face my pain, to let the old me—the me I thought was lost—come back to life.”

His words settle in your chest, heavy with truth, and it stirs something deep inside you.

“Instead of sitting here with you today,” he continues, his voice raw and real, “I’d probably be lying in bed, bitter, angry at the world and everyone in it. But here I am, actually enjoying Christmas. Actually enjoying life again.”

The rawness of his honesty catches you off guard, and your heart aches with the beauty of it. A few tears well in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sweetness of his words. His gratitude, so pure and so deeply felt, moves you in ways you didn’t expect.

He caresses your hand back, the warmth of his touch sending a ripple of warmth through your chest. “Thank you for guiding me back towards the light,” he whispers, his voice soft yet resolute, the sincerity in it making your heart swell.

Your eyes flutter, feeling a mixture of gratitude and happiness for him. This is the light you saw the moment you met him—the flicker of hope beneath the surface of his pain—and now, with gentle patience, he’s found his way back to it. To see him embrace it, to see him live in it again, is nothing short of breathtaking. And in that moment, you realize just how incredibly sexy that is—this strength, this vulnerability wrapped in his quiet confidence.

Without thinking, driven by the pull of something deeper, you lean in across the table, closing the distance between you, and your lips meet his in a kiss so tender it almost feels like the world stops.

For a fleeting second, there’s hesitation in him—surprise, perhaps—but then his hands cradle your cheeks, his fingers slipping into your hair, and he moans into the kiss, pulling you closer, deepening it.

Your heart races, the connection between you sparking like wildfire. You think, with a flash of clarity, that it was only ever a matter of time before this moment arrived, before your lips touched in the way they were always meant to.

When you pull apart, his brown eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, as are yours, and you feel the heat between you intensify, every nerve in your body alive with the electricity of the moment.

He leans in again, lips brushing against yours as his breath quickens, and you feel something stir within you, something deep and primal, fluttering in your chest.

He pulls back again, and his voice is laced with desire, hushed but intense. “Do you want to see my bed? It’s nice and soft,” he asks, his gaze still smoldering.

You blush, the heat rising to your cheeks, but you can’t help but laugh—a breathy sound, teasing and full of playful mischief. “Yes, but I’m more into the harder beds.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening into something more dangerous, more magnetic. “You are, are you? So you like it hard?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge to it now, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Maybe,” you tease, batting your lashes as your heart begins to race. You rise from the stool, the air between you thick with unspoken promises.

“Which way to your bedroom?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, the heat between you palpable, electric. You can already feel the pull of him, the temptation of what’s to come.

He stands up, his hand reaching out for yours, and you feel the warmth of his touch ignite something inside of you. “This way,” he murmurs, his fingers threading through yours as he leads you through the tiny hallway.

Every step feels heavier than the last, the anticipation building like a slow crescendo, your pulse quickening with every heartbeat. The air feels thick with tension, charged, like a storm ready to break. As you step into his bedroom, the world outside seems to disappear, and all that exists is him—his presence, his touch, the way he’s looking at you with that fire in his eyes.

Before you can take another breath, he pulls you into his arms, one hand sliding behind your neck, the other settling on the small of your back. His lips crash into yours, deep and smoldering, igniting the very air between you. You melt into him, your heart pounding in your chest, your body aching for the closeness, for everything that’s about to unfold.

His tongue dances with yours, a teasing, intoxicating rhythm that sends shivers through your bones, a soft, helpless moan slipping past your lips and into his. The air between you is electric, alive with a pulse that pulls you both closer until clothes become mere shadows cast aside, and your chests rise and fall in time, breaths mingling as one. He guides you down onto the bed, and you gasp, bouncing softly against the mattress, a laugh escaping you—only to dissolve as he hovers above, his gaze dark and consuming, savoring every curve, every inch as though you were his finest vintage.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent, as his hands trace along your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You shiver, the warmth of his touch awakening every inch, every nerve, until your skin hums under his fingertips. His lips descend, his breath warm against your skin as he moves lower, his gaze holding yours in a promise, a delicious anticipation that pools and aches within you.

“Can I touch you, make you come on my tongue?” he whispers, his voice low, pleased. You nod, breath hitching, and when you gasp a desperate ‘yes,’ he presses deeper, spreading you open, his lips finding your pussy, soft and warm, as a shudder rushes through you like a wave.

He doesn't hesitate, diving in, his tongue moving in slow, devastating circles that steal your breath, exploring you with the kind of hunger that unravels you. You gasp, hands tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you steady, his own groans vibrating against your skin as his mouth moves against you, relentless, devoted. The wet sounds echo, shamelessly intimate, drawing you closer to that edge, your pulse quickening as his nose brushes your clit, a shockwave of pleasure sparking up your spine.

Your fingers knot into his hair, tugging, a fevered plea spilling from your lips as he drives you higher. A skilled flick, a press, and your hips roll forward, chasing the pleasure he's offering, breath coming fast and shallow. “Hobi,” you gasp, feeling the tidal pull of release, the wave cresting just at the brink. “I’m so close, I—”

He pulls back only briefly, his voice a husky command. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste it.”

The endearment sends a dizzying rush through you, a warmth that winds tight in your core, pushing you over the edge. With a final swirl of his tongue, you fall, your muscles clenching around him as his name shatters from your lips, your body arching, pulsing with every wave that rolls through you. He doesn't let up, holding you through every tremor, his mouth and fingers steady, pulling every last bit of pleasure from you.

When your breath finally slows, he trails kisses up your body, lingering over the swell of your hips, your stomach, each touch a worship. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, then your jaw, his face gleaming with your warmth as he murmurs, “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“That tickles,” you giggle as his lips trail across your cheek, finally capturing your mouth in a tender, lingering kiss. There’s a faint taste of yourself on him, but it’s lost in the intoxicating warmth of his presence; you’re drunk on him, submerged in the depth of his touch, his scent, the pull of his breath against yours. It’s astonishing how deeply you feel for him already—as if you've known the quiet rhythm of his soul and the dance of his heart for years, not days that turned to weeks.

“Was it good?” he murmurs, his eyes bright and searching, holding a playful tenderness that only he seems to bring out in you.

“It was incredible,” you pant, your body slowly easing down from the dizzying high, a blissful afterglow humming through every inch of you.

“Then let me give you another,” he says with a teasing glint, the promise glistening in his voice as he leans closer.

You blink, surprised, a trace of doubt slipping through your words. “Are you sure?” It’s not that you question his skill—he’s just shown you what he’s capable of—but you’ve never been able to reach that edge twice in such quick succession.

His expression softens, his eyes tracing over your face with quiet understanding. “You’ve never orgasmed twice in a row, have you?” He asks, his voice gentle, knowing. You bite your lip, nodding, your cheeks warm.

“Then lean back, relax,” he whispers, a warmth threading through his voice that feels like a promise waiting to unfold. “Let me do all the work.”

He guides you to sit up, leaning comfortably against the headboard, and settles in beside you, close enough that his heat seems to melt into your own. With a soft, lingering kiss, his lips capture yours again, while his fingers trail a path down your body, finding the sensitive peak of your breast and teasing your nipple with a gentle, rhythmic squeeze that draws a moan from deep within you. His hand moves skillfully, squeezing, massaging, until your skin tingles beneath his touch, each sensation like a spark flickering into life.

When his hand finally moves lower, tracing the curve of your thigh, you’re already quivering with anticipation. His fingers find that sensitive spot between your legs, his touch feather-light but insistent as he circles your clit, the glide slick and warm, a sensation that sends tremors through your body. A soft moan escapes your lips, melting into his as his finger slips inside you, a slow, steady rhythm building as he moves in and out, each motion drawing you closer to that simmering heat just waiting to burst.

His lips never leave yours, each kiss drawing you deeper into the haze of his touch, your body moving in sync with his, rolling against him as his hand works its magic. You’re already beginning to unravel, each touch, each whisper against your skin making you feel like you’re on the verge of combustion. Not quite over the edge yet, but right there, teetering, every nerve alive, every inch of you utterly and completely his.

“Mmmhh,” he breathes against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before pulling away to meet your gaze. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and inviting, filled with a warmth that makes your pulse quicken.

“Ah, Hobi,” you pant, your hips instinctively moving in sync with his hand, matching each subtle movement with a desperate rhythm.

“You like that, huh?” he teases, his voice soft but laced with a confidence that sends a shiver through you.

“I do,” you moan, breathy and unguarded. “You can… add another.”

He obliges, slipping a second finger beside the first, the added stretch sending a spark of pleasure rippling through you, and you can’t help the delighted mewl that escapes your lips. He moves with a steady, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling, finding just the right spots, each motion igniting something deeper, pulling you toward that familiar crest of pleasure. For the first time, you believe—maybe you could actually come again.

Your head falls back, resting against the headboard, and he seizes the moment, his mouth tracing along the exposed curve of your neck. His lips, warm and firm, press kisses to your skin, each one sending a wave of electricity through you, and as his teeth graze just beneath your ear, you giggle softly, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, each word brushing against your skin like velvet, sending delightful shivers coursing through you. “Think you can handle a third finger?”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping as you murmur, “Maybe… Are you getting me ready for that monster cock of yours?” you tease, voice wavering with laughter and heat.

He laughs, the sound low and deep, and slides a third finger inside, his mouth brushing your ear as he murmurs, “I’ve got to make sure your sweet, tiny pussy can take me.”

The words strike something in you, a spark that seems to light you from within. Your body welcomes the stretch, feeling fuller, each movement of his fingers heightening the tension building inside you, every push and curl driving you closer to the edge. You’re lost, breathless, a soundless cry caught in your throat as his thumb grazes your clit, sending you spiraling, stars dancing in your vision as pleasure wells up from within.

“Are you close again, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice thick with desire, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling in a way that’s both messy and perfect, igniting every nerve.

“Yes,” you gasp, the word more a breath than a sound, your hips rolling in time with his hand as he dips his head to your neck, then your cheek, each touch gentle, yet searing. He catches a stray tear of ecstasy on his lips, and then he finds your mouth, kissing you deeply, his body pressing against yours, chest against your breasts, the closeness amplifying every sensation. The world fades around you, narrowing to just the two of you, to his fingers, his lips, his warmth, everything feeling achingly right.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling over the edge, your body pulsing around his fingers as he moves within you, steady, guiding you through every wave of your release. You’re left breathless, panting, as the pleasure washes over you, his fingers still moving, coaxing every last tremor from you, until you’re spent, lost in the warmth of his embrace.

“See?” he grins, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “I told you I could make you come again.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty, your body still pulsing in the delicious aftershocks of his touch. He holds his slick fingers in front of you, and for a moment, you think he’ll ask you to taste yourself. But instead, he surprises you, lifting his fingers to his own mouth, his lips parting as he sucks them clean, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, and your body responds instinctively, clenching at the image of his self-indulgent pleasure.

“That was… incredibly hot,” you murmur, still breathless, your hand finding his chest as you push him gently back against the headboard. He gives a soft, surprised laugh but lets you take the lead, his body relaxed, trusting. His legs part under your touch, his cock heavy and hard between them, and you feel a rush of excitement knowing he’s been waiting, building up desire, just for you.

“Oh, okay,” he breathes, his voice breaking into a pant as you lean in. You spit into your hand, wrapping it firmly around his dick, feeling the warmth of him under your palm, the slight pulse of anticipation. His eyes close, his head tilting back, a moan slipping from his lips as you begin, your hand gliding over his length, making sure every inch is slick and ready for you.

Without hesitation, you bring your mouth down to him, taking him in fully, your lips stretching around him as you ease down. He gasps, his body jerking slightly, unprepared for the sudden depth, and you stay there, breathing steadily, relaxing as you let him fill you completely. Above you, he murmurs something unintelligible, a string of curses and soft sighs that only drive you further.

You pull back, letting him slip from your lips with a soft, wet sound, the cool air hitting his skin as he opens his mouth, stunned. “Damn, Y/N, I—”

But before he can finish, you take him in again, his words dissolving into a low groan as you move, finding a rhythm, hollowing your cheeks around him as you hum, feeling him pulse with each sound. The slight salt of his precum lingers on your tongue, a taste that feels both intimate and thrilling. His hands find your head, fingers threading into your hair, and you feel him tense above you, fighting for control. But then his grip tightens, and he pushes you down gently, deeper, a raw, breathless whisper escaping him.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice breaking as you take him all the way in again, your eyes watering slightly, the warmth of him filling you completely. He presses his palms to your cheeks, drawing you up, meeting you with a hungry kiss, his mouth capturing yours in a fervor that leaves you both breathless, your bodies pressed close as if to savor every last taste, every last touch.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his eyes meeting yours, deep pools of desire and awe, the kind of look that sends warmth pooling low in your belly.

You giggle, shifting down the bed and tugging at his legs, playfully coaxing him to lie flat beneath you. As he settles back, you crawl over him, gazing down, feeling the heat between you like a magnetic pull. Slowly, you lean down, capturing his lips, letting the kiss deepen until it feels like you’re both tumbling into something endless.

When you pull back, your voice soft, you ask, “Are you okay with doing it raw?” His face flushes, his eyes darting to the side for a moment, vulnerable, unguarded. “If you have condoms, that’s fine too… I’m clean, and—”

He interrupts, his words stumbling. “It’s fine. I—It’s been a long time for me, but… it’s not like I haven’t… I mean, I’m not a virgin… it’s just been a while since—”

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile, your other hand resting on the warmth of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded with desire. “I just want you. Right here, right now.”

He inhales deeply, his chest expanding under your hand before he breathes out, a quiet “Mkay.”

That’s all you need. With a slow, deliberate motion, you swing your leg over his hips, settling yourself above him, your hand finding him, guiding his dick to you. Gently, you press yourself against him, letting the head of his cock tease you, a tantalizing friction that makes his face tighten with a mixture of pleasure and impatience.

“Don’t tease,” he pants, his voice a husky whisper.

“Says the master of teasing,” you quip back with a grin, and finally, you begin to lower yourself onto him, savoring each exquisite inch as he fills you, stretching you with an overwhelming, delicious pressure. Every nerve ignites as you sink down, hands splayed on his chest, his skin hot and firm beneath your palms. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and hungry, and as you begin to roll your hips, a soft moan escapes you—he feels so perfect.

“God, you’re so big,” you murmur, voice wavering as you ride him, your movements picking up a steady rhythm, each glide smooth and effortless, your body still sensitive and wet from the pleasure he’s already given you.

“You look so beautiful on top of me,” he breathes, his voice thick with awe as he watches you, his gaze tracing the way your body moves, the rise and fall of your breasts as you ride him. His words make your pulse race, and your body clenches around him in response, your hips picking up speed, moving faster, deeper, chasing that place inside you where everything blurs into pure sensation.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses, your mouth finding a spot just below his jaw where you suck softly, marking him as yours. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough, his need written in every small movement.

When your lips return to his, he kisses you fiercely, and you slow your hips, grinding against him with deep, rolling movements that leave you both breathless, the friction between you a heady, delicious ache. His hands hold you with a greed that makes your skin tingle, his grip firm and possessive, as though he’s trying to savor every second, every feeling.

He begins to thrust up into you, his movements sudden yet electrifying, each stroke catching you off guard in the most thrilling way. A gasp escapes your lips, raw and breathless.

“Ah, fuck,” you pant against his ear, your voice a broken whisper.

“Good?” he murmurs, his tone low, teasing.

“Mhm, yes,” you moan, your voice trembling as his hands pull you down, anchoring you to him, while his hips drive up to meet yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust sends a delicious shock through you, his cock filling you so deeply that you feel entirely claimed, entirely his.

“Let me flip you over,” he pants, and with a strength that feels effortless, he shifts you onto your back without ever leaving your body. Your legs wrap instinctively around him, locking him in place as he plunges deeper, each thrust building a rhythm that’s quick, relentless. Your hands fall back, palms open beside your head as he holds you there, his hips moving in an unyielding rhythm that sends you spiraling, your vision blurring with pleasure.

Above you, he’s sweating, his chest heaving as he breathes out, “Think you can come again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, voice barely a breath, each word trembling with the anticipation building low in your belly.

“Let’s find out,” he replies, his voice thick with determination. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak as he sucks, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His thrusts remain deep, unyielding, each movement pressing against your most sensitive spot, and you feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, as his scent surrounds you, grounding you in him.

He moves to the other nipple, and as his lips close around it, your hands find his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, pulling him closer, feeling the delicious pull of another climax gathering, stronger, more overwhelming.

“I think… I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, every nerve alive with the approaching edge, feeling yourself build higher and higher, almost unbearably.

He hums against your breast, the vibration rippling through you, and when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, your body seizes, your pussy clenching around him—hard, locking him deep as your vision whites out in a blinding rush of sensation. The world blurs to nothing, a soft ringing filling your ears as your chest heaves. You dimly register his eyes on you, his gaze intense, enthralled, as you let go completely, surrendering to the pleasure.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, endless, consuming, as he continues to thrust, drawing every last bit of sensation from you. It feels like it will never stop, his body perfectly attuned to yours, his movements relentless, and you’re left breathless, utterly taken by him, lost in the exquisite pull of his touch.

“Oh my—fuck,” he rasps, his voice catching as he stills, releasing himself into you with a shuddering breath. His chest heaves, spent and utterly captivated, and as he catches his breath, he murmurs, “Shit, I didn’t ask if I could come inside you.”

You tilt your head, feeling a tired, blissful warmth spread through you. “It’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft and slurred, still drifting in the hazy warmth of pleasure. Despite your exhaustion, your body continues to pulse around him, a lingering hold, like it’s reluctant to let him go.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through both of you. “You’re still squeezing me,” he says, giving a few gentle, lingering thrusts to help you both ride out the aftershocks, savoring every last sensation.

“This… has never happened before,” you murmur, a soft giggle escaping as the warmth fades and your body begins to relax. Finally, the last traces of tension melt away, leaving you both drowsy and satisfied.

“I hope it was good for you,” he says, letting his weight rest against you, his chest pressed to yours as his breathing steadies.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “It was incredible,” you whisper, a tenderness in your voice that makes him chuckle softly. He nestles his face against your collarbone, eyes closed, sinking fully into the afterglow.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his voice a low, warm rumble against your skin. “It was incredible for me too.” For a moment, the two of you lie there, basking in the quiet peace between breaths, in the warmth of skin on skin. He shifts slightly, resting his head on your chest, and you feel his arms wrap tighter around you.

“I could lie here forever,” he breathes, his voice soft and content.

You giggle, brushing a thumb over his shoulder. “Sounds nice, but you’re just a little bit heavy,” you tease, your voice trailing off with a sleepy laugh. “But… Can I stay? I’m so tired, and I really don’t want to go outside in the cold snow.”

He draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips brushing over your skin. “I don’t want you to leave, either. Stay. Sleep. And in the morning… I’ll make sure to fuck you real good all over again.” He tilts your chin up, sealing his promise with a warm, lingering kiss that leaves you feeling lightheaded, even now.

“That,” you sigh, smiling as you close your eyes, “sounds perfect.”

Slowly, he slips out of you, and though you feel the absence, he’s back almost immediately with a warm cloth. His hands are gentle, his touch soft as he lifts your legs to clean you with careful attention, leaving a trail of warmth where he touches. You hum, your body responding to his tenderness, and he smiles, brushing a kiss to your knee as he finishes.

“Do you want to sleep in a shirt?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he watches you start to drift off.

You shake your head, smiling sleepily. “No, I’m too tired to move… just come and spoon me,” you murmur, your voice already fading as you feel yourself slipping into sleep.

“Naked?” he teases, eyebrows raised with a hint of mischief.

You smirk, stretching out your words, “Yeah… unless that makes you uncomfortable?”

“Not in the least,” he replies, flashing a cheeky grin before slipping into bed beside you. He slides in behind you, pulling the covers up over both of you as if sealing you in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His body, warm and steady against yours, is like an anchor, and within moments, the world fades away, and you’re sound asleep, cradled in his embrace.

Morning comes gently, with the soft tickle of Hoseok’s breath grazing your neck, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as you begin to stir. You shift slightly, and he wakes, nuzzling close to you, his lips pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice rich and low.

You chuckle, turning your head slightly to face him. “Good morning… and Merry Christmas.”

He yawns, then his face lights up with a lazy, warm smile. “Merry Christmas,” he says, voice filled with a happiness that feels both new and deeply familiar, like something cherished but long forgotten. The two of you laugh softly, as if sharing a secret, wrapped in the fullness of each other.

You wonder if he’s ever spent Christmas with anyone since his family passed, but something tells you not to ask—not when everything feels so gentle and good. His hand drifts down your body, his fingers finding the curve of your hip, settling on you possessively, and giving you a playful squeeze.

“Can you turn around?” he whispers, a subtle seriousness beneath his tone. “I want to ask you something.”

You shift to face him, and it’s like the morning light itself is gazing back at you—he’s radiant, his smile warm and glowing, spilling over with something tender and unspoken. For a heartbeat, you’re breathless, marveling at how a man could look this luminous, this achingly beautiful, as though he’s sunlight made flesh.

“What do you want to ask me?” you murmur, your own voice soft, a smile tugging at your lips as you reach to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

He takes a slow, deep breath, his gaze twinkling with a mix of happiness and something bolder. “Would you… be my not fake girlfriend?” he asks, eyes dancing with playful mischief, though you can tell he’s holding his breath.

You can’t help but laugh, fingers threading through his hair. “So… you mean, a regular girlfriend?” you tease, tapping your chin and pretending to ponder it, though your heart already knows the answer.

He nods, grinning but waiting, his eyes fixed on yours, full of hope.

Without another word, you lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s both deep and tender, lingering as if to say all the things words can’t quite hold. When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, gaze soft as though he’s still catching his breath.

“Yes,” you whisper, a smile lighting up your face, “I want to be your not fake girlfriend.”

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ requested taglist: @nora12379 @back2bluesidex @joonsmagicshop @hobi-love @bangtan-tee-86 @itsmina29 @vintageroses10 @hoseoksluna @knjjjk @ktownshizzle @angellekookie @miksancheese

→ Author’s endnote: so… how are we feeling after riding this emotional rollercoaster of all the feels™? Are we okay? Did it wreck you just a little? Or were you like, “meh, this sucks”? Be honest—I can take it (I think) 😅 I may or may not have poured way too much of myself into Hobi, and then used OC as a therapy session to bandage my own emotional wounds 😂 Why do I do this? Every. Single. Time. But hey, at least we’re all healing together, right? 💜 Anyway, I really, really hope you enjoyed this one. Tell me all your thoughts, feelings, and maybe even your favorite moment—it means the world to me! 🫂

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perfectlyoongi · 7 months ago

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HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who proposed to you on vacation on the outskirts of florence. four days of beautiful scenery and incredible memories were just a cover for Jungkook's true plan: in a green field dressed in brightly colored flowers, the two of you were having a small picnic while laughter and tender words danced with the gentle breeze of the day; and when Jungkook's question flowed as naturally as any other sentence he could have said, your heart immediately accelerated, sending waves of happiness and fulfillment throughout your body. “will you marry me? make a whole life by my side? only you and me?”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who insisted on throwing floating lanterns at your wedding. but Jungkook didn't want any lanterns, no; Jungkook wanted your dreams and desires for your life to be written and decorated on the light fabric of the lantern, believing that, when they reached the vast starry sky, they would be able to cling to the various stars and guard your future forever. “the celestial magic of the stars will make all our dreams come true, you’ll see.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who kisses you under the rain on bad days. it was a simple gesture, something small and quite banal, but it was something precious, an action that warmed you inside and made you feel good, made you feel alive; it was between raindrops that Jungkook declared his love for you in the form of a kiss, the lips that sang so many promises to you and shared so many dreams reminding you that in all the darkness of the world, among all the rain and grey, there was always something warm, there was always his love for you. “just to remind you that after so long, i still love you. and i will love you forever.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who wears his wedding ring like a badge of honor. Jungkook was proud to be your husband; for him, you were the only person to exist, you were the only one who really mattered because you, quite simply, were incredible in every way; so, having a token of your love, something physical that people could see, only made Jungkook's eyes shine even brighter — after all, he was eternally united to the best person that could exist. “yes, i’m married to the love of my life. isn't it incredible? i’m the luckiest man alive.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who hugs you from the back in the morning and gently kisses your neck. still infected by sleep, Jungkook walked slowly through the kitchen, his feet leaving traces of need, his small yawns looking for you lazily; Jungkook's arms would wrap around you without any difficulty, squeezing you with all the love he felt for you, letting his natural scent mix with that of breakfast; Jungkook's lips kissed your neck innocently, an invisible mark of wishes for a good day beginning another opportunity to live life. “good morning. you weren’t in bed, i thought i wouldn’t have time to say goodbye.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who takes you on long car rides at night just to decompress. with the windows open to let the night breeze flood his car, Jungkook took you to different neighborhoods and streets without any destination in mind, just the desire to bring you a little peace controlling his steering wheel; soft music was gently played in the car, while the stars of the night guided you to moments of tranquility and serenity that made you realize that it was with Jungkook that life was worth living. “the night is beautiful today. do you wanna go out? we can eat ice cream later.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who will love you forever and ever. Jungkook deeply believed that it was the universe that brought you together; it was impossible for two such deep and similar souls to meet by chance — it had to be destiny. because, for Jungkook, your souls had already been formed in ancient times, wandering through worlds and constellations in search of a way of loving deeper than the spiritual — and here you two were, extending every fragment of your passion beyond the soul. “what are the chances of feeling like we’ve loved each other forever? believe me, we are made of the same celestial dust.”

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cbartonscoffee · 10 months ago

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I think I've never been more aware of just how many people only get their info of the batfam through fanfic. I finally started reading Red Robin (2009) and I can not believe how many things are blown out of proportion. Particularly about Dick and Damian.

First of all, Dick does try to put limits and he does get fed up with Damian's ways sometimes. Out of the three first interactions of them in the comic, at least in two he tells him to shut up. And one of those is when Damian starts to brag about being Robin and Tim being useless, he tells him to shut up twice.

Another thing about that moment, is that they treat it like Dick completely dismisses Tim and treats him as unimportant. He doesn't. He takes him seriously, he tells him he needs him, he tells him he views his as an equal, as someone capable. And he also tells him he's concerned about him and that he needs to start processing Bruce's death. Could that have been a little harsh? Yes, but he needed to do it without making Tim think there was room for him to be convinced about his theory because let's be honest, Tim would've taken anything less than complete refusal and tried to change his mind. And had he been wrong neither of them could have taken it.

Secondly, Dick is always left to shoulder the blame of kicking Tim out and of never reaching out. That's bull. And I need to make that clear. Tim was in a delicate point, he tells us this himself multiple times, but the decision to leave was completely made out of his own free will. Another thing he did was put space between him and the people on Gotham. We see only one time in which Dick tries to call him. Tim picks up and tells him he doesn't want to talk. This tells us that Dick respecting Tim's wish of space included almost no (or even no) contact, and Dick calling was not something Tim appreciated or encouraged.

Now. Going into the second year of the run, when he's back in Gotham, there's a few things to talk about and I'm still in the aftermath of Damian and Tim's fight.

I feel it's important to say that even if they are all family, more often than not they're doing their own thing. Like, Babs and Steph are in the Batcave while Dick and Damian are in Wayne Tower, Cass is said to potentially be in Hong Kong and we haven't even heard Jason be name-dropped except for the fact that he went on a rampage at some point.

So, Dick is immediately called away in League business. So he isn't there. Damian is behaving fairly civil besides being a brat, so no one wastes too much effort in correcting what he says. We need to think about the fact that this is a kid whose world was turned upside down multiple times in a short period of time, who has a need to be accepted, and who hasn't yet found his place. All this is to say, that if it's difficult to get him to eat breakfast there's no way they're controlling his every move and that's understandable.

So Dick is away, Damian is still trying to adapt, Alfred has his hands full and everyone else is doing something else.

The whole thing starts because Tim is being kind of cryptic about what he's doing with his hit list and Damian feels left out and goes looking for more. He finds his name in a hidden double side of the hit list marking him as a threat. He understandably feels hurt and angry, because he's a kid, and he's trying, and his predecessor who at this point doesn't even try with him anymore views him as something bad.

So in classic Damian fashion, he falls back on his upbringing and doesn't deal with the situation as one should, talking about it. Instead he cuts team line, hurting before being hurt. It could've been worse, we see in the panel that Tim doesn't have that much of a hard time getting safely to the ground. The problem is that he snaps and starts a full-blown fight he knows Damian won't back out off. (I'm pleased to add that after cutting his line Damian doesn't start anything else)

So they are fighting, Tim has the clear advantage and he knows this, we know this. And that's how Dick finds them. Having just returned from a JL mission, in the place where the Waynes were murdered, with Tim having overpowered Damian.

They go back to the cave and Damian shares his findings, and Dick understands. And Tim tells him he (Dick) knows why he (Tim) did it. Dick agrees, and tells him he should have tried to make it harder to find. Tim says he hadn't thought Damian would try or even care. Dick tells him Damian wants to be accepted.

All in all, so far the only thing this comic has proven to me is that there's a reason comics are the bomb and that fanon has gotten out of hand. I get making things out to be worse for the sake of a story, but everything surrounding these events is basically used as the foundation for Damian and Tim's relationship as well as Dick and Tim's and I don't think I've once read a fanfic where these events are portrayed correctly or even following the real motivations of the characters. This is a disservice to all of them and only serves to amplify the hate towards a character that doesn't deserve it. There's a lot of Damian hate going around. And it sucks. Mostly because people use his actions against Tim to justify it and honestly? I don't think you should be allowed to use that if you haven't read RR and understood what was going on.

#batman #dc comics #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #nightwing #red robin 2009 #dc #batfam #batfamily #stop the damian wayne hate #and the dick grayson hate for that matter #and please try to differentiate canon and fanon #and get at least an idea of the source material

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xomakara · 5 months ago

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Birthday Cake

SUMMARY | It's Mark's birthday and you have a very special surprise for him.

PAIRINGS | Mark x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS | non-idol!Mark, non-idol!Reader, established relationship, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (both male/female receiving/giving), praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, food play, messy cake sex??

RATING | Mature, NSFW, 18+

LENGTH | 4093 words

TAGLIST | --

NETWORKS | @k-vanity

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Firstly, I apologize if it sounds rushed and probably not one of my best works. I literally wrote this in like 3 hours lol. I still hope you all like this though lol. Secondly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARK. We all love you 💚

Mark Lee always considered himself a lucky man as he was surrounded by friends and loved ones who gathered for this dinner party for his birthday. Smiling from his seat, his hand was placed on your thigh, softly caressing. His eyes wandered over to yours. "You okay?" he asked, concerned.

You smiled and nodded. "Why wouldn't I be okay? My man's birthday is today."

"Good. You look so beautiful tonight, by the way."

"Thank you." You leaned in to kiss him. "And you look so handsome today."

"We get it. You both love each other." Johnny rolled his eyes jokingly. "Can we start the celebration already?"

You pulled back, a smile still on your lips. "Yeah. Let's celebrate."

Mark had planned a quiet and private party with the closest people in his life. As the night progressed, it turned into a rowdy one. Johnny and Yuta were playing a drinking game while Jungwoo, Jeno, Jaehyun, and Hendery were cheering them on. Ten was in the kitchen, preparing another batch of food with Doyoung. Taeyong was nowhere to be found, but he might've left with Kun since neither of them was here.

You and Mark watched them. You were sitting in his lap while his arms were around your waist.

"Having fun?" he whispered, placing a kiss on your neck.

"I am." You turned to him, arms around his neck. "Is the birthday boy having fun? Did he get all his presents?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. I did. Although I'm still waiting for the best present."

"Oh really? What would that be?"

Mark looked into your eyes. "The most beautiful girl in the world."

"And who would that be?"

"It's you." He gave you a soft kiss on the lips.

"You're so cheesy." You giggled.

"You love it."

"Yeah, I do."

You were about to kiss him again until Johnny interrupted. "Hey, you two lovebirds! We're going to sing Happy Birthday now. Stop being gross and pay attention."

"We weren't doing anything." You called out, Mark laughing.

Johnny raised a brow at you, clearly not buying it. "Uh huh, sure. Get your horny asses over here."

Mark stood up with you in his arms, placing you on your feet before standing beside you.

"Okay, guys, gather around!" Yuta called out, waving the cake in his hands. "One... two..."

Everyone sang, their eyes glued on Mark. You looked over at him, a fond smile on your lips. He turned to look at you, his heart fluttering as your gaze met. After the song ended, he blew the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered. You went back to your seat beside Mark and held his hand. "So, what did you wish for?"

He shrugged. "It's a secret."

"You know I won't tell anyone."

"But you'd find out sooner or later."

"That's true."

Mark squeezed your hand. "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

"But your friends—"

"They'll understand. I just want to be with you tonight."

"Okay." You nodded, a smile still on your lips.

Doyoung looked up from where he was standing. "You two better be responsible!"

You turned to him. "Don't worry. We're just going to hang out."

"Uh-huh, sure." Ten rolled his eyes.

"We're just going to hang out!"

Ten smirked, his eyes moving between you and Mark. "Dressed like that? I doubt it. Don't forget to use protection."

Your face heated up at his words. Mark only chuckled. "We're leaving."

"Take care, you two." Doyoung waved, watching you both leave.

As soon as the door closed, you took off your heels, sighing in relief. It was nice to feel the ground beneath your feet again.

"You could've worn comfortable shoes," Mark said.

"I wanted to look pretty for you."

"Baby, you always look pretty to me."

You smiled at his words, heart racing in your chest.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer. "Where do you wanna go?"

"My place? I got you a gift. And it's more of a private one."

"Okay, let's go."

You got a cab and went to your place. You fished your keys from your purse and opened the door, inviting Mark inside.

"Stay here, Mark." You said. "I'll be right back."

He nodded and went to the couch. Meanwhile, you went to your room and looked through your drawers, trying to find that sexy, crotchless lingerie you bought for special occasions. Mark didn't know that you own one. Hell, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Finally, you found it and you quickly changed, looking at yourself in the mirror. After putting on the lingerie, you fixed your hair and you threw your clothes back on so that he could unwrap you when you got to the bedroom.

You came back and smiled at him. "Do you have the present?" he asked.

"It's not a tangible gift."

He frowned. "Then what is it?"

You moved closer to him and sat in his lap. "It's a surprise."

Mark wrapped his arms around you. "Will I like it?"

"You will." You gave him a soft kiss.

His hands wandered to your waist. "Can I open it now?"

"Not yet." You laughed as you got off his lap and made your way to the kitchen. "Wait for me. I'll make it worth your while."

"You always do."

You came back with the cake and a candle. Mark was already waiting on the couch, smiling when he saw the cake in your hands. "Baby, we already blew the candles earlier with the guys."

"But that’s with the guys. Right now, it’s me.”

"Wow, baby, you're so thoughtful."

"Anything for the birthday boy."

Mark looked up at you, eyes twinkling. "Can I blow out the candles now?"

"Of course." You nodded. "Make a wish."

He blew the candles, the light from the flames flickering as it went out. At the same time, you were on your knees in front of him, your hand already massaging his growing bulge.

"I hope it's coming true," you said, looking up at him.

"It is." He nodded, leaning back against the couch. "It sure is."

Your hand rubbed the bulge, slowly unzipping his pants and taking his dick out. He was already hard.

"Already excited?" you asked, kissing the tip.

"It's my birthday. I should be excited."

You took him in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. He placed his hand on the back of your head, gently encouraging you to continue.

"Fuck, baby," he moaned, his voice low.

You continued sucking, licking the underside and the tip, and swirling your tongue around. He was moaning loudly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Your hands were gripping the base of his shaft, jerking him off as your mouth worked him.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged. "Keep going."

He groaned your name as his grip tightened, pulling your hair. "Your mouth feels so good. So fucking amazing."

You felt his cum coating your tongue. You kept sucking until the very last drop. After that, you let him rest in your mouth, the sweet taste lingering. He looked down, a little surprised that his dick was still hard. You let him go, and it slipped out of your mouth.

You sat up, wiping the corners of your lips. "Didn't you like your gift?"

Mark smiled, pulling you towards him so that you were seated on his lap again. "I did, very much."

"Well, that was part one."

"What's part two?"

"Take off my clothes and see."

Mark obliged and removed your shirt, revealing the lace covering your breasts. "Oh? What else are you hiding? Wait... are you...?"

You smirked, your fingers fiddling with the hem of the tulle skirt. You raised it to reveal your dripping cunt in the panties that barely covered anything. "Part two, crotchless panties.”

His eyes widened at the sight, his hands automatically wandering to the bare skin of your legs. He stroked the insides, squeezing. Your thighs were a weak point for him, something that he used against you whenever he wanted something from you.

"Wait," he stopped. "Let's just go to your room. I wanna ravish you properly."

"Oh?" you raised a brow.

"It is part of my gift, right?"

"Part of it," you nodded.

"Okay." He looked up, gazing into your eyes. "Gimme more."

"Okay, birthday boy. Whatever you want." You giggled, playfully smirking. He carried you and rushed to your room. Laughter escaped your lips as Mark tossed you onto the bed. "Someone's eager to open their gift, isn't he?"

He looked you over hungrily, biting his bottom lip as his eyes fell to your breasts. "Because she looks so fucking hot."

You pressed your back against the headboard and spread your legs, offering yourself. Mark climbed into bed with you, kneeling on the mattress.

"Take what you want, Mark," you seductively told him.

His eyes darkened. He licked his lips and leaned towards you, capturing yours. He devoured your mouth, groaning as you opened up for him, letting him push his tongue past your lips.

After a few seconds of kissing, he pulled away and looked at you. "Hands on the headboard."

You did as told and reached behind you, latching on to the edge of the headboard, spreading your knees wide. Mark started trailing his lips and teeth across your neck. You shivered at the sensation, especially as his lips went lower and lower.

Mark squeezed your nipples between his fingers as he licked and kissed your skin. You gasped in surprise as he captured your right nipple between his teeth and tugged it. Your grip tightened and you whimpered, arching your back as he rolled the hardened nub between his teeth.

He then licked a trail downwards, placing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and between your breasts. When his tongue flicked over one nipple, you gasped, arching your back off the headboard and pushing your breasts into his mouth.

"Did you like that, baby girl?" he asked. His voice was muffled as his mouth was otherwise occupied.

"Yes, please."

"Okay, since you're enjoying this, I'll do more of it. But after I fuck that tight little pussy of yours."

"Thank you," you panted, feeling his tongue flicking your other nipple.

"God, you're so sexy."

Your eyes followed his head as he continued his way down your stomach, biting your lip as he licked all over the lace fabric. You'd bought it in dark blue because Mark complimented you in that shade of color before. It seemed he appreciated the gesture since he was practically worshipping your body in that outfit.

"Shit," you whispered, panting.

He hummed, sending a vibration down your core. Your back was arched, hands desperately gripping the wood behind your back, thighs trembling on each side of your lover's face.

"I bet you'd look so hot with cake frosting all over your tits," he spoke up, licking a line across your folds.

Your legs shook at his words, a soft moan escaping your lips. You felt him smirk against your core, clearly pleased with the reaction you gave him. "There is cake in the living room," you reminded him, your breathing was getting erratic.

Mark paused, eyes still focused between your legs. Then he looked at you with a smirk. "We'd have to change your sheets and shower afterwards."

"Worth it if it means you get to enjoy it on my body."

He growled as you wriggled underneath his gaze. The pressure of him being so close and yet so far away is driving you mad. You loved when Mark was gentle with you, but sometimes you also needed roughness.

"So, are you up for it or do you want to just fuck the shit out of me now?" you teased, leaning back against the pillows with a devilish smirk.

"Baby girl," he breathed, a predatory smile appearing on his face, "it'd be my fucking pleasure."

"Bring the fucking cake and decorate my body," you suggested, snarling playfully as you got rid of your bra and threw it somewhere.

He gave you a smug grin before he rushed out of the room and came back shortly with the cake in his hand, his finger dipping the frosting out. "Hmmm..." he purred, eyeing your body, "where do I start?"

"Wherever you want, birthday boy," you replied in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

A small mischievous grin appeared on his handsome face before he grabbed one breast and held your right nipple between two fingers as he applied the sugary substance over it. You squirm underneath his touch, goosebumps running along your skin as the chilling cream came into contact. He let go, looking pleased at the work he'd done before his eyes flicked to your face, checking to see if you were okay.

His voice sounded velvety as it reached your ears, "Do you want the other one to have the same amount, baby?"

"Mark," you gasped, swallowing down the lump of lust in your throat, "yeah, cover me with icing."

Mark's lips curled upward in satisfaction while his pupils dilated slightly from excitement, "Gladly, my love."

He grabbed another fistful and brought his hand down, starting his art, applying layer by layer in an attempt to replicate how beautiful his cake was. He then proceeded with applying frosting on your left breast while you moaned softly every time he touched the sensitive skin with the tip of his fingers. Once satisfied, he scooted closer and added final touches by using his tongue to give some details, making you squirm as it left a wet, sticky path across your chest. He blew on it, making you gasp for breath, your voice coming out as a mixture of whimpers and moans.

"This is fucking hot." Fingers still coated in icing, he brought them to your lips. "Suck," he demanded, watching with dark eyes as his fingers disappeared between your lips.

You obeyed and tasted the sweetness of the icing mixed with his masculine scent, feeling like you could come any moment, especially with the hungry look he gave you, eyes filled with lust and anticipation for the feast.

"Good, huh? Want me to continue?" he asked.

A soft moan escaped you. You were eager to have his mouth on your cunt.

"Answer me, darling."

Your eyes widened and you let out a strangled cry, "Yes."

"Such a slutty little thing for me, baby. What would people think, hmm, seeing you like this? All covered in sugary mess for my enjoyment? To consume you whole."

Your breathing came short and fast. You couldn't see anything other than Mark's heated gaze as your pussy twitched underneath his touch, his voice deep in your ear, coaxing more noises from deep within your gut as he used his tongue to circle around your icing covered nipple. He licked down to your stomach, circling his tongue around it, painting a picture for your senses. You felt yourself becoming wetter each time he dipped his tongue into your navel, the heat growing in the pit of your stomach, flames licking up your spine, begging him to touch your most sensitive parts.

"I'm going to devour you, darling," his low tone sent shivers running through every nerve ending, "all of you."

Your toes curled. A shiver ran down your spine.

"Yes, yes, please," you pleaded, voice husky. You wanted him more than anything. Wanted to feel every inch of his thick, delicious length in your pussy, spreading your walls wide open and filling you.

The room was silent except for your shallow breaths and Mark's heavy ones, both anticipating the moment he'd thrust inside you. Finally, he inched forward, hovering above you as he ran his tongue over your nipple once more, swirling the tip in slow circles before taking it completely between his teeth and giving a soft bite. Your hand slipped over his shoulder, fingertips digging into his shoulder blade as you arched towards him.

"Please..." your voice trembled as you felt yourself clench and tighten under his grip, preparing itself for what was to come.

Mark smiled into your chest, the smile stretching across his face until it became a full-on grin. He pulled back and slid his body down between your legs, taking his time to take every inch of you in before settling there, propped up between your thighs. His hand glided over your stomach and down to your mound, fingers pressing softly as they traveled between your legs. His palm lingered on top of your heat, fingers rubbing gently at the swollen skin as you shivered and squirmed, a light sweat coating your upper lip.

"Fuck, baby," Mark moaned. "You're so wet."

His fingers traced circles, leaving the combination of cake icing and your wetness trailing down the side of your leg. He dragged his lips down and his tongue swept against the inside of your thigh, leaving a slick trail of cake icing and saliva along the length of it, then up.

"Mark, please." you begged, desperately wanting him to end this torture and finally slide his cock in you, making you writhe against the soft mattress. You felt a warmth building deep in your belly as he moved his mouth closer to your pussy.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he crooned softly into your ear. "Tell me exactly what you'd like me to do right now and maybe I'll give it to you."

"Ughh, please!" you cried as his thumb brushed against your clit, causing sparks to shoot across your body and setting every nerve ending aflame.

Mark let out a low chuckle, enjoying every bit of it. You bucked upwards again as he moved his finger in circular motions around your opening before slipping the tip in. "Tell me more, I'll hear you loud and clear," he urged, his voice thick with lust as he added more fingers into your slick entrance, pushing deeper inside as you hissed out your pleasure.

"Take me, Mark. Please! Make me yours." You screamed. "I want you inside me so badly. Want to feel every inch of your amazing, perfect cock buried deep in my wet cunt," your nails dug into the mattress beneath you.

"You ask so nicely, but remember who's birthday is this. Say it." he cooed, his breath tickling the sensitive skin near the shell of your ear. He nipped the lobe, then ran his lips down your neck as his thumb rubbed the aching bud on the hood of your clit, sending fireworks along your spine.

"Y-your birthday." You stammered. "Please take me for your birthday."

His fingers reached lower. One last stroke with the pad of his thumb against your clit and your body was a trembling mess, walls squeezing, pulling, sucking around the two fingers pumping in and out. You were whimpering and groaning, lost to everything other than the movement of his fingers and his intense gaze focused directly on you.

"Please!" you sobbed, your pussy spasming around Mark's fingers and hips grinding helplessly up and down.

Mark withdrew them with a satisfied smirk on his face, cock so hard you could barely stand it as he pressed a thumb to the corner of your mouth, pushing a mix of icing and your juices into your mouth, which you eagerly swallowed down greedily.

"Fuck, I knew you could handle it, but damn, baby girl," Mark groaned, dragging a single digit along your slit, collecting your slick, watching intently as it clung to his fingers and dropped to the bed below. "That was one of the hottest things you've ever said to me."

Mark smeared the mix of icing and your liquids down his erection. He didn't bother to hide the pleasure he felt at the sensation, nor how hard he had become simply by teasing you and making you scream for release. And it showed.

"Ready?" he asked, the tip of his member already nudging your entrance.

"Yes." you gasped as your arousal began pooling. "Fuck me."

Mark didn't waste any time. Without a second thought, he pushed himself forward, sheathing his entire length inside your pussy in one smooth motion, moaning with satisfaction as his skin met yours. You arched up off the bed, the sweet smell of the cake still permeating your senses, mingling with Mark's scent, along with the unmistakable musk of sex.

Mark grabbed hold of your thighs, pushing them up, your legs on his shoulders. He pressed his head into the crook between your shoulder and neck and whispered to you, "Let's fill you up with my cake icing."

You moaned lowly, the sound almost inaudible over Mark's soft pants, as he slowly began rocking back and forth, the gentle movements turning into rougher strokes the longer he thrusts into you. It's not enough. Your body is tingling from the way he stretched your pussy out, and while it isn't the rough fucking you were hoping for, it's certainly an appetizer to the main event.

"Come on, Mark," you groaned, pressing down against him so that every thrust made him sink deeper and deeper, pushing you into the bed until his cock brushed up against that sweet spot deep inside of you. "Don't you want to take charge on your special day? Don't you want to show me who's in control here?"

Mark growled, the noise coming from the back of his throat sending vibrations down to where your skin met his. He pressed his lips together tightly as he struggled to retain his composure and composure be damned because now was his turn, time to show how good he could fuck when he was set to.

He didn't know if he could even wait to start but god help him if he didn't do something about how incredible his girlfriend looked right now, writhing beneath him, covered in icing and sex-messed hair stuck against her cheeks.

"Oh yeah, baby girl," Mark purred, lowering himself until his forehead pressed lightly against yours. "This is the best gift I could ever ask for." He nibbled lightly on your lower lip and whispered against it, "To have your pussy all nice and warm for me, letting me use you any way I like... I'm gonna wreck you, Y/N."

You moaned at the prospect and at how goddamn sexy he sounded when he was turned on.

"Make me cum," you rasped. "Use my pussy however you want and make me cum, please!"

"Your wish is my command." he grinned cheekily.

Mark's hips picked up pace, plunging harder and faster into you, filling you fully again and again.

You moaned as he slammed inside of you. Every time his pelvic bone struck yours was a sharp shock wave of pleasure flowing through you, making your brain swim. Your legs quivered at the contact; your heels dug into Mark's back and drew him forward, urging him to keep fucking you with that amazing dick.

You had never seen your boyfriend move this quickly before, the sound of his breathing and the loud groans you were hearing were all coming from inside your head. In and out. His thrusts were powerful. Hard and steady, almost machine-like as he buried his cock within you time after time.

And you loved every second of it.

Mark leaned forward, resting his weight on his palms, his face mere inches away from yours. His fingers tightened their grip in your hair before pulling you closer towards him and pressed his mouth onto yours.

As Mark broke the kiss, his breath hitched, body shuddering, cock spasming inside of you. Hot bursts of liquid shot deep inside, coating your cunt and filling it to the brim with semen. You held onto him tightly as his entire frame trembled with orgasm, trying to not collapse on you. He struggled to breathe while keeping his hands firmly anchored on either side of your head, locking his elbows so that he wouldn't fall over. He never broke his eye contact.

Finally, when both your orgasms had waned and you could think straight again, you began speaking, your voice sounding strained as it came out in short huffs. "You liked it that much huh?"

"Shit," he gasped between breaths, nodding as sweat ran down his face, dripping onto your chest.

"But..." His tongue flicked over your neck, licking the side before whispering hotly into your ear, "There's something I want a bit more."

Your breath hitched at his statement. "Hmmm?"

"A few more rounds for my birthday," Mark smiled playfully. "And then a bath before bed, babe."

#kvanity #nct #nct stories #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct smut #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #nct mark smut #mark lee #mark #mark x reader #happy birthday mark

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mioons · 7 months ago

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kiss, kiss, kiss, 단 하루도 빼먹지 말고

pairing. enhypen ot7 x fem. reader (hcs)

genre. fluff, est. relationship wc. 694 warnings. kissing, skinship, petnames

— where they love to kiss you. extra. none, please reblog if you’ve enjoyed,, mwah! 💋

Lee Heeseung — lips

the way your lips press together when ever he tries to kiss you; he finds it adorable. when his lips met yours for the first time, he wish he had kissed you sooner. your lips looked so plump and cute, he had to make sure no one else could kiss them except for him for the rest of his life.

the first time he kissed your lips was after your third date and let’s just say he never stopped kissing you after that day. because your lips played a melody in his heart he could never unhear, and without it, he’d feel incomplete.

“why’re your lips so soft baby?”

Sim Jaeyun — forehead

jake was far from short, he was tall. much taller than your friends and much taller than you. often when you two were out, he would rest his chin on your head. at first he was hesitant to kiss you at all. but the way you turned your head backward to look at him sometimes made it hard. so eventually, he started kissing your forehead. it was sweet and somehow intimate at the same time. so now everytime he sees you, the first thing he does is kiss your forehead. it’s become a habit.

“c’mere pretty, can’t forget your daily forehead kisses”

Park Jongseong — hands / fingers

when he first held you hand, he realised how small they were compared to his. how his fingers engulfed yours whenever you intertwined fingers. one time, he held your hand when he was driving you to a cafe for a date and that’s when he suddenly brought your hands up to his lips, kissing each one of your knuckles gently. your hand was so soft to kiss, he found himself kissing your hands or fingers everytime you two met. oh how he wishes to kiss your ring finger and see the wedding ring he gave you. but that’ll have to wait.

Park Sunghoon — ear

when you two first started dating, sunghoon realised how easily you get flustered around him and how your ears especially would turn into a crimson colour. whenever he got too close, or whenever he whispered something into your ear, they would turn red. he found it cute. he wondered what shade of red it would turn into if he kissed it.

“they’re like little strawberries on the sides of your head darling,” he’d chuckle as he pressed another gentle kiss on your earlobe, watching you shiver and turn red all over again.

Kim sunoo — beauty mark / mole

sunoo loves you. he loves everything about you, even your beauty marks. he thinks they accentuate your beauty. he never wants you to feel insecure about your beauty marks and what a better way to make you feel assured is by kissing each and every one of them.

“sunoo it’s ticklish, cmon,” you’d whine as he pepper kisses all over your beauty marks.

“no thanks, gotta show you just how much i love your beauty marks,” he’d whisper back, giggling, “god you’re so beautiful.”

Yang Jungwon — neck

he’d often get shy and flustered whenever you were around him though you two were already dating. it caused him to often shy away in your embrace, hiding his face in your neck. it felt warm and secure there for some odd reason

more often than not, he’d press kisses along your neck and collarbone. he’d leave little marks here and there to make sure people know you’ve already got a lover at home waiting for you.

Nishimura Riki — nose

whenever you’re frustrated or anxious your nose tends to scrunch up, making you look like the cutest girl in the world. or whenever he got too close to you and they’d twitch a little due to your shyness.

the way it would turn a little red when you sneezed made him want to kiss your nose and so he did.

everytime you hugged him or cuddled with him, he made it a habit to kiss your nose at least once, maybe boop it at the same time because he thinks you’re the most adorable girl in the world.

luvlyhee 2024 :: taglist open ,, send an ask to be added

tl: @en-gelic @dioll @luvvsim @ohmydollie @jakesangel @chaewonshoney

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httpsaki · 6 months ago

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physical touch with haikyuu ｡⁠*ﾟ

fluff | sfw

gn!reader | established relationship

warnings: mild profanity

✧ unexplainable close proximity with very odd positions

he doesn't hate physical touch, but he's not totally crazy about it either. though he can't deny, there are moments when he really does crave your touch. so here you are, met with his most bizarre ways of saying, "i want you to pay attention to me but i can't say it out loud because it's embarrassing so you should just know." with his legs on your lap or vice versa, his head resting on your back, brushing your knuckles while walking, or even just making his knees or thighs touch yours while sitting on the floor.

ukai, kenma, aone, sakusa, tsukishima, shirabu, kageyama, kyotani, suna, kunimi

✧ his hands all over you

holding hands, drawing circles on your skin, hands on your shoulders, hands on your thigh, hands on your waist, hands on your cheeks, wherever. not like you could complain, his hands on your body just leaves you with a rare sensation, warmth, and the assurance that you are his. he knows how crazy you are for his touch, and oh, just how much he loves having his world at the palm of his hands.

yamaguchi, semi, yaku, kindaichi, ushijima, daichi, hanamaki, kita

✧ hugs—and so much of them

he likes having you in a tight embrace. trapped in each other's arms soaking up on each other's undying love for each other as you wait for the other to let go (plot twist: neither of you wants to). front hugs, back hugs, side hugs, bear hugs, hugs while you're lying on the bed or couch, you name it. when he just holds you in his arms, it's as if you forget about all of your burdens. he just has one favor to ask you: don't you go away just yet.

asahi, lev, takeda, akaashi, osamu, ennoshita, futakuchi, aran, komori

✧ kisses everywhere that sweeps you off your feet

oh he just loves to feel you melting as soon as his lips crash onto yours. he loves the taste of your lips, but he just loves his lips on you in general. he likes planting kisses all over your face and neck, sometimes even marking your skin. from peppery smooches to a long, passionate kiss—heck, he'll do so much more. he would give you the world if you'd just ask. most times he'd keep this intimacy private, though, there are times when he wouldn't be afraid to kiss you in front of people watching; just so they know who you belong to.

sugawara, tanaka, iwaizumi, konoha, terushima, daishou, yahaba, kuroo

✧ fuck all that, you are never escaping his touch even if you wished

this man is the living, breathing definition of physical touch. he is never letting you go, not now that you're finally right there by his fingertips. cuddles? public display of attention? just glued onto your skin in general? hell yeah, he loves that. he loves how close you are to him at the moment, matter fact he would beg to be this close to you all the time. clinging onto you is his way of showing the world that there is nothing that could break you both apart. it's gotten to the point where your skin feels weird whenever he's not touching you in one way or another. though, you wouldn't want it any other way.

oikawa, matsukawa, bokuto, hinata, kogane, tendou, goshiki, nishinoya, atsumu

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romanoffsbish · 1 year ago

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Method Acting

Scarlett Johansson x F!R

Request | When your friend gives you the leading role in her debut sapphic rom-com you find yourself elated, but then you see who her star-studded casting managed to be and suddenly you aren’t too sure what to do. How does one work with their crush in such intimate ways and not swoon further? | WC: 2,516

Smut: Masturbation (R) — Non-con 👀 (SJ) | Mommy (SJ) | Oral / Fingering (R) | Thigh-Riding (SJ) | Overstimulation (R)

18+ | Minors DNI

"Where'd all that confidence go, hm?" You gulped, not only to remain in character, but because Scarlett was literally hovering over your body and it was like the air around you'd thinned. Your head felt light, but you still managed to stutter out your line, "I-It was a r-ruse."

Bentley chuckled, "You know, I don't think I mind," then she lowered her smirking face into the crook of your neck, your breath dramatically hitched, and you threw your head back to give her the necessary space to leave behind her pale pink gloss for the camera to see.

——

This was meant to be acting, but she wasn't exactly not sucking a partial mark into your skin, fortunately it was hidden from any lens viewpoint, and it only really added to the scene as you moaned out affectedly.

"There you go Raina," she rasped against your cheek, smearing her collected spit and gloss on the skin. "I knew you'd be a perfect little dove for your mommy, you just needed me to help dumb you down, hm..."

You whimpered the title inquisitively, giving off the characters innocent girl aura as her lips clashed into yours, but deep in your soul you wanted to scream it.

Well, for the blonde starlet that is, Scarlett was nothing short of a goddess, her beauty perceivably effortless. It came with many perks, one of those being the ability to have people figuratively crumble before her. You had actually done so physically when you first shook her hand, it was embarrassing and she's teased you since.

When she wasn't teasing you though she was a natural nurturer. There was a calmness she brought to your anxious life that you were going to miss when filming inevitably comes to an end. Which was actually taking place this week, today you were working on the climax.

Bentley, her character, finally had a chance to corner Raina so that she could finally prove her love with the length of her fingers. Up until now your character had been avoiding Bentley as they were forced to see one another at the weekend long reception of a mutual.

Maritza, the director, screenwriter, and best friend of yours wanted the sex to feel real, so she is letting you two feel it out in a set of scenes. Scarlett appreciated the artistic creativity, because she wanted nothing more than to bring you to bliss, even if only fictionally as she knew the cameras were rolling. You genuinely liked the idea of an organic, sapphic scene too, but you just wished it could have been with any other actress.

Not the one you were recklessly falling in love with.

"Cut!" The director called after she felt there was enough tension, and kissing caught for the scene. She was also your very best friend, and knew you were likely spiraling beneath the surface; below Scarlett.

As soon as the director gave you the all clear for the night you took off without even sparing the blonde a glance. Months on this set with her and she'd teased you every step of the way, playing on your obvious crush, the one you'd publicized just a year ago.

"Y/N, who's your celebrity crush?" It was an easy question to answer, and since you were such a newcomer in the acting world it felt harmless to give them one, "Scarlett Johansson, she is just so gorgeous, and that voice of hers is just, ugh, don't even get me started." Or so you thought. Because not even three months later did you find out she'd be playing the love interest in this low-budget, cheesy sapphic rom-com.

The blonde was absolutely ecstatic when she got the script in her email because it came with your name attached. This was your closest friend's script, so you were given the lead without any issues, except for the casting. Without you ever knowing she took a shot in the dark by sending it to the woman who'd grown interested in you the moment she saw you in that interview. When you got the casting news you were mortified, and the blonde used that to her advantage.

There was no denying you meant it when she arrived on set for the chemistry read through, you were a bit of a stuttering mess—true to the character, but it was clear to the blonde that you were just being yourself. Scarlett played the part a bit too well, but she still kept it hidden that she desired you too. Until tonight she'd believed it was never going to go anywhere, but then you moaned in her ear and she realized it had to.

You weren't the only one affected by the small scene.

Scarlett was outside your trailer, her fingers flexed against the chill of the air as she prepared herself to knock on your door. It was Thursday night, normally she would go home, but she knew you were staying on the lot to cut costs so she felt compelled to stop by.

Without an answer she took it upon herself to open the door, noting her worry as the excuse for why she did. When she entered the trailer she was overwhelmed by a heady scent, and as she turned the corner to find you with your hand buried between your legs she'd found the delightful source. Scarlett said nothing as her body leaned against the wall, eyes focused in on the way your puffy lips devoured three of your fingers whole.

"Scarlett..."

The blonde's eyes snapped up to your face, fearing that she'd been caught, but it proved to be the other way around as you moaned her name upon releasing.

"My character's name is Bentley," she cooly teased, startling you into yelping and scrambling to grab the blanket that had bunched up by the end of your bed. Scarlett beat you to it, taking a predatory leap forward so that she could keep you from hiding your body. "None of that baby girl, don't hide from me now."

"S-Scar," you breathlessly muttered her name, or better yet part of it as she cupped your jaw and kissed you into a state of stunned silence. "Let's practice our scene for tomorrow darling, make it extra authentic."

"I-I don't think—." Scarlett slipped her thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your teeth to still you. "Oh, pretty girls like you should never try to think."

When she released her grip on your mouth she'd forcefully pushed you back onto the mattress, making your body bounce and driving your mind into madness all while she slipped out of her sweatsuit. The arousal you'd already felt doubled in intensity, mind alit with the endless possibilities for how this could go. Your mouth slowly filled with saliva as she sauntered closer to you while only dressed in her expensive lingerie set.

"You're so beautiful," you softly acknowledged and she offered you a genuine smile in return. Her lips gently pressed to yours as soon as she climbed over you and you both melted at the touch. "Thank you angel."

Scarlett took her time with kissing you, she didn't even move to deepen it until she felt your slick on her skin.

"I'm going to devour you Raina," she winked playfully and you met her tease with a smile that warmed her heart. "Make my dreams come true then Bentley."

Something about hearing her characters name didn't sit well with her, even if she had started the play on words, joking shoved aside she needed you to know this was more than a over the top scene preparation.

Scarlett pulled your body down the mattress by your ankles, throwing your legs open she took in a big whiff as her nose nuzzled into your plush thigh. "It seems I'll be making both of ours come true," she laboredly breathed against your slick cunt, "Just as long as you know there's no copyright on Scarlett," she winked and husked as your eyes widened, "Scream it for me Y/N."

"Oh Scarlett," you cried as soon as her tongue firmed itself against your folds, a long, drawn out moan left her as she tasted your glorious slick for the first time. The both of you were immensely pleased, your body began to squirm the more you felt your orgasm build. Her arm had to lay against your abdomen to hold you down so that her tongue could lash at you unchecked.

Your pleasure was entirely under her control, and the thought alone had the both of you teetering over the edge, ready to fall further into one another. Scarlett was unsure how that was even possible though, she'd loved you after a month into the filming, on a night when cast and crew rented out the local bar and she actually went regardless of her star power status. It was the only time you'd talked to her so openly, the booze in your system dropped your nerves and you let her hear all of your hometown childhood stories.

There was a twinkle of purity in your eye that she found refreshing that night, but this new glossy look you wore was far more enticing to the blonde starlet.

You looked almost peaceful, but beneath the surface you were absolutely losing your mind. Her masterful tongue was showing your fingers up in real time, your hot slick flowing out of you as if you were a leaking faucet, slowly dripping down from her chin and settling atop of the exposed skin of her bare breasts.

Which only made her move with more efficiency, her tongue slowly curled inside of you, caressing your g-spot as the tip of her nose pressed into your clit and you lost control of your every sense. Gasping for air as pleasure coursed through your trembling form, blurry white stars filled your vision as your eyes crossed and the taste of something metallic coated your tongue as you harshly bit down on your lower lip before you were screaming incoherently, her name sinfully intermixed.

You felt her smirk against your thigh and couldn't help but to smile yourself as you felt her kiss up your body with a softness that transcended all prior carnality. There was this break in the tension as she tenderly locked her lips to yours, tongues dancing around the other as her hands anchored to your chest, fondling the malleable skin as if it was second nature. Soft whines reverberated into her mouth the longer that she played with your sensitive breasts as she kissed you dumb.

Eventually the blonde felt this intense urge to satiate her own body, so she pulled back and you whimpered. "Fuck, you're so hot Y/N," she groaned as she stared at you, so beautifully spaced out, the thin line of spit tethering your lips together snapped as she grinned.

"You know, you're my celebrity crush too," she teased, finding amusement in the way you tried to shimmy away from her, but her hands firmly pressed down, keeping your body stilled by her grip on your breasts.

"Don't try and run now darling," she purred against your neck, her face having dipped down so that she could finish the job she started during your shoot.

"Scar, th-the movie," you warned but she simply didn't care, the woman chuckled against your skin, "Oh love, you know as well as I do that make up can cover this, plus, this is really just us aiding the film, you know?"

Scarlett continued on bruising your soft skin with her teeth as you couldn't, nor did you really want to, find a reason to dissuade her from her current ministrations. Just as soon as she was satisfied with her hard work she flipped you onto your stomach without warning.

A low moan left the both of you as her cunt touched down, your body shivered as her slick smeared onto the back of your thigh, the idea that you'd turned her on that much hadn't even permeated your mind until now and with the physical evidence you felt powerful. Even if she was on top, you aided her by tensing your muscles to which she rewarded you with a hoarse moan and two fingers that slid between your slick lips.

The both of your bodies moved in steamy tandem, your front being pressed further into the mattress with every rough thrust of her fingers and hips. The room soon became a lewd symphony as your skin slapped together and the both of your slick seeped and spread, all working to drown out your soft, choked moans.

With her free hand no longer on your hip you were thrown further into the depths of pleasure as her palm roughly pressed down on your abdomen just as her fingers reached your depth, your body jerked but she just kept going down until she could play with your clit.

"Mommy," you screamed the desired honorific, it almost sounded like a plea for mercy, but the blonde had none to show you, she instead slid a third finger into your core causing you to spasm uncontrollably. Which in turn tensed your muscles up even further, and sent her into a state of immense bliss, her teeth instinctively sunk into your shoulder and drew blood.

Her body had arched back then dropped to the side of yours in a matter of seconds, her fingers stayed buried within your warmth, almost like a place of comfort. It took you far longer than her to regain your composure as this was actually your fifth orgasm of the evening. The other two having happened before she caught you.

Nevertheless, you were able to form a sentence as you felt her fingers vacate your pussy, "W-what was this?"

Scarlett had been shifting to a place of comfort when your disconcerting question was aired, you caught her completely off guard but upon settling her cheek down on your bare ass she hummed softly in thought. Then as she really thought about it, imagining a future where you'd part ways after filming ended, she frowned.

"You're mine," she tiredly growled against the sweaty skin of your ass, her teeth nibbled at the round flesh as she gave you her answer (demand). "Then, now, the point is you'll always be mine Y/N so get comfortable."

"I'm plenty comfortable," you murmured, words a bit muffled as your face burrowed into your silky pillow. Scarlett smiled to herself, her heart officially settled now that she knows you understood; you were hers, this sinful endeavor was her official sealing of a deal.

Her worn down body sidled up by your side, still her strong arm wrapped around your midsection so that she could pull you close enough for her to feel your body against hers. "Goodnight baby girl, I think we've done enough work to ensure the scene will be a hit..."

—

When tomorrow came, and the scene was shot you two found it only took one go as the sexual chemistry was palpable. Maritza had winked, and mouthed a 'your welcome' thinking that you'd just won the blonde over, but unbeknownst to her this was just an encore...

Or as the sapphics would simply call it, round two.

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson imagine #scarlett johansson fanfiction #scarlett johansson fic #scarlett johansson fluff #scarlett johansson smut #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x y/n #scarlett johansson x female reader #scarlett johansson x fem!reader #scarlett x reader #scarlett x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine

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thevoidstaredback · 8 months ago

Text

Every man has his breaking point. Danny's is just a bit higher than everyone else's because he's a king and has a high tolerance for absolute bull shit. No matter how strong that bar is, though, one can only bend so far before snapping.

Unfortunately for everyone around him, Danny has reached his breaking point.

"I wish I could get drunk," he stared into his drink longingly, "Or high. But mostly drunk."

"Why do ya say that?" Billy asked, tilting his head curiously to the left.

Danny sighed, "It's a long story."

"I've got time." he shrugged.

"Are ya sure?" Danny raised an eyebrow. "You don't think any emergencies are gonna crop up? Nothing you'll need to go take care of?"

Billy backed off a little, folding into his seat. "What're you talking about? I'm just some kid on the street. I ain't going anywhere."

Danny rolled his head from side to side. "Mostly, I'm talking about the JL meeting the both of us are gonna skip out on tonight."

"What-?"

"C'mon, Captain, it won't do to talk here," he stood, picking up his coffee and waiting for Billy to do the same.

Billy's eyes narrowed as he looked Danny up and down. "I don't recognise you," he whispered, "Who are you."

Danny produced another calling card from his sleeve as he sipped his drink, holding it in front of himself but not handing it over. When Billy was looking at it, he flipped it over. The white background turned matte black, all the runes in the Ouroboros turning so white that they glowed. The DP in the very middle tinted blue, pulsing with toxic green energy, slightly cold to the touch. The edges started to frost over.

Quickly, Billy pulled the card Danny had given him before from the inner pocket of his jacket. It, too, had changed to match the one Danny held, though there was no longer a DP in the middle. Instead, it said 'Phantom' in fancy calligraphy.

"No way," the kid muttered, his expression awestruck, "Phantom? That's you? No shit?"

Danny chuckled, tucking the card away again, "No shit, kid. Don't tell anyone, though. You're the only one who knows."

"Really?" he squeaked.

"Really."

***

Having someone know his whole story was refreshing, just as he's sure Billy felt good to have someone know his, too. That didn't stop him from feeling bad about dumping it all on the poor kid.

"I still wish I could get drunk," Phantom lamented."

Constantine looked up from the book he was reading. "You can't get drunk?"

"Nope."

"How'd ya figure that one out, kid?"

"Please don't call me a kid."

That's not good. The blond marked the page before setting the book to the side. Phantom had never actually asked him to stop calling him a kid. "What's wrong?" He didn't normally do the whole 'feelings' things, but the was an exception.

Phantom sighed long and sad. He didn't look up from the carpet. "I told you they were going to ask invasive questions."

"Who was it?" It was more of a demand then a question.

"Red Robin,"

"Red- I thought you would've skipped town when we were done there? I sure as hell did."

"I know you did, but I decided to stick around for a bit. Wander, y'know? Red Robin caught up to me and would leave me alone."

Oh, oh no. Those were tears. Were they? Yeah, shit, they are! John is not equipped to handle this!

Phantom sniffled. "He asked me how I died."

Fuck.

John Constantine is not easy to anger. Sure, he gets tired, and irritated, and a whole slew of emotions, but he is very slow to anger.

Phantom, he knows, is not a child. The ghost can very much take care of himself in basically every way one could think of. He saved the world on his own, several times, when he was fourteen. He became a King and Protector when he was fourteen. He died when he was fourteen.

Right now, all he could see was the child who hadn't ever been properly laid to rest. It was hard not to call Phantom a child when he seemed so small, seeking comfort from anyone. Phantom was crying. He'd retreated to the House and locked himself in Constantine's room, only talking when he was ready to, but he'd waited to cry.

Phantom didn't like crying. Every person in the JLD knew this.

No. John Constantine is not quick to anger, but he is scary when he reaches that point. Batman might be the night and vengeance and all that shit, but John Constantine was wrathful.

He sat beside Phantom and let the ghost lean into him and cry. He didn't like dealing with feelings, but this was a child in need of comfort and he was the only one around to offer it. "Do you really want me to stop calling you 'kid'?"

A sniffle and a small head shake. "No."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"...sure."

"How old are you really? As a ghost, not as a human or a halfa. How old are you?"

"Fourteen." he mumbled, "I'll never be any older than fourteen, John," he was getting a bit hysterical now, "I'll never be any older than fourteen! I-I died and-and now I have to rule and-and people keep asking and no one believes me and-!" A sob cut him off, heavy with grief and wet with tears. He cried for hours, giving up on trying to form words. Constantine let him, ignoring the wet patches on his shirt. Eventually, Phantom's sobs died down into hiccups. "I didn't...I'm- I'm sorry."

"It's alright, mate," he meant it, really and truly.

Phantom rubbed his eyes, "I'm gonna go hide somewhere."

"Not gonna share where?"

"No, I want to be alone for a while." He paused at the door, "Whatever you're gonna do, will you leave Captain Marvel out of it?"

Odd request, but, "Alright," he nodded, "I'll talk to the others." And by 'talk', he means lecture. There are boundaries that one shouldn't cross, and not asking the dead how they died should've been obvious! With his League issued communicator, John called an emergency meeting in one hour, required attendance, barring Captain Marvel. First things first, though, he needed to talk to Deadman.

Part 7 Storyboard

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette @serasvictoria02 @the-chaos-goblin-child @confusedshades @caicie @fantasticstoryteller @randomshtickidk @itsberrydreemurstuff @blueliac @i-love-mangoes @nymanders @highimpactemotions @anarinette @sleepingdead96 @orbr @tkiesai @atomicsheepscientist @8000fangirl @shower-phantom-ideas @blep-23 @aki-bara @chasing-liberosis @weirwulf20 @mynewhyperfixation

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thef1diary · 15 days ago

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I need ghost!max to start haunting my place…. Please… I’ll pay good money… bake ghost cookies… 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

BUT DI, that is giving freeuse kink and you know who’ll love that ? 👀 yeah yeah…. Dirtbag!daniel….

hear me out, when he realises that maybe there’s something more that triggers the jealousy and all, he’s looking for a way to have you all to himself for some time (you’d obv been fucking regularly but it’s not like you live at his place) AND WHAT BETTER EXCUSE than that??? Y’know…. You’ll NEED to spend the whole week at his place for him to use you like he wants to… AND HE DOES 👀👀

-🐱

— “bake ghost cookies” nonnie you make me laughhh 😭 but mhm dirtbag!danny would loveee free use kink 👀 it wouldn’t be hard to convince you at all, I mean a full week with the hottest guy, giving him the full authority to use you as he wishes? Hell yeah, where do I sign up? 18+ content below

It started with you coming over, a casual plan for the evening. But the moment you stepped through the door, Daniel had you pinned to the wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming like he couldn’t wait another second.

The plan to stay for a single night turned into two. Three. Then a full week. Neither of you could get enough of each other, so why would you leave? He wanted all of you, at any time of the day he desired, and you eagerly complied.

Your clothes? Gone. Tossed somewhere and never given back. At best, he let you wear one of his shirts—oversized and smelling like him, but with nothing underneath. Any time you walked through the house, he’d pull you into his lap, his hand sliding up your bare thighs with a smug grin.

“Gave in so quickly, hm?” He said one afternoon as you stood in the kitchen. “Why do you put up a facade for the world when you’re desperate to be my personal slut? Mine to use whenever I want, however I want.”

His grip tightened on your waist as he stood behind you, his words ticking your ear. “You’re here for me to use, sweetheart, and I don’t plan on wasting a single second.”

He made good on his word. Mornings started in various ways each day. Face down, ass up, your teeth buried in a pillow as he pounded into your wet pussy, groaning about how tight you were, how you were made for him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his hand fisting in your hair to pull you up slightly. “So fucking perfect like this. You’ll never want anyone else after me, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

Or he’d have you on your knees, his cock heavy in your mouth as his hand guided your movements, controlling every inch you took. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his head falling back. “Taking me so fucking well. You like this, don’t you? Letting me ruin you before breakfast.”

Afternoons were no reprieve. He found any excuse to touch you, to take you. The couch, the counter, even the floor—every surface in his house bore witness to the way he unraveled you.

He dropped to his knees in the living room one day, devouring you like a man starving, his beard leaving marks on your thighs. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he groaned, his tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers worked you open. “Could spend every damn day buried here.”

By the time night fell, you were spent—but he wasn’t done. He’d pull you into bed, his body flush against yours, guiding your hips to sink down on his cock. “Just stay like this,” he murmured, his hands trailing up your sides. “Keep me warm for the night, maybe I’ll wake you up by fucking you, exactly how you like it.”

One hand lazily gripped your waist as the other toyed with you—pinching your nipples or rubbing slow, maddening circles over your clit while you were stretched around him.

By the end of the week, you were a wreck. Your body ached, your throat was hoarse, and your mind was a blur of pleasure and submission.

When he finally let you rest, he pulled you against his chest with a rare softness. “Don’t wanna hear about anyone else, got it? You’re mine. Always,” he murmured.

And lying there, his hand stroking lazily over your back, you realized you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You were happy to be his personal slut, just like he said.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

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occasionalsnippets · 5 days ago

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I’m curious about Tim and MC’s relationship.

Like, is Tim grateful for the fact that MC took care of him?

Does he know that MC took his shifts as Robin so he wouldn’t deal with B’s bad days/nights?

Does he know that Jack and Janet didn’t really like MC?

How much does he resent Jack and Janet?

How does he bond/show his love for his sibling?

Also, how would the members of the Batfam bond with MC? (Before and After Damian snitched)

And what do the Batfam think of MC?

- Storm.Anon

Focusing on just Tim for this! Send another ask for other Batfam members owo because I do want to individually dig into each relationship.

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream, @shirp-collector-of-fixations

Their relationship is both less complicated and more complicated than it should be. On one hand, you’re Tim's older sister-caretaker-parental figure-best friend- who can’t be categorized neatly into any singular category. On the other hand, none of those categories matter when you are the person he trusts more than anyone else in the world. More than he trusts himself.

Your parents do not hate you. You were an accident (huge, immensely big, giant accident) but they do care for you in some nebulous, difficult to discern, rich-people kind of way. They give you all the money you could want. They teach you the rules of high society and how to deal with the company. They try. Sometimes.

In many ways, you are their protege and student before a lot of things but you are still your mother’s child. A reflection of Janet Drake in every way that matters with a mind like a steel trap and a mouth that murmurs sweet poison. It is one of the main things Tim notes as a child when he thinks of you and mother.

The biggest mark against your parents, really, is the neglect. Their children weren’t their number one priority and both you and Tim knew. They could be worse. They could be better. C+ parenting all around.

Tim’s view on Jack and Janet are a bit fickle? Inconsistent? Complicated? He had wished for a very long time when he was younger for them to come home more often but he never really processed the whole situation until you forced everyone to get therapy. There’s quiet sadness in his feelings about his parents but not really resentment, not like you.

Not that those feelings have anywhere to go anymore. Both of you still grieved during their funerals.

Tim gives you gifts on mother and father's day and overtime the message written in the cards attached get longer and sillier. He still remembers the stillness of your initial reaction when he first presented you with a card.

He hadn't really noticed how much you did behind the scenes until he got older and realized you were internalizing a hell of a lot of things. His early days of existence are marked by your ever encompassing presence in his life. His parents leave. You stay. You always stay even as he digs himself into the pit that is becoming Robin.

He can always rely on you. If there is any truth in his life then it is that you will always be there for him. So, when you tell him with dark shadows cast upon your face that he shouldn't go out as Robin tonight, he accepts with minor protests.

You keep detailed reports on patrol to keep everyone updated when you're filling in as Robin and the ones from Tim's early days are... rough. Tim reads them because of course he does, and talks with you about it. A lot. You insist that he shouldn't have to deal with Batman because Tim is like 13 and Tim keeps saying that he chose this. So, the two of you compromise on it. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?

No one else really reads the old patrol reports. What happens during the early days stays between you and Tim and Bruce. Tim thinks Bruce still feels guilty about it, about both him and you.

Tim shows affection for you the same way you show affection. He'll go to company meetings in your stead. He learns to cook and bring meals to you when you're too busy. He orders materials for your hobbies whenever he notices you're running out.

Your relationship is not immune to normal sibling shenanigans though. You yell, you fight, he stands a centimetre away from the entrance of your room for no apparent reason, the two of you want to kill each other sometimes because "mother and father always liked you better-" and "I never wanted to raise you-"

You and Tim are so crazily co-dependent even if it isn't obvious. You're a bit less dependent than he is but you've also revolved your life around him and everything you do is basically for him so how true that statement is can be debated.

Sometimes you think you need him in order to be allowed to exist. There is no role for you except in reference to him, to your little brother who you'd give the world to.

Tim literally doesn't know how he'd survive or live without you. You taught him unconditional love. You're his favourite person. You've always protected him. He can't fathom the idea of existing without you.

You're impossible to separate from him and him from you. Aren't the two of you one and the same? Where does one end and the other begin? Who is he if not a reflection of you and who you raised him to be?

Alsjfjak so yeah. The Siblings. Them.

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lucifersresources · 2 months ago

Text

quotes about That Person pinterest inspired.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!

you and i will always be unfinished business.

i tried to love you into loving me... that's not how love works.

loving you was a sacrifice. i gave you the power to destroy me, and that's exactly what you did.

i gave you the power to destroy me, and that's exactly what you did.

you will always have a special place in my heart, and that terrifies me.

i won't ever forget you, and maybe that is the only forever the two of us were meant to have.

i'm sorry i had nothing to say that night.

i was so interested to see how you'd break my heart.

you planted flowers inside of me... foolish of me to think you'd water them.

it's pathetic, really, how much i still hope it's you and me in the end.

you said you'd be here.

hell exists... it's 3am, here, without you.

i'm scared that loving you is the only thing i got right, and it still wasn't enough.

i regret the end, the way we couldn't leave one another without wounds.

we made it seem as if all the love we shared was wasted time.

i will always remember the way you folded me at my corners, like there was a part of me you wanted to come back to.

you made me feel, and i don't like it. stop it.

i wish the best for you, i just wish that i was the best for you.

maybe in another lifetime, we get it right.

you had my heart before i could say no.

loving you is the most exquisite form of self destruction.

fuck you for giving up on me.

the worst pain is being hurt by the same person you explained your pain to.

you fucking broke me, and i'm still the one apologising.

i broke my own heart loving you.

now you're just a stranger with all my secrets.

sometimes the beginning is the same as the ending.

what if no one makes me feel the way that you do?

you made it look so damned easy to walk away from me.

you were the hardest lesson i ever had to learn.

you didn't say goodbye, and part of me keeps believing that means you're coming back.

i would've left the entire world behind for you.

you leave teeth marks on everything you love.

all of your devotion turns violent.

you let me go, but you left claw marks.

i don't think i'll ever know how to love someone without swallowing them whole.

love is supposed to turn you soft... i think it only ever turns me brutal.

we wanted each other in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound.

#angsty sentence starters #angst rp meme #rp sentence starters #rp meme #rp sentence meme #sentence starters #rp memes #roleplay sentence starters #roleplay memes #rp starters #rp resources #romantic rp meme #romantic sentence starters #sad rp meme #quotes sentence starters #quotes rp meme #exs rp meme #ship rp meme #painful rp meme

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rosenclaws · 3 months ago

Note

Hi love, I hope you’re doing well! I’ve been a fan of (stalking but let’s not talk about it) your blog for a little while, but this is the first time I’ve sent in a request for you! Your writing for Leopold is literally the sweetest ever and you’re the only writer I know of that actively writes for him, it’s so dry out here!! I was wondering if I could request something fluffy with Leopold x fem!reader where is like the most tooth-rotting fluff you can think of. I’m talking him trying to court the reader even though it’s the modern day and that’s not really a thing anymore and shes a bit confused but loves it, a super touchy reader that loves to shower Leo with her affection, literally anything. Those are just ideas, feel free to be as creative as you’d like (and don’t be shy if you wanna make it a longer fic, I’ll take what I can get). This fandom (if I can even call it that) is such a barren wasteland for fanfics and you are such an amazing writer for him and just in general!!

Much love 💕

Courting || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

a/n: Hi!! Okay I kinda took this in a slightly different direction so if its not what you wanted then plz feel free to send in another request (ik they're closed but I will make an exception) ALSO FUCK HES SO HANDSOME IM GONNA SCREAM

wc: 1.2k

warning: reader wears lipstick

The last thing you expected was to find a neatly written letter waiting for you when you got home. Pinned neatly to the door with a small rose attached to it. You recognized Leopold's handwriting immediately, no one else you know has such beautiful penmanship.

There’s a flutter of butterflies in your stomach as you open the letter. You and Leopold have gotten very close to each other. He’s unbelievably charming and so sweet and he’s just everything. The way he looks at you, it makes you feel like the only one in the world.

Hello my love,

I am writing to ask if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner and a show this Friday night. I have found myself completely captured by your beauty, you live in my every thought. Every breath I breathe for you and every beat of my heart calls your name. I wish to court you and have the honor of calling you mine.

Your dearest Leopold

You read the letter once, and then again and again. Your fingers trace each letter. Never have you had anyone say something so precious to you before. The rose smells fresh and sweet, he must have gotten it this morning. You hurry to write him a reply, accepting his offer with great enthusiasm.

Folding the letter you press your lips the corner of the paper leaving a lipstick mark. Leopold lives just down the hall so you walk over. Just as you’re about to slip the letter under the door it swings open.

“Leo!” You squeak out as stand back up, almost knocking your head into his chest.

"Hello darling." He's dressed in casual clothes and my god you need to thank whoever introduced him to sweatpants. Anyways.

"I see you received my letter." You bite your lip as you hand over your letter. His name written as fancy as you can.

"Yeah, it was really sweet Leo." He takes the letter and you swear he blushes a little when he sees the lipstick mark. He stares at you for a while, with that perfect smile and gorgeous eyes.

"I uh, I'll see you Friday." His eyes light up at your words.

"I'll see you Friday my love." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

You manage to keep it together as he shuts the door but once you make it back to your apartment you're melting. A giddy feeling you haven't felt in years. You have to wonder how he will attempt to court you in modern day. People don't really court anymore but all you care about is that you have a date with Leopold. Friday couldn't come fast enough.

You had never felt this nervous before. Spending way too long getting ready just to be done an hour early. It's just Leopold, you know Leopold. There's no reason to be nervous but you can't stop the tornado of worry brewing inside of you.

What if something goes wrong? Or the date goes horrible? What if he decides he doesn't like you anymore? What if this ruins your friendship. You shake your head and try to dispel any bad thoughts.

Tonight was going to be great. It has to be. There's a knock at the door and you quickly double check everything before opening it. Any worry still residing in your mind disappears. A beautiful bouquet of flowers is handed to you as Leopold is dressed to the nines. A crisp white shirt and black pants.

"They're beautiful." You say admiring the flowers. Fresh and absolutely gorgeous.

"Not as beautiful as you." Leopold says, barely at a whisper. Like he can't believe that you've even agreed to a date with him. He can't help but admire everything about you. To your smile, your beauty, your laugh, your voice. You're perfect.

You place the flowers in a vase and then the two of you are off. He rests his hand on your back as you walk through the city. His thumb draws circles in your back as you approach the restaurant. He's planned everything himself and he can't help but hope it's enough for you.

Dinner is lovely and the conversation flows without any awkwardness. You're talking to your friend Leopold but you know there's something more as you slowly get closer to each other as the night goes on. Hidden away in the corner booth you are free to get lost in each others eyes. Though you wish you could stay here all night he promised a show. Leopold loved the theater and he promised one day to take you and tonight was the night.

"How did you get such good seats?" You ask as he waits for you to sit before he does.

"I have my ways darling." You're hyper aware of just how close the two of you had gotten at dinner and how close you are now.

The show is interesting yes but Leopold was a very distracting man. Your hands inch closer together. Glancing over at Leopold you find him already looking at you. He waits for your silent approval, not wanting to cross an boundaries. So you take the leap. Intertwining your hands together.

A faint blush on his face and a big smile on yours. His hands are so warm and they fit so perfectly with your hand. When the show ends you reluctantly head back home. You don't want this night to end. Your hands swing together as you gush about the play.

"I had a wonderful night Leopold," You're leaning against your door, wanting so badly to keep the night going. His hair swoops perfectly in front of his forehead and he's got this pretty smile that you can't stop staring at.

"So did I, Thank you for accompanying me tonight." His eyes drift to your lips.

It's adorable seeing just how old school he really is. You know he's from 1876 but still. Modern boys pale in comparison to Leopold.

"You know you don't have to be so nervous Leo, I want to kiss you too." You say boldly.

He chuckles, ducking his head as bites his lip softly. He cups your face gently and you close eyes as he gently captures your lips in a kiss. He's gentle and sweet and you crave more. Still he pulls away much too soon. You pout slightly and he laughs.

"I know I'm much more traditional than you're used to." He traces your lips with his thumb. Admiring every little detail of your face.

"But someone as wonderful as you deserves to be treated with the upmost respect." He kisses your forehead gently.

"You deserve to be loved," Another kiss.

"To be cherished," Another.

"And to be worshiped." Words fail you completely. Leopold has rendered you utterly speechless.

"Did I overstep?" He asks, worried about you silence.

You shake your head. practically jumping into him as you kiss him. Passionately running your hands through his hair. He groans slightly as you tug on his hair. He pushes you against the wall, bracing your head with his hand as he kisses back.

"I'm falling in love with you." He whispers. A hopeful glint in his eyes.

"I'm already in love with you." You admit.

You become lost in his lips as he kisses you again. He just can't get enough. You blindly reach for the door handle and without argument pull him inside of your apartment.

Soft kisses and laughter are shared quietly between the two of you. Time ticks by but you have lost all sense of care in the world. All that matters to you is this moment. Your fairytale come to life. And it was just perfect.

#hugh jackman x reader #kate and leopold #leopold mountbatten #leopold mountbatten x reader

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cumironi · 3 months ago

Note

I know you said no physical insecurities in your rules but would it be okay to request scar worship?? (It sounds rlly weird to type this out 💀), but like a Satoru and/or sugu just giving attention to old (sh) scars?? Sfw or nsfw I just never find fics with some comfort in that area 🙏❤️❤️

SCARS TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL : GETO SUGURU, GOJO SATORU

all scars and everything, you are still the most beautiful girl to your boyfriends. and they will always remind you, every single day until they leave no room for you to feel insecure.

warning. abuse mention, scars, very, very, very suggestive, gojo being perverted as always.

wc. | masterlist

growing up with your parents as higher-ups in the jujutsu world, life was anything but easy. they were known for their authority, their unyielding standards, and their strictness, especially when it came to you. mistakes were never an option. one mistake meant one new scar, a reminder of your failure and their punishment. your body was a canvas of their expectations, etched with marks of their disappointment, each scar telling a story of falling short in their eyes. it didn't matter how hard you tried, how much you pushed yourself—your best was never enough.

being the child of jujutsu higher-ups meant the pressure was relentless. they expected nothing less than perfection. you were supposed to be a mirror of their greatness, a reflection of their power and control. yet, no matter how much you tried to live up to their impossible standards, it always seemed like you were just one step behind. a test that wasn't aced, a cursed technique that wasn't mastered quickly enough—everything was a reason for punishment. their words were sharp, cutting deeper than the bruises or scars that littered your skin.

coming home was never something you looked forward to. every visit was like stepping into a battlefield, knowing you were likely to leave with fresh wounds. sometimes it was bruises, sometimes cuts—whatever they felt was fitting for the mistake you had made, no matter how minor. it was always justified in their eyes, framed as discipline. they believed they were shaping you into something stronger, but all it ever did was break you down, piece by piece.

that morning at school, you had just returned from another visit home. you walked through the doors, the familiar hallways closing in around you as you pulled your uniform tighter, trying to cover the fresh bruise on your cheek. it wasn’t just your face; your body ached from the newest round of punishment, though you tried your best to hide it. the bruises were a deep purple and blue, hidden beneath your clothes, but the one on your face was impossible to conceal, no matter how much you tried to keep your head down.

the higher-ups, your parents included, had told the school that you were ‘sick.’ it was their usual excuse, a cover for why you wouldn’t be attending classes that day. it wasn’t the first time. the staff knew better than to ask questions. they all knew who your parents were, knew the kind of authority they wielded. no one dared to cross them. so when they said you needed a free pass to skip class, the school complied without hesitation. no one pressed you for details, and in some ways, you were grateful for that. but the silence was suffocating too. no one ever asked what really happened. no one dared to step in.

you made your way to your dorm where you always went to hide, trying to keep your head down and avoid any curious glances. you didn’t want anyone to see, didn’t want to answer the questions that might come if someone noticed the bruises. but at the same time, a part of you wished someone would—someone who would actually care enough to ask, to do something about it.

as you sat down on the floor, the ache in your body intensified, a reminder of the night before. you could still hear their voices in your head, cold and disappointed, reminding you of how much of a failure you were in their eyes. they never said it outright, but their punishments spoke louder than any words could.

as you sat down on the floor of your dorm, the pain from the fresh bruises radiated through your body. you winced as you reached to pull off your shirt, trying your best to be gentle so as not to aggravate the soreness. your back, a canvas of bruises, scars, and pain, was fully exposed, each mark a reminder of years under your parents' heavy expectations. it wasn't the first time you had come back like this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. still, you always tried to keep it hidden, especially from those closest to you. the last thing you wanted was pity or questions you didn’t want to answer.

just as you were about to pull the shirt over your head, the dorm door swung open without warning. you froze, panic instantly flooding your body. you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—there was only one person who would enter so casually. gojo's familiar voice filled the room, excited and light, like it always was when he saw you. “hey! guess what—” his voice cut off mid-sentence. the excitement drained from his tone, replaced by stunned silence.

geto, always more observant, had been right behind him, his usually calm demeanor now faltering as his eyes landed on your back. their eyes were glued to you, to the countless scars and bruises that decorated your skin. they'd never seen you without your shirt on. sure, they were your boyfriends, but you had always made sure to keep this part of yourself hidden from them. they had no idea about the scars, about the pain that came with them, or the story behind each one.

their silence was deafening, and you could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on you. your heart raced, and before they could say anything, you scrambled to grab the blanket beside you. with shaky hands, you pulled it over your body, shielding yourself from their shocked gazes.

“learn how to knock!” you screamed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and embarrassment. you couldn’t bear to turn around and face them. the last thing you wanted was for them to see you like this, to see the side of you you had worked so hard to keep hidden. you didn’t want their pity, didn’t want to answer their questions, and most of all, you didn’t want them to look at you any differently than before.

but the silence stretched on, and you could feel their presence lingering in the doorway, neither of them knowing what to say.

“y/n…” gojo’s usually carefree voice was unusually quiet as he stood there, his eyes fixated on your trembling frame. never in his life had he seen you like this. he’d known there were scars, had seen subtle hints before. but this? this was different. this was a reality check he didn’t know he needed.

meanwhile, geto stood silently behind him, frozen in place. his eyes roved over the expanse of your exposed skin you weren't properly covered, a mix of horror and anger bubbling up inside of him. neither of them had ever expected this, had never really let themselves consider that your parents were abusive.

the silence in the room was deafening. gojo could feel the weight of the moment pressing against his chest, his heart heavy with a mix of shock, anger, and—yes, he could admit it now—pity. you weren’t looking at them, your body still hidden beneath the blanket, but the trembling of your shoulders told him everything he needed to know. you were hurt, scared, and he could do nothing but stand there, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for not seeing it sooner.

your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of their silence pressing down on you. gojo’s voice, normally light and teasing, was now quiet—too quiet. hearing him like that made your stomach twist. you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the pity that was surely there in his eyes. and geto… he hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and burning. it made your skin crawl, your scars feeling even more exposed under their scrutiny.

the trembling of your shoulders grew worse, and you clenched the blanket tighter around you. they weren’t supposed to see this. no one was. they were supposed to laugh, to tease you about something stupid, not stand there in stunned silence, realizing the ugly truth you’d hidden for so long. you didn’t need their sympathy. you didn’t want it. and yet, the tension in the room was suffocating, their presence overwhelming.

“just go,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly despite your efforts to stay strong. you didn’t want them here, not like this. not seeing you so vulnerable, so broken. but they didn’t move. you felt them still standing there, their heavy breaths filling the silence. your frustration boiled over, and you raised your voice, “i said, go!”

the words came out harsher than you intended, laced with anger and shame. you couldn’t stand it—their pity, the way gojo's usual carefree attitude was nowhere to be found, the way geto was too quiet, too still. you didn’t want to see whatever emotions were swirling in their eyes. you didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to explain.

the coldness in your voice stung gojo's heart in a way he hadn't expected. he'd always seen you as tough, able to handle anything they threw at you. but this was different. this was raw, real pain. and he'd never been more aware of his own ignorance.

geto, too, was wrestling with his emotions. he’d always prided himself on being able to read you better than anyone, but right now, he felt useless. he wanted to reach out, to hold you, to make it better—but he didn’t know how. the silence continued to stretch on.

gojo and geto were stuck in a limbo. they didn’t know what to do, what to say. a part of them desperately wanted to help, to fix it—but they knew they couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make your pain disappear.

finally, gojo took that cautious step forward, his heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. this wasn’t something he could laugh off or tease you about. it was real—too real. seeing you like this, so broken, so vulnerable, tore him apart. he swallowed hard, pushing through the knot in his throat as he approached you.

“y/n…” he whispered again, softer this time, as if the words might break the fragile silence between you. without waiting for permission, he knelt down behind you, careful not to startle you. his usual confidence was gone, replaced by a deep sense of care and uncertainty. gently, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth, his embrace cautious but firm, like he was trying to protect you from the very pain that had already hurt you.

his cheek rested against your back, and he could feel the tension in your body—the way you stiffened at first, trying to resist. but he didn’t let go. “oh, my baby…” the words slipped out, his voice barely above a whisper. there was no humor, no teasing like he usually did. this was different. all he wanted was to let you know he was there, that he saw you—really saw you—and wasn’t going anywhere.

his grip tightened just slightly, enough to hold you close but not enough to hurt. he could feel the scars beneath his cheek, the rough texture of skin that had been marked by years of abuse, and it made his chest tighten with anger—anger at the people who had done this to you, anger at himself for not knowing sooner.

“what… what are you doing?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you kept your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to turn around. the warmth of gojo’s arms wrapped around you gently from behind, his presence immediately soothing the chaos swirling inside you. his embrace was steady, familiar, and though he didn’t say anything at first, just feeling him there made the storm inside you calm ever so slightly.

“just here with you,” gojo murmured softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. he held you as if he could protect you from everything, his hands resting lightly on your sides, careful not to hurt you. his touch was careful, more delicate than usual, as if he was afraid to break you further. the warmth of his body pressed against yours felt grounding, like a lifeline pulling you back from the weight of everything.

suddenly, the door slammed shut with a loud thud, and you flinched at the sound, startled by the intensity. you didn’t have to turn around to know it was geto—his anger hung heavy in the air. the slam was full of frustration, not at you, but at the situation, at what you had been through without them knowing. he hated that you had been hiding this from them, that you had carried the burden alone.

without a word, geto knelt beside you on the floor. you could feel the tension radiating off him, but when he reached out to gently stroke your hair, his touch was the opposite of the storm raging inside him. it was soft, careful, meant to comfort rather than frighten. he shifted closer, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his hand moving to rest on your cheek.

the moment your eyes met his, something inside you shattered. his gaze was so soft, filled with concern, understanding, and something deeper that made the tears you had been holding back spill over. your breath hitched, and you tried to blink them away, but it was too late. the dam broke, and tears streamed down your face, silent but heavy with everything you had been holding in.

gojo and geto had never seen you like this, so raw, so fragile. it was a stark contrast to the strong facade you usually put on. but here, in this moment, there were no masks to hide behind. it broke their hearts to see you cry, to realize just how much pain you’d been in without them even knowing.

gojo felt like the biggest fool. all this time, he’d been blissfully ignorant, cracking jokes and teasing you about everything under the sun, while you were struggling with something so heavy, so painful.

geto was wrestling with a different set of emotions. anger, concern, sorrow—he was drowning in them all. all this time, he’d thought he knew you so well; he’d prided himself on his ability to understand you, to read beneath the surface. but he was wrong. he’d missed this—the scars, the pain, the whole world of trauma you’d been hiding from them.

gojo’s mind was racing. he wanted to say so many things—apologize for not noticing sooner, assure you they were here now, that they wouldn’t let anything hurt you again. but the words stuck in his throat, overpowered by the anger that was pooling in his stomach. how could he have missed this? how could he not have known?

since that day, they’ve been nothing but supportive, never prying or pushing for answers, but always there. they didn’t need to ask further, because they understood—every scar, every bruise carried a story, and they knew enough to know you’d share only when you were ready. they tried their best not to trigger those feelings or bring back the memories of your trauma. instead, they focused on making sure you knew one thing above all else: that to them, you were beautiful, inside and out.

they never missed a moment to remind you, whether through words or actions. they worshipped your scars as much as they worshipped you, tracing every mark on your body as if each one deserved to be honored. they would tell you how soft you felt, how warm your skin was, how beautiful you looked in their eyes—how, to them, you were everything.

like now, the three of you were laying on the cramped bed in your dorm, naked bodies tangled together in a mess of sheets and limbs. the bed was just right for you, but adding two boyfriends, both tall and broad like electric poles, made the space almost laughably small. not that you were complaining—you loved it. the closeness, the way you fit perfectly between them, feeling safe and cherished.

you lay nestled between them, your head resting on geto’s bare chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. gojo was behind you, his warmth pressed against your back. his hand ran gently over your scars, his fingers tracing the faded lines and new bruises with a kind of reverence. he wasn’t trying to avoid them—he embraced them as part of you, as part of what made you you.

“god, you’re beautiful,” gojo murmured against your skin, his voice soft and filled with awe, like he still couldn’t believe he had you here with him. then, he leaned down and kissed your back, right where the scars were. it wasn’t out of pity, but out of pure adoration. his lips lingered, warm and soft, as if he was trying to kiss away every bit of pain that had ever been inflicted on you.

“yeah, absolutely stunning,” geto echoed, his hand stroking your hair, fingers carefully tangling in the strands, almost reverently. his touch was gentle, in stark contrast to his usual tough demeanor. but with you, he always softened, always seemed more gentle, more loving.

he met gojo’s eyes over your head, sharing a look of understanding. they both knew they couldn’t erase your past, couldn’t make the scars disappear. but they could make sure that from now on, every touch, every kiss would be filled with nothing but love, respect, and care.

geto could see it in gojo’s actions, in every gentle touch and every soft word—the way he loved you without flinching at the scars or the memories they represented. and he knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same.

“my baby, so beautiful,” geto whisper, kissing the top of your head.

gojo continued to kiss your back, his lips tracing over each scar, marking them with his love and adoration. he knew that each mark was a part of you, a piece of the journey that had led you to them. he mumbled against your skin, his voice raspy with emotion. “our darling girl. you’re perfect. every single part of you.”

geto’s hand moved down to your waist, gently pulling you closer against his body. he wanted you to feel all of them, every inch of their warmth and love.

he looked up from your head to meet gojo’s gaze again, a wordless conversation passing between them. they wouldn’t ask you to share more, not until you were ready. instead, they would show you every day, in every action and word, how much they accepted and loved you, scars and all.

you suddenly burst into soft laughter, the sound breaking through the peaceful silence of the moment. gojo had just kissed that one specific spot on your back—right where it always tickled, no matter how serious the moment. you wriggled slightly, trying to pull away, but gojo’s arms were already around you, his chest pressed against your back.

“toruuuu, that tickles,” you said through your laughter, dragging his name, almost whining, your voice a little breathless as you squirmed in his hold.

gojo smirked and held you tighter, pinning you in place against him. a mischievous gleam shone in his eyes as he purposely nuzzled his face where he knew you were ticklish, his scruff scratching your skin.

“awh, does it?” he teased, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “my bad. i had no idea,” he said, his words followed by another kiss to the same spot. geto, who had been watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction. he knew gojo’s game well—the two of them had this banter down to a science. and he had to admit, seeing the way gojo could make you laugh and squirm like that was adorable.

he shifted slightly, his hand still on your waist, and leaned over to whisper into your ear, “you’re trapped now, you know that? escape is impossible.”

your soft laughter quickly turned into full-blown, uncontrollable giggles as gojo doubled down on his attack, his scruff lightly scratching against your skin as he kissed the same ticklish spot over and over. you squirmed against him, trying to get away, but he had you pinned tightly against him, refusing to let you go.

“satoru, stop!” you gasped between fits of laughter, your body wriggling as you tried to escape. but he wasn’t letting up, clearly enjoying watching you squirm and laugh.

gojo was absolutely loving this. your laughter was music to his ears, and seeing you so playfully helpless in his arms gave him a rush unlike anything else.

he shook his head, his smirk only growing wider as he continued his relentless barrage of gentle kisses and scruff-rubs against your back. “aw, come on, dollface. i’m just enjoying your adorable little squirming,” he teased, his tone oozing with faux-innocence.

geto was sitting to the side, an amused smile on his face at the sight of you struggling against gojo’s ticklish attack. he could relate—he’d been caught in that trap before many times.

“better accept your fate, love. you’re not going nowhere with this big idiot on you like that,” he chimed in, enjoying the show as he watched you wriggle and squirm in vain.

you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe, your whole body squirming in gojo’s arms as he kept up his playful assault. the more you struggled, the more determined he seemed to become, thoroughly enjoying your helplessness. “gojo, i swear—” you gasped between fits of laughter, your sides aching from how hard you were laughing.

his scruff tickled unbearably, and the teasing kisses were too much. you managed to squeak out between laughs, “i’m gonna piss myself if you don’t stop!”

when you threatened to pee, his eyes widened. “oh no no no, we definitely don’t want that,” he rushed out, quickly shifting his grip on you.

gojo chuckled and finally, finally let up, his lips leaving your back with one final kiss. he was feeling rather proud of himself for getting you to laugh this hard, a cheeky grin on his face. geto, next to you, couldn’t help but laugh at the duo. “oh yeah, you better stop right there, or you’re cleaning the bed by yourself.”

gojo made a show of grimacing at the threat, feigning despair. “oh, come on! I was just having a little bit of fun!”

he carefully moved you off his chest and settled you between him and geto, making sure you were comfortably nestled between them. his arm snaked around your shoulders, pulling you close against him, while his other hand reached out to playfully punch geto in the arm.

“thanks a lot, suguru. now you’ve gone and ruined my fun,” he grumbled, his expression clearly exaggerated.

but he couldn’t resist teasing you a bit more, his mischievous eyes locking with yours. “though i can think of a few other activities that might make you lose control like that,” he added with a sly wink.

you chuckled, your laughter finally calming as you shifted onto your side, turning to face gojo. the teasing glint in his eyes made you roll yours, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. you leaned in closer, brushing your nose lightly against his before closing the gap between you with a soft kiss.

“you’re such a pervert,” you mumbled against his lips, the words playful, even affectionate.

gojo grinned against your kiss, clearly pleased with himself. you pulled back just a little, resting your forehead against his. “and for the record, we just finished,” you added with a smirk, “so i’m not gonna do that again, no matter how much you try to make me. no more sex.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow in defeat. his hand slid down your back, moving to your hip and giving it a gentle squeeze. “aww, come onnnnn,” he whined, looking up at you with puppy-dog eyes, trying to look like the epitome of innocence (which he’s far from ever being).

geto chimed in, chuckling at gojo’s plight. “you can’t blame him for trying,” he said with a smirk, “he’s just not good at denying his needs.”

gojo shot geto a mock-glare. “hey, i can definitely deny my needs,” he protested, pouting a little. “i just don’t see why i have to when i’ve got such a beautiful, available girl right here.”

he shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him. his arm wrapped around your waist, his touch possessive and gentle at the same time. “you really gonna leave a poor guy hanging?” he teased, batting his eyelashes at you.

you groaned, rolling your eyes at gojo’s dramatic display, his puppy-dog eyes doing nothing to sway you this time. “god, you’re such an animal,” you muttered, turning onto your back and pulling the sheet up to cover your naked body, playfully keeping yourself out of his reach.

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh and dramatically draped his arm over his eyes, as if he was about to lose his mind. “you’re killing me here, dollface. i’ll die without it, i swear.”

as you covered yourself up, blocking his access to your body, he pouted again, trying to look pitiful, but the effect was ruined by the amused twinkle in his eyes.

he shifted, his hand reaching out to gently tug at the edge of the sheet, attempting to pull it off you again. “come on, dollface, don’t be like that,” he whined, feigning a wounded expression. geto was watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and fond annoyance. “oh, you’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes at his dramatic friend. “just give it a rest for five minutes, will you?”

gojo huffed, pouting dramatically and throwing geto a glare. “way to stick up for me,” he grumbled, his eyes shifting back to you, his expression now a playful mix of pleading and mock-desperation.

he reached out again, his hand running along your bare hip, fingers tracing gentle circles. “come on, dollface, pleeeasse? don’t be mean to me like this,” he pleaded, his voice thick with fake-anguish. geto let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re pathetic,” he sighed fondly.

you sighed, slapping gojo’s hand lightly as it continued its slow, teasing circles on your hip. “i’m tired,” you said firmly, though your voice held a teasing edge. “you couldn’t stop last time, and i really don’t want to break my bed.”

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh, his hand stilling on your hip. he knew when he was beat, but that didn’t stop him from trying one last plea. “but dollface, i promise i’ll be gentle this time,” he pleaded, his eyes widening in mock-innocence. “i’ll be as quiet as a mouse, i swear.”

geto snorted, covering his mouth to hide his laughter. he knew gojo was just playing it up, but it was hard not to find the entire scene amusing.

you glanced at gojo sideways, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. he looked so ridiculous with his wide, pleading eyes, trying his best to look innocent when you knew better. shaking your head, you let out a soft chuckle.

“you’re so stupid,” you teased, still laughing as you playfully pushed him away.

gojo made yet another melodramatic face, pretending to be heartbroken by your rejection. “aw, come on, dollface,” he whined, his bottom lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “don’t be like that. i’m practically a saint. i can be on my best behavior.”

geto shook his head, his face full of amusement. “yeah, and i’m the pope,” he added, skepticism dripping from his tone.

you turned your head to look at geto, the sound of his teasing remark sending you into a fit of laughter. it was too easy to get caught up in the playful banter, and the contrast between gojo’s melodrama and geto’s dry humor made it even more enjoyable.

“god, he’s so needy,” you muttered, shaking your head as you pressed your forehead against geto’s bare arm, relishing the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

gojo let out a huff, feigning offense at your words. “I’m not needy!” he protested, his voice brimming with faux-indignance. “I’m just very… passionate, that’s all.”

geto rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. “yeah, passionate about getting between her legs,” he quipped wryly, earning a glare from gojo.

gojo crossed his arms, still playing the part of the offended party. “i’m wounded, truly,” he said, shaking his head dramatically. “i can’t believe you both would team up against me like this.”

he glanced over at you, his eyes softening a fraction. “especially you, dollface,” he added, his voice going slightly softer. “after all we just did, you still won’t give me any love?” geto chuckled again, clearly enjoying this little game. “maybe if you weren’t so damn horny all the time, she might be more interested,” he teased.

gojo shot a mock-glare at geto, feigning offense at his words. “hey, I have needs,” he protested weakly, trying to sound indignant but only coming across as even more needy.

geto just rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah, like i said, you think with your dick,” he quipped back, not missing a beat. you couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, your heart swelling with affection for them both, each in their own unique ways.

gojo muttered a sarcastic “thanks a lot” to geto under his breath, but his annoyance was only half-hearted.

he turned back to you, his eyes searching your face. “come on, dollface,” he pleaded, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “just for a little while? i promise i’ll make you feel good.” geto chuckled, enjoying the banter but knowing this was always how it ended. he leaned back against the headboard, waiting to see how this scene would play out.

you shook your head, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you said, “no way,” your tone light but firm. then, feeling playful, you shifted slightly over gojo’s bare body, enjoying the way he squirmed beneath you.

with a determined focus, you reached over to your nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a joint. holding it up and wiggling it in front of his face, you grinned at his wide eyes, clearly intrigued. “how about this instead?” you suggested, your voice playful, knowing just how much he loved to unwind this way.

gojo’s expression changed from disappointment to excitement in an instant, the allure of the joint capturing his attention. “now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed, his earlier dramatics forgotten as he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

gojo’s eyes widened with excitement at the sight of the joint. he practically drooled like a dog seeing a bone.

geto chuckled from the side, shaking his head at his friend’s quick change of heart. “jeez, all it takes is a joint and you’re completely smitten?” he teased, a smirk on his face.

gojo shot him a glare, not even trying to deny the accusation. “hell yeah i am,” he replied, his voice thick with anticipation. “can’t blame a guy for appreciating the finer things in life.”

you leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket to cover your body snugly under your arms. the warmth of the fabric contrasted with the cool air of the room, making you feel cozy and safe.

as you settled in, you couldn’t help but chuckle at gojo’s antics. he turned around to lay on his stomach, his bare rear on full display, completely unbothered by his lack of clothing. it was an amusing sight, and you couldn’t resist teasing him a little, “nice, baby.”

he shot you a cheeky grin as he reached for the lighter on your nightstand, his excitement palpable. “what can i say? i like to keep things casual,” he replied, igniting the joint and taking a deep breath, the smoke curling up around him in lazy spirals.

geto chuckled at the sight of gojo’s unabashed lack of shame, his rear end just hanging out for the world to see. he shook his head, but a small smile played at the corners of his lips. he knew his friend was completely comfortable in his own skin, regardless of the situation.

geto reached over and snuggled closer to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist as he is watching gojo's casual display with a smirk. “you're such a shameless exhibitionist,” he teased, his voice tinged with amusement, shaking his head at his friend's lack of self-consciousness.

gojo, still laying on his stomach, shot geto a cheeky grin as he took a deep inhale from the joint. he exhaled, the smoke curling up around his head like a wispy halo.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of gojo’s bare ass, your boyfriend completely unbothered by his state of undressing. “i don't mind tho, it's a good view from here,” you murmur, a small smirk tugging at the edge of your lips.

gojo turns to give you a cheeky grin, clearly pleased with the attention. he wiggles his rear a little, earning a snicker from geto. “see? like what you see?” he coos, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

geto rolls his eyes at gojo’s antics, but there’s a hint of amusement in his expression. “you’re such a narcissist,” he teases, “always so full of yourself.”

gojo pouts a little, feigning offense at geto’s comment. “hey, it’s not narcissistic if it’s the truth,” he protests, taking another hit from the joint and letting out a long, lazy exhale. he looks back at you with a sly grin, his eyes filled with a mix of cockiness and playfulness. “right, dollface? you think i’m the hottest guy around?” he asks, clearly fishing for validation.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at gojo’s antics, but his confidence was infectious. “oh, definitely,” you said, leaning down closer to him. as your lips brushed against his, you felt the mix of smoke and sweetness from the joint linger between you. it was a strange combination, but somehow, it felt right.

gojo’s eyes flutter shut as your lips move to meet his, a contented hum escaping his throat. the combined taste of the smoke and your sweetness is indeed a peculiar but strangely pleasant one. he responds to the kiss with a lazy, languid rhythm, clearly stoned and enjoying the sensation.

geto watches the display with an air of amused affection, his hand idly tracing small circles on your hip under the covers. it’s all so damn domestic and strangely... cozy.

gojo pulls back from the kiss, his eyes half-lidded and a lazy, lopsided smile on his face. “see?” he says, his voice slightly slurred, “a man who has nothing to hide has nothing to be ashamed of,” he said with a smirk, his voice slightly roughened by the smoke. “and i definitely have no shame when it comes to enjoying a good smoke.”

he gestured with the joint towards you, offering it. “want a hit, dollface?” he asked, his tone laced with casual nonchalance.

you took the joint from gojo, smirking as you brought it to your lips and inhaled, letting the smoke fill your lungs for a moment before releasing it in a slow exhale. the warmth spread through you, a nice contrast to the playful atmosphere in the room. “not bad,” you said, handing it over to geto, who took it with a knowing smile.

gojo watched you take the hit, a satisfied smirk on his face. he was always a little amused by how you looked when you smoked; there was something about the way your eyes half-lidded and a lazy smile crossed your face that he found strangely endearing.

geto chuckled as you handed him the joint, his fingers wrapping around the familiar shape of it. the sight of the three of you sharing smoke in the intimate space was weirdly soothing, like a comfortable routine that never gets old.

geto took a deep pull, his eyes shifting to you and gojo with a contented look on his face. he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling, the smoke curling up around him like a lazy serpent, accompanied by a low, satisfied hum. “ah, nothing like a good smoke in good company,” he remarked, passing it back to gojo.

gojo took a deep hit from the joint, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling, the haze swirling around him as he turned to look at you.

his expression shifted to one of playful seriousness as he said, “baby, don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but those scars on your back? they make you look so fucking hot.” he chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i swear, i’ll get a nosebleed every time i see it, especially when i fuck you from behind.”

a small shiver ran down your spine at his unexpected words, your cheeks flushing slightly at the bluntness of his comment.

geto chuckled from his position next to you, clearly unsurprised by gojo’s lack of tact. “way to be subtle,” he quipped with a shake of his head, his tone filled with fond sarcasm. gojo just smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction he got out of you. his eyes roamed over your body, as if to emphasize his earlier point.

he took another hit from the joint before passing it back to geto, his gaze still trained on you. “i’m just saying,” he said lazily, his voice low and slightly raspy, “seriously baby, you have no idea how goddamn hot you look with those scars,” he continued, his voice dropping a little lower as his gaze continued to roam over you. “it’s like... a visual reminder of your strength and resilience, y’know? plus, it’s pretty damn attractive when a girl has battle scars.” he paused, taking a moment to admire your figure under the thin sheet.

“and i can’t get enough of it,” he added, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of admiration and lust.

your heart raced a little at gojo’s words, warmth flooding through you as you felt a newfound sense of confidence blossoming within. you shifted slightly under the sheets, your cheeks tinted with a rosy hue as you caught his gaze, those bright eyes filled with sincerity.

“do you really think so?” you asked, your voice soft yet curious, a hint of vulnerability lacing your words. the way he spoke about your scars made you feel like they were more than just marks of your past; they were a testament to your strength, something you could wear with pride.

gojo’s expression softened as he caught the hint of vulnerability in your voice. he moved closer to you, his body mere inches away, and reached out to gently brush your hair away from your face with his free hand.

“oh definitely, dollface,” he said, his voice slightly rougher as he spoke, “it’s like... there’s no part of you that isn’t beautiful to me.” he took a moment to look you in the eyes, a sincere gaze in his own, and then his gaze roamed over your exposed body once more. “every part of you is perfect.”

“and those scars?” he added, his voice taking on a slightly more husky quality. “they’re just a reminder of what you’ve been through and what you’ve survived.”

he reached out to gently trace a finger over one of the scars on your back, his touch so light it sent a shiver through you. “they’re damn sexy,” he murmured, his words soft but filled with a hunger that bordered on primal.

geto watched the intimate exchange between you two with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying the rare moment of sincerity from his friend. but he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little as gojo shamelessly ogled your body once more. “god, you’re so damn obvious,” he teased, shaking his head at gojo’s blatant perusal.

gojo chuckled, not even bothering to deny it. “what can i say?” he replied, “i’m a visual learner when it comes to appreciating beauty.”

you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at both of their reactions, feeling a sense of comfort in the familiarity of their banter. gojo just gave a cheeky grin in reply, obviously unashamed of his blatant ogling. he took another hit from the joint before leaning slightly closer to you, his breath warm against your ear. “can you blame me, dollface? you’re like a goddamn work of art. i can’t help but want to look my fill.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle once again at gojo's unapologetic response. he had a way of making even the cheesiest lines sound charming, and his unabashed admiration for your body was both endearing and a little overwhelming.

“look at you, aren’t you just shameless,” you tease, fingers tracing his jaw but your eyes color with tenderness as you look down at you boyfriend.

geto just shook his head again, a smirk on his lips. “you're unbelievable,” he muttered, his tone filled with a mix of fondness and mild exasperation. “i swear, you never even try to hide how thirsty you are.”

gojo chuckled, the sound low and slightly raspy as he leaned into your touch. he had no regrets about his shamelessness, and he thoroughly enjoyed the way you reacted to his words. he let out a soft scoff at geto’s remark, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “oh, don’t act like you’re any better,” he replied, his voice low and slightly challenging, as he looked over at the other man. “like you’re not just as thirsty for her.”

geto watched you take the joint from gojo, his gaze softening as the smoke curled from your lips. he took a slow breath before speaking, his voice calm but filled with a certain tenderness. “yeah, you’re right,” he said to gojo, locking eyes with you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “your scars… they do make you more beautiful. more real, more... you.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on his knee as he continued, his tone growing more earnest. “i’m proud of you, you know? not just for surviving all the shit you've been through, but for the strength you show every day.” his eyes flickered with admiration as he glanced at your body beneath the thin sheet, not with lust but with genuine respect. “there aren’t a lot of people who could carry the kind of burdens you’ve had to bear, especially alone. but you did. and you came out of it even stronger.”

his words hung in the air, and the room felt warm, not just from the shared smoke but from the weight of his sincerity. “i admire that about you,” he added softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “you’ve never let any of it break you. that’s something not many can say.”

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he'd never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man's words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he’d never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man’s words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

your heart stirred at his words, a strange mix of emotions welling up inside you. you weren't used to this kind of sincerity, especially not when it came to your scars. you were used to people shying away from them, treating them like something shameful or ugly. but here, in this moment, geto was looking at them as if they were something beautiful. something worthy of admiration.

you found yourself searching for words, your mind momentarily muddled by the combination of the weed, the emotional weight of his words, and the gentle affection in his gaze.

you chuckled softly, shaking your head as you tried to deflect the weight of the moment with a lighthearted tease. “look at you two, getting all sentimental on me,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “are you sure you’re not just a couple of saps?”

gojo and geto exchanged amused glances, both of them chuckling softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. they could see through your playful facade, recognizing the vulnerability hidden beneath your teasing exterior. but they didn’t call you out on it, knowing that you needed your time to fully embrace those feelings.

geto let out a soft chuckle at your attempted jest, seeing right through the thin veil of humor. he knew you well enough by now to realize that this kind of sincere admiration and openness was a rarity in your life.

he reached out to take the joint from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment, and took a deep, slow pull, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. it was just to give himself a reason to look away from your face, which was a mixture of vulnerability and resilience that made his heart ache.

“you can call us saps all you want, dollface,” gojo said with a smirk, his eyes roaming over your body once more. “but you can’t change the fact that we’re both completely smitten with you.”

he leaned in a little closer, his expression a mix of sincerity and hunger. “we’ve told you before, and we’ll keep telling you until you believe it: you’re perfect just the way you are. scars and all.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, your gaze lingering on his bare form as you felt a playful spark ignite within you. “well, you’re perfect too, especially with that little display you’ve got going on right now,” you teased, your eyes flicking down to his bare rear, fully on display as he continues to laid on his stomach.

gojo let out a laugh at your comment, his eyes sparkling with amusement. he twisted slightly to look down at himself, giving you an even better view, and wiggled his rear a little. “what can i say?” he said with a cheeky shrug. “gotta show off my assets, don’t i?”

geto chuckled as well, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at gojo's antics. but he couldn't deny that he was enjoying the sight just as much as you. gojo was an attractive man, after all, and he knew it. “can’t even keep your dignity around your own girlfriend,” he said with a smirk.

he took another slow pull from the joint, his eyes fixed on the way your gaze roamed over his friend's body. he could see the hint of hunger in your eyes, the way your tongue wet your lips slightly without you even realizing it.

gojo chuckled again at geto's remark, his eyes flickering to you for a moment. he could see the way your lips had parted slightly, the way your gaze darkened with desire. he knew that look well, and it made his heart race a little.

he rolled onto his back, sprawling out on the bed and stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn. it was a deliberate move to give you an even better view of his body, to tease and toy with your desire.

a wave of embarrassment washed over you, prompting a frustrated groan to escape your lips as you tightly shut your eyes. “oh god,” you whispered, burying your face into geto’s shoulder in an attempt to shield yourself from the sight of gojo sprawled out bare before you— fully showing his naked body and his dick.

geto let out a deep, warm chuckle, clearly entertained by how easily you were flustered. “you’re so easy to embarrass,” he teased, taking another drag from the joint before leaning towards the window to release the smoke into the open air. he rested his arm against the window frame, casually letting the smoke drift away from your room.

gojo chuckled at your reaction, enjoying the way you tried to hide your face from him. he loved how easily he could make you blush, how a simple gesture or a few well-chosen words could make your cheeks flush and your heartbeat quicken.

he smirked at geto's cheeky comment, rolling onto his side to face you both. he propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. “come on doll face, don’t act like you don’t love it.”

he glanced over at geto, who was exhaling the smoke out the window, then back at you. he couldn’t resist giving you another cheeky grin. “you’re acting like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

geto chuckled quietly at gojo’s words, the sound soft and amused. he knew just as well as gojo did how easily you could be flustered. but he also knew how much you craved the attention, how you loved the way they could both make your heart race and your cheeks flush.

he took another drag from the joint, inhaling deeply before releasing the smoke into the open air. his expression was casual, the epitome of cool, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes as he watched the interaction between you and gojo.

“you’re so damn shy,” he teased, shaking his head at your flustered expression. “it’s almost endearing how easily you get bashful.” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at geto’s teasing, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “i’m not shameless like you two,” you shot back, your tone light.

the teasing was a familiar back-and-forth, but it always managed to make your heart race a little faster. you appreciated their playful banter, even if it made you feel shy and bashful. the way they saw you, flaws and all, made it impossible to feel anything but grateful for their affection.

gojo chuckled at your retort, his smile widening. “hey now, there’s nothing wrong with being shameless. it’s a good quality to have,” he said, his tone laced with a hint of self-satisfaction.

he leaned over slightly to pinch your cheek playfully. “and you’re not exactly a blushing wallflower, doll face. don’t pretend you don’t like it when we pay attention to you.” geto smirked at the exchange, watching the way your skin pinked under their gazes.

“he’s got a point,” he chimed in, taking another pull from the joint. “you’re always getting all flustered.” he leaned back against the window frame, resting his forearm against the window sill. “it’s kind of cute.”

“you do love it when we give you attention,” he added, his voice low and filled with a knowing quality. “you can try to hide it all you want, but we both know how much you enjoy it when we look at you like this…”

as if to show exactly what he meant, his gaze travelled over your body once more, his eyes raking over your curves in an obvious, almost reverent way. “…like we can’t keep our hands off you, like we could devour you whole if we wanted…”

“like you’re the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen…” gojo continued, his eyes tracing the same path as geto’s. his gaze darkened, the pupils widening slightly as he took in your figure, exposed to their sight.

he reached out to run a finger along your collarbone to the faded scars on your shoulder, the touch light and teasing. “like we can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you except us…”

geto chuckled softly, watching the way gojo’s touch made you shiver slightly. he lifted the joint to his lips and took a long, slow pull, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it through his nostrils. he locked eyes with gojo, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “we’d do anything, i mean anything, to keep you all to ourselves.”

you leaned in closer, your fingers brushing against geto's wrist as you took a puff from his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin linger on your fingertips. after taking a long puff, you held the smoke in your lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly, the hazy cloud swirling between the three of you.

with a teasing smile, you turned your gaze back to geto, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “oh?” you asked, your voice is playful yet sincere. “are you both that desperate to keep me all to yourselves?” you could feel the tension in the air, a blend of teasing and genuine affection, and the way their eyes glimmered with mischief only added to the intoxicating atmosphere.

gojo chuckled in response, his voice a low rumble. “you damn right we are,” he said, his gaze flicking between you and geto, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “we’d do whatever it takes, dollface. you’re just too damn good to share.” geto let out a soft scoff, his lips curving into a smirk. “he’s not wrong,” he said, his voice quiet and confident. “we’d do anything to make sure you’re ours, doll.”

he took another drag from the joint before offering it to gojo. “we won’t apologize for being greedy,” he added, his eyes locked on your face.

he could see the way your cheeks pinked at his words, the way your breath hitched slightly, and it only increased his desire to have you all to themselves. “we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you right here, between us, where you belong.” his hand slides behind you, fingers dancing on your back around your scars. “so beautiful,” he murmur, leaning down to kiss your bare shoulder without breaking eye contact.

gojo took the joint from geto’s hand, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply, the smoke filling his lungs. he exhaled slowly, the haze swirling around the room, before handing it back to geto.

he watched as geto’s mouth touched your skin, the way his lips caressed your scars with reverence. it was both tender and possessive, a claim that you belonged to them, scars and all.gojo’s fingers tangled with yours, his hand gripping yours tight.

“damn right we’re greedy,” he echoed, his voice soft but firm. “and we aren’t gonna apologize for it. you’re ours, doll face. ours to touch, ours to kiss, ours to love. and we ain’t gonna let anyone else have you. ever. especially after we saw you how attractive you are with that scars— god, only thinking about it making me hard.”

geto nodded in agreement, his eyes still fixed on your face. he took another draw from the joint, his gaze flickering over to gojo and then back to you. “he’s not wrong,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “seeing you like this, scars and all, it’s making us crazy.”

his hand brushed over your bare skin, tracing the faded marks on your back. “you’re so damn beautiful like this, doll. so real and so…” he paused, searching for the right word. “vulnerable.”

you let out a soft hum of satisfaction, the warmth of their words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. feeling emboldened, you ran your fingers through gojo’s messy hair, enjoying the softness beneath your touch and the way he leaned into your hand, a contented smile spreading across his face.

“maybe breaking a bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” you teased, your voice laced with playful mischief. you glanced between the two of them, your heart swelling with affection. “after all, it seems like we’d all enjoy the chaos,” you added, your eyes sparkling with excitement and desire, knowing just how wild things could get between the three of you.

gojo chuckled, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. he loved the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, the way it made his skin tingle. “you always know how to push our buttons, dollface,” he said, a cheeky grin on his lips.

geto’s hand left your back to take another pull from the joint. he blew a stream of smoke into the air before handing it over to you. “you’re playing with fire, doll,” he warning, a hint of danger in his voice. “you know damn well how much we love your chaos.”

you let out a soft hum of agreement as you took the last hit from the joint, the smoke swirling around you, heightening the atmosphere in the room. with a flick of your wrist, you crushed the joint in the ashtray on your nightstand, feeling a rush of confidence.

turning your gaze back to gojo and geto, you smirked mischievously. “how about we close the window?” you suggested, your tone playful yet challenging. “let’s see just how well you two can break my bed.”

the excitement in your voice hung in the air, charged with the promise of the chaos that was about to unfold, and you could feel the tension shift as they exchanged glances, both of them clearly intrigued by the challenge you just laid out.

“oh, you’re playing dirty now,” gojo said with a smirk. he loved it when you got feisty and provocative. he sat up, stretching his arms out above his head and cracking his knuckles.

geto chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire as you issued your challenge. he returned the smirk, the same gleam of excitement in his eyes. he reached over to close the window with one swift motion, the air in the room suddenly feeling even more charged with tension. “you’ve got yourself a deal, doll,” he murmured. “let’s see how well we can live up to our reputation.”

they were on you in a heartbeat, their lips finding your skin and lips, claiming every inch of you. the tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire and anticipation.

they laid you down on the bed, their bodies pressing against yours from both sides, their hands roaming over your body with urgency. their touches were possessive, but also gentle, as they traced the scars on your skin with reverent touches.

“god, you’re so damn beautiful, dollface,” gojo murmured, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, his teeth grazing your flesh.

geto’s hand slipped down your body, his fingers tracing the outline of your figure. “sooooo goddamn perfect,” he agreed, his breath hot against your ear as his mouth moved to kiss your shoulder.

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