#I know the thing has been out for a while but still

[twicecorner]

Teacher's Assistant - Professor Im Nayeon

Twice Nayeon x Male Reader

3,422 words; smut

A/N: i’m back! long time no see lol life has been crazy but finally found a time to write. I had this in the drafts.. the long awaited next part of Teacher’s Assistant! hope u guys enjoy ;) lmk how you like it given that i haven’t written in a min LOL

*Ding ding ding* The alarm set on the stage buzzes as everyone's attention moves to it. Twelve-noon sharp. The assistants in the room spring to their feet and call out for the next group of participants. 

“Profesor Im Nayeon’s 12 o’clock please come forward!” One yells.

You hastily move from where you were and get through the small crowd to the assistant. You were quite literally shaking in your boots. You didn’t know what to wear, so you had on some business casual attire. Brown dress shoes, navy trousers, and a white button-up. You gulped down the last of your water from the small paper cup and crushed it before throwing it into the recycling bin on your way out.

“Please follow me.” The assistant said to you. It felt surreal, this didn’t have the same vibe as any other job or school interviews you’ve ever done before, you didn’t know what to expect. You didn’t even see the other students who were in the interviews before you left. The assistant walks you down the hallway and up the elevator to the 9th floor. You notice that in order to have access to that floor, a card key was used. He pressed his card against the reader and as it flashed green, he pressed the button. The button was even in the shape of a heart to emphasize that it was the Love Lab floor. 

He leads you through the floor, a pinkish-red hue of LED strips dimly lights the hallways. You see some questionable things in some of the lab windows and think to ask, but keep it to yourself as you can feel the tension rising. Finally, you get to her office. Plastered on the door in big letters it reads, “PROFESSOR IM NAYEON - Love Lab no. 1” The assistant knocks on the door and waits for a response. He tells you to wait outside before entering. He goes in and exchanges a few words with Prof. Im before returning to the hallway and letting you in. “Good luck. She’s a tough one” He whispers to you.

You walk in to see that the room is also dimly lit with similar led lights. Her office is tidy and she’s sitting behind her desk. There’s a couch and a few bookshelves lining the walls. “Take a seat.” She scans over the paper in front of her. “Participant 021. We don’t use names here quite yet during this phase in order to keep a sense of… anonymity if you will.” You nod in response as you take a seat on the couch. “Since I’m your first interview, I’ll explain to you how this all goes down. Prepare yourself. If at any point you would like to stop, say the word ‘candy’. This will be for you to use in all of the interviews. If you choose to stop, your application will be terminated immediately and you will still be sworn to secrecy no matter what. These interviews are much different than any other type out there. As you know, this is the Love Lab. Many different things consist within the word Love, these interviews, or tests will show if you are able to fulfill those things, those needs. Does that make sense?” She squints her eyes and lowers her glasses to her bridge while looking at you. You nod and you get the feeling you know what she means.

She continues, “Each professor is known for a different study on Love, meaning to say different tasks and such that you and the other participants will need to pass in order to work for us. I see you’ve signed your consent form and you have passed the needed medical, fitness, and mental wellness exams. Your application was one of the only standouts we saw this year. Congratulations. We have high hopes for you number 021.” You feel a great sense of relief and proudness as you look down and give yourself a small smile. “Right, let’s not waste any time. Let’s begin.” You nod once again and watch as she gets up from her seat. You notice her legs are a little shaky when she stands. You wonder what happened in this room before you got there. She slides a bookshelf to the side revealing a small hidden room. It’s lined floor-to-ceiling with red plush. In the middle is a single chair. Along the walls, there are shelves and hooks, something straight out of 50 Shades of Grey, toys, and accessories galore, things you didn’t know the use of. In the middle of the room was a red bed in the shape of a heart with the headboard lining the top curved parts of the heart. Damn, they really keep a grip on the whole love thing. You thought to yourself.

Prof. Im takes a seat on the edge of the bed. You walk in and some sort of spark of bravery overcomes you for a moment. “What would you like me to do, Professor Im?” You ask. 

“I want you to please me. Ruin me. Break me. You have 3 hours to do so. The last participant wasn’t so lucky, he barely made it through half of the time before I told him to get out of my sight. But you, I already like the look of you.” She scans you up and down before beginning to unbutton her shirt. 

“I can use anything in here?” You ask looking around the room, starting to walk along the walls and examine things more closely. 

“Yes, providing you know how to use it. I’m not asking you to kill me, I’m not an easy woman to please, you see. And I like things rough.” She winks and slightly nods towards the extensive wall of flogs, whips, paddles, and such. To be honest, you’ve only dabbled with BDSM mildly in your life, a few spanks here and there, maybe some tying up of the hands, but nothing like this. As your mind begins to drift into thinking of all of the possibilities, Prof. Im snaps you out of your haze. She stands up, now topless, and gestures for you to join her on the bed. You join her, sitting on the edge of the bed, and take your shirt off as well. She seems to admire you and your body for a moment before climbing on top of you.

She looks you in the eyes, hers are already filled with lust. Prof. Im crashes her lips onto yours. A steamy make-out session ensues, Quickly, your hands find themselves exploring her back and waist. Her hands knot up in your hair and you pull her harder against you, she gets the hint and starts grinding into you. It doesn’t take long for a large bulge to form in your pants. Your tongues fight for dominance and you moan at the skin-to-skin contact when your chests touch.

Remembering that this is still an interview and that you need to pass, you take your time, also noting the 3-hour time limit. You need to be able to keep the heat up for 3 hours, you can’t bore her or finish too soon. Somewhat meticulously, you plan out the next 3 hours, trying to focus on kissing her while noting your next moves. Your hands roam up and down her back before sliding your hand to the base of where her hairline meets the back of her neck, you yank her head back by her hair and move down to kiss and lick along the side of her neck. You earn a gasp and some light moans from Prof. Im. 

“Mmm yes… remember… no marks” she reminds you and you nibble and kiss her neck.

Feeling the pressure build in your crotch, you hook your hands around her ass and under her thighs and quickly lift her up before spinning and tossing her lightly onto the bed. She gasps at your strength and confidence. “Eager are we? Already starting off better than the last participant” Prof Im smirks and bites her finger. “Now what’re you going to do to me?”

You kneel on the bed in front of her and hastily take off your belt. A move you admit you’ve done before, you grab her hands as she sits up and use the belt as makeshift handcuffs. “I’ll use this for now. I don’t want to waste my time going to grab the cuffs” You say nodding towards a far wall. “Mmm I like this” She purrs. As you finish quickly tying her up you hold her two hands above her head while your other hand undoes the button and zipper of your trousers before pulling out your hard length.

“Oh fuck.. So big..” Prof Im moans seeing your hard cock in front of her face, she licks her lips.

“Take it.” You demand, holding your cock, you bring it to her mouth, still holding her hands above her head, you take them and hold them against your chest. She understands, clawing her fingers into your chest as her head moves to the tip of your length. She parts her lips and you push in fully. She said she likes it rough anyways. Her eyes widen in shock and you feel immense pleasure as her throat takes your length down its tight wet walls. After staying still for a moment, you start to pull out and begin thrusting in and out of her mouth. She moans as you fuck her mouth, spit starting to drip down the corners of her lips. You pull out your cock fully as she sticks her tongue out and circles your tip with it. “Good isn’t it?” You ask her.

“Mhm.. I’m excited for the next few hours number 021.” She looks up at you.

For the first hour the two of you fuck like animals, you indulge yourself first eating her out and tasting her sweet juices and fucking in 3 or 4 different positions on the bed. The first stage of your plan was going smoothly. You had yet to use the various toys on the wall, but you glance at the clock every now and then to gauge your time. You’d plan to use those during the last 2 hours. The second hour for rough playtime, then treating the last as the final push to edge both of you until max capacity. You wanted to drive her crazy. Now understanding how the rest of these trials were going to go, you had to work up your stamina. In 3 hours you could probably finish twice, but your goal was to make her finish as much as you could, at least once per hour.

As the first hour was nearing its end, you decided to grab a toy. As Prof. Im, now untied, hair disheveled and body sweaty, lays on the bed recovering from your fierce pounding you get up and look at the wall of dildos. You choose one similar to your size and walk back to her. “Finally.. As much as I loved your cock pounding me I was wondering when you’d start making use of the stuff in here.” She says breathing heavily. “Oh trust me, I’m just getting started.” you respond. 

You spread her legs and make your way between them. You bring the dildo to her mouth, “Suck it.” she does so making eye contact with you as she takes the toy down her throat before spitting on her hand and stroking the toy. You smile and take it down between her leg, moving it between her wet lower lips. She moans at the sight. You shove it into her and start pumping it before bringing your head down to eat her out at the same time. “Oh FUCK!” she moans, having 2 of the most pleasurable feelings at once. “Mmm fuck that feels so good” 

Almost on instinct, she grabs her legs and holds them up and apart for you, wanting more. You bring your other hand up and grab onto her chest, playing with her nipple and massaging her tit. You simultaneously bring her pleasure and she starts getting close to the edge. “D-don’t stop… fuck yes oh my god” she moans, her hips now shaking and moving on their own accord to get more. Your spit mixed with her own juices make the toy easy to fuck her with and your mouth moves furiously on her clit. You can feel her start to tighten and push the toy, signalling her orgasm. You ramp it up thrusting harder and faster, sucking more on her clit and clawing at her tits. “I-I’m gonna c-cum!!” She yells out. You take your mouth off her for a moment, “Cum for me Professor Im… Cum all over me” One of her hands goes to grip your hair and push you back to her clit and holds you there before she yells out and her body spasms, her hole pushes the toy out and you continue to lick and suck her pussy as her juices flow. 

You pull away once she releases your head. “How was that?” You ask smirking at your work, the sheets now even wetter, her chest heaving for air and your cock leaking precum. “Holy shit…” She says between breaths, “I might just already pass you.” You smile as you hear that. “We didn’t even get to use all these fun toys” You tease back, “And I haven’t even finished yet” You say looking down your cock, now pulsing with need to finish. “Usually I’m not this worn out so fast, but something about you…” She says looking at you up and down. “I’ll give you the next 30 minutes to make us both finish. If you do so, you pass.” she smirks.

“Challenge accepted.” You say catching your breath and wiping the sweat from your brow. “Have you done anal before Prof Im?” You ask shyly, not sure if it’s appropriate to ask. “Mmm.. once, but it took me a little bit to like it… I haven’t tried since… of course the last time I did it, he wasn’t as good as you.” You knew the sure fire way to make you both finish was her ass. The pristine tight starfish coupled with her dripping pussy.

You flip her onto her stomach and turn her around, so she’s facing the mirror on the opposite wall. You bring her up onto all fours before bending down to spread her cheeks and expose her tightest hole. You lick from her clit up to her starfish and dip your tongue in, she moans at the contact and she starts to loosen up. You dip from her ass into her pussy and back, stimulating both holes. You pull back and slide your index finger into her ass to allow her to adjust and she easily takes it in. You give her a few pumps before going back to licking and wetting it. You go back and forth like this for a few minutes until she's prepped. To get your length wet, you push it into her pussy and give her a few good strokes, she moans with every pass and clenches her walls onto it. “God, your cock feels so good in my pussy.” She moans. “Just wait until it fills your ass” You moan in return.

You do a few more thrusts into her pussy before your length is coated in her juices. You spit onto her tight hole one more time before you press your tip against it, “You ready? Let me know if you want me to stop” You tell her before you slowly ease your way in. “OH! Fuck oh my god yes.. Oh fuck its so full…” she moans out your length only half way in. You push more till your cock is sheathed in her ass, the whole process filled the room with a cacophony of her moans and yelps of pleasure at being completely filled. “It’s so fucking tight… it feels so good Professor Im” 

‘“Oh for fucks sake.. Fuck me already and call me Nayeon” she demands. Your face fills with shock at this. But you can’t process it till later, right now you have a job to do. You start to thrust into her ass slowly, feeling her walls squeeze against your length already bringing you closer to the edge. You hold back and start to thrust faster, gripping into her hips. “Fuck Nayeon your ass feels so fucking good…” You moan, thrusting harder and faster into her, your balls slapping against her still wet pussy. Suddenly an idea pops into your head. You reach for the dildo on the bed next to you, “Should we try something new Nayeon?” You ask. “Mmm shit I don’t care I just need you to fuck me” She desperately says looking back at you through the mirror. You pull out of her ass and take the toy and slip it into her pussy, you hold it there with your hand and push your cock back into her ass. “OH FUCK” She yells out, now feeling truly filled. The pressure from the toy makes her ass even tighter and you moan out too.

You resume fucking her ass, now your balls slapping the base of the toy allowing it to slip in and out of her pussy at the same pace as you. “Oh- oh my god fuck… oh shit” Nayeon’s a mess in ecstacy. She’s never felt so much pleasure and so full before. You slap her ass then grab onto the back of her head and bring it up to look at the two of you in the mirror. “Cum with me Nayeon. Squirt all over me while I cum in your ass” You growl. She watches as you fuck her harder, her pussy now even wetter and pulsing harder squeezes the toy out and you bring a hand down to furiously rub at her clit. She squeezes her ass even harder on your cock. “I-I’m gonna cum Nayeon.. Fuck I’m gonna fill your ass…” You moan loudly, fucking her even harder and faster, your length moving in and out of her gripping hole. 

“I-im cumming again!!” Nayeon moans, she falls forward as her body convulses in orgasmic pleasure and she squirts all over your balls and thighs, as her body tightens like an anaconda around your length until you reach your limit. You explode ropes of hot semen into her deepest parts, you grunt as you shallowly thrust into her, painting her walls. You both come down from your extreme orgasms and you pull out, you watch as she pushes your cum from her ass, you bring a finger to it and run it from her ass to her pussy, smearing your cum all over holes and clit.

“Oh my god..” Nayeon collapses onto the bed and you lay down next to her, your warm sweaty bodies tangled together. “You… pass” She says before her eyes close. You hold her in your arms as you too feel your eyes get heavier. You wake up to a jolt a bit later to Nayeon stirring awake, “Good morning” You say jokingly. “Mmm I haven’t passed out like that from a session in a long time” She says. “I think you’ll do just fine throughout these trials. I’ll be sure to let the other professors know.”

“Thank you.” you say getting up and grabbing a bottle of water while starting to get dressed. “So what next?” You ask as she does the same. “I see you have Professor Minatozaki next… You’ll have the session with her at 7pm so you have some time to clean up and rest before that. I suggest you rest up for her, I don’t think she’ll let up as easy as I did for you. Come back around 6:45 to check in. If you get past her, you’ll have Professor Myoi tomorrow and Professor Park the day after. Good luck number 021. I sure hope you make it through. I would like to see you again” Nayeon smirks before she pulls you in for another kiss and grabs at your now clothed crotch.

You exit the room and an assistant brings you out, handing you a reminder slip to come back at 6:45 and stamps your card “passed” next to Professor Im’s name. Now that you know what these trials are, you head back to your room to freshen up and get ready for Professor Minatozaki Sana.

[madamechrissy]

Took you Like a Shot

art in the banner by Yuana on X

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- MDNI -Emotional in places, hilarious in others, LOTS of feelings, the baby is heeeree- pregnant sex, teasing, kissing, fingering, Satoru being soft for reader- former rivals to lovers, weed smoking, mentions of labor, prepare to laugh your ass off but also cry bc it's so sweet- WC- 8.2k -

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3 (extras here and here)

<<<Chapter Three - Masterlist - Playlist- Chapter Five ( final) (soon)>>>

Chapter Four

“Get out of here with it, she’s gonna be here soon!” Satoru’s shoving Sukuna and Suguru, who are high as fuck after building the baby’s crib, changing table, and setting everything up for the baby.

In exchange, he promised the finest purple haze - but that doesn’t mean they needed to smoke it now, he panics as he sees the time on his watch, cursing. Suguru is chuckling and Sukuna’s snorting in laughter, their eyes blitzed out and bright red while they stare at a panicking Satoru.

“Bro, chill, it’s like fine, or whatever…” Suguru says, and he then hears the doorbell, cursing.

“She’ll kick my ass because of you shitheads!” He’s running to grab air freshener as you wait patiently, spraying his friends who start sputtering now, Gojo’s blue eyes all lit up.

“What the fuck, man!” Sukuna’s coughing, inhaling the pumpkin spice whatever Satoru snatched up, since he remembered you liked that shit. He ordered candles and all sorts of things so you’d enjoy it here, and now it smelled like skunk weed.

“Let me open the door, I wanna see our girl!” Suguru says, and Satoru’s jaw locks as he shoves his friend again.

“Our girl!?”

“It’s our baby too, man.” Sukuna agrees, as the two of them go to the door, but Satoru runs and beats them, opening it to see your pretty face, an overnight bag slung on your shoulder, wearing the prettiest pink dress.

“Hey, sweets, um…” You’re glaring at the two men still coughing, as plumes of smoke pour out of the door. 

“You two, out.” They pout as you walk in, Suguru touches your tummy and you smack at his hand. “Ah, ah.”

“You’re gonna be a mean mom, let us touch your tummy, that's our godchild!”

“It is so not your godchild, cheech and chong go on.” You smack Sukuna’s big ass hand away too, and Satoru can’t hold back his laughter, as his friends stare over at him now.

“You’ll let her treat us this way!?” Sukuna pouts, Satoru just shrugs. “Whipped.”

“So whipped.” Suguru agrees, Satoru glares at them as you take the two men by their ears, like an angry little thing dragging huge men out like it’s nothing, it’s probably the funniest thing he’s seen.

“No smoking in the house, we’re having a baby soon. Do it at home.” You finally get the two friends shoved out of Satoru’s penthouse, locking the door as Satoru walks up to you now, one hand over yours against the door, the other wrapping to hold you, pressing your back against him.

“Damn, mommy, look at you beating up men over six foot.” You giggle then, you can’t help it, looking up at him and turning your head, seeing his clear, blue eyes.

“You’re not high?” You ask softly, he shakes his head then, pressing little kisses to your hairline.

“I promised them primo weed to help me with the baby stuff, but they decided to smoke up when I told them to wait. But they really did help set it up…”

“I still don’t feel bad.” He laughs again as you turn, lifting your chin up to look at him while he leans down cupping your face.

“I thought it was hot.”

“Did you now?”

“Mmhmm.” He exhales, kissing you softly, lips pressing against yours hungrily, your arms slip up his chest now, wrapping his neck. “Beat them up all the time.”

“You’re such a freak I swear.” He chuckles again, picking you up for a moment, hugging you as your legs dangle, and it feels far, far too good. “I missed you a bit.”

“It was two days?”

“Shut up.” He sighs, feeling your bump against him, when the baby kicks hard, and you wince. “She’s mad at you.”

“Is she now?” He eases you down, getting on a knee and slipping your top up, pressing a kiss on your belly button, your hand runs through his silky hair as you gulp down far too many emotions.

You’ve fallen so deeply.

You wonder if this has always been there, all these years it’s been lingering in the fucking air - the longing for him, physically of course, sometimes you longed to just beat Satoru at everything. Sometimes you longed to beat him. But you always wanted his presence, annoying or not, and now as he looks up on one knee, smiling at you so sweet, you can hardly speak.

“You okay? They piss you off that much?” He teases softly, holding you by your hips, kissing your tummy lower, you tremble from your emotions, your desire.

“No, it’s… I told you I missed you, okay?” You glare again, he chuckles, continuing his kisses.

“You’re such a tsundere.”

“A what now!?”

“All angry outside but you’re sweet inside.” He puts his hand on your tummy as you lean against the door, the soft lights casting shadows from his long lashes as he feels for her kick once more.

“I’m moody and miserable, I know. But I do feel good today, the nausea seems to have finally gone away.”

“Good, I bought so many hot cheetos.”

“Yay!” He feels it then, the little kick, and he smiles, he looks so fucking adorable then you’re two steps from saying it, heart pounding.

“I love you already.” He whispers to your tummy, as she kicks his hand again, and tears start falling, dripping down onto his head, which make him look up at you, immediately standing, cupping your face. “What’s wrong!? Is she hurting you?”

“No, no not at all I…” You’re a mess, fuck you’re always a mess lately, sniffling as the moment hits you.

“What is it? Hormones?” He’s cupping your face, swiping at your tears. “Does it still smell like weed - I’ll kill them I swear. I got all that pumpkin spice stuff for-”

You cut him off with another kiss, and he tastes the salt of your tears, standing there for a moment in confusion when you pull back, sighing now. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“What!?” He’s wide eyed, brows together, lips parted.

“Blame the hormones if you want. You don’t have to say it back. But I can’t hold it in, I feel like I’m falling apart and you’re holding it together.” You kiss him again, desperately as he feels like he is high, off the highest grade purp he could actually imagine, in what world did you say it to him?

In what world does he deserve a love confession from you?

“Have you whacked your head? Baby kick you too much?” He’s teasing, but his heart is hammering, while you’re shoving him on the couch, and he moans as you straddle him, his hands slipping up your thighs. “Are these the third trimester sweet hormones coming?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He’s dreaming.

There’s no way this is happening.

Like some high school boy he’s shaking, desperately kissing you deeper, breaths mingling when your heat presses on him. “Don’t even wanna see the room, just need dick, sorority brat.”

“Maybe I don’t love you. Maybe it’s the dick.” He glares right up at you now, cutting your giggle off when slips his fingers under your dress, finding your soaking wet cunt as you lean forward, whining.

“You’re a mean little thing, you know that? Taking back a hormone filled love confession?” He whispers, only earning your little whine as your head falls to the side, and he kisses across your neck, cunt gushing already. “Your water break?”

“Fuck you, I take the love confession back - mnh!” Satoru moans again, flipping you on your back, fingers angled deeper inside your snug, slick walls, glaring harder at your pretty face.

“No take backs.” You try to scowl but fail as he scissors his fingers in and out of you, squelching wetness filling and echoing his lush living room, your hips arch up for more, so sensitive you can’t stand it.

“Why, you w-want it? Hormone confessions -ah!” You’re blinded when he hits some spot so deep, thumb pressing your clit as he watches you, hungrily, panties shoved over to one side.

“Want you to cry it out as I cum inside you.” You shake your head, he pulls out his fingers, sucking them and moaning. “You keep tasting sweeter.”

“Fuck…” You’re yanking him down, tasting your sweet arousal off his lips, tongues hungry and messy, your hands slipping down eager to unbuckle his belt with a rushed click, head fuzzy with need, heart racing with spilled words, as more threaten to pour from your mouth. “Please.”

“You’re so needy, I like you this way.” Satoru whines out as you grab him, stroking him eagerly, he leans back so as not to put pressure on your tummy, yanking you over so he can lift up your hips, before grabbing a pillow off his pretty gray couch, hoisting you over it.

“Oh! What’s…” He’s slipping his tip between your folds, moaning as he gets on his knees now, you’re at the perfect angle.

“Back support, it’s important for you right now.” You blink back your emotions once more, to be this horny and on the brink of tears was too much to handle. He rests one hand on the back of the couch, while you hold onto his soft sweater, gripping it tightly when he presses in ever so slowly.

“You’re gonna make me say it more, you ass.” You sniffle, he sighs now, cupping your face as he slides his cock inside you, at the angle it’s so intense you can’t stop your hoarse screams, while he shoves your dress higher, eyeing your tummy and moaning, brushing his hands across it.

“Fuck you’reso  pretty like this,” his hushed whisper is met with a full thrust, cock penetrating those slick walls that grip him so tightly, Satoru’s own eyes roll back for a moment, already sensitive. “Wanna fuck you every day, not once in a blue fucking moon, I can’t take it.”

“Y-you do?” Your surprised question is met with a sharper thrust, and a moan, while he starts pumping deep inside your cunt, leaned back, dragging your full breasts up out of your dress now. You gasp as he touches those sensitive nipples that perk up just for him, thighs quivering, head sinking back into the softness of the couch.

“Are you kidding? Want you to fucking stay here.” You don’t know how to speak, not when he’s leaned down, kissing you, so careful around your tummy, slow, long thrusts, as you soak him completely, eager cunt sucking him in. His lips hover above yours as he holds himself up, noses brushing. His blue eyes drink you in, and you fall into them more and more as you gaze up.

“How long?” Your whisper is soft, broken from your cry, as you cup his face.

“As long as you want, baby girl, fuck I’d love you bitching at me every single day,” he’s pushed in to the hilt, tip drooling on your cervix, as you’re closer and closer to falling off the edge. “Don’t want you to ever go home.”

“Fuck…” You drag him down to kiss you, while you shatter around him, cumming so hard you can’t even see, Satoru eyes you hungrily, pulling back and brushing your damp strands of hair. “Satoru…”

“Say it again.” You glare even as aftershocks hit you, while he reaches down, sliding his hot palm across your curves. “Say it, sorority brat.”

“Fuck you frat boy,” he slams his cock harder, your eyes roll back as your hips buck, just a twinge of pain as the baby reacts by kicking your ribs, but he’s got you right there again. “W-why do you want to hear it!?”

“Such a brat even filled with this huge cock, hmm? Say it.” Satoru’s rolling his hips again, stabbing thrust once more so hard you’re about to cum, but he doesn’t let you, just sitting there, raising a brow. “Say it.”

“Why!? F-fucking just fuck me, ngh! Satoru.” He lets you wiggle, moaning as he holds you still by your thighs, cock twitching as he tries to keep it together, putting a smirk on his face like he’s not madly fucking in love too.

“Stroke my ego, while your pussy strokes this cock, don’t you need it baby?” He practically cooes those words, while you shake your head, he sighs then, pulling his cock out, leaving you to whine. “Need something?”

“You’re such an ass. Hormone confessing rescinded.”

“Mmmkay, orgasm rescinded.” You huff a lock of hair that falls in front of your face, and then push him down on his back, making his lips part as you straddle him, grinding your slick heat and making him groan.

“Two can play this game, been playing it a while with you, Satoru Gojo. Oh, are you sensitive here?” You blink your lashes, feigning innocence, Satoru groans, gripping your ass and grinding up on you, so wet you can hear it, the slick of you rolling up and down his length.

“You never won anything, I am the one that always won.” Your scowl deepens, just making him leak more precum, loving being under you, watching your head fall back when his tip bumps your engorged clit, making you gasp, before you shake yourself out of it.

“You didn’t a-always win, half the time at best.” You brace your hands on his chest, breasts spilling out of your dress. “It was hormones.”

“Nah, your hormones are bitchy, that was all you.” He gently lifts you up, sinking you back down on his cock, lashes fluttering when you’re sinking all the way down, biting your trembling lip, gripping him tighter. “Fuck you gotta feel better every time, don’t you?”

“Lemme cum, jerk- mnh!” You’re rolling your hips again, and he sighs then, knowing your stubborn ass wouldn’t say it again.

But he wants it, he needs it.

He needs to say it back, but he’s terrified to do it, to be so vulnerable, and he knows you’re scared too - but you’re braver than him. You always have been.

“Say please, like a good girl.” His taunt makes you want to keep arguing, to keep the back and forth that has always entranced you if you admit it, but instead you sigh, lifting your dress and leaning back, showing him a perfect view of your lower tummy and cunt sucking him in as you move, his hoarse voice whispering your name ruins the fight inside you.

“Please, Toru. Lemme cum.” Satoru exhales, finding your clit and pressing in little circles, his other hand pinning your hips, grinding against your cervix, feeling you spasm, gushing all down him in a mess of clear milky arousal, forming a ring right on his base. “There, please!”

“I know what you need, sweetheart, don’t I?” You just nod weakly, as he fucks inside you, swearing you feel better and better the further along you are, impossibly wetter, more sensitive, gripping him so good he has to try to hold back the cum that’s about pour in your pretty pussy. “Ask so p-pretty again.”

“Please, please make me cum, Toru, please- mnh!” He rolls his thumb just so, feeling your clit twitching against his thumb now, looking up under long lashes at the beautiful girl riding him.

His girl.

With his baby inside her.

He can’t hold back when you cum, falling apart under you, sitting up to kiss your lips, while you drink each other’s cries, your hands gripping in his hair when you just roll your hips, pressing more and more of his tip on your cervix while it keeps pumping. So much, too, Satoru’s pulling you against him, sighing into every kiss, turning his head to get the perfect angle.

“Mmm, l-love you, love you - ah shit.” You pause now, cursing and scowling again, he grins deviously, cupping your cheek while he inhales your sweet scent, feeling those aftershocks pulsing on him, milking more and more cum spurting deep.

“Hah, knew I’d g-get it out of you. Can’t help yourself. Hormones?”

“Just hormones.” You pout now, looking away, wincing when you get another sharp kick.

“Baby knows mama’s lying.”

“Uh huh! Now… give me a tour, Richy Rich.” He chuckles, shaking his head, brushing back that lock of hair that keeps falling over your brow.

“Ah I see, you got your dick, now you’re ready?”

“Ugh! I wanna smack you.”

“Mmm, please Mommy?” You roll your eyes, giggling without thinking, the flush on your cheeks, the thin sheen of sweat just making you achingly prettier.

“You would like it. Freaky ass.”

“Says you, maybe I wanted to give you a tour!? You kicked my friends out and pounced on my dick.”

“Psh.” He’s easing you off his lap so gently, despite his teasing words, making sure you’re okay.

Soon he is cleaning you up a bit now carefully in his bathroom, the first stop on the tour of his elegant home, so gorgeous and spotless it did not scream bachelor pad. You pause when you see skincare in a pretty gold box, fingers brushing on it, blinking a bit as you recognize the brand.

“Is this for me?”

“No way, all me.” He winks at you in the mirror. “Of course it’s for you, I’d like you comfortable for as long as you wanna stay. It’s some fancy Korean stuff.”

“It’s very fancy, thank you. And… a toothbrush?”

“Mmhmm. Body wash, shampoo, conditioner, razors… got you anything you need. And some clothes if that’s okay.” You flush at the excessive sweetness, looking down now.

“You don’t have to do all that. It’s one thing for the baby, but me?”

“You’re her mom, and my… my girl.” His declaration is soft, unlike him and his teasing, your eyes meet his, when he tilts your chin to him, back pressed against his hard chest. Your breath catches at the sight of him, that red streaked across his high cheekbones. “You are, right?”

“Your girl?” He nods then, a bit nervous - you never thought you’d see Satoru Gojo nervous, but here he was, being as open as you were. “You want me to be?”

“Yes. I want a lot of things, sweetheart.” He sighs now, kissing you while gently holding under your chin, lips plush against yours, swollen from his kisses, perfection in his quiet bathroom.

You feel his heartbeat against your palm when you turn, touching his chest, feeling it grow quicker as you stand there, eyes locking. “I already am.”

“We’re not making the tour if I fuck you again on this sink.” You back away before he can do more, earning his soft sigh, his cock ready to be inside you again.

“No, I really wanna see her room, please?”

“Come on then.” Satoru leads you down a hall, hand in yours, opening a beautiful room with a floor to ceiling window. The view is so pretty, as the sun illuminates every corner of the room, the lush white carpet and cream walls. It’s bright, airy and so beautiful, everything so perfect you can vividly picture your little girl right there.

“You did all this!?” You’re in awe as you walk into the nursery, seeing the beautiful white rustic furniture, a beautiful crib still bare, changing table, a beautiful rocking chair and a pretty dresser with little pink stuffed animals strewn over it already.

“Suguru and Sukuna did, I paid them in Purp.” You giggle then, covering your mouth as tears fall.

“God, Satoru, it's beautiful!”

“You get to decorate it all, so that means you get this.” He hands you his black card with a grin, earning your little giggle. “I didn’t get bedding or curtains, anything like that, I just ordered the basics. I figured you’d want to get all the extras.”

“Oh yes, I’d love to. And oh my god, I love this chair!” You sit down in it then, sighing, vividly picturing holding your little girl in your arms soon. Satoru sees it too, grabbing one of the plushies and putting it in your arms, fingers brushing against your skin, making goosebumps rise up.

“Do you really need your house still?” He asks then, you look away nervously.

“Satoru what if we-”

“I love you too.” You pause, gasping as you look down, his hands on the arms of the chair, stopping the rocking.

“What!?” He sighs, cupping your face now, pressing against you as his eyes dart back and forth across your pretty face, drinking you in.

“Yeah, brat, I love you too. Fuck I’ve been in love since you smacked me for staring at your ass.” You giggle and sob then, the tears flow, hot and sticky, burning your eyes as you melt for him, joy and surprise filling your every vein. “I want this baby to have everything, and that includes their parents living together. I don’t want one day without you, or her.”

“Satoru,” you’re kissing him now, his own tears falling, while you take a breath, resting your forehead against hers. “Mnh, a couple conditions.”

“Conditions, you’re such a mean ass little brat.” He glares, eyes watering while you stroke his sharp cheekbones, sighing.

“No more spring breaks with your friends. You can hang out with them as much as you want, but I want you here with us.” You take a hand, putting it on your tummy, and he swallows, nodding.

“Had a horrible time anyway.” You tremulously smile, and the baby kicks his hand, making you both look down on it, so huge and warm on your swelling tummy. “That’s the condition?”

“Also no more partying. I know, I’m-”

“No more then.” You’re shocked, eyes lifting to meet his cerulean depths, silvery eyelashes sticky with droplets of tears.

“That easy!?”

“I have a lot more important things right here,” his hand on your tummy presses just a bit, the other touching your cheek. “Think I don’t love you so much I’d do fucking anything? For both of you?”

“Fuck…” You kiss him once more, soft and sweet, stealing more of his heart with every breath. “We’re doing this? Moving in together?”

“Well you’re moving in with me, you can sell that itty bitty-”

“Don’t you trash my house now!” Your glare earns another chuckle from him, then you sigh. “I didn’t tell you, my work found out I was pregnant.”

“What gave you away, the giant tits or-”

“Hey!” You shove at him, then the chair rocks forward, he catches you when you damn near fall, chuckling at you. “They’re not that big.”

“Sure they’re not, they have their own time zone.”

“Jerk!” You roll over to the side, on the soft plush carpet of the nursery, Satoru has a devious grin on his face.

“What did they say, sweets?” He rests on an elbow, laying side by side, while his fingers trail down your shoulders, and everything feels too perfect, too easy. So right you wonder how the two of you had fought it for so long, he was willing to give it all up for you. He was perfect, aside from being an endless pervert, but it’s not like you really minded it.

“They actually want to give me a segment, where I talk about babies, motherhood, pregnancy, and health. All of it.”

“Shit baby that’s so good what!?”

“Right! They asked me why I didn’t tell them but they weren’t even mad, thank god, I was so stressed. Also, I do get a really good maternity leave, and they’re going to work on a good schedule.” His grin is infectious, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss on your head softly.

“I’m so happy for you, but, there is a side of me,” his murmur is hot against the shell of your ear, making you tremble. “That wants you as a little pretty housewife, just having all my babies.”

“You’re too much,” your whisper is just a half hearted sigh, something in you loves to hear it, even if it’s insane. “You know I’m not gonna be a little housewife.”

“Mmn, wouldn’t have to clean, I have a maid you know.” He winks, all cheeky with his grin as you get pulled closer to him. “When are you moving in?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to sell it and that’s a whole process-”

“I’ll have someone do it.”

“You seem to have planned this, hmm?” You raise a brow at him, and he gasps, a hand to his chest.

“Me!? No way, I just thought about it when you professed your love.”

“Oh whatever.” You shove at him again, and he holds you tightly now, sighing and running his hand down the curve of your spine while the two of you lay there on what would soon be your baby’s room. “I’m so excited, Satoru.”

Satoru grins now, making him fall deeper and deeper for him with every breath he takes, the sun lightly illuminating his pretty face, the way his eyes glimmer like yours do, showing his every emotion. “Me too, sweetheart.”

*****

Nine months pregnant - Satoru’s house

“God why’d I move you in!? You’re evil!” Satoru grumbles months later, as you waddle around , scowling at him.

It’s been months of paradise, but today you are two days overdue and absolutely miserable. You know you’re being psychotic to put it plainly, as your boyfriend crosses his arms, raising a brow at you. You know you should try to calm down, but you don’t even feel like you anymore, just a damn blob being kicked with a long legged, mini Satoru.

 “I’m sorry I’m not cheery, have you seen me!? I look like that fucking alien movie, like it’s about to just burst out! It’s not funny!”

He’s snorting in laughter, he can’t help it, sighing a bit when tears fill your eyes, walking up and touching your tummy gently, she kicks so hard you hunch over, sniffling more tears. “Damn she needs to be a soccer player.”

“Her legs are long because of you.” He rolls his eyes, when you press him off, eyeing your phone now, as another braxton hicks hits you. “This is all you!”

“You begged for me to cum in you too, you know-”

“Ugh!” You plop down, crying now, as Satoru falters, wishing he could just go smoke that blunt he’d rolled, but he knows you’d trip more.

You were so sweet until the past few days, now you’re a whole monster, bursting into tears one minute, the next eating hot cheetos and laughing, and then you’d get all pissy and mean. He could not figure out an emotion on any given moment, like the end of the last trimester was just frying your brain, throwing your hormones and making them batshit.

“Will weed hurt the baby because you need something-”

“I am not going to smoke weed! It wouldn’t help anyway- ah!” You feel another, far too close, sighing as you hold your tummy. “Sorry, I’m being a bitch.”

“Yeah you- I mean what!? No baby!” You sigh now, holding out a hand to him, he takes your little one in his own, kissing it.

“I am and I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just want her to come, tomorrow they have to induce it and - ah! Another!?” Satoru frowns now, looking at the timer.

“You sure these are braxton? Your tummy is so hard…” He’s pressing on it gently, as another contraction hits, and you’re in so much pain you’re sobbing. “Baby you could be…”

You inhale sharply, wincing and rubbing your tummy. “You think? I wasn’t dilated yesterday… fuck it hurts…”

“Let’s get you down there. Come on.” He helps you up gently, tilting your chin up now, swiping at your tears.

“I’m sorry I w-was mean…” Your sweet little sobs and trembling lips end any irritation he has, he hugs you tightly, the woman he’s had in his bed and by his side for months now, growing rounder and rounder with his child.

He adores you more and more every day.

Even when you’re an evil little thing.

“It’s okay,” his calm voice helps you breathe, he’s been here through it all, and you wish your hormones wouldn’t make you snap. You want to tell him how much you love him, not treat him so damn mean, but it’s like your body and mind are done. “Hey, shh.”

“I love you and I’m a bitch!” He smiles just a bit, shaking his head.

“You’re miserable is all. Baby is cooked enough, well done, you’re ready to kick him out of this apartment, huh?” You giggle at that, before crying out once more in pain, making even Satoru tense, like he could feel it.

“I love you so much and her… I just want her here and not in here, she so clearly wants to come out, but she’s stubborn.”

“Wonder where she gets that,” you go to retort, then another contraction hits, making you wince once more. “Come on.”

The drive is quiet, you’re in so much pain you’re starting not to speak, making Satoru so stressed he can’t take it, he keeps looking over at you, baby bag all ready to go in the back seat, touching your tummy again. You take his hand, tears falling on it now, as you struggle to breathe at all.

“I want her to be okay. I need her to be okay.”

“I need both of you to be okay, and you will be, okay?” You nod, leaning against his shoulder as he drives, holding onto him so tightly, the life support you need so desperately right now, your everything.

Satoru is your everything.

But soon, your sweet girl would be too.

“I’m so glad you’re here for m-me, mmm…” He just kisses your head, trying to drive as quickly as he can without getting pulled over. When he finally gets there he’s carrying you in his arms, even though you insist you can walk, until the nurses put you in a chair and push you to the room.

It’s just a little bit before you hear the words - ‘you’re having the baby!’

It’s just a little longer before you’re screaming, and a natural birth is absolutely a dumb fucking idea. You’re breaking Satoru’s big ass hand, your loud sobs  and cursing scaring half the damn hospital, and he once again wonders why he loves this evil little brat who’s gonna ruin his throwing hand, only for you to cry again, apologizing so sweetly, and him to melt.

In short, you’re a mess.

And he loves all of you.

Your mom comes up to the room, thank god, taking your hand, as Shoko, Utahime, Suguru and Sukuna all show up too, your dad was out of town but on the way. Of course… Satoru doubted his parents would come, though they’d sent plenty of fancy baby things to fill the house, he supposes it’s their shitty version of trying, but until he married you, they were dissapointed.

The media had talked plenty of who the Satoru Gojo was with, and it didn’t help that you had built quite a little fandom with your segments. Moms, and moms to be loved your segments, you spoke of the real things - body image, self esteem, your worries. You interviewed fellow pregnant celebs and moms, it was truly impressive to have watched you thrive.

Satoru was so fucking proud of you.

He is proud of you.

And you’re so proud of him, always doing things his own damn way, yes, he was running the family company but he was fixing their corruption bit by bit, working on the greed internally. The changes he had already made were so powerful, keeping every bit of who he’s always been, you don’t know if his parents will change, though.

But Satoru has you now.

Soonl the room is so crowded it’s ridiculous, and the clearly stoned ass Sukuna looks at you in horror. “I’ll never have a kid, shit that looks horrible!”

“Like you’d have a kid anyway, you’re an idiot.” Utahime says then, and Sukuna glares, crossing his arms.

The four of them are bickering like old times, when you glare at them all. “Can everyone just shut up!?”

“She is mean.” Suguru whispers, in horror as well as you scowl at him.

“Everyone go for a few, okay?” Your mom is shoving them all out, Shoko and Utahime press kisses on your cheeks, as they carry their college long feud out into the halls, and Satoru looks at your mom pleadingly. “Satoru, get some coffee, you look rough honey.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice.

His girlfriend in labor is quite terrifying.

Getting coffee with a shaky hand, Shoko walks up to him then, and he rolls his blue eyes, irritated by the fluorescents of the bright, open hospital, sipping the shitty coffee with a wince. “Yeah, talk your shit, Shoko.”

“You stepped up, and I’m happy for you.”

“What!?” Satoru sputters, considering he’d fought with Shoko and Utahime forever, they were your girls and thus his enemies since freshman year.

Shoko takes her own cup of coffee, wincing now at the bitter taste, brushing dark locks back. “You stepped up for her, and did the right thing. It’s clear you always were in love anyway, but it’s nice to see you grew up.”

“Always in love?” He puts down his cup, eyeing Sukuna and Suguru snickering at something, while Utahime starts informing everyone on her social media about you - since you’re in no condition to update your friends - then back at Shoko. “Yeah, maybe I was, but I was…”

“A dick.”

“Hey now.” Satoru glares, and Shoko just laughs softly, a hand on his shoulder. “I was a dick, a big one.”

“You were like a boy dipping a little girl’s hair in ink behind her in class.”

“What are you from, the eighteen hundreds?”

“Shut up. I’m complimenting you, little shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course I did, though I… it was never an option not to be there for her,” his voice softens, as they walk over to the waiting room chairs, sitting next to each other. Satoru crosses an ankle over a leg then, sighing, running a hand through his locks and murmuring, “It was just a matter of how much she’d let me be involved.”

“She’s always been in love with you too.” Shoko’s words make Satoru blush then, as Utahime sits next to Shoko, he expects some smartass words from her too, but she just smiles.

“She’s been down bad for a while.” Satoru clears his throat now, the words making his heart flutter.

“You all were, like, really dumb.” Suguru says, blitzed as fuck clearly with narrow amethyst eyes, sitting across from the three of them. “For years.”

“I need no words of wisdom from you all, except… maybe advice.” He sighs now, leaning forward a bit, elbows on his legs that are spread so wide, Shoko shoves at one with her foot, making him glare.

“Advice bro, for what? The baby?” Sukuna leans back in his own chair, red eyes surrounded by even more red. “It’s our godchild you know.”

“You are not the godfather now, I swear that’s in your head.” Satoru says with his lips quirking up, the huge man scoffing as the girls giggle. “No, how long until I… ask her?”

“Ask her…” Shoko trails off, and Satoru nods. “Shit!”

“Wait until she feels more… herself.” Utahime says softly. “She’s kind of a…”

“Terrifying, evil mess?” Satoru chuckles as Shoko slaps him.

“Wait for a proposal until a nice date night, okay? Something sweet and intimate. Right now of course she’d say yes, but poor thing is-”

“This is your fault Satoru Gojo!” Echoes throughout the waiting room, and the five of you pause, as the entire waiting room laughs and murmurs. “Your long ass legs, your big ass head!”

“My head is not big, yours is!” He shouts back, earning the look of everyone in the room. “What, it’s not!?”

“I hope you survive this, man…” Suguru says, standing then. “I need a smoke, shit.”

“Me too man, fuck.” Satoru glares at his friends, as you scream out again, this time in pain, and the doctor comes up to him.

“It's time. She's dilated-” Satoru is already running in the delivery room, the nurses help him scrub up as he sees you, sitting up with your thighs spread and glaring at the doctor on call.

The one that said how tight you were.

He'd laugh if you wouldn't kill him.

“Ready for this baby?” The doctor asks, and your eyes go wide in panic.

“Shit, no! Mom!” Your mom holds your hand, while Satoru is getting ready, his heart racing, knowing he's about to meet his baby girl.

“You can do this, baby.” You sigh, and your mom looks at Satoru, tilting her head to gesture for him to come then, he takes your hand instead, feeling you squeeze it with a death grip, wincing.

“You're strong as shit, damn.” He huffs under his breath, seeing tears on your cheeks as you push for the first time, the pain you're in making him woozy.

After a good hour, you’re prepared to push, and Satoru’s got the phone, filming you, much to your anger. He wonders if his own baby will be scared of their mom, you’re something else for a little pregnant brat, even the doctor is a little frightened, as he asks - ‘You ready to push?’ - and you scream.

“Oh my god, I can’t, I can’t!” You’re sniffling, when Satoru comes around to where the doctor is, and he looks at Satoru then, shaking his head.

“You don’t wanna see this, she’s about to crown.”

“Crown, what’s- oh. Oh! Oh…” 

Satoru Gojo faints.

He faints!

Your mom runs to him in concern, as a nurse rushes over to your six foot four boyfriend collapsed on the hospital tile. “Is he okay? Ah!” You can hardly speak through the pain, he fell hard, everyone heard it.

“God, he’s heavy,” the nurse murmurs, when two of them try to pick him up.

“G-get his friends, go get them they’re huge and - ow!”

“Deep breaths, you can do it.” Your mom tries to keep you calm, and in moments Suguru and Sukuna stare in horror, getting the view Satoru just had, and you swear they’re about to pass out as they look in horror.

“Pick him up!” You whisper through your teeth, they quickly turn away.

“God that’s terrible,” Suguru says, kneeling next to Satoru. “No wonder he passed out, is that how babies are born!?”

“You’re all so- stupid just - ah!” You’re screaming again, even Sukuna looks pale, and he’s not scared of shit, aside from ever seeing a vagina like that again.

“I’m gonna be scarred for life.” He whispers to Suguru, while they pick up Satoru, who’s still unconscious, all while you’re having the damn baby.

“I hear you all. Ow! Shit!” You’re breathing - he he he, hoo hoo hoo - but you just want to kill everyone and everything around you, the pain is stupid. “Knock me out, drugs, drugs!”

“Way past that, honey.” Your docor says, you curse your shitty idea, all while Satoru’s being checked. “We’re close, let’s go, you’ve got it!”

******

Two hours later

“It’s our baby,” Satoru holds your beautiful baby for the first time, after finally having woken up from crashing and bonking his head. He’s smiling as he whispers in wonder, sitting next to you finally.

“She’s our baby.” He kisses her head, inhaling her.

“She smells so good.”

“I know, it’s addictive, I keep sniffing her.” You both grin at each other, god you feel such comfort now, in the hours since your boyfriend had been good and passed out, Shoko, Utahime, your parents, everyone had held her. Sukuna and Suguru even had already taken pictures of each other, enamored with her.

You suppose they weren’t the worst, though you don’t think you would trust them to watch your baby as they offered, they certainly cared, in their stoner way. Though you’re pretty sure you traumatized them into using protection for a long, long time, considering the haunted looks on their face.

“They saw it too!?” Satoru asks, when you recount some of it.

“Yep. I think they don’t even wanna touch one anytime soon.”

“Jesus, it was…”

“Stop, you’ll faint again!” He shakes his head.

“No way,” he watches as your eyes are drifting shut, while he stares at her pretty face, snowy white hair, but your eyes, when she looks up at him and opens them, blinking her snowy little lashes. “She’s so beautiful, just like her mama.”

“Oh, Satoru… I love her so much already.” You’re sniffling, tears streaming down your cheeks, he sighs, leaning over and kissing your forehead, still damp and sweaty.

“So do I, god I’m so sorry I passed out. I missed her coming!”

“No, no, don’t you apologize. You scared me, but everyone else just laughed actually.” He glares, and you let out a tired giggle, yawning and reaching a weak arm out, brushing her snowy, downy hair.

“They told me not to look, but I did. Got babe your cooch-”

“Don’t remind me, there are stitches.” He gets pale again, making you panic, sitting up and gently touching the arm that’s holding your baby girl. “Satoru please, don’t pass out again.”

“Stitches oh god, that bad? And I wasn’t even awake.” He’s pouting, even as you’re shaking your head, leaning forward and wincing a bit at the pain.

“I had a pretty difficult time, but it was all worth it, just look at her, hmm?” He nods then, soft smile on his plump lips, eyes crinkling in the corners when he scoots even closer, holding the sweet bundle so tightly in his arms.

“They laughed at me!?”

“They all did, even the pervy doctor.” You can’t stop the laugh, wincing then as a twinge of pain hits, Satoru frowns with worry. “I’m fine, just worn out.”

“Get some rest, your baby daddy is conscious now.” You giggle at that, eyeing the two loves in front of you, your sweet baby girl so tiny in his huge, strong arms, and you feel such a sense of peace you could never describe. Your eyelids droop, you’re yawning once more, the hospital room lights are dimmed as a nurse walks in, smiling at the two of you warmly.

“Aren’t you three just the cutest? Let me check you out before you take a nap, Mama.” You hold back yet another yawn, exhaustion creeping up, while she turns on the blood pressure cuff still on your arm, eyeing the measurements. “And how are you feeling, dad?”

“I’m sad I passed out and missed cutting the cord.” He says softly, the nurse laughs a bit.

“It happens, don’t feel bad at all. You have your entire life with your new baby. What’s her name?”

“Satoruette-”

“No it’s not!” Your glare, making your blood pressure spike, and the nurse blinks a bit.

“That’s a unique name. Calm down, let’s try again.” You take a breath now, shaking your head at your grinning husband.

You adore him, but he’s still just a little shit.

“Not Satorutte.” You whisper again, the nurse can’t stop smiling at the two of you, at Gojo’s cute little pout, blinking his snowy lashes.

“You’re still so mean. Why’d I fall in love with a demon?”

“That makes our daughter half demon.” Satoru chuckles then, shaking his head, fingers stroking her sweet little cheek, so soft to the touch, as she yawns, her little mouth in an O.

“She’s all angel.” His soft words melt you even further, not enough to name her Satoruette, of course, but enough to have a beautiful smile, so serene on your sleepy face when he looks back up at you. “You’re half angel too.”

“No way.” He shakes his head, when the nurse lifts up your blanket and gown, peering at the stitches.

“Any pain, love?”

“A little…”

The nurse presses the button of the IV, pumping the medication into your bloodstream, you sigh blissfully while she checks the baby, taking her gently from Satoru’s arms. As she checks her heartbeat and pulse, Satoru comes over to you, swiping back your hair gently, eyes looking so deep into yours, you hold his hand, which swallows your own, feeling so overwhelmed then.

“You did great.” Satoru’s soft words make your heart swell, when he kisses the back of your knuckles gently, exhaling as he does. “Look how amazing you are.”

“You helped make her too.” You smile, eyes drooping once more, the pain medicine sapping the last of your resolve to stay up. “Satoru, can I take a nap?”

“Of course, I think I took a long enough one.” You laugh softly, before drifting off to sleep, Satoru watches your pretty, exhausted face as you do, tucking you in while the Nurse bundles back up the baby, putting her inside the little bassinet.

“She’s perfect, Mr. Gojo.” Her words hit his ears, drawing his attention to the bundle, and the nurse now comes up to him. “You had quite a fall, are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, shit I shouldn’t have looked. Ugh. Everyone left?”

“Visiting hours were over, but they all took plenty of pictures.”

“Of me!?” The nurse flushes, shrugging. “They did! Imma kick their asses tomorrow.”

She laughs now, eyeing your monitor that’s beeping slowly, when you start snoring suddenly, filling the room with the loud sound, and Satoru has not once heard you snore. He can’t stop the affection pouring, along with the amusement at how cute you are, while he looks down at you, then at your baby girl.

“We have a bed we can set up over-”

“Can I just lay with her?” Satoru asks, the nurse smiles again, nodding, moving some of the wires to one side.

“I’ll grab some extra blankets and pillows.” Satoru lays his lanky body right in that hospital bed now, making you stir, looking at him with eyes dilated from the pain meds, a smile on your face that’s too cute.

“Satoru, you’re ssleepingg w’me?” Your slurred words make him chuckle, while you scooch over, allowing him more room, and one of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you close.

“Sure am, you’re fucked up aren’t you?” He teases softly, you just giggle. “Is that how we get you nice, morphine?”

“I was sso meann S’toru, sorryyy.” Your words are all jumbled, your arms wrapped around his waist, burying your face against his chest and kissing the hollow at the base of his throat.

“You’ve always been mean, I kinda dig it.” Your giggle is infectious, another kiss pressed, while his hand softly runs up and down your back, and the nurse brings in pillows and blankets. “Thanks.”

“Of course, I love to see a devoted husband.” He doesn’t bother to correct her, that he’s just become your boyfriend a couple months ago - because he feels like he will be that for you, your husband. “Any name ideas for the sweet girl?”

Satoru pauses then, remembering a few of your ideas. “I’ll wait until she’s off the good stuff, she’s definitely gonna give me some weird-”

“Not Satoruette.” Your mumble is incoherent, as you doze off slowly in his arms, trying to stay awake, to feel how good it is to be held by Satoru Gojo.

“Oh yeah, then what name?” He teases, looking down at you, you sigh, cupping his face with a weak little hand, while the nurse places another blanket over you both.

“Miyuki, it means beautiful. She is so beautiful, hmm? Like you.” He smiles at you, shaking his head.

“You’re sloshed, telling me that.”

“Miyuki is beautiful.” The nurse mentions it, and Satoru sighs.

“Satoruette on the next?”

“Nope.” You say it with a pop on your lips, the nurse leaves you all, shutting the heavy door, and the drugs in your system make you feel way too good, along with your boyfriend holding you close. “You’d want another baby, S’toru?”

“Can’t even say my name, tsk,” you giggle again, while he studies you carefully. “I wanna figure out how good I’ll be at raising her, but if I am amazing at it - like I am at everything-”

“Conceited.” He laughs and sighs, pulling you against his hard, warm body, enveloping you tightly. “You’ll be such a good dad. I already know.”

Your sweet words make him blink back tears, peeking over your head as your little girl sucks on a pink binkie, all swaddled tightly, so precious it makes him ache. “Yeah, I want another one, some day. Do you?”

“Mmhmm.” You nod and hug him tighter, your eyelashes tickling his neck as your lids close once more. “Satoru, I wanna be with you forever.”

Shit.

“Yeah, think I’d leave you, brat?” He tries to tease, as if your sweet words didn’t want to make him propose then and there, to your morphine ridden, sleeping frame, but knowing he needed to wait was torture.

But it’s okay, because you're already his wife, whether you know it or not.

One more to wrap up these cuties, I hope you all enjoy all the sickeningly cute fluff, and smuttt, and got a kick out of Satoru passing tf out LMAO!!! Idk why, but that had to happen hehe. See you in the next and finalll part which will show life with a baby for these two <2

taglist 1- @jannythewriter-pt2 @gojosoups @lycoris-radiata-4-sale @cutiepi-iee @closerbutnevertogether @myahfig4 @coq1myun @rinny27 @abibliolife @coq1myun @megumisthirdog @p4lli @turtlebangtan @webshooterrr9 @aldebrana @msqudo18 @s0ulsnatchaaa @ovela @midnaamethyste @nearlyfuckingwitches @shibataimu @msniks @missthatgirl @fantasy1nightmare0 @maddyhehehehhe @yourst3pm0mmy @haithamsbb @rentheannihilator @ilovebeansyay @lemonswirlz @dilfkentolover @evelynxxo @bkgnotsuma @suki91 @burntasian @nakiich @hyunjinsruinedpainting @miniv1x3n @minascasket @ihrtmack @contaminatedcupcake @girlwithn0j0b @tokyi999 @queenofthekill @verriees @vullzo @jkslaugh97 @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @nkpajares @emonaculate

[littlcdarlin]

Who Will Love A Little Sparrow?

summary: Joel turns sixty.

warnings: girthy age gap (60 & mid 20s), Joel feels guilty about age gap, I cried while writing this, emotional fluff

note: it took one ask to convince me to actually write this lol hope you like it, anon! Title is from the Simon & Garfunkel song

Joel hasn't quite realized he's turning sixty – sure, he knows he looks it, feels it in his cracking joints, aching back and wheezing lungs, sees it in the stares the two of you get walking through Jackson hand in hand, but your company keeps him young. Three and a half decades between you will do that to a man.

He's never liked a big fuss on his birthday; even when he was half his age all the singing and balloons embarrassed him more than anything, so he didn't mention it was coming up during the weeks beforehand. You knew, of course, and so did Tommy, but he figured patrols would keep the two of you busy enough to prevent anything more than an extra kiss from you and a teasing comment from his brother – maybe birthday sex when you were done with your work for the day.

When he wakes up, it's his first thought, though not in excitement, but resignation. Sixty. The number feels like a chasm between the two of you. It makes him feel dirty for having touched you the night before, and he wishes humanity hadn't decided on the decimal numeral system.

You're scheduled for the morning patrol, so he doesn't expect you home before noon, which for the first time in his life feels like a relief. It gives him a couple of hours to bury the guilt about your age somewhere deep and secure, under vague childhood memories and the first thirteen decimals of Pi, where it won't come bubbling up while you're laughing your sunshine-laugh. He doesn't want to dim your spark, not when you seem to just have found it again.

He scuffles downstairs, dragging his feet as if he's turning ninety instead of sixty, just to wallow in his self-pity while nobody is around to see it. If he's lucky, he'll have two more decades, maybe even three, though that kind of hope is practically brazen.

He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen, thinking that if he makes his coffee strong enough, it might make him feel fifty again.

"Happy Birthday."

His head snaps up, and he's staring at you instead of his toes, your youthful face a little blotchy from the excitement.

"Here," you say, and thrust a cupcake in his direction. There is a single purple candle on it, and the frosting isn't draped across the dough in artful swirls the way they did it before the outbreak – still, it's the best cupcake he has ever seen.

"I couldn't fit sixty candles on this thing, so you get one."

Your smile is a little lopsided, a little too understanding, and Joel swallows.

"Thanks," he mutters quietly, staring at the blue part of the flame. "Geez."

"Blow it out," you say, "and make a wish."

He doesn't believe in that, but he obliges because you somehow found him a cupcake in the middle of the apocalypse at the crack of dawn.

"Now," you say, almost business-like, as if the first bullet point of one of your little lists has been crossed off, "I got Tommy and Maria to cover us on patrols today. What do you wanna do first, drink outrageously bitter coffee, or carve a wooden sparrow?"

He stares at you. You must have found the little bird he made during his many sleepless hours – he put it on the very top shelf in the living room where it wouldn't attract attention. It's not that he's embarrassed about it, he's just not sure it's a part of himself he wants to share with the world.

You put the cupcake on the kitchen counter and turn back around, that same knowing smile on your lips.

"I got you something," you say, and Joel frowns.

"You shouldn't trade for–"

"I didn't."

You hand him a small package, wrapped in some old newspaper you decorated with tiny, drawn-on hearts.

"Tommy said you used to wrap presents in colorful paper just to throw it away," you explain, that sense of wonder in your voice, as always when you talk about the before, "I didn't have paint, but I found a pen that works."

Joel stares at the package. He remembers the last birthday present he unwrapped perfectly, can see it catch the morning sunlight on his wrist.

"I–Geez," he just says, again, and starts to carefully peel away the newspaper without creasing your little artwork too much. His thumb traces one of the hearts. There is a hint of red inside the paper, and then he's holding something small.

"Where did you get this?", he asks, voice quiet with awe and something else that seems to thicken his throat.

"I found it in an abandoned raider's lair," you say softly, "I know I should have handed it to Maria, but I thought you could use it for your sparrow. Give him a face, you know, some feathers."

Joel traces the little cross on the Swiss army knife, and feels his chest tighten.

"Don't tell on me," you say teasingly, but with a hint of self-consciousness at his lack of a response. Joel swallows, and drags his eyes away from his present and to your face.

"Thank you," he says quietly, unsure of how to voice the thoughts rushing through his head, "I– thank you."

"Yeah," you say gently, "'course."

You accept his gratitude, understand what he means by it. You don't make a fuss with your un-swirly cupcake and single candle and no singing. All of a sudden, Joel feels his eyes prick and burn, and he rubs them quickly, wipes away the wetness. You touch his shoulder, make him look at you, and he clenches his jaw in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mutters, "you just...know me so well."

There it is, your sunshine-smile, and you press a kiss to his naked chest, as high as you can reach.

"Sixty isn't that old, Joel. Don't even think about using it as an excuse to stop chopping firewood."

He chuckles and cups your face in one of his massive palms.

"No ma'am."

[aeniiverse]

CO-PARENTING A CAT

Synopsis — You and Karina broke up three months ago. It was clean, it was adult, it was entirely her idea. But neither of you thought about what it would mean for Miso your shared, overly dramatic, tuna-obsessed cat who now requires joint custody and emotionally complicated drop-offs.

contains — fluff, angst (maybe a sprinkle), exes to lovers, miso is a bit sassy 😭 (I love her), not much warnings lol

WORD COUNT — 2.5k

A/N — Karina just wants to get back together with you and the cat is a perfect excuse 🙏, have this short fic while I start planning out a longer one

You don’t expect to see her when you open the door in your oversized hoodie and one sock missing, but there she is. Karina. Holding Miso in one arm like a prize she’s just won in a claw machine, lips pursed and eyes wide like she wasn’t planning on seeing you either. The cat meows bored, judgmental, as if she’s the one being inconvenienced and Karina finally speaks.

“She was at my door again,” she says, shifting her weight like the three seconds of silence have started to burn. “Scratched it too. I think she hates me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Miso hates everyone. She’s fair like that.”

“She didn’t hate you when we were dating.”

You pause. And that’s the thing about Karina. She’s always been good at slipping the most dangerous sentences into the most harmless moments. Like she’s tossing grenades in with the groceries. You open the door wider, silently letting her in because fighting in the hallway would mean acknowledging to your neighbors that you’re still, sort of, accidentally, in each other’s lives.

Karina walks in like it’s still her place, like she remembers the way the floorboards creak near the fridge and where you keep the emergency Miso treats even though you moved them last month. Miso jumps out of her arms the second she spots the empty food bowl, trotting off like this whole “shared custody” arrangement isn’t ruining your peace.

“You cut your hair,” Karina says, and you swear her voice softens. You resist the urge to touch it, resist the part of you that wants to explain how post-breakup chaos spiraled into a salon visit where you panicked and said “surprise me.”

“You dyed yours,” you shoot back, because this is what the two of you do now, dodge real things with stupid observations. But then you see the way she smiles, just barely, and you hate how much you missed it. How much you still know it by heart.

Karina crouches to pet Miso, who rolls onto her side and purrs like she didn’t just abandon you two hours ago. “I think she’s manipulating us.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s your cat.”

You don’t say it, but that’s not true. Not anymore. Miso was a joint decision. She was an “our” cat. Back when you were an “our” instead of a weird arrangement involving Google calendar custody swaps and avoiding the third drawer in the kitchen because it still has Karina’s chopsticks in it. You don’t throw them out. You don’t know why.

“So,” Karina says, standing up and dusting her hands like she just did something heroic. “Should we talk about the scratching or…?”

“She’s probably just mad you don’t feed her the good stuff.”

“I literally bought that overpriced tuna mousse she likes.”

“You mean the one you used to say ‘smelled like ocean trash’?”

“I’ve grown. People grow.”

You snort, and you hate that it feels natural. You hate how she still makes you laugh in that stupid, knee-jerk way. Like your ribcage remembers her before your brain can stop it. She notices of course she notices and that smug, infuriating smile spreads across her face like it never left.

“I can leave,” she offers suddenly, even though she hasn’t moved an inch. “I just didn’t want her to get run over again. You remember last time—”

“I remember you crying harder than she did.”

“She had a cone! She looked like a furry UFO!”

You laugh. Really laugh. And for a second, it feels like you’re back in that strange little bubble you two built together. Where nothing made sense but it didn’t have to, because at least you had each other. But then the silence creeps in again, heavier this time. And you both know what’s missing.

Karina clears her throat. “Anyway. I can… take her back tonight if it’s too much.”

You want to say no. You want to say yes. You want to ask her if she still uses your Netflix profile and if she misses falling asleep next to you and if she meant it when she said it was better this way. But instead you say, “She’s already here. Might as well let her stay.”

And maybe you’re not just talking about the cat.

You’re halfway through a sad microwave dinner and a worse true crime documentary when your phone buzzes with a message from Karina: ”Miso’s acting weird. Like… really weird. Is she supposed to do that thing with her eye??” There’s a photo attached. Miso, mid-yawn. Not dead. Not dying. Just annoyed. You blink at the image for a long moment, then reread the text. Twice. Because it’s either an actual emergency or Karina being dramatic, and you’ve known her long enough to know those two things often look exactly the same.

Still, she said “really weird.” And that’s just enough to push you out the door.

When you show up at Karina’s apartment, you’re out of breath and slightly pissed, mostly because you didn’t have time to put on real pants. She opens the door in her stupid soft cardigan and even stupider wide eyes like she’s genuinely surprised you came. Which is insane. She knows you. She knows the second she says “Miso” and “weird” in the same sentence, you’ll drop everything.

“She stopped blinking for like twenty seconds,” Karina says as you step inside, voice hushed like Miso might hear her and take offense. “That’s not normal, right?”

You walk straight past her to the living room where Miso is perched like a smug little gremlin on the back of the couch. She looks up at you, unimpressed. You reach out a hand, and she immediately headbutts it, purring like an engine. Zero signs of trauma. No eye twitching. Just healthy, spoiled indifference.

“She’s fine,” you say, turning around slowly. “You made me run over here because she blinked weird?”

“I panicked!” Karina throws her arms up. “It was either call you or Google it, and I didn’t want to see something that said she had feline eye cancer or some shit.”

You want to be mad. You really do. But she’s doing that thing again wringing her hands in her sleeves, lips pressing into a guilty pout, eyes flickering everywhere but your face. Like she’s trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.

“You could’ve just said you wanted to see me,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

The silence that follows is loud enough to make Miso flatten her ears.

Karina looks at you. Actually looks. And for a moment, it’s like you’re both back at the beginning, before the breakup, before the calendar swaps and cold distance and pretending you don’t miss each other. Her face softens, jaw unclenching just slightly. “I didn’t think I had the right.”

You sit on the edge of the couch, gently scooping Miso into your lap. “You gave her tuna mousse last week. I think you forfeited your moral high ground then.”

Karina groans and flops onto the other end of the couch like she’s been holding her drama in all day. “Okay, but have you seen her face when she eats it?.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s a tiny angel with expensive taste.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Miso stretches luxuriously across your legs, clearly enjoying the attention. Karina glances at the two of you, then hugs a pillow to her chest like it might keep her from saying something stupid. It doesn’t.

“I thought I was over this,” she says quietly.

Your heart stutters. “Over what?”

“This. You. Wanting to make up reasons to text you. Sitting around hoping you’ll ask for a sleepover again just so I can pretend it’s not a big deal.”

You freeze. Because you weren’t expecting that. Not from her. the one who ended it. The one who said she needed space, clarity, whatever. You’d nodded, swallowed your hurt, let her go. But now she’s looking at you like none of it made her feel better. Like maybe walking away wasn’t some strong, mature decision but a mistake wrapped in fear.

“Then why’d you end it?” you ask. The question hangs in the air like smoke thin and choking.

Karina doesn’t answer right away. She picks at the edge of the pillow, lips tugging down. “Because I thought you deserved someone who wasn’t scared all the time. Who didn’t freeze every time things got serious. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You ruined it anyway.”

“I know.”

And that’s the part that stings the most, how calm she is about it. How she says it like she’s been carrying the guilt around every day, tucked inside all the moments where she played it cool and acted like she didn’t miss you. You shift under the weight of Miso and the truth pressing down on your chest.

“I kept your hoodie,” she says suddenly. “The blue one. It still smells like you.”

You blink.

“I didn’t mean to. I just… never gave it back. And now it’s like… this comfort thing? Is that weird? That’s probably weird.”

You stare at her. “Do you sleep in it?”

She shrinks into the pillow. “Sometimes.”

Your laugh is soft, disbelieving. “You fake a cat emergency and sleep in my clothes and you’re wondering if that’s the weird part?”

Karina groans and hides her face. “God, I sound so creepy.”

“No,” you say. “You sound like someone who didn’t want to let go.”

She peeks out, hopeful. “What if I don’t?”

You look down at Miso, who’s blissfully unaware of the emotional mess she’s caused. Then back at Karina, at the flush on her cheeks, the nervous curl of her fingers, the quiet hope in her voice. She doesn’t look like someone who’s moved on. She looks like someone who’s been waiting for a sign.

“You didn’t have to pretend,” you say softly. “You could’ve just said you missed me.”

Karina bites her lip. “I missed you so much it was pathetic.”

You smile. “Good.”

Her eyes widen. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you say, nudging Miso gently to the side as you shift closer. “Because I missed you too.”

There’s a pause, charged and soft at the same time. Then she leans in like gravity’s pulling her there, like she’s done waiting. Her voice drops just above a whisper. “So… does this mean I can stop inventing medical emergencies to see you?”

“No promises,” you tease. “But maybe next time, just say hi like a normal person.”

“Normal’s boring,” she murmurs, and then she kisses you.

It’s tentative at first. Careful. Like she’s afraid you might change your mind. But you don’t. You kiss her back, slow and sure, and when she exhales against your mouth like relief, you realize you’re both still in love. Just slightly less afraid now.

Miso meows loudly between you, possibly out of protest. Possibly because she’s no longer the center of attention.

Karina pulls back, grinning. “I think she’s jealous.”

“She’s just mad she can’t fake another crisis now that the truth’s out.”

You both laugh, leaning into each other, the tension finally breaking.

And maybe it took fake emergencies and tuna mousse and an emotionally manipulative cat to get here, but you’re here. Together. Again.

Sort of.

Almost.

Just enough.

You wake up to the sound of purring and something soft against your cheek. For a brief, disoriented second, you think it’s a dream the one of those warm, sugar-fogged ones where everything is right again and Karina’s still yours. But then you blink, and the ceiling isn’t yours, and the blanket smells like Karina’s detergent, and Miso is fully sprawled across your face like the world’s most possessive weighted blanket. You groan, gently shifting her to the side, and that’s when you feel it. Karina’s arm curled loosely around your waist, her breath steady against the back of your neck, like she never let go at all.

You don’t move. You don’t even breathe for a second. Just lie there, frozen in this strange, tender limbo where maybe you’re not exes, maybe you never were, maybe last night was the first step back to something you weren’t brave enough to fight for before.

Then her voice breaks the quiet, sleepy and rough at the edges. “You drool in your sleep.”

You reach back and smack her arm without turning around. “You kissed me last night.”

“Technically, you kissed me back.”

You finally roll over, careful not to disturb the ball of fur between you. Karina’s hair is a disaster, her eyeliner smudged, one cheek creased from the pillow and she still looks stupidly, unfairly pretty. You hate that it makes your heart do cartwheels. You hate that all it took was one dumb night of honesty and tuna mousse to unravel weeks of distance.

“You really missed me?” you ask, quieter this time. Not teasing. Not testing. Just needing.

Karina nods, eyes meeting yours. “I missed you so much I started naming my plants after you. Even the cactus.”

You stare. “Why the cactus?”

“Because it’s prickly and hard to take care of but it still makes me happy.”

You bury your face in the pillow to muffle the groan. “That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been emotionally constipated for weeks. Let me live.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make both of you feel the shift. Like something fragile is settling between you, just out of reach. You lift your head and meet her gaze again, softer now.

“So what does this mean?” you ask. “Was last night a one-time makeout brought to you by guilt and cat anxiety, or…?”

Karina hesitates, then slowly, carefully, reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. Her fingers lace through yours, and her grip is warm. Steady. “It means I want to try again. If you’ll let me. No more running. No more hiding behind Miso.”

You glance down at the cat, who is now asleep with one paw dramatically draped over Karina’s stomach like she’s claiming her.

“She forgives you,” you say.

Karina smiles. “What about you?”

You think about the hoodie she kept, the look on her face when she kissed you, the way she’s holding your hand like she never wants to let go again.

“I think so.”

Karina squeezes your hand. “Good. That means I’ve got time to win you back properly.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Properly? Is that code for elaborate gestures or more fake cat emergencies?”

She grins. “Oh no. I’m done lying. Next time I want to see you, I’m just gonna show up with coffee and a tragic playlist and say, ‘I’m still in love with you, please let me in.’”

You snort. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, tugging you closer until your forehead brushes hers, “so is losing you again.”

And when you finally lean in, kissing her like you mean it this time no confusion, no fear. Miso lets out the most offended meow imaginable and storms off the bed like she wasn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

[alchemistc]

Inspired by Lou mentioning that we're getting B**** f*********

"Tell me about your old captain," Bobby says. It's not a question. It's not a suggestion - or if it is, Tommy doesn't have the ability to view it as anything but a demand.

Bobby's eyes catch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

They're in Bobby's office. Tommy's pretty sure he's been in this office twice since Bobby took over - he doesn't do things in any sort of official capacity, seems to hate the four walls and the door like a man with experience stuck in tight spaces.

"Off the record, of course."

Tommy's a grown ass man who's been through more Captains and Sergeants and other miscellaneous authority figures than Bobby can count on fingers and toes.

There's just something about Bobby that makes him feel wrong-footed. Like he's simultaneously the most comfortable he's ever been and the most terrified he'll ever be. Like he has to get this right.

"Sir?"

Bobby tosses a balled up piece of paper at Tommy's forehead. That's fair. That's absolutely fair. Tommy blinks, and the nerves sort of just... fall away.

"He was a homophobic, racist, misogynist prick and I still hate that I followed along like a little duckling."

Bobby purses his lips. Widens his eyes with brows raised.

The silence and the eye contact stretches.

Eventually, Bobby steeples his fingers, leans his chin on them. Stares. "We can circle back to the second part in a moment. I'm asking because I sent in your transfer papers last week."

There's that fear crawling right back in. He'd never even fucking tried it, under Gerrard. Too afraid to watch him crush that dream, too afraid to make a move for himself.

He'd mentioned flying offhand, a month and a half ago, a second serving of roast melting on his tongue while Howie stole potatoes off his plate.

Two days later Bobby'd pulled him aside and told Tommy he'd reached out to Harbor - that Harbor had an opening in air ops and he'd asked them to hold the position internally for an extra day or two. In case Tommy wanted it.

("I saw the way you look when you're talking about flying, kid. If I overstepped, tell me to shove it, but the 217 could use a man like you."

Tommy's had the words 'man like you' running on a loop in his head ever since.)

"Did they fill the spot?"

He hasn't let himself get excited about it. Hasn't told a soul other than Bobby that he's even thinking about it. He never would have done it without that push, and he's already gearing up to make himself not resent Bobby for even putting the thought in his head.

Bobby smiles. "They did."

Tommy would love it if the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Their newest pilot is going to be Thomas Kinard. Pending my approval, of course."

His heart does something strange in his chest. A squeeze, a jump, a flurry. He's gonna be in the air again. Going to have to use whatever's left of his mind to learn new birds, to teach someone else, one day. That's not as daunting a task as it would have been, a year ago.

Tommy squints, because Bobby looks entirely too pleased with himself for nearly giving Tommy a fucking heart attack. "What does that have to do with Gerrard?"

Bobby tips his head side to side, fidgets with a pen. Tommy never knows if that's a nervous habit or if he's so committed to the "fucking with you" bit that he's adopted a bunch of other people's tics.

"He tried to block it," Bobby tells him, a little solemn, finally. Tommy can feel his teeth clenching. His body tightening. His arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn't remember the act of raising them from the armrests. "I told him, respectfully, where he could stick it."

Bobby has this insane ability to ease a thousand worries with just a turn of phrase, a tone of voice. Tommy can feel the ire melting right off. "You already did it?"

Bobby huffs a soft laugh. "Professional disagreement. We don't see eye to eye on your talents. Harbor was fairly easily convinced, once I started listing them."

The lump in his throat makes it a little difficult to forge ahead. "Why'd you ask about him, then?"

Bobby's soft grin turns to a full on smirk. "Because I thought, given that this is your last week here, you might want to get it off your chest, Firefighter Pilot Kinard."

[misserabella]

s.r and a.h p links!

pxrn links for these two! (+ mental scenarios that came to my mind with them) minors dni!!

aaron hotchner:

it doesn’t stop dripping! ; aaron’s been pulled away from you from weeks on end due to back to back cases. when he comes home, the first thing he does (can do, cause it’s all he’s been thinking about while being gone) is bury his thick veiny cock into your snug soppy cunt, and when he cums, filling you up with his heavy load, it’s soooo much it doesn’t stop flowing down your ass onto the sheets.

do you deserve it? ; after your silly plan of making aaron jealous by flirting with another agent, he makes sure to remind you just who you belong to. he fucks your cunt open without any prep, letting you feel the sting, your walls taking on his shape as he harshly fucks into you for what seems hours on end, making sure to slow down his pace every time you’re gonna cum and stopping just before you reach your peak as a punishment. you can’t take it anymore, crying and moaning for him to let you cum, and when he does? is heavenly. you’re brain dead on his cock. but he does not give you what you want most: his cum filling your womb. he fucks your mouth and makes you swallow. ‘cause you don’t deserve to be bred after being such a fucking brat. and then, he’s fucking right back into you to start all over again. looooong night.

harder!! ; in which you break aaron’s rules and get yourself punished. sleeves rolled up. ass in the air. drenched panties and cheeks so red you won’t be able to sit tomorrow. and he’s relentless, hitting harder, making you whimper and jerk in pain until tears are springing your eyes. “want me to stop?” you shake your head and bite your lip, your ass pushing back against his warm stinging palm. “harder please. and he smirks. “good girl.” and later on, he fucks you with a dildo, ‘cause he denies you his cock. “this will make you think twice before disobeying next time. you don’t deserve my cock.”

tummy bulge ; just that. aaron being so fucking big stretching your pussy open that you two can see the imprint of his cock fucking in and out of your cunt.

spencer reid:

slurp it up! ; spencer is begging, puppy eyes looking up at you. you’ve got to get to uni. he knows. you have an important test today. he knows. but you’ve been studying so hard this couple of weeks for your finals… completely leaving him hanging and alone, making him stroke his cock every night just to get the relief he needs you to give him (you’re the only one who can make him cum so hard his eyes are rolling back), so he begs and begs and begs. “just one taste. i’ll be quick. i promise!!! please i just can’t cum without you.” and how can you say no? so there you are, leaning on the wall as spencer croons his neck up, tongue hungrily lavishing your pussy as groans and moans of pleasure, pure ecstasy and relief leave his lips as he slurps and drinks up every single drop you give him while he fucks his hand. god. he’s gonna cum so hard…!

shooting blanks! ; poor little thing. you’ve fucked him up for good this time. his glasses are fogged up. his pretty hair a mess. puppy eyes glassy and cheeks so red they resemble cherries. you’ve fucked him so much you’ve completely drained his balls empty, and rubbed his tip raw with your cunt. his hips shake prettily and pathetically as you stroke his long gorgeous cock, sucking at his nipple in hopes to get just one more rope of his creamy yummy cum. his eyes are rolling back, he has lost his voice due to all the moaning and whimpering, and when he comes, just a single drop leaves his tip. you pout. fuck, you’re still hungry.

paint me. ; after realizing just how much your pretty virgin nerdy boyfriend loved your boobs you decided that, to ease him into fucking your pussy (knowing that if he did right now he’d probably blow his load as the tip barely slips inside), you let him use your tits instead. and you’re right. spencer is moaning, whining at the sight, strong hands pushing your pillowy perfect tits together to create the perfect pocket for his cock, and after barely three thrusts he’s painting your neck and chest with ropes of his cum. “so pretty…” he mutters as his tip smooches your perky nipple. of course he cleans you up with his tongue later!!

show me how you move ; your first time riding spencer. you’re chest to chest, mouth to mouth, tongues hungrily pushing into each others mouths as you bounce gently on his cock, he’s not all the way in. you’re still trying to get used to his size, cause spencer was big. halfway in and he’s already kissing your cervix. you can’t stop moaning, cause he’s reaching sooo deep, and his happy trail is scratching your clit just the right way. but spencer can’t take it anymore. he needs more. so his hands cup your ass, he plants the sole of his feet on the bed, and pounds into you in deep hard strokes up your pussy. you scream. and before you know it you’re cumming. he doesn’t stop. not until you’re squirting and begging him to stop, leaving your pussy lips swollen and you, sensitive and sore the day after.

good morning ; it’s still early when you feel it, your boyfriend grunting against your ear, his hard cock thrusting against your ass. you’d probably slept 3 hours, at most, since you two had gone to sleep after fucking for hours on end. but it doesn’t seem like enough for him. it will never be enough. “i’m sorry. fuck. i’m so sorry.” he moans, thrusting harder as he sucks at your neck when you moan, fully awake now. “i need you.” and just like that, that easily, you’re pulling a leg over his and slightly shifting to give him a better access to your dripping pussy. the two of you moan when the tip parts your sticky folds, and when he pushes in, he’s groaning. “fuck. so fucking tight… why are you still so fucking tight? i fucked you open a couple of hours ago…”

you can take it ; spencer with his beautiful virgin girlfriend, who he was to prep with three of his expert long fingers before fucking you cause he’s that fucking big. once inside, having to go slow, only fucking you with half of his cock ‘cause he knows that’s all you can take for now. but don’t worry. he’ll make sure to shape your pussy to his cock. you will take it.

extras (threesome!):

you can take them both ; pussy stretched so open, just having one rearranging your insides will never be the same.

rivals ; “she’ll get pregnant with my baby.” “not if i am the one who comes the most.”

one from the back, the other from the front! ; aaron is smirking as you gag around spencer’s cock, snapping pictures he’ll use to jerk off with his pretty boyfriend when they two of them are away from you on a case. “come on darling. you can take him deeper, can’t you? thaaat’s it. good girl.”

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or the first time they meet.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ not much chatting in this part but rafe and reader finally meet! vivian parker thank you for being the comedic relief and extrovert friend this series and reader needs.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

"are you sure this isn't too much?" you asked as you stood in front of the body-length mirror, looking at the skin-tight black dress that was basically the least amount of fabric you'd ever had on your body; including a towel, your tits basically bursting out of it and calling out for freedom.

"come on, it's sexy." vivian hummed as she took another chug out of her white claw, her hands snaking around you waist, the girl wearing a matching dress, just in baby pink, "you're just not used to looking hot, that's all."

"hey!" you chide, "i wear hot things."

"like that maxi skirt with all the flowers? c'mon, you didn't even show a bit of ankle." vivian grinned, pulling away from you, grabbing a mini-bottle of fireball from her bag and handing it to you, a small grimace on your face, "just down your beta blockers with this and you'll be good."

you took the orange pill bottle you kept at your bedside, twisting the cap off and shaking two pills into the palm of your hand, before cracking the cap off the bottle of fireball, you downed the cinnamon whiskey without thinking, shooting the two white pills into your mouth, washing the slightly tingling liquid into down with your medication.

"atta girl!" vivian grinned and clapped her pink, manicured hands together as you felt warmth creeping up your neck to your face, letting out a squeal when you felt the palm of viv's hand make contact with your ass in the form of a smack. "now, let me do your makeup."

"i'm still pissed you insisted on... that." vivian noted, referring to the long, dark green cardigan you'd worn over the dress she basically put on you as she took another sip out of her flask, offering it to you. when you accepted, you took a sip and nearly immediately coughed it out when you realized it was vodka, a grimace on your face, "i mean, you're supposed to look hot."

"dancing on a table and popping a titty in front of a bunch of random frat boys is definitely hot and wouldn't make me the subject of ridicule for the next year." you chuckled sarcastically, still trying to gain your bearings on the four-inch heels your friend had insisted you wear, feeling the slight burn of the vodka at the back of your throat.

"... alright, that's a low blow. it was freshman year."

it wasn't long enough until the frat house for the infamous sigma phi came to view, music blaring so loudly you knew you couldn't be able to even hear your thoughts inside, a few people outside chatting. vivian took your hand in hers, tugging you closer to it until you were both at the entrance.

"wow, viv!" one of the frat guys standing at the door exclaimed, looking your best friend up and down, "didn't think you'd show up. you-know-who's been bitching about you all night." the boy's words causing an exasperated groan to leave your friend, before his eyes trailed to you, the tall brunette looking at you up and down as if you were his next meal while you crossed your arms in front of your chest as if to pull into yourself, lowering your gaze, "who's this?"

"that's my best friend." vivian's arm snaked around your waist and tugged you into her, "and if you try anything with her, caleb, i'm gonna scratch your eyes out until there's nothing left but holes. y'know i'm capable of it." she winked.

"don't i know it." the boy, caleb, tsked, cocking his head to the side and shaking it, before turning back to vivian, "shame. be sure to show some girl-on-girl action later, yeah?" he winked, less smoothly than vivian.

your best friend rolled her eyes, tugging you by your hand into the kitchen, "ignore him. ignore most of these guys. they're dicks." vivian carelessly poured vodka and a small splash of diet coke into two red solo-cups, a breath of a chuckle leaving your lips when you realized it reminded you of all those high school/college party movies you'd seen. "here's to girl-on-girl action." vivian snorted, holding up her cup and handing you yours, "and if you don't chug it down, i'm telling everyone you like to sniff your socks after using them."

you laugh, rolling your eyes as you let the top of your cup make contact with vivian's, "cheers." you mumble, knowing the girl couldn't even hear it over all the commotion, only following her lead as you took the cup to your lips and downed the liquid down your throat, ignoring the searing taste of vodka that was poorly masked by the coke, a slight trail dripping from your mouth down your chin.

"whooo!" vivian shook her head of long, pink locks, looking to you with a grin as she grabbed your now-empty cup, already starting to refill both of them, and as soon as they were full once again, she pulled you to make your way through the crowds of sweaty people grinding against each other.

honestly, you were starting to understand why people drank. your head felt so empty of everything, of worries, of thoughts, of anything that usually plagued, haunted you. all you could focus on was swaying your body and bobbing your head along to the music. that was, until you noticed that your best friend was nowhere to be seen. you might've been drunk, but you were sober enough to worry.

"vivian?" you called out, your lips twisted into a pout as you took a sip from your drink, wandering through the vast hallways of the fraternity house, the floor underneath you shaking with the force of the bass. "viv, this isn't funny."

you took out your phone, your head down as you were going through your contacts in search of the contact 'pink slut ♡' (affectionately set by your best friend), only to feel the top of your head hit something solid. you let out a slight yelp, looking up and seeing a boy who was basically the height of a tree looking down at you.

"you good?" the boy asked with a slightly humorous expression on his face. "yeah. yeah, sorry." you sighed, taking a step back, your lips pursed in thought, "this is probably a long shot, but have you seen vivian parker? girl with pink hair-"

"viv?" the boy sucked in a breath, "yeah, her and topper just went into his room."

"unbelievable." you groaned, putting your phone back into the pocket of your cardigan and running a hand through your hair, "i was supposed to stop her from doing that."

"good luck with that." the boy snorted, taking a swig straight out of a bottle of jack daniels before looking at you up and down, "you're the best friend, right? the mouse?"

"the mouse?"

"y'know, all shy and shit. viv sometimes hangs out with us, and she talks about you guys." he scratched the bridge of his nose with his thumb, "this is a shitty first introduction. i'm rafe." the boy said, and you told him your name, making him nod, "y'wanna go outside for a bit?"

the two of you were sitting on the patio connected to one of the rooms in the frat house, passing the bottle of jack daniels back and forth, the music blasting downstairs almost drowned out.

"are you sure we're allowed to be here?" you asked with a small chuckle, taking a swig out of the bottle before it passing it back to rafe, pulling your cardigan closer to your body. "pretty sure that's someone."

"it is." the boy chuckled, taking a large swig out of the whiskey before placing it down on the space between you two, taking his backwards cap off and fixing his hair before putting the hat back on. "it's my room."

"damn, you're not afraid i'm gonna go rummage through your underwear drawer?" you snorted, rafe letting out a laugh along with you, "you have a lot of trophies. you're on the football team, right? nine?"

"well, i'd like to think i'm at least a nine and a half." rafe grinned, making you roll your eyes and nudge him, "kildare university football captain, at your service."

"maybe you'd be a nine-and-a-half if you didn't wear this ridiculous hat." you grinned, snatching the backwards cap off his head and placing it on yours, only the right way. "this is an awkward moment to tell you i have lice." "that's even better. i can tell people to let me rub my head against theirs for a chance to get one of the bugs that used to live in rafe cameron's scalp."

rafe threw his head forward in laughter, shaking his head before turning to look at you with a smile, "jesus. i can't believe that i actually thought you were like a mouse. your brain is so fucking weird, in the best way possible."

"alcohol lowers your inhibitions and all that crap." you chuckled, "in reality i'm afraid to talk to anyone, let alone some frat god football legend. can't even complain when i get my order wrong."

"frat god." rafe shook his head and looked forward, taking a swig of whiskey. "how come?"

"i've had social anxiety since i was little. i didn't have that many friends when i was a kid, so when i came to college and vivian saw me and decided to adopt me as her introverted friend, it was like a godsend. if it wasn't for her, i'd probably be known as the weird hermit in the corner of the room."

you took in a deep breath, looking up at the stars up in the black midnight sky, and rafe could see them glimmering in your eyes as you quoted, "from childhood's hour i have not been as others were, i have not seen as others saw. i could not bring my passions from a common spring, from the same source i have not taken my sorrow, i could not awaken my heart to joy at the same tone. and all i loved, i loved alone."

"edgar allan poe." rafe said in thought, pursing his lips, and you turned to look at him, eyes slightly wide in surprise, "you read poetry?"

"not usually. but lately i've been getting into poe." rafe said, a fond smile taking over his lips. "it reminds me of someone special."

you looked at him, your mouth opening slightly in surprise, "you have a crush on someone." the boy turned to look at you with wide, blue eyes, "viv was wrong. she basically said you'd never touch commitment with a five foot pole, but you're totally into someone!" you softly smacked his arm, "tell me about her."

rafe rolled his eyes, "it's not a crush. it's just..."

"a girl who you can't stop thinking about, who you read poetry for, who you get all blushy and smiley when you talk about her... that's a crush, my guy."

rafe shook his head and took a large swig of whiskey, "she's... special."

"so whipped. that's a good thing. i'm pretty sure i'm gonna have to bribe someone to marry me by giving him a piece of what's basically an atomic bomb that my mad-scientist father created and left to his kids when he passed." you snorted.

"calm down angela hoenikker." the boy chuckled and shook his head, "cat's cradle. a classic."

you were about to express your surprise at rafe's knowledge of kurt vonnegut, only for the patio door to be opened, revealing a familiar pink-haired girl, pulling her white fur-coat closer to her body, strapping one of her heels on "whew, there you are." she sighed, "we gotta get out of dodge. topper's trying to ask me what we are and i said i'd answer after i get out of the bathroom."

you snorted, standing up and brushing off your skirt, "guess that's my cue." you looked to the boy who'd stood up with you, "thanks for the drinks. and the company."

"you too. get back safe, mouse."

"sleep well, lover boy. dream of your special girl." you saluted rafe with a small smile, the boy shaking his head as you and vivian left him on the patio, making your way inside, starting to make your way out of the party.

and only when you were halfway on your way to the dorm did vivian purse her lips, looking at your head, "what the hell is that?" the girl's words immediately making you remember snatching rafe's hat, "it's a souvenir. now let's get you to bed."

when you finally got to your dorm and to bed with vivian snoring blissfully next to you, you took your phone out, pulling up KILDAREUCHATS and messaging MalachiConstant.

YOU: alright, i admit it. i actually had a good night.

the response came almost immediately.

MalachiConstant: i told you that you would. i'm glad you did.

YOU: goodnight, vonnegut boy.

MalachiConstant: sweet dreams, poe girl. dream of me.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com.

[trampleddoves]

s.r. blurb 2

contents: fem!reader, free use kink, some dirty talk, MDNI

You defy anatomical and biological accuracy; Spencer is sure of it. 

When you’d first brought up the idea and had this conversation, you had promised you would be ready for him to use at any time. He merely nodded in response, unbelieving, though it didn’t matter if you weren’t. He enjoys taking his time to work you up as well, adores watching your clit swell under his fingers while your folds grow slick with arousal. 

So he’d hummed, and agreed, carrying that thought with him—that when the time comes to take you, he’d inevitably have to play with you in order to get you ready for his cock.

Oh how utterly wrong he had been. 

He doesn’t even bother to check nowadays. Simply would give you a quick kiss on your neck while his hands tug your panties to the side, cock already hard and twitching as he nudges it against your folds. Swollen and wet. Always so wet. It doesn’t seem to matter what you were doing—on  your laptop for work, doing the dishes, watching TV—you somehow are still slick and ready to take him in every instance he’s interrupted you. He assumed the most mundane tasks would turn you off, therefore making him work a little harder, but no, dear God, he’d cup your mound and find that you’ve soaked through your panties.

Anatomical improbability. He tells you this once, while he has you bouncing on his cock while you edit papers on your laptop. 

You had laughed and shook your head, “No, just fucking horny for my boyfriend.”

And so he’s stopped feeling guilty for his need, and instead relished on this fact—that his bright, stunning girlfriend wants him so much that he can just take you whenever he wants, and you’ll be ready for it.

Today is no exception.

“God, baby, always so needy for me, huh?” he mumbles as he nudges your legs apart. You’re laying on your stomach, reading a book on postcolonial linguistics and it might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Paired with those tiny lounge shorts that hug your ass, the crotch area already sporting a small, wet patch, it’s no wonder he’s feeling antsy. He tugs the fabric down your thighs, hissing when he sees you’re not wearing any underwear. “Oh, so you’re just begging to be used.”

You hum, looking over your shoulder with a coy smirk, before continuing with your book. He leans in, heavy on your back, pressing you into the couch cushions as he rubs his cock against your cunt, collecting your slick, before thrusting in. Balls deep in one go, your cunt swallows him so easily. He’s groaning into your neck as he starts a steady rhythm, hands clutching handfuls of your hips.

“Tell me what that book is about,” he says, nipping at your shoulder.

“It’s - ah - a contemporary reading on - fuck, right there - Homi Bhabha’s concept of hybridity.” you reply, barely able to get the full sentence out as he starts fucking your faster.

“Yeah?” he grins, loving that you’re coherent enough to respond. As much as he loves reducing you to a babbling mess, this is just as stirring, knowing you can match him intellectually, “How’re you finding it?”

“Very stimulating.”

The double meaning is not lost on him. He grins and thrusts harder, relishing in the way your cunt squeezes around him when he hits that sweet, spongy spot deep within, “Is that so? Think you can finish this chapter before I make you cum?”

You giggle. Back arching as his pace begins to get rough. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

[sparkplug02]

It’s also showcasing the reality of trying and failing to do something. Why do you need survivors? Why do you need people to keep going and carry on? Because they learned the lessons. Other people paid the price for those lessons, but if you don’t remember them and factor them into your next try, you’ll make he same mistakes, you won’t move forward, and you won’t be better.

IF Haymitch had died in the arena when he meant to, IF Plutarch and Mags and Wiress and Beetee hadn’t gone through the terrible things that mutilated them to what we know them to be in the original trilogy, we don’t have their expertise to rely on. Not just because they’d be dead, but because Snow was actively and successfully rewriting the story to leave out those details. If they hadn’t survived, who would have been able to recount the truth? Probably no one.

Yes, that doesn’t make the mutilation itself good or ‘worth it.’ I know that, and I know Snow tortured them and none of that was necessary or right.

So you know that when Snow told Plutarch that the new Quarter Quell would reap tributes of victors, he started gambling with the idea that this could be a new chance to break the machine. He needs Beetee. He’s broken the arena twice, and they need it a third and final time. Learn from the mistakes of the past, figure out how to make it unsalvageable. Give him the biggest bomb you can think of and all the tools to make it happen.

He needs Wiress. Wiress, who’s smart enough to figure out the machine of the arena and who has a gut good enough to guide her to safety. Wiress, who can’t communicate properly and who has been hurt beyond sanity, but who is still in there enough to help. She does. It takes a while for everyone else to catch on, but she figures it out first.

He needs Mags. Mags who has seen two Quarter Quells to date. Mags who helped him with the rebellion for a long time since and who knows how these things end and what it takes for the rebellion to keep going. She either needs to be a mentor or a tribute, but she ends up being both in a way. She is an archive, she has the memory. A shame she can’t tell those memories anymore, but they’re still there and they’re still valuable and she can protect these young tributes far better inside the arena than outside.

He needs Haymitch. Haymitch, who lost everything AND himself during the last quarter quell, the last big plan to break the machine. He failed, but not completely. Haymitch showed them just how adept Snow was at twisting the story, at hiding the rot within. The rebellion all but killed him, but Plutarch needs him back. He was the face of rebellion, he was the Songbird and the Snake before Katniss and Peeta fell into that mantle. He learned the lessons they will need the hard way.

I’m willing to bet it was a damn miracle that Plutarch got Haymitch on board for Catching Fire. He has these two little ducklings that he cares about whether he wants to or not, and Plutarch is asking him to risk them and himself all over again for a plan that failed the last time it was enacted. He agrees, we know that, but Katniss doesn’t ever know about the rebellion until afterwards, and I’m don’t think Peeta does either.

I’m guessing that was Haymitch’s idea. After having all the pressure on him during his Quarter Quell, he’s not willing to put that on either Katniss or Peeta. They are both smart enough and stubborn enough to say the right things and play the part without realizing their role in all this. They want the Quell to end regardless of their knowledge of a greater rebellion. Haymitch steps in as the buffer between them and Plutarch because they trust Haymitch and he knows how hard it is to trust Plutarch. PLUTARCH knows how hard it is to trust Plutarch.

…actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know that Plutarch would have been able to convince Haymitch. Not after last time. He’s not willing to put those kids through that. He spent so much time trying to protect them from it, I’m not sure he would cave unless he didn’t have a choice.

Was Peeta’s name ever in the bowl for the reaping of the Quell? Could Plutarch have pulled that string to get Haymitch’s name in the bowl twice?

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is they learned from those failures and the failed rebellions were just as important as the successful ones because they wouldn’t have been possible without the lessons learned from past attempts.

SotR is a realisation. A realisation that the rebellion didn’t start with Katniss. That all the people we see supporting her or helping her have all been wanting to fight but they’ve been failing. That there weren’t merely “rumours” of a revolution but there were many active plans playing out and failing.

It’s a reminder that the perfect Hunger Games we saw in the first hg book was an illusion because we had Katniss as our narrator. We didn’t have Haymitch, hell, we didn’t even have someone like Peeta because these people played the games. Katniss didn’t.

Katniss was introduced to us as a mad, simple, naive girl who literally only survived because of others. She didn’t know how much her taking Prim’s place mattered because she didn’t realise what it meant to everyone who came before her. To everyone who had heard rumours of how the last District 12 victor actually fought his games. No, Katniss had just kept her head down, hunting and providing for her family.

See, she grew up way before the Games got to her. She’d already lived through her dad’s death and watched it destroy her once lively mom. Haymitch didn’t have to go through that. Lucy Gray didn’t have to go through that. They were both angry, yes, but at the Capitol. Katniss? She was first and foremost angry at her mom. At her dad. She knew who was to blame but she had too much to do and deal with to think about that. She was already jaded in a way that the Games couldn’t touch.

Peeta? He was Haymitch. He knew what he was getting into and realised he was just on a chess board with no control. So, he adapted. He played the knight, the rook, the king, the pawn. Katniss? She just… did. Changing directions, not playing the piece she was assigned because she didn’t realise that’s what was going on. Remember her surprise at the crown twisting into two after the Games?? She was so oblivious. Until Catching Fire where everything caught up to her. Where everything so many other people had been waiting and working for caught up to her.

SotR is a history book. Rewritten and edited and published as a piece of fact. SotR is a mirror and it’s a reflection of what actually happens vs what ends up being shown. SotR is the playbook of those in control of any and every kind of media that we come in touch with. SotR is a wake up call and I truly don’t know how many will see it as such.

[kxsagi]

hear me out bllk characters with an “innocent” s/o who doesn’t understand pickup lines/takes them too literally 😭 with my freaky kings shidou, kaiser, aiku, karasu and otoya, pretty please

“𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐳? 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

a/n: omg nah this is peak 🙏

(don't know art credits so sorry, but it's super cute)

ft. shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, aiku oliver, karasu tabito, otoya eita

shidou ryusei

shidou, being the menace he is, cannot resist dropping the dirtiest, most unhinged pickup lines on you. 

he corners you one day, eyes gleaming, and purrs, “you wanna ride me like a skateboard, baby?” 

you blink up at him with those wide, innocent eyes and a soft gasp. 

“but ryu... i don't know how to skateboard.” 

and you sound so genuinely distressed about it too, like you just failed a pop quiz. 

he stares at you for a second. just stares. like a man witnessing the purest creature alive. 

his brain actually short-circuits. 

“nah, nah, princess, you don’t gotta know how to ride. i’ll teach ya, easy.” 

you perk up immediately. “really?! i've always wanted to learn!” 

shidou goes through it. 

next thing you know this man is out here dragging a skateboard out of the garage, fully committed to giving you lessons like he didn’t mean it in the filthiest way possible. 

he falls in love every time you wibble-wobble on the board and giggle when he catches you. 

thinks you're the best thing since violence and energy drinks. 

kaiser michael

kaiser is OBSESSED with you. 

he thinks your innocence is a gift from the gods, handcrafted to make his life more entertaining. 

one afternoon, he leans back lazily against the wall outside, smirking, and says, “are you a magician? because whenever i look at you, everyone else disappears.” 

your eyes go HUGE. like a cartoon character. you start whipping your head around, frantically looking around the room. 

“wait, where is everyone? what did you do?!” 

you’re actually worried. you start listing people: “wasn’t ness just here? and that man selling pretzels?” 

kaiser nearly slides down the wall laughing. 

he’s gripping his stomach like he's about to ascend. 

when he finally manages to breathe, he cups your cheeks and plants a kiss right on your forehead. 

“relax, schatz. it’s just me being stupidly in love with you.” 

you still make him check if ness is okay, though. (he texts ness “u alive?” ness replies “unfortunately.”) 

aiku oliver

oliver has no shame. 

if he sees you in cute shorts or a dress, he will immediately pull out the worst pickup lines he knows. 

lounging on the couch one day, he winks at you and says, “your body’s 70% water... and i’m thirsty.” 

you stare at him, so genuinely confused, like, “you can just drink from the kitchen? i refilled the brita.” 

realizing how sassy that might have sounded, you legitimately run to get him a bottle of water and come back looking so proud of yourself. 

“here, stay hydrated.” 

oliver’s just sitting there with a hand over his face, sobbing internally from how precious you are. 

he accepts the water, kisses your hand dramatically, and mutters, “god gave you to me because he knew i couldn’t handle anyone else.” 

karasu tabito

karasu thinks he’s the king of smooth. 

he leans over your shoulder while you're cooking, breath warm against your ear, and says, “are you from tennessee? ‘cause you’re the only ten i see.” 

you immediately turn around and frown very seriously. 

“tabi... i’ve never even been to tennessee.” 

you sound so sad about it too, like you’re worried you disappointed him somehow. 

karasu has to physically restrain himself from collapsing into giggles. 

he straightens up, clearing his throat dramatically. 

“nah, babe, it’s just a cheesy way of saying you’re insanely hot.” 

you light up like a christmas tree. “oh! thank you!!” 

and then you very earnestly offer, “i can go to tennessee if you want!” 

karasu almost proposes on the spot. 

from that day on he makes it his mission to hit you with a ridiculous pickup line at least once a day just to see your confused little face. 

otoya eita

otoya thinks he’s the smoothest operator in the universe. 

he slides up to you while you're minding your business and purrs, “do you have a map? ‘cause i just got lost in your eyes.” 

immediately, you gasp and start rummaging through your bag like your life depends on it. 

“i don’t have a paper map on me, but i have the maps app in my phone! wait, wait, don’t panic, i’ll find it!” 

otoya watches you absolutely spiral over helping him and he has to cover his mouth to hide the fact that he’s losing his mind. 

when you look up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, holding your phone out like a lifeline, he just melts. 

“no need, princess,” he croons, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i’m exactly where i wanna be.” 

you: "yay! so you’re not lost anymore?" 

otoya internally: somebody please call an ambulance, i’m in love. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[xianjaneway]

I just wanted to write out my comfort fics, & tag the creators if I can.

Why?

Because if this is someone's dream, I can help that dream come true for some people.

See, I work at home, sometimes as a mom, sometimes as an eBay seller, & sometimes creating beautiful, functional things in my woodshop.

ALL of these jobs require boring, repetitive, processes, that involve long hours spent alone. Sometimes, I have moments when I fucking hate any of it.

You know what gets me through those boring, lonely, repetitive parts of life? What has already propelled me through the last 5 years of chronic illness, recovery, & building a new life?

Listening to fanfic read aloud to me in the Evie app.

I LOVE my comfort fics.

Let's go by fandom, bc while Marvel is my most recent one, the Good Omens, OFMD, Sherlock, Star Trek, & James Bond/00Q fandoms have all functioned as my literary grow-light in dark times.

I'll just start with Marvel today. Hopefully, I'll update each fandom (especially the crossovers, because THOSE are my favorite, when done well.)

However, today, I need my comfort fics, because while I've been making plans, getting passports, etc., I genuinely think it's time to get my queer family out of the US.

It's not getting any better. 💔 I have no reason to think it will. If the US citizens didn't stand up during COVID, to keep marginalized people safe, why would they do it now? 💔

Marvel:

-Into That Good Night, by Nonymous @naomisalman

I never could watch Interstellar. I'm sure it's an incredible movie in its own right, but I just couldn't sit through Christopher Nolan putting another wife or child through hell, while a flawed cis/het/white man went off to save the world.

This story not only made Interstellar accessible to me, it showed real recovery from hopelessness, real healing, and the utter pain & joy of perseverance through impossible odds.

-War, Children, by Nonymous

I'm married to a recovering hoarder, lol. He's amazing. The characterization of both PTSD & poverty here is spot-on. I love how these two healing characters give each other hope & strength to face another overwhelming day.

-Heliotrope, by Nasri

Dear God, I couldn't love this story more. My late grandmother-in-law actually survived the Dust Bowl, & nearly starved to death. She was the gentlest, quietest, sweetest woman I've ever met. This fic accurately described not only the hell of living through this disaster, but showed how *little* it takes to make hope light up your eyes again. Peaches haven't tasted the same since.

It also showed the sustaining power of love, in the midst of sacrifice. Every single character in this story is willing to give up *everything* for the people they love, & it's a fascinating process to watch unfold.

I have an idea for a sequel that I've written the bare bones for, but haven't finished. That's the first fiction I've written in 8 years. THAT is how much this story meant to me.

-Road to Giverny in Winter, by Nasri

Dear God, I needed this. Station Eleven was a masterpiece, yes, but this story distilled & concentrated it until the flavor burst on my tongue. The aftertaste still lingers, a year later.

I fucking hate the stereotype of, "strong men who never feel their feelings." "Giverny" gives Steve Rogers a whack with a scalpel & a sledgehammer, & makes him actually feel AND heal. I wish the MCU had done the same!

-The "All The Time In The World" series, by NotEvenCloseToStraight

I tagged this in my bookmarks with, "Dear God, this is better than the movies." And I truly think it is, because it gave as MUCH priority to the relationships as it did to the action. I hate it when movies make relationships (and therefore, women) a distraction from the mission objective, & therefore an emotional whiplash for both the characters & the audience:

"OH, the lead character is in love with her, but she's keeping him from RESCUING CHILDREN from a flaming building, so I kinda hate her right now."

This series makes the incredible, deep, heartfelt relationships JUST as much of a mission as, "Saving the World," & it's so rare to see that done well. (It's an unusual Stuckony endgame in the 3rd fic, that you really have to read to believe it would work. It absolutely works.)

I also think it gave much more honor & depth to Peggy Carter's character, & her love story with both Steve & her eventual husband, than the MCU ever did. NECTS uses the, "Elderly Person Gives A Dose Of Wisdom" trope quite lovingly here, & I enjoyed every minute of it.

-Ticking Down, by hulucthulhu

I had only seen clips of the movie, "Timers" on YouTube shorts, & thought it was hokey as hell.

Turns out? The same woman that wrote "Wandavision" ALSO wrote Timers. This Timers/MCU crossover (w/ a bit of Soulmate trope sprinkled on top) is yet another story about the hard work of overcoming our worst anxieties, and of healing from grief, trauma, & pain. From Tony learning to swim again after Afghanistan, to Bucky learning to care for a kitten, & do aerial yoga, every beat of this story is about taking the next step towards healing.

The ending/epilogue is also very satisfying.

-All The Angels and The Saints, by Speranza

I've written before about my journey from fundamentalism & Evangelical Christianity.

So, seeing Steve Rogers take a journey from childhood faith, to youthful atheism, to foxhole believer, to disillusioned lover, is fucking incredible. I felt EVERY beat of his faith, loss, hope, & awakening.

One thing I haven't seen much of, but Speranza just NAILED here, is how journey like Steve's affects the people he loves most.

I was enraptured w/ Bucky's journey in response to Steve's struggles. From his annoyed introduction of Steve to a potential employer as, "He's meticulous. He cares about things no sane person would care about," all the way to, [paraphrase] "How DARE you think God would make all this [gestures at the war, at his own scars] happen to teach you a fucking lesson??" Bucky reflects the tragedy of the evangelist: we spend all our time trying to convince other people how to live, while ignoring our own life.

Steve was so deep into his ideology, that Bucky's moment of, "You never think about me," is a moment that shakes him right out of abstraction & into his physical reality. And the whole fic is full of moments like that, whipping Steve's heart & mind into a frenzy, until he learns who the REAL "good guys" are.

I'm kind've obsessed w/ ALL of Speranza 's works right now. They, along w/ ItsallAvengers, are my current, "I must read everything they wrote in my fandoms" hyperfixation."

So, that's all I have time for today. I think I've stopped crying, & can start taking the next steps to get us out of here. 🖖

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[hyunniesamericano]

Waist and Want

Pairing : Han Jisung x fem!Reader

Genre: smut

Word count:2.2k

Warning: dry humping, teasing,dirty talk,orgasm,slight degradation,teasing.

Summary: You and Jisung are still new to this whole relationship thing—sweet, shy, and a little unsure. But one teasing moment with his tiny waist turns into something hot, messy, and unforgettable.

A/n: Still obsessed with rat challenge minsung ahhh .Update: I uploaded a new fic for hyunjin u can check that out here. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

You never meant to make it a thing.

It started with one innocent glance. Maybe two. Okay, maybe three. But that’s hardly obsession, right? Everyone looks at their boyfriend—especially when said boyfriend has a tiny, unfairly attractive waist that makes oversized hoodies and low-hanging joggers a lethal combo.

You didn’t choose this life. His waist chose you.And now here you are, four and a half months into your relationship, lying beside him on the couch while some anime plays in the background—one you’re supposed to be watching but haven’t absorbed a single scene of. Your attention is elsewhere. Specifically, on the soft rise and fall of Jisung’s exposed waist where his hoodie has ridden up, revealing a delicious strip of skin. His joggers hang loose on his hips like gravity’s doing you a personal favor. And to top it all off, he’s got one arm thrown lazily behind his head, stretching slightly, which just makes everything worse.

You swallow. Hard.

“You’re staring,” Jisung says suddenly, without looking away from the screen.

You jerk your head up like a guilty kid caught stealing snacks. “What? No, I’m not.”

He finally turns to look at you—wide brown eyes, flushed cheeks, the softest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Mhm,” he hums, tilting his head. “You totally are.”

You scramble for an excuse. “I was… admiring your… anime collection?”

He snorts. “Nice try. But you’ve been burning holes into my waist for the past twenty minutes.”

You blink. “You— You noticed?”

Jisung grins, teeth showing this time, proud and cocky like he’s just won something. “I always notice. You do it all the time. Especially when I’m shirtless. Or stretching. Or reaching for the top shelf.”

Heat floods your face, and you cover it with your hands. “Oh my god.”

“Wait,” he laughs, sitting up a bit. “Are you seriously embarrassed right now?”

“I didn’t mean to be that obvious!”

“Oh, baby,” he chuckles, tugging your hands away from your face. “You’re adorable. And a little bit of a perv, huh?”

You groan, falling back against the cushion. “You make it hard not to be. That stupid tiny waist of yours…”

Jisung’s brows rise, clearly enjoying this. “So it is the waist, huh? That’s what gets you all flustered?”

You make a noise of protest, but it’s already too late. The truth’s out.

He slides closer, gaze locked on yours, and you swear his smirk gets just a little darker. “Show me.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you like it that much…” he shrugs, fingers curling under the hem of his hoodie and lifting it slightly, “go ahead.”

You sit frozen, heart pounding.

He’s teasing. He has to be.

But then he lifts his hoodie a little higher—just enough to reveal more of that soft, toned skin, the faint line that dips down beneath his waistband—and smirks like he knows he’s winning.

“Don’t act shy now,” he murmurs. “You’ve already been undressing me with your eyes all evening.”

Your brain short circuits.You swallow thickly. “You’re evil.”

He grins, leaning in until his face is just inches from yours. “Nah. I’m just finally giving you what you clearly want.”

Your gaze drops to his waist again—how could it not? The smooth skin, the dip of his hip bones, the soft curve just above the waistband of those dangerously low joggers. It’s like a siren call and you’re helpless to resist.

When your fingers twitch toward him, he catches your wrist mid-air, eyes gleaming. “Ask nicely.”

You look up at him, breath catching at the way he’s watching you—like you’re something he wants to devour slowly, one teasing bite at a time.

“Can I…” You swallow again, voice softer this time. “Can I touch you?”

His smile softens, and something warmer flickers behind his gaze. “Yeah, baby,” he says gently, “you can touch.”

You hesitate only a moment before letting your fingers trace along the curve of his waist, slow and reverent. His skin is warm, smooth, and tight over lean muscle, and it feels exactly as good as you imagined—maybe even better. You let your touch drift lower, just above the waistband of his joggers, and you hear his breath hitch slightly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “You’re really into this, huh?”

You nod, too focused to answer properly. “You have no idea.”

Your hands move around to his sides, thumbs brushing the sensitive spot just above his hipbones. His body tenses under your touch, but he doesn’t stop you—if anything, he arches into it, teasing himself into your hands like he wants you to worship him.And you do.

You press a kiss to his waist. Then another. And another, slower this time, letting your lips linger just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath. You feel his fingers slide into your hair, not guiding, just feeling you, letting you do whatever the hell you want.

“You’re insane,” he whispers, voice ragged. “Fucking crazy for my waist…”

You bite him. Just a soft nip at first, right over the line of his hip, and his grip in your hair tightens.

“Shit—” he gasps, looking down at you with wide, dazed eyes. “Okay. That was… dangerous.”

You smirk against his skin, pressing another kiss to the same spot. “Thought you liked dangerous.”

“Not when it’s turning me on this fast,” he mutters.

You pull back slightly, hands resting on either side of his waist. “You always talk this much when you’re turned on?”

“Only when my girlfriend’s being a goddamn menace,” he fires back, breathless. “Seriously, who obsesses over waists?”

You roll your eyes and mutter, “I could ride this waist like a fuckin’ pony.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

And the moment they do, silence falls. Thick. Heavy. Jisung stares at you, eyes wide, mouth parted.

You freeze.

“I— That came out wrong,” you blurt, horrified. “I mean—no, I mean I meant it but I didn’t mean to say it out loud—”

He’s already laughing—choking on it, actually. His whole body shaking, his face buried in his hands as he wheezes, “Oh my god, I’m gonna die.”

“Don’t laugh!” you whine, slapping his arm. “I was trying to be sexy!”

He grins at you through laughter, eyes crinkled with joy. “Baby, that was the sexiest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“You’re such a little shit.”

“And you’re obsessed with my waist. I think we’re even.”

He leans in again, this time with a kiss—soft, deep, lingering. When he pulls back, his voice drops low and rough.

“Go on then,” he whispers, sliding your hand down his waist. “Ride it.”

You straddle him before your brain can catch up, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips. His hoodie is bunched halfway up his stomach, putting that sinful waist on full display. And it’s everything — tight, narrow, warm under your hands, moving slightly with every breath he takes like he knows exactly what it’s doing to you.

“God, your waist,” you whisper, dragging your hands over it. “It’s so perfect, Jisung—fuck.”

You lower yourself just enough to feel the line of it press between your legs, right above his bulge. Your clothed pussy meets firm muscle, and you roll your hips slowly—rubbing yourself against his bare skin through your panties, breath catching at the friction.

He watches you, stunned, as if he doesn’t quite believe what you’re doing.

“You’re humping my waist,” he murmurs, eyes wide, lips parted.

You nod, biting your lip. “I fantasize about this all the time. Clinging to it. Grinding on it. Feeling every muscle tighten when you moan.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, but it dies in his throat the moment you start moving again—slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, soaking his skin through the lace of your panties. You moan softly, letting it slip out, high and needy.

“Shit,” he mutters, hands gripping the couch cushions. “Fuck, baby, keep talking.”

“I wanna come like this,” you pant. “Just using your waist. Wanna ruin it. Leave marks. I’ll ride it like it’s the only thing that gets me off—”

That’s the breaking point.

A low growl tears from his throat, and suddenly his hands are on your hips, dragging you down his body until your soaked panties land right on top of his bulge. He bucks his hips once, grinding into you hard.

“You’re gonna come,” he grits out, “but not on my fucking waist.”

You gasp, thighs shaking. “Jisung—”

“You’re gonna come on me,” he growls, already rolling his hips up, grinding his hard length right against your clit through the fabric. “You wanna be filthy? Then be filthy.”

You whimper, body jerking with every grind. The pressure is insane — hot, hard, relentless.

“You feel that?” he breathes, voice ragged. “That’s my cock. And you’re grinding on it like you can’t get enough.”

You moan, forehead pressed to his as you move harder, chasing every ounce of friction between your soaked panties and his thick bulge. Your nails dig into his hoodie, your thighs quivering from how sensitive you already feel. And he just lies there—soaking it in, eyes burning, hands glued to your hips, guiding you over him like he’s fucking you through his clothes.

“Look at you,” he huffs, teeth grazing your jaw. “Wrecking yourself just from this.”

“You started it,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Lying there in your stupid hoodie… your tiny anime waist… fuck, I couldn’t help it.”

He groans like he’s about to explode.

“You’re such a problem,” he growls, tilting his hips up again, grinding slow and deep until you cry out. “You’ve been fantasizing about this? Rubbing all over me while I just let you use me like some fucking toy?”

You whimper, nodding frantically. “Yes—yes, fuck—”

“Then do it,” he says, breath hot against your ear. “Get off on me.”

His words push you closer to the edge. You’re dripping, panties sticking to you, the only thing separating your swollen clit from the thick heat of his cock is one pathetic layer of cotton. He keeps moving, keeps bucking up into you, grinding deeper with every shift.

You can barely breathe. “I’m gonna—fuck, Jisung, I’m gonna—”

“Come on,” he whispers, voice so tender and rough all at once it nearly breaks you. “Make a mess, baby. Right here, just like this.”

It hits you hard. You tense up, legs shaking, hips stuttering as the orgasm rushes through you—loud, gasping, twitching on top of him as you cry out his name and fall into his chest.

He holds you close, letting you ride it out. His hands stroke your back, soft and grounding.

You’re still gasping for air, body trembling from the aftershocks as your orgasm fades slowly. You’re draped over him, weak and spent, and his hands move soothingly across your back, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough, but still teasing. “Coming apart just from grinding me .That’s all it took? You’re so fucking sensitive.”

His fingers trail over your skin, brushing softly as his chest rises and falls beneath you, and you feel that familiar knot of frustration building deep inside again.

“You really lost control,” he adds, his breath hot in your ear. “All because of this.” His hands slide down, pressing against his own waist, feeling the muscle beneath. “Is it really this easy for you? Just to come undone from me?”

You groan, biting your lip, desperate for more. “Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s weak. “You know it’s not like that…”

But his voice is a teasing growl now. “Oh, I think I do. You were practically begging to grind on me, to feel me. I could’ve just laid here, and you would’ve come again.”

You lift your head, a mix of embarrassment and arousal heating your face. “I didn’t beg.”

“Hmm.” He chuckles low, a teasing glint in his eyes as he pulls you back against him. “You might not have said it, but you showed me. You don’t even need to say the words, baby. You’re already giving it all away just by touching me.”

He pauses for a second, studying your flushed face with a half-amused smirk.

“Next time, I’m making you beg,” he whispers.

You can feel the heat of your face, the pulsing need between your legs still lingering as he holds you close. He doesn’t let go, his teasing grin never fading .

“Jisung, stop,” you whisper, voice soft amd shy but desperate.

He chuckles softly, brushing your hair from your face gently. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his words a low caress. “But for now, well will take a break.... Let you rest… maybe later I’ll let you really beg.”

You shiver at the thought, knowing full well that, despite the teasing, you wouldn’t have it any other way and that u have entered a new territory in your relationship.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 20

˗ˏˋ DIY bracelets ˎˊ˗

"You were not expecting to really enjoy the MoMA exhibition, but Jungkook looks so interested and in his element that his energy is contagious. Even with a IUD in your uterus staging mutiny, and him trying to evade your questions throguh a DIY bracelet shop."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 10,4k

content: working hours at B&N, books, jk being goofy as usual, subway touches (what was that?), jk's genuine interest in photography, uterus pain, kids asking questions (lmao), jk being bff w boundaries as usual, soft conversations, avoiding certain topics, and making friendship bracelets (ew gay???) (p.s. i'm literally queer, shush it.)

✧ author's note ✧

*descends from the sky on a sparkly cloud of serotonin and unresolved sexual tension* GREETINGS, MY LITTLE PSYCHOTIC DAFFODILS. *ducks the knife thrown at my head* RUDE. *throws it back, it lands in someone’s thigh, probably Jungkook’s*

Okay okay okay okay. *deep breath.*

Hello, my beloved kikizens. If you’re reading this… I’m most likely abroad, roaming the earth like the girlboss nomad I pretend to be on Instagram, while in reality I’m crying over the outline of chapter 23 in the Notes app and eating overpriced airport pastries. Yes. I wrote this ahead of time. Yes. I am the most responsible irresponsible person you’ve ever met. Time traveling author note from Past!Kiki, sending love and ibuprofen to Future!You. Let’s hope the plane didn’t crash because, if so, Fuck Me Up Jungkook is now your responsibility. Please keep him fed and slightly emotionally constipated, just as I left him.

NOW. LET'S TALK. This chapter. THIS CHAPTER. We are entering the land of slow burn intimacy and micro-shifts in character dynamics that make me froth at the mouth. I need to scream about it. I am screaming about it. Nix at Barnes & Noble? A concept. Her choosing a retail job because she wants to save someone the way books saved her??? Yeah okay I'm totally fine, I'm just on the floor sobbing about it in a public bathroom.

AND JUNGKOOK. THAT BASTARD. Being respectful?? Giving her space while still being present?? Letting her lead and following her cues like a man who understands autonomy and emotional nuance??? Jail. Absolute jail. He’s so annoying and so HOT about it. I love writing him because he’s cocky and feral and dumb, but also deeply perceptive and compassionate when it counts. Like okay yes he's a little insufferable, but also, he's the kind of man who listens when you talk about your reproductive health without flinching and I think that's worth something.

Also. Let’s talk about the bracelets. Phoenix and Rogue. Fire-coded losers who pretend they don’t care while making color-coded matching jewelry??? WHO SAID YOU COULD BE CUTE. WHO SAID.

Anyway. This chapter is the beginning of a shift. A very soft shift. We’re not in love yet. We’re not even close. We are in that horrible, confusing, liminal space where friendship might be possible eventually but everyone’s still too scared and too stupid to say it out loud. They’re not friends yet. But they’re getting there. We’re watching in real time as they learn each other’s pressure points—what to push, when to pull back. It’s very ugh my chest hurts but also my heart is fluttering kind of vibe. Which is my favorite thing to write. Obviously.

Now. To talk about me, because I love attention: I’ve only been posting for a few months and I’m already overrun with WIPs like some kind of literary hoarder. It’s a problem. I start stories, then my ADHD bitchass brain says “new shiny idea???” and next thing I know I’m drowning in three AUs, an enemies-to-lovers high school AU I wrote at 3AM, and a secret smutty one-shot I can’t stop thinking about. It’s a whole ecosystem of chaos. But I do want to write them all. I do. I just also want to nap. And read. And rot.

So yeah. I think about y’all waiting for updates more than you know. I stress about it. I chew on it like emotional gum. My Spirk fic hasn’t updated in two months and it haunts me in my sleep. But I’m trying to accept that writing is better done when it feels good, not when I’m spiraling in guilt. So. If I ever start something and it takes me ages to finish, just know I do want to get there. I just move at the speed of depression and distraction.

AND A GENTLE REMINDER: this is a slow burn. A SLOW slow burn. Not the kind where they kiss in chapter 5 and you pretend it’s slow because they didn’t bang yet. No. I mean they will not start catching actual feelings for a while. There will be distractions. Other people, love interests. Awkwardness. Denial. You will watch them flounder. You will scream at your phone. You will think “surely they must realize it now,” and I will look you in the eyes and say, “no. no they do not.” Because the point is the journey. The point is the becoming. Not the kissing. (Okay fine also the kissing. But later.)

We are 20 chapters in, and I am being so serious when I say we are maybe… 20% into the full story. If that. I want to go all the way. From strangers to roommates to fuckbuddies to friends to best friends to oh my god it was you all along. I want to write every beat. Every change. Every stupid, messy, human moment. And yes. We will suffer. You, me, Nix, Jungkook, Yeji, Taehyung, everyone.

So I'd say sorry, but let's be honest, if you’re here right now—chapter 20, still with me—I know what kind of sick little freak you are. Masochist. You're not fooling anyone.

And I adore you for it. Thank you for choosing violence with me. Thank you for loving these two idiots. Thank you for reading. I mean it. So much.

Okay. Enough rambling. Go read. Go cry. Go scream. Tell your friends. Tattoo “Phoenix x Rogue” on your ass if you feel so inclined.

Mwah.

(Shameless reminder to support me on Ko-fi if you like my unhinged writing mess).

Edit because apparently I need to make this clear; my stories are extremely slow paced. This is STATED in the author’s INTRO I EXPLICITLY mention you must READ before delving into any of my works. I am tired of messages complaining about the pacing. You are warned beforehand. You chose to read this knowing it’s going to be slow as hell. Nobody is holding you hostage. If you’re bored, you can leave. I seriously don’t care. I am writing my stories because I crave this type of storytelling where everything is narrated in detail and nothing is glossed over. My readers know that and they choose to stay because they want the same thing. 80% of stories out there are fast-paced. I am catering to the people who want this type of organic development. If that’s not your thing, that’s absolutely fine. But you don’t get to complain and whine about something when there’s 100 fanfics out there you can read instead. You don’t get to come for me or my writing—lest of all my readers. I said what I said.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Books have always been your lifeline in a world that feels like it's trying to drown you.

You've loved them for as long as you can remember, though you can't pinpoint the exact moment they became your refuge. It wasn't a dramatic epiphany or a life-changing event. Just a gradual realization that between the pages of a book, you could breathe easier. 

Kafka speaks to the part of you that feels constantly out of step with the world (though you'd never admit that to Taehyung—his smug "I told you so" would be unbearable). 

Murakami paints surreal landscapes that make your own reality feel a little less suffocating. 

And now Donna Tartt, because you're tired of Jimin's scandalized gasps every time you confess to not having read her yet.

You weren't the stereotypical bookworm growing up. No thick glasses perched on your nose, no disdainful sniffs at the mention of pop culture. You didn't turn your nose up at Harry Styles concerts or roll your eyes at school dances. 

But even as you navigated the treacherous waters of adolescence—first periods and friendship fallouts, the constant drama of simply existing as a teenager—books were always there. 

A constant, even if sometimes pushed to the background.

They became your armor when the weight of expectations threatened to crush you. When disappointment hung heavy in the air, threatening to send you away in a chokehold, you'd retreat into worlds made of paper and ink. 

It was easier to face fictional monsters than the very real ones lurking in parent-teacher conferences and college application deadlines.

Now, standing amidst the shelves of Barnes & Noble, surrounded by the comforting smell of new books and possibility, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. Like you've come full circle. From the little girl who used to hide under her covers with a flashlight, devouring stories long past bedtime, to the woman who's made words her life's work.

It's not always easy. 

Sometimes the words on the page blur together, your mind too full of real-world worries to lose yourself in fiction. 

But even then, the weight of a book in your hands is grounding. 

A reminder that there are always other worlds to explore, other lives to live, if only for a few hundred pages.

Maybe that's why you're here, arranging displays and recommending titles to strangers. 

Because somewhere out there is another person drowning in expectations, desperate for a lifeline. 

And maybe, just maybe, you can be the one to hand them the right book at the right moment—help them with their very own small act of rebellion against a world that sometimes feels too heavy to bear.

Mark hovers nearby as you arrange a new display of bestsellers, lanky frame, loose shirt and baggy pants. He's the one who picked up your application when you and Yeji came in last week—the one with the kind eyes and the nervous habit of clutching his hands together every five seconds.

Blonde, blue-eyed. You’d dare say he’s not bad-looking. For a man.

"So basically," he explains, voice pitched low like he's sharing state secrets instead of retail procedures, "most days you'll either be on register, floor assistance, or shelving. Today you're just shadowing me on the floor."

Floor assistance, as it turns out, is mostly wandering around looking approachable (but not too approachable) and occasionally directing lost souls to the bathroom or the manga section. You're also expected to straighten displays, check for misplaced books, and maintain what Mark calls "the Barnes & Noble aesthetic."

"Which means?" you ask, adjusting a copy of the latest Sally Rooney that's slightly out of alignment with its siblings.

"You know," he shrugs, hands doing that awkward hovering thing again, "like... cozy but sophisticated. Inviting but not cluttered."

You nod like this makes perfect sense, though privately you think it sounds like the kind of bullshit corporate memo someone got paid way too much to write.

"What about recommendations?" you ask. "Do we have any input on displays or—"

"Oh, totally!" His face brightens. "We each get to curate an employee picks shelf. You can start working on yours next week."

That, at least, sounds promising. 

Already your mind is cataloging possibilities—perhaps a mix of classics and contemporary, maybe something unexpected thrown in. Definitely not the usual suspects everyone claims to have read but hasn't.

And just like that, the morning quickly blurs into afternoon. 

Your tasks are the same all day: shelving, straightening, and following Mark around as he points out the minutiae of bookselling. It's mindless work, but not unpleasant. There's something soothing about putting things in order, about knowing exactly where everything belongs.

By the time your lunch break rolls around, you've settled into a comfortable groove. The break room is empty except for you and your sad turkey sandwich, the ancient TV in the corner playing a rerun of The Office. One where Jim is pulling some elaborate prank on Dwight. You find yourself smiling despite the mediocrity of your lunch.

The afternoon passes in much the same way—quiet, uneventful, almost peaceful. You help an elderly woman find the latest Louise Penny mystery. You alphabetize a section of poetry that looks like it's been hit by a tornado. You dust shelves that probably haven't seen a feather duster since Obama was president.

And then, suddenly, it's 5 PM.

You glance at your phone, mildly surprised that eight hours have passed without a single customer meltdown or retail horror story. No one has asked to speak to your manager. No one has tried to return a clearly read book with coffee stains on page 47. No one has even approached you with one of those vague "I'm looking for a book with a blue cover about a thing that happens" requests.

In fact, you've barely interacted with customers at all. It wasn't your turn on register, and most browsers seemed content to wander without assistance. 

It's been... nice. 

Quiet. 

The kind of job where you can disappear into your own thoughts for stretches at a time.

You could get used to this, you think, clocking out and grabbing your bag from the locker. 

Maybe it won't be the soul-crushing retail experience Yeji warned you about. Maybe you've lucked into the unicorn of part-time jobs—one that pays the bills without completely draining your will to live.

Or maybe it's just the first-day honeymoon period, and next week you'll be dealing with entitled parents who think the children's section is a free daycare.

Either way, as you push through the employee exit into the early evening air, you feel a strange sense of… accomplishment? 

Surely, it's not saving lives or changing the world, but you can’t deny it’s satisfying; a day spent surrounded by books, putting things in order, creating small pockets of calm in a chaotic world.

And now, apparently (because God forbid the universe lets you forget) you have plans. 

With Jungkook, of all people. 

The thought should make you anxious.

It doesn’t.

You check your phone and see his text:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊? 𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 

You scan the street and spot him leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through his phone, looking unfairly good in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Your roommate. Your sometimes-hookup. Your... friend?

The word still feels strange, but maybe it's time to try it on for size.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 1𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚙𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐��𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚝𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 🙄

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚟

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚡 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘 𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚞 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚏

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚢𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝟹𝟸𝟷

You spot him leaning against the lamppost, scrolling on his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, black t-shirt fitting just right—not too tight, not too loose. It’s casual. Effortless. 

And yeah, you’ve seen him in casual before—sweats, pajamas, even that stupid hoodie he refuses to throw out—but this is different. This is casual street Jungkook in the wild, outside the apartment. 

Casual street Jungkook who’s here with you to do something normal and non-sexual and… friendly.

He looks good. But then again, you already knew that. There’s a reason you fuck him despite his infuriating personality. 

Even when he says things that make you want to strangle him with his own belt.

He catches sight of you approaching and grins, that stupid lopsided grin that’s all teeth and confidence. 

“Hey,” he says, voice light like this is just another day.

You don’t respond. Don’t even look up from your phone as your thumb swipes through apps in search of Maps. 

“We have a twenty-minute ride from Union Square to the MoMA,” you say flatly. “The exhibit starts in thirty-five, so let’s go.”

“Sure,” he says easily, pushing off the lamppost with a lazy shrug. “What line?”

“N, Q, R—whichever comes first.” You finally glance up at him as you say it, but only briefly. Just long enough to catch the slight raise of his eyebrows before he nods.

“Okay.”

And then you’re walking side by side toward the subway entrance like this is normal. Like this isn’t the first time you’ve agreed to spend time together without sex as the unspoken endgame.

The stairs down to the subway are crowded—typical for a weekday evening—and you both swipe your cards at the turnstile without a word. There’s a guy pissing in one corner of the station (because of course there is), and Jungkook widens his eyes in a grimace like he’s trying to wipe away the sight of it. You don’t comment, just keep moving toward the platform like nothing happened.

It shouldn’t feel awkward. It’s never been awkward with him before—not even when things got messy or complicated or downright stupid between you two. 

But now? 

Now it feels like there’s this invisible weight hanging between you, pressing down on every step you take together.

Maybe it’s because he brought up that whole “trying to be friends” thing this morning—friends who have expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment, and disappointment leads to losing control.

Or maybe it’s because now that he said it out loud—now that he put friendship on the table—you can’t stop overthinking every little thing about this outing. 

What does he expect from you? Does he want small talk? Does he want silence? Is this supposed to feel casual or meaningful or something else entirely?

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye as you both stop near the edge of the platform. He’s standing close but not too close—hands still in his pockets, gaze fixed on some ad plastered across the opposite wall. He doesn’t look uncomfortable or tense or anything remotely resembling how you feel right now.

Which makes sense because Jungkook never overthinks anything. He just does whatever feels right in the moment and deals with the consequences later (if at all). 

It’s one of the things that drives you crazy about him—and maybe one of the things you secretly envy.

The train isn’t here yet, so now what? Do you say something? Ask him about his day? Pretend this is normal and fine and not at all weird for you?

“So…” Your voice comes out hesitant—too hesitant—and you immediately hate yourself for it. 

Nice going, stupid bitch.

He glances at you but doesn’t say anything right away, waiting for you to finish whatever thought you’re trying (and failing) to articulate.

“What did… what did you do?” You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as if that’ll somehow make this less painful for both of you. “Until… y’know… five?”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smirk—like he knows exactly how much effort it took for you to ask such a simple question—and for some reason that makes you want to shove his head against the next train.

“Not much,” he says finally, his tone casual but not dismissive. “Watched some YouTube tutorials. Tried making sourdough again.”

You blink at him. “Sourdough?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like baking bread is just a totally normal thing for someone like him to do in their free time. “Didn’t come out great though.”

“Oh.” 

You don’t know what else to say to that—to him—so instead you just nod and glance down at your phone again like there’s something urgent demanding your attention.

But then, as if destiny decided (for once) to make things easier for you, the train arrives with its usual screech of brakes and rush of stale air, saving you from having to come up with any more awkward small talk on the platform.

So you step onto the train together—side by side but not touching—and you can’t help but wonder if this whole ‘trying to be friends’ thing is going to be harder than either of you realized.

Inside Jungkook moves instinctively to the metal bar overhead, reaching up to steady himself as the train lurches forward. You follow suit, your fingers wrapping around the same bar just a few inches away from his.

It’s fine. It’s normal. People share subway bars all the time. Nothing weird about it.

Except your hand shifts slightly as the train rounds a corner, and suddenly your pinky brushes against his. Just barely—a fleeting touch—but it’s enough to make you freeze for half a second.

And… 

You don’t look at him. 

You refuse to look at him. 

Because if you do, you’ll see that stupid smirk he always gets when he knows he’s gotten under your skin, and you’re not sure you can handle that right now.

But then his hand shifts too—like, on purpose?—and his pinky brushes yours again. 

Softer this time. 

Lingering.

Your stomach twists in a way that feels equal parts annoying and… something else you don’t want to name. You glance up at him despite yourself, ready to snap something sarcastic or dismissive or whatever it takes to make this moment feel less charged than it suddenly does.

But he’s not smirking. He’s just… looking at you. Calmly. Quietly. Like this is nothing more than two people sharing a subway bar in a crowded train.

And maybe it is nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking it because that’s what you do—because every little thing with him feels like it carries more weight than it should.

Still, when his fingers shift again—this time curling slightly so the side of his hand presses against yours—you don’t pull away. 

You don’t say anything either, just let your fingers relax against the bar as the train rattles onward.

It’s small. Subtle. Barely even noticeable in the grand scheme of things.

But somehow, in the cramped chaos of the subway car—with strangers pressed against you on all sides—it feels like the quietest moment you’ve had all day.

You don’t look at him again—not directly—but out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Not cocky or teasing or anything remotely resembling his usual expressions.

Just soft.

And for some reason, that makes your throat tighten all over again.

You never expected to find Jungkook beautiful.

He stands in front of a massive black and white photograph with his head tilted slightly and dark brown eyes narrowed in concentration.

The lightning inside the space makes everything feel way more thought-provoking than it actually is. All you notice, really, is how it deepens the line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his eyebrows. His lips, and how they move silently, like he's having some private conversation with the image before him.

Stupid, handsome motherfucker. Why does he exist in your space?

You've seen him naked. You've seen him laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch. You've seen him half-asleep and grumpy at 6 AM.

But you've never seen him like this—completely absorbed, genuinely focused on something that isn't getting laid or annoying the shit out of you.

"The composition is fucking incredible," he says without looking at you, gesturing at the photograph. "See how they've used negative space to draw your eye to the subject? And the depth of field is so deliberate—keeps you just slightly off-balance."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden technical analysis. Since when does Jungkook know smart words?

"You actually know about photography?" It comes out more surprised than you intended.

He turns to you then, one eyebrow raised. "Film major, Nix. Kind of comes with the territory."

"Yeah, but—" You stop yourself, not sure how to articulate that you assumed his interest in film was mostly about looking cool and impressing girls.

"But what?"

"Nothing," you mutter, moving closer to the photograph. "Just didn't realize you paid attention in class."

He snorts. "I maintain my GPA through pure charm and good looks alone. No actual knowledge required."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "Seriously though, you seem like you actually know what you're talking about. It's... weird."

"Weird that I'm not a complete idiot?" He steps back from the photograph, hands sliding into his pockets. "Gee, thanks."

"That's not what I meant."

He shrugs, already moving toward the next piece—a series of distorted portraits that seem to melt into one another.

"I just like this stuff. Always have."

You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Since when?"

"Since forever," he says, stopping in front of the portraits. "My mom was into photography. Had this old Pentax she used to carry everywhere. Taught me how to develop film in our bathroom when I was like, eight."

His voice always turns weirdly soft when his mom is involved. It makes you pause.

This is the most he's ever shared about his family, you realize.

You're not sure whether to press further or let it go.

Before you can decide, he continues, "These portraits are using multiple exposure. See how the faces blend together? It's like—when you overlay two negatives, you get this ghost effect. The new digital stuff makes it easier, but there's something about doing it on actual film that hits different."

His enthusiasm is... surprising. And weirdly contagious. You find yourself leaning in closer to see what he's pointing out, actually interested in the technical explanation.

"The photographer probably used a really slow shutter speed too," he adds, gesturing at the blurred edges of the subjects' features. "Makes movement look like this—sort of ethereal, you know?"

You don't know, not really, but you nod anyway.

Because his voice picks up speed when he talks about this, his hands do slightly more animated movements as he explains, and there’s genuine passion coloring his words and it’s…

It's... different. Seeing him care about something so much.

"What?" he asks suddenly, catching you staring at him.

You hadn't realized you were. Heat creeps up your neck, and you look away quickly.

"Nothing."

"Nah, you were looking at me weird."

"Just..." You shrug, aiming for casual. "You're a huge nerd, that's all."

He blinks at you, then barks out a laugh. "Wow. I share my vast knowledge and expertise, and that's what I get?"

"Vast knowledge? Your head barely fits in the room as it is."

"That's it," he declares, turning away dramatically. "I'm not explaining anything else. Figure it out yourself, philistine."

You swat at his arm, fighting a smile. "Oh come on, I was joking. Keep nerding out. It's..." Cute? Interesting? Surprisingly not annoying? "...Educational."

He gives you a suspicious look but seems mollified. "Fine. But only because I'm generous with my brilliance."

You snort, following him to the next piece. "So generous."

And it's strange, this feeling—this easy back-and-forth that doesn't have the usual sharp edges.

For a moment, it almost feels like you could be friends. Real friends, not just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

The thought is so unexpected that it—

Pain.

Sharp and sudden, like someone stabbing a hot poker into your lower abdomen. Your breath catches, body instinctively curling in on itself.

Your hand flies to your stomach as another wave hits, this one even more intense than the first.

It's the IUD again—has to be. But this is worse than before. Much worse.

You stop walking, one hand gripping the nearby wall for support as you try to breathe through it.

Just breathe. It'll pass. It has to.

It doesn't.

The third wave nearly brings you to your knees, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.

Jungkook makes it several steps before realizing you're no longer beside him. He turns back, eyes falling on your hunched form, and his expression shifts instantly from relaxed to concerned.

"Yo, what's wrong?" He's back at your side in three quick strides, voice pitched low but urgent.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak yet. Just need a minute. Just need to breathe.

"Phoenix?" His hand hovers near your elbow, not quite touching. "Hey, talk to me. What's happening?"

"It's—" Another stab of pain cuts you off, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. "It's nothing. Just—cramps."

His frown deepens, eyes scanning your face.

"Bullshit. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," you insist. "Just give me a second."

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but the alternative is worse.

Admitting weakness? Letting him see you crumble?

Absolutely fucking not.

Your uterus twists again—sadistic little organ—and you clench your jaw so hard you're surprised your teeth don't crack.

Breathe. Just breathe. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though?)

He's hovering now, that frown cutting deeper between his eyebrows, and you hate it.

Hate how his eyes flick over your face, cataloging symptoms.

Hate how his hand lifts halfway toward you before dropping back to his side, like he's afraid to touch you without permission.

"Ibuprofen," you manage, the word strained but determined. "I just need some ibuprofen."

"Nix, you seriously look like you're about to pass out—"

"Ibuprofen," you cut him off, sharper this time. "Seriously. I'll be okay. Just need. Ibuprofen."

You're not going home. Not happening.

You just got this fucking copper IUD on Wednesday—of course it's being a bitch. Three days of cramping is normal, right? Has to be.

And this is your first real attempt at being normal humans together, plus it's his birthday and Yoongi's expecting you to keep him out until eight. Your goddamn uterus is not ruining this.

A particularly vicious cramp rips through you, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Jungkook notices, because of course he does. His eyes narrow, jaw working like he's physically biting back whatever argument he wants to make.

Finally, he sighs—loud, frustrated, dramatic in that way only he can be.

"Okay."

The surrender in his voice shouldn't feel like a victory, but it does. Even as another cramp threatens to fold you in half.

"Okay," he repeats, softer. "Let me see if I can get you one. Just—wait here, alright?"

He wraps his fingers around your elbow, not gripping, just guiding, and you let him because walking feels like a monumental task right now. .

Focus. One foot, then the other.

There's a cushioned bench a few feet away. A kid sits at one end, maybe seven or eight, swinging his legs and staring at the floor with the bored expression of someone dragged to a museum against his will.

Jungkook walks you toward it, his hand steady on your arm.

"Hello," he says to the boy, voice gentler than you've ever heard from him. "Sorry, my friend over here is in pain and really needs to sit down."

The kid looks up—first at Jungkook, then at you—eyes widening slightly. He doesn't say anything, just scoots over, fingers drifting to his mouth as he continues to stare.

"Thanks, buddy," Jungkook says, helping you sit.

You sink onto the bench, the relief immediate but not enough. It still feels like someone's playing Operation with your insides, fishing out organs with a pair of rusty pliers.

Jungkook lingers for a second, hesitant.

"You sure you'll be okay if I—"

"Go," you grit out, not trusting yourself to say more.

He gives you one last look—concerned, frustrated, something else you can't name—before turning and striding away with purpose, disappearing around a corner.

And then it's just you, the kid, and the agony twisting through your abdomen.

Great. Fantastic. You can't even make it through one normal human interaction without your body staging a fucking rebellion.

Every time you try to—what? Be a decent person? Spend time with someone who isn't Yeji? The universe laughs in your face.

The kid is still staring at you, blue eyes huge in his small face. You force what you hope is a reassuring smile but suspect looks more like a grimace.

"Your face is becoming white," he says matter-of-factly.

"Thanks," you mutter. "I'm aware."

"Like a ghost," he adds helpfully. "Are you gonna throw up?"

Jesus Christ. This is your life now. Being assessed by a tiny human while your reproductive system wages war against the rest of your organs.

"No," you say, though you're not entirely sure that's true. "Just need some medicine."

"My mom says medicine is for when you're really sick," he informs you, kicking his heels against the bench. "Are you really sick?"

Another twist of pain, and you have to close your eyes for a second.

"Something like that."

"Is that man your boyfriend?"

God, children and their questions. No filter, just an endless stream of curiosity with no regard for social niceties.

You should lie.

Should say yes, it would be simpler than explaining the complicated mess that is you and Jungkook.

"No," you say instead. "Just a... friend."

The word still feels strange. Foreign. Like you're saying it in a language you barely speak.

"Oh." The kid looks disappointed. "He looks like a superhero."

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the growing concern that the gyno didn't warn you about this level of copper IUD hell—you almost laugh.

Because Jungkook? Oh he would fucking love that. His ego is already the size of Manhattan; the last thing he needs is child-based validation of his supposed heroism.

"More like a supervillain," you mutter.

The boy's eyes widen further. "Really?"

"No, not really. Just a regular person who's..." You pause, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Annoying? Complicated? Stupidly attractive even when he's being insufferable?

"...helping me out."

You press your palm harder against your abdomen, hoping the pressure will somehow counteract the pain. But truthfully, it doesn't. If anything, it's getting worse, spreading from your core outward until your lower back aches and your thighs feel weak.

This can't be normal.

Well, maybe it is.

You've never had an IUD before—what the hell do you know?

Clearly should've read beyond the first page of that pamphlet they gave you, but you were too busy trying not to think about the actual insertion part.

"I have lots of friends," the kid announces proudly. "But none of them are girls."

He wrinkles his nose like this is the most disgusting concept imaginable.

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the knowledge that this day is slowly derailing—you almost smile.

"Girls aren't so bad."

He shrugs, unconvinced. "They like stupid stuff."

"So do boys."

"Nuh-uh. Boys like cool things. Like dinosaurs."

"Girls can like dinosaurs too."

He considers this, head tilted.

"I guess. My sister doesn't though. She just likes her stupid boyfriend." The contempt in his voice is impressive for someone whose feet don't touch the floor.

You're saved from further insights into his sister's love life by Jungkook's return. He's walking toward you with a small paper cup in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, his expression still caught between concern and that strange new softness.

"Got you covered," he says, dropping into a crouch in front of you. "They had a first aid station. Ibuprofen and water."

You take the pills and water with hands that shake slightly, downing them quickly.

"Thanks."

He sits beside you on the bench, close but not touching—some sort of distance that feels both considerate and maddening.

You realize now Jungkook is not one to push boundaries. Not when they’re firm, not when you’ve made them clear. Like when you told him this thing between you two stayed between you two and he just accepted it.

"Should take about twenty minutes to kick in," he says, voice low and even.

You nod, focusing on your breathing.

In and out. Slow and steady. Just get through this. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though? Because right now it feels like your insides are trying to claw their way out.)

"We can go home," he offers, so subsided it's almost comical coming from him. "If you want."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended, and you soften it with, "No, I'm fine. Just need a minute."

He doesn't argue, just nods like he expected this answer.

Of course he did.

He knows you're stubborn, knows you hate showing weakness, knows you'll suffer through just about anything to avoid admitting you can't handle it.

The silence stretches between you, but it's not uncomfortable. Not exactly. It's... waiting. Patient. And you note how his knee bounces slightly, the only sign of restless energy in his otherwise still form.

"Thanks," you say again, quieter this time.

He glances at you, surprise flitting across his features.

"For what?"

"For not..." You gesture vaguely, searching for the right words. "Making it a thing."

His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite.

"It's your body, Nix. Your call."

Something warm and unexpected unfurls in your chest at that—at the simple acknowledgment of your autonomy, your right to decide how to handle your own pain.

He could push. Could insist on taking you home, on calling a doctor, on making decisions for you "for your own good."

It's what most people would do, have always done, their concern overriding your independence.

But he doesn't.

Just sits beside you, a quiet presence in the middle of this mess, respecting your boundaries even as his knee keeps bouncing with what you suspect is concern he's trying not to voice.

It's... nice. Weird, but nice.

The kid on the bench has gone quiet, watching both of you with curious eyes. His mother appears suddenly, a harried-looking woman with a museum map clutched in one hand.

"Aiden, there you are! I told you not to wander off." She gives you and Jungkook an apologetic smile. "Sorry if he bothered you."

"He's fine," Jungkook says, easy and casual. "Just keeping us company."

Aiden slides off the bench, taking his mother's outstretched hand.

“They're friends," he informs her solemnly. "But not boyfriend and girlfriend."

His mother looks mortified. "Aiden!"

"It's okay," you manage, fighting back a laugh that would probably hurt like hell. "He's just observant."

Aiden's mother drags him away, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he waves one last time.

And then it's just the two of you, sitting in silence on a bench in the middle of the MoMA like you belong there. Like this is normal.

All the while, the pain persists, still twisting through your abdomen.

Jungkook hums quietly—something soft and melodic that takes you a moment to recognize.

John Mayer. Of course it's fucking John Mayer.

Your gaze drifts to the floor, tracing the patterns in the polished concrete as another thought forms, heavy and insistent.

Should you tell him? About the IUD?

He's worried. You can see it in his eyes, the way his fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking.

But he's not pushing. Not demanding explanations or insisting on taking you home.

Because that's not what he does.

He suggests, offers, hints... but never forces. Never demands.

Just accepts whatever you're willing to give, even when it's clear he wants more.

This morning he talked about being friends. About sharing things. About being more than just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

Maybe this could be a first step. A tiny gesture toward whatever it is he's proposing.

But also...

Also what if you tell him and he smirks? Makes some stupid joke about how you wanted him raw that badly?

You know how quickly he covers discomfort with humor, how reliably he turns to sexual innuendo when a moment gets too real or too heavy.

And this moment is nothing if not heavy.

But overthinking it is getting you nowhere, and the silence is stretching too long, becoming its own kind of weight.

So you take a breath, summon what little courage the pain hasn't eaten away, and speak.

"I got an IUD." The words come out soft, hushed, almost hoping he won't hear them. "Wednesday."

His head tilts toward you, and you brace yourself. Wait for the snort, the smirk, the inevitable sexual commentary that will make you regret this tiny moment of trust.

But it never comes.

He just sighs softly, a small shrug lifting his shoulders.

"That's good."

Your eyes drift to him, confusion replacing the defensive tension you were building, because what does he mean?

He meets your gaze, then looks back at the photograph on the wall.

“I mean, it's good you're taking care of yourself. Your sexual health." Another shrug, this one smaller. "That's good, Nix."

Something in your chest loosens—a knot you didn't realize you were holding tight.

It's... not what you expected. Not from him.

Not from anyone, really.

"Yeah, well." You shift on the bench, wincing as the movement sends a dull throb through your lower abdomen. "Not feeling particularly great about it at the moment."

His lips quirk, not quite a smile.

"Pain that bad?"

"Like someone's playing Operation with my insides, but they're losing."

A soft laugh escapes him. "Fucking brutal."

"Pretty much."

Another stretch of silence, but this one feels different. Lighter, somehow. The pain is still there, but it's muted now, less all-consuming.

"Copper or hormonal?" he asks, voice casual like he's asking about the weather, not your reproductive choices.

You blink at him, genuinely surprised.

"You know the difference?"

"I do actually pay attention in health class, Phoenix. Plus, you know. Been with people who've had them."

"Copper," you answer, focusing on the question instead of whatever that feeling was. "I had a feeling hormones would mess with me."

He nods like this makes perfect sense. "Those are the ones that hurt more at first, right? Take longer to settle?"

Again, that surprise. "Yeah. How do you know that?"

"My ex." He shifts slightly on the bench, angling more toward you without actually moving closer. "She had one. Copper. Cramped like hell the first few months."

"Months?" The word comes out more alarmed than you intended.

His eyes widen slightly. "Not like, continuously. Just periodically. Mostly when she got her period. It got better though. Less intense over time."

"Great," you mutter. "Something to look forward to."

"Sorry." He winces. "Not helping, am I?"

"Not really, no."

"Do you..." He hesitates, eyes scanning your face like he's checking for warning signs. "Do you regret getting it?"

The question catches you off guard. Not because it's invasive—it's actually pretty reasonable given the context—but because of how genuinely he asks it. Like he really wants to know what you think. Not to judge, just to understand.

"No," you say after a moment. "No, I don't regret it. I wanted it. Chose it. This—This is just the shitty part. It'll pass."

"And this is something you want? Long-term?"

You nod, a little less certain than before but still sure enough.

"Yeah. I like not having to worry about it. Worth some pain now."

"Make sense. That's... smart." He tilts his head, that thoughtful look you rarely see crossing his features. "Planning ahead."

"One of us has to," you say without thinking.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Ouch. Direct hit, Nix."

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Nah, it's fair." He cuts you off with a small laugh. "I'm not exactly Mr. Responsibility."

The self-awareness surprises you.

"You're not that bad."

"I’m not?”

“Okay I take it back.”

He chuckles.

The pain stabs again, sharper this time, and you can't quite hide the wince. His expression shifts immediately.

"Need to move around? Sometimes that helps."

You consider it. Sitting here isn't doing much except letting you focus on how much it hurts.

“Maybe."

"Think the ibuprofen's kicking in at all?"

His eyes scan your face, and you wonder what he sees there. Probably not the composed, controlled person you're trying to project.

"A little. It's not as bad as before."

"That's something." He stands, offering a hand but not insisting when you ignore it and push yourself up on your own. "We could head to the next gallery? Or go back to the one with that series you liked—the urban decay stuff."

The fact that he noticed which photographs caught your interest earlier shouldn't feel significant. It's just basic observation. Nothing special.

But it does. Feel significant, that is.

"Let's try the next one," you say, taking a tentative step. The pain doesn't immediately floor you, which is an improvement. "Slowly, though."

"No rush." He falls into step beside you, hands shoved in his pockets in that casual way he has, like he's completely at ease no matter where he is.

You nod, trying not to think about the surprise dinner. Trying even harder not to think about the stupid Mayer vinyl you bought him and the fact that all his film bros will be there.

"Thanks," you say after a few steps. "For not being weird about the IUD thing."

He glances at you, something almost like surprise flickering across his features before settling into a small smile.

“Nothing to be weird about. It's your body, Nix. Your choice."

"Yeah, but." You struggle to articulate what you mean. "Most guys would make some gross joke or get all squirmy talking about it."

"I'm not most guys."

"Okay pick me boy."

“And here we go again.” He snorts.

“Hey, you’re the one who said that generic ass shit.”

"Uh-uh, so," he says, deliberately casual as you round the corner into the next gallery space. "How do you feel about Mayer?"

You groan, shoving him lightly.

"I knew it. I fucking knew you were humming that shit on purpose."

He laughs, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine.

"Gravity is a classic! You can hate on the man all you want, but you can't deny the music."

"Watch me."

And just like that, you're arguing about John Mayer in the middle of the MoMA, the pain still there but somehow less important than this stupid debate about whether "Your Body Is A Wonderland" is the worst song ever written or just mostly terrible.

It's strange. Unexpected. Almost... nice

Maybe this friend thing isn't completely impossible after all.

New York smells different right before sunset.

The city air mellows somehow. Still dirty, still chaotic, but softer now. Like the golden hour light filtering through the buildings is actually changing the molecular structure of everything it touches.

Or maybe that's just the ibuprofen finally kicking in and making life worth living again. Hard to say.

Your phone pings as you walk beside Jungkook, the busy street full of that weird liminal energy between work day and evening. People rushing home, people headed out, everyone caught in that transitional space of not-quite-done and not-quite-started.

It's Yoongi, his message simple and direct:

𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬🎧: 𝙷𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔?

You glance at Jungkook, who's completely absorbed in his own phone, thumbs tapping absently against the screen.

Focused. Unaware.

Perfect.

You send back a quick thumbs up emoji, ignoring the follow-up questions Yoongi's already typing. The less you engage, the less likely you are to give something away.

6:30 PM.

Just over an hour until you need to steer Jungkook to the ramen place for his surprise. An hour to fill without either dying from secret uterine rebellion or accidentally revealing the plan.

You slide your phone back into your pocket and lean slightly to see what's so captivating on Jungkook's screen.

Not that you care. Just curious. Normal curious, not weird curious.

Instagram?

He's editing a photo—one of the abstract architectural shots he took at the museum when you weren't paying attention.

It's actually... pretty good.

The photo highlights the sharp angles of the stairwell, light cutting through the space in a way that transforms something mundane into something almost ethereal.

"You have a photography Instagram?"

He startles, immediately angling the phone away from you with the guilty reflex of someone caught looking at porn in public.

"Yeah, but it's nothing important. Just, you know. Silly stuff."

That's... suspicious. Jungkook doesn't do self-deprecation, not about things he's clearly good at.

He's the first person to brag about his skills, his looks, his whatever. The fact that he's downplaying this is weird.

"What silly stuff?" You raise an eyebrow, trying to peer around his shoulder at the now-hidden screen. "Show me."

"No, seriously, it's no big deal." He actually puts his phone in his pocket, which is basically equivalent to locking it in a vault given how attached he usually is to the thing. "Just a hobby."

"Since when are you shy about anything?" You nudge his arm with your elbow, oddly intrigued by this sudden reluctance. "Come on, I’ll show you mine, you show me yours."

"Not everything has to be an innuendo, Phoenix."

"That wasn't—" You stop yourself, because okay, that did sound suggestive. "Come on, I let you drag me through an entire photography exhibition. The least you could do is let me see your supposed 'silly' photography Instagram."

He's not looking at you now, eyes fixed somewhere to the left, scanning the street like he's searching for an escape route.

Then his face changes, relief washing over his features as he spots something across the way.

"Hey, wanna check that out?"

He points toward a small storefront wedged between a vintage clothing shop and a bubble tea place. The sign reads 'String Theory: DIY Jewelry & Crafts' in quirky hand-painted letters.

"A bracelet shop?" You follow his gaze, genuinely confused by the abrupt change of subject. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, why not?" He's already moving toward the crosswalk, clearly eager to leave the Instagram conversation behind. "Could be fun."

"Since when do you care about DIY bracelets?"

He shrugs, the movement a little too casual to be genuine. "Since right now. Come on, Nix. Live a little."

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of this sudden interest in arts and crafts, but follow him anyway.

 Because in all honesty… The distraction isn't unwelcome—you've still got an hour to kill, and arguing about his secret Instagram account wasn't exactly on your agenda for the day.

Plus, whatever he's hiding must be good if he's willing to make friendship bracelets to avoid talking about it.

You approach the shop, and it is small but bright, walls lined with colorful spools of thread, beads in every imaginable shape and size, and an assortment of charms that range from the typical (hearts, stars, moons) to the bizarre (tiny plastic dinosaurs, miniature food items, and what appears to be a collection of famous dictators' faces).

A twenty-something with purple hair and more piercings than you can count greets you from behind the counter.

"Welcome to String Theory! Let me know if you need help finding anything."

Jungkook nods in acknowledgement, already wandering toward a display of leather cords and metal clasps. You follow, still puzzled by this whole detour.

"So this is what we're doing now? Making friendship bracelets?" You pick up a spool of neon green thread, turning it over in your fingers. "Is this your way of making our friendship official? Should we be getting cards and flowers too?"

He snorts, examining a tray of silver charms with unexpected interest.

"If anyone's getting flowers in this scenario, it's me. I'm high maintenance."

"Yeah, no shit."

He glances at you, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“We don't have to stay if you don't want to. Just thought it might be..." He trails off, shrugging again in that way he does when he's trying to seem indifferent.

"What? Entertaining? A good way to avoid showing me your Instagram?"

"Both." He picks up a small wolf charm, turning it over in his fingers. "But mostly I thought it might be fun. You know, do something with our hands that isn't..."

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"And there's the innuendo. I was wondering how long you could go without making it weird."

"About thirty seconds, apparently." He sets the charm down, moving on to a collection of colored stones. "So, you want to make something or not?"

You consider it.

On one hand, making bracelets seems like a throwback to summer camp or middle school sleepovers—not exactly your usual Saturday night activity.

On the other hand, you've got time to kill, and it's oddly... refreshing to see Jungkook interested in something so innocuous.

Plus, you're still curious about that Instagram account, and maybe if you play along with this diversion, he'll eventually let his guard down enough to show you.

"Fine." You grab a small plastic basket from a stack near the entrance. "But I'm not making anything with your name on it, so don't get any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His smile widens into something more genuine. "Though I bet you'd rock a ‘Kuko 4-Ever' bracelet."

"I'd rather die, thanks."

You move along the wall, selecting threads in deep blues and purples because they're pretty, not because they remind you of the way Jungkook's hair sometimes looks in certain light. That would be stupid.

"So," you say casually, examining a tray of small metallic beads, "are you going to tell me about this secret Instagram account or what?"

He sighs, the sound more resigned than annoyed. "It's not secret. It's just... separate."

"Separate from what?"

"From me. From Jungkook. It's just a creative outlet, okay? Nothing special."

"But good enough that you don't want to show me."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there's something unexpectedly vulnerable in his expression.

"It's not that I don't want to show you. It's just... people get weird about it."

"Weird how?"

"They either think it's pretentious or they make too big a deal out of it." He moves to another display, this one filled with various charms. "It's easier to just keep it separate."

You follow him, curiosity piqued even further.

 Jungkook, who walks around the apartment half-naked without a second thought, who leaves his dirty laundry in the most inconvenient places possible, who has absolutely no qualms about sharing the explicit details of his sex life—this same Jungkook is suddenly shy about his photography?

"I won't make it weird," you offer, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice. "Promise."

He looks skeptical. "You make everything weird, Nix. It's your special talent."

"Fuck off." You snatch a small charm from the tray without really looking at it—something circular with delicate metalwork. "I can appreciate art without being weird about it."

"It's not really art. Just photos."

"Of what?"

He hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of a tray.

 "Mostly urban stuff. Architecture. Shadows. Light. Some nature." A shrug. "Just things I find interesting."

"That actually sounds cool."

He glances at you like he's checking for signs of mockery, then seems to decide you're being genuine.

"Yeah, well. Maybe I'll show you. Someday."

It's not a yes, but it's not a hard no either.

You'll take it.

"Cool." You move to the register, where the purple-haired employee is arranging a display of finished samples. "So how do we actually do this bracelet thing? I haven't made one since I was like, twelve."

"You think I have?" Jungkook laughs, setting his basket beside yours on the counter. "I'm flying blind here too."

The employee—Ash, according to their name tag—smiles.

“That's what I'm here for. What kind of bracelet are you thinking? We've got traditional friendship styles, leather wraps, beaded, charm..."

"Whatever's easiest," you say at the same time Jungkook says, "The coolest one."

Ash's smile widens. "How about a leather cord with beads? Simple but looks great."

"Sounds good," Jungkook agrees, emptying his basket on the counter. "Can we work on them here?"

"Absolutely. Let me set you up at the table in the back."

As you follow Ash toward a small workshop area in the rear of the store, your phone buzzes again. You check it discreetly.

𝐓𝐚𝐞🎨: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝟾. 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒’𝚜  𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

You glance at the time.

6:45 PM.

Just over an hour left of... this. This strange, not entirely unpleasant detour into something that feels almost like friendship.

You slip your phone away before Jungkook can see, ignoring the small voice in the back of your mind that wonders what other secrets he might be keeping, and why you suddenly care so much about finding them out.

Ash sets you up at a small wooden table pressed right against the front window.

"So, what are we making?" Jungkook asks, already rummaging through his selection of beads like a kid sorting Halloween candy.

You don't answer immediately, an idea taking shape as you run your fingers over the threads and beads scattered across the table. Your eyes catch on the small containers of alphabet beads near the edge of the table, then drift to the vibrant collection of orange, red, and yellow beads in various shapes and finishes.

Perfect.

You pull the alphabet containers closer, fishing out specific letters: P, H, O, E, N, I, X. Setting them in a neat line in front of you, you reach for more: R, O, G, U, E.

Jungkook watches, brows drawing closer together as he pieces together what you're doing.

When recognition hits, he laughs—short and surprised.

"Okay, seriously? You're making Phoenix and Rogue bracelets now?"

You shrug, reaching for the orange, red, and yellow beads, arranging them between the letters.

"What? Hell yeah. We already branded each other, might as well make it something to remember each other by."

"You think I want to walk around with a bracelet that says 'Rogue' on my wrist?"

He looks genuinely baffled, like you've suggested he tattoo your face on his ass.

"I don't care what you do with it." You roll your eyes, already threading through the first bead. "I'm making mine."

He snorts, but instead of arguing further, he actually helps you sort through the letter beads, pushing the ones you need closer. Then, to your surprise, he reaches for the same fiery-colored beads you've been using.

"What?" he says, catching your look. "If we're doing this ridiculous twin bracelet thing, they might as well match."

"I thought you'd go for all black or something."

He shrugs, picking out a particularly vibrant red bead.

"Rogues can be fiery too. Besides," he adds with a half-smile, "these are my colors."

"Your colors?"

"Yeah." He lays out a pattern—red, orange, yellow, just like yours. "Warm tones. Bold. Kind of obnoxious if you use too many at once."

"Sounds like someone I know," you mutter, and he chuckles.

Your fingers work almost automatically, threading beads onto the leather cord. You're not being symbolic on purpose. It just looks nice.

When you glance up, Jungkook is staring at his own pile of beads, expression oddly distant.

He's rolling a small sun charm between his fingers, back and forth, like he's trying to make a decision.

"What?" you ask, because his silence feels weird.

He shrugs, the motion feeling slightly too forced on him.

"Nothing. Just..." He sets the charm down, picks up a red bead instead. "I actually had one of these. A bracelet. When I was a kid."

This feels like something—a small piece of himself he's offering without being pushed.

So you keep your tone light when you ask.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Leather, like this." He picks up one of the cords, wrapping it around his wrist to measure before cutting it. "With these bright beads my mom found at some market. Reds and oranges, kind of like these. I wore it until it literally fell apart."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Ten? Eleven?" He shrugs again. "Young enough that it was still cool, not lame."

"And now?"

His eyes flick up to yours, then away. "Now what?"

"Is it lame now?"

His expression wavers, tightening around the mouth.

"Nah, it's whatever." He starts threading red and orange beads onto his cord, precise and quick. "Just not something guys usually wear, you know? Unless they're trying to be edgy or something."

"Since when do you care about what's 'usually' done?"

He laughs, but it sounds different than his normal laugh—a little hollow, a little forced.

"Fair point."

You work in silence for a few minutes, with some accompanying sounds; like the soft click of beads and the occasional muttered curse when you drop one.

A yellow bead rolls across the table toward Jungkook, who catches it easily.

"Thanks," you mutter as he hands it back.

"No problem." He pauses, looking at the half-finished bracelet in his hands. "I lied, by the way."

"About what?"

"My mom didn't find the beads." He keeps his eyes on his work, not looking at you. "I did. She just helped me put it together because I was too small to handle the clasps."

Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten—like this isn't just a random childhood memory but something… soft.

Something he doesn't share often.

"That's sweet," you say, matching his tone. "You don't talk about your mom much."

He tenses, and you inwardly curse yourself.

"Not much to say."

That's a lie if you've ever heard one, but you don't push. Whatever this is—this small opening, it feels fragile. Like pressing too hard would make him shut down completely.

"Mine would've hated this place," you offer instead. "Too messy. Too handmade. Not enough structure."

His lips twitch, almost a smile.

"Mine would've loved it. She was always into this crafty shit. Had a whole room full of art supplies back when..." He trails off, shakes his head. "Anyway. How's yours coming?"

The abrupt subject change is obvious, but you let it slide.

"Almost done. Just need the clasp."

You hold up your creation for inspection. It's nothing fancy—just a simple leather cord with 'PHOENIX' spelled out in silver letter beads, filled with the fiery colored ones you picked.

But it looks kind of cool, in a childish, summer-camp sort of way.

Jungkook leans forward to look, his expression warming.

"Not bad, Nix. Very on-brand."

"Let me see yours."

He hesitates, then holds out his own bracelet. It's just like yours to match, with 'ROGUE' spelled out in metal letter beads. But he’s added a small sun charm that catches the light when he moves.

"Shit," you say, genuinely impressed. "Yours is way better than mine."

He shrugs, but you can tell he's pleased by the compliment.

“I have an eye for design. Part of my many talents."

"And so humble, too."

"Humility is overrated." He sets his bracelet down, reaching for the clasps Ash left for you. "Here, let me help you finish yours."

His fingers brush against yours as he takes your bracelet, the touch brief but somehow startling.

You watch as he attaches the clasp with surprising dexterity, tattooed fingers moving deftly, and it’s kind of attractive, really.

How good he is with his hands when he wants to be.

"There," he says, holding it out to you. "All set."

“Wait,” you announce, searching through the charms box.

You swear you had seen a rain charm earlier, and you had briefly snickered at it. But now that he’s wearing the sun charm it feels oddly… like yours needs to have the rain one, just to contrary him.

So you pick it up, add it to your bracelet.

And then you smile at him, show him.

He snorts.

You turn it in your hand. It feels solid, real. A physical manifestation of the nickname he gave you—the one that used to annoy you but now feels almost like a strange term of endearment.

Ash then approaches your table, a small fabric-lined box in her hands.

"All finished? Those look great!"

You both nod, holding up your creations for inspection.

"Phoenix and Rogue," she reads, smiling. "And they match! The fire colors work perfectly for both."

"Yeah," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by the hint of pride in his voice. "Kind of the point."

"Perfect timing, then," Ash says, setting the box on the table. "We're actually starting a new community art project. Would you be interested in contributing your bracelets?"

You frown, confused.

"Contributing how?"

"We're collecting handmade bracelets from customers to create a wall installation," she explains, gesturing toward a corner of the shop where several bracelets are already displayed on a corkboard. "It's part of our five-year anniversary celebration. Everyone who contributes gets a polaroid of their bracelet and a discount on their next visit."

"Oh." You look down at your bracelet, feeling an unexpected reluctance to part with it.

Which is stupid, because what were you going to do with it anyway?

Wear it?

That would be weird.

"You don't have to," Ash adds quickly, picking up on your hesitation. "It's totally optional."

"No, it's cool," Jungkook says, already placing his bracelet in the box. "I like the idea."

You glance at him, surprised again.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Creating something that stays here, becomes part of the place." He shrugs. "Better than it ending up in a drawer somewhere, right?"

There's something about the way he says it—like he's not just talking about the bracelet anymore—that makes you pause.

But then he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for your decision, and you place your bracelet in the box beside his, the matching colors side by side.

"For the record," you say as Ash takes a polaroid of your creations side by side, "I would've worn mine."

Jungkook's smile is slow and surprisingly gentle.

“Yeah?"

"Maybe not in public," you clarify quickly. "But yeah."

"Me too," he admits quietly, and it feels like he's sharing another secret—small but somehow significant. "Don't tell anyone, though. Ruins my image."

"What image? The one where you pretend to be cool but actually know an alarming amount about John Mayer's discography?"

"Exactly that one." He grins, the most genuine expression you've seen from him all day. "It's carefully curated."

Ash returns with your polaroid and receipt, both bracelets now part of the store's growing collection.

"Come back anytime to see them. They'll be here as long as we are."

"Thanks," Jungkook says, taking the polaroid and tucking it carefully into his wallet.

As you step back out onto the sidewalk, the city bathed in the deepening gold of late afternoon, you feel strangely light despite the lingering pain in your abdomen.

You reach for your phone to check the time, only to find your pocket empty.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your other pockets frantically. "My phone."

Jungkook stops mid-stretch.

"You lose it?"

"Must have left it in the shop." You're already turning back toward the door. "Wait here, I'll be quick."

"Want me to—"

"No, it's fine," you say, perhaps too quickly. "Just give me a second."

The bell chimes as you push back into the store, Ash looking up from behind the counter, eyebrows raised in question.

"Forgot my phone," you explain, gesturing vaguely toward the table where you were sitting.

"No problem. Take your time."

You move quickly to the table, eyes already scanning for your missing device.

Three minutes later, you're back outside, phone safely in hand. Jungkook's leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through something on his own phone.

"Got it?" he asks without looking up.

"Yeah."

You slip it into your pocket without checking the time.

"Ready?"

He pushes off the lamppost.

"Lead the way."

You start walking toward the subway entrance, mentally calculating the time. It must be around 7:20 now. Perfect timing to get to the restaurant by 8.

"Hungry?" you ask, as casually as you can manage.

Jungkook stretches again, arms reaching skyward in a motion that draws your eyes despite yourself.

"Starving. What did you have in mind?"

"I know a place," you say, already angling toward the stairs. "Trust me."

And the weird thing is, from the way he falls into step beside you without question, it seems like he actually does.

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[madamechrissy]

Took you Like a Shot - part 4 preview!

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

It's here !!

“You’ll let her treat us this way!?” Sukuna pouts, Satoru just shrugs. “Whipped.”

“So whipped.” Suguru agrees, Satoru glares at them as you take the two men by their ears, like an angry little thing dragging huge men out like it’s nothing, it’s probably the funniest thing he’s seen.

“No smoking in the house, we’re having a baby soon. Do it at home.” You finally get the two friends shoved out of Satoru’s penthouse, locking the door as Satoru walks up to you now, one hand over yours against the door, the other wrapping to hold you, pressing your back against him.

“Damn, mommy, look at you beating up men over six foot.” You giggle then, you can’t help it, looking up at him and turning your head, seeing his clear, blue eyes.

“You’re not high?” You ask softly, he shakes his head then, pressing little kisses to your hairline.

“I promised them primo weed to help me with the baby stuff, but they decided to smoke up when I told them to wait. But they really did help set it up…”

“I still don’t feel bad.” He laughs again as you turn, lifting your chin up to look at him while he leans down cupping your face.

“I thought it was hot.”

“Did you now?”

“Mmhmm.” He exhales, kissing you softly, lips pressing against yours hungrily, your arms slip up his chest now, wrapping his neck. “Beat them up all the time.”

“You’re such a freak I swear.” He chuckles again, picking you up for a moment, hugging you as your legs dangle, and it feels far, far too good. “I missed you a bit.”

“It was two days?”

“Shut up.” He sighs, feeling your bump against him, when the baby kicks hard, and you wince. “She’s mad at you.”

“Is she now?” He eases you down, getting on a knee and slipping your top up, pressing a kiss on your belly button, your hand runs through his silky hair as you gulp down far too many emotions.

You’ve fallen so deeply.

You wonder if this has always been there, all these years it’s been lingering in the fucking air - the longing for him, physically of course, sometimes you longed to just beat Satoru at everything. Sometimes you longed to beat him. But you always wanted his presence, annoying or not, and now as he looks up on one knee, smiling at you so sweet, you can hardly speak.

“You okay? They piss you off that much?” He teases softly, holding you by your hips, kissing your tummy lower, you tremble from your emotions, your desire.

“No, it’s… I told you I missed you, okay?” You glare again, he chuckles, continuing his kisses.

“You’re such a tsundere.”

“A what now!?”

“All angry outside but you’re sweet inside.” He puts his hand on your tummy as you lean against the door, the soft lights casting shadows from his long lashes as he feels for her kick once more.

“I’m moody and miserable, I know. But I do feel good today, the nausea seems to have finally gone away.”

“Good, I bought so many hot cheetos.”

“Yay!” He feels it then, the little kick, and he smiles, he looks so fucking adorable then you’re two steps from saying it, heart pounding.

“I love you already.” He whispers to your tummy, as she kicks his hand again, and tears start falling, dripping down onto his head, which make him look up at you, immediately standing, cupping your face. “What’s wrong!? Is she hurting you?”

“No, no not at all I…” You’re a mess, fuck you’re always a mess lately, sniffling as the moment hits you.

“What is it? Hormones?” He’s cupping your face, swiping at your tears. “Does it still smell like weed - I’ll kill them I swear. I got all that pumpkin spice stuff for-”

You cut him off with another kiss, and he tastes the salt of your tears, standing there for a moment in confusion when you pull back, sighing now. “I think I’m in love with you.”

yeppp hehe another part coming very soon (maybe this wknd!)

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[kimberlychapman]

Also, important note, especially for people who live in places that no longer use the deprecated term: some of us live in places where that term is still used or even the only official term.

A thing autistic folks Do. Not. Fucking. Need. is people from other countries shitting on them for making use of the diagnostic label they had to fight to get and is the only key they can use for services they need.

So while it is definitely reasonable to point out the problematic links in history, 1) make sure you are indeed citing the full story, as is done by the second post here, and 2) make sure that your citation is not an attack on people who have no choice but to continue to use the term that is the key to their survival.

For instance, here in the UK while the term has fallen out of favour in general, just yesterday I noted on my child's electronic school record that she has been tagged as "Autistic/Asperger's" even though her diagnosis was autistic and definitely by people who recognise that the latter is deprecated. Further, even when the term was in use, it would not have been the correct "type" for my daughter anyway. So we've never told the school that term. That's clearly a pre-made condition tag that someone at the school has applied to her digital records, and it's entirely possible that the person who did that also had no control over it. It's quite likely that the system has that as a unified tag label that would need to be fixed at the level of the system provider.

But there are people out there who would gleefully scold my daughter in ways she would be incapable of even understanding if they saw that word on her file. And that infuriates me, because she shouldn't have to defend herself from legacy labels outside of her control.

Further still, I know of several adult autistic folks whose PIP and other disability payments were granted because of the deprecated term before it was deprecated, and have been told that if they want the term removed they'll have to wait in the extremely lengthy NHS queue for re-diagnosis (which isn't a guarantee to get, especially for women and BIPOC folks!) and risk losing their benefits in the meantime, necessitating re-application for those. And speaking as someone who is currently undergoing PIP application for physical disabilities, I assure everyone it is a hellish journey and even harder for those applying for non-visible developmental or mental health issues. And Labour is trying to make it harder still.

TLDR yes the term has links to Nazi stuff, yes that's bad, yes we should update language, but FFS stop replicating Nazi-esque ableism in shitting on vulnerable people who can't just ditch a term so easily. And yes also make sure you've got the story right.

In light of the things RFK said about autistic people recently, I feel like it's important to remember where the term "Asperger's Syndrome" came from.

It was the nazi's way of sorting between "useful" autistic people that could still work for them, and "unwanted" autistic people that would be sent to the camps. We kept using the term until very recently to my memory, and I'm not one to speculate but I wouldn't be surprised if the distinction comes back into popularity in the near future. Or even becomes legally recognized.

This isn't about whether or not you personally paid your taxes or wrote a poem. People have value and a right to exist regardless of their ability to do those things, and the second we forget about that and say "oh but I'm not the kind of autistic person he's talking about, I'm useful" we've fallen directly back into the line of thinking they had in literal nazi germany.

[homemadesterekpie]

im still such an og Hale pack enjoyer for real. i think about them all the time these days. Derek, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Stiles just chilling together.

it starts awkwardly because they’re not used to eachother yet but the sheer instincts they all have to bond together is so strong the awkwardness feels just like background noise.

Scott having chosen the Argents while Stiles chose the wolves there’s this inevitable rift that forms between them. Stiles having been devoted to Scott for so long it’s obviously painful for him for a while and the wolves senses it.

especially Derek with his new Alpha powers, he can smell it on Stiles, his grief at losing his best friend. but he can also smell resignation and insistent determination.

Stiles does nothing in halves, when he’s in, he’s all in.

they start hanging out almost every day. not doing anything special most days. The betas train, Derek guides them, Stiles watches, he reads. Derek started going through the burnt out shell of his home and found some books and other things to salvage and let Stiles read through them.

and somehow that small thing almost moves Stiles to tears. Derek trusting him with the painful remains of his past life. Stiles is barely just starting to understand just how painful it’s all been for Derek up until now. and how it still tortures him. so having Derek casually show him the smoke smelling books and telling him he can read them if he wants to makes Stiles want to do something stupid like kiss Derek on the cheek and hug him. instead he fights tears and he thanks Derek sincerely as Derek just watches him intently.

It feels weird for Derek to have a pack now. It had been him and Laura for so long that his wolf had been content with that fact. but becoming an Alpha changed everything and he doesn’t know how Laura had been able to keep from changing people to add to their pack for all those years in New York because the drive to do so was almost impossible to resist. but Laura had always been the strong one, she had been raised to be the Alpha while Derek had been raised to become her beta. but he hopes he can make her proud. he hopes he can be half the Alpha she was.

its a relief to have numbers though. it feels safer and it’s easier to breath. he has people to take care of now. he has people to protect and provide for. he has people to patrol his territory with. he can secure his territory’s borders. he can start parley with the hunters occupying his territory.

it’s Stiles who brings it up. they’ve been a pack for a while now. almost a year. summer vacation is around the corner. the betas are strong now, they know how to fight, they know how to kill. meanwhile, Stiles has been going through Derek’s books obsessively. He started taking notes on loose paper but then started transcribing them more neatly into notebooks.

one late afternoon, when the pack is spending the day at the small lake deep in the preserve, Stiles sitting on the bank and reading, he asks Derek if they should consider dealing with the hunters.

ever since the pack has started growing stronger and more confident: patrolling the borders every night, contacting neighbouring packs to tekindle old alliances, Derek finally having his burnt out house torn down. the hunters have been making themselves known more insistently.

Chris Argent has been showing up with his daughter in the preserve hiking, more than once, both of them armed to the teeth. Strangers smelling of gunpowder and wolfsbane have been spotted in town a lot more often. actually, Stiles is pretty sure they’re being followed.

even Stiles who doesn’t have enhanced senses, spotted them all over town. once when out with his dad for dinner, a duo of them had come into the diner and sat at a booth not far from them. Stiles was certain he had seen them before. yes, he could swear he had seen them when he drove back home a few days ago after spending the day with the betas.

Stiles had watched as his dad had tensed when he also noticed the hunters sitting at their booth, ordering food. it was only after, when they were leaving the diner that his dad had asked Stiles if everything was good.

Stiles has told his father about werewolves a few months prior. he hadn’t gone into too much details but the sheriff knew about the pack and that Stiles was part of it. so Stiles shared to his dad his suspicions about the hunters. the next day, the sheriff gave Stiles a gun and took him to the gun range a few towns over. Stiles already knew how to use a gun but it had been a while since handling one so he made sure Stiles reacquainted himself. he also told Stiles that he would start keeping an eye on the Argents and waved away Stiles’ protests about not being worth endangering his job.

so this is why Stiles had to let Derek know they should definitely consider making a move. Derek just says yeah they should. he also confesses having been following the hunters’ movements for a while now. Stiles is taken aback because he had no idea of this??? and the betas hadn’t either from their reactions. they all stopped their swimming to look at Derek with various looks of surprise and betrayal. especially Boyd, whom had naturally worked his way to the second in command spot at Derek’s side.

so they decide to have an impromptu pack meeting right there on the bank of the small lake. they have a picnic and they talk things through as a pack, together. it feels so right to do so. this is what things are all about, Stiles distantly thinks as he watches and listens to Derek explain the hunters’ patterns of movement. a wolf pack, deep in the wilderness of their territory, ensuring the survival of their own.

they decide that Stiles will be sent with Boyd to the main Argent house and deliver the date and time and place for a parley meeting. Stiles recites the words he prepared beforehand , making sure to use the terms he learned from all the books he read.

there will be no violence. but if the hunters were to break that rule, the pack would be forced to take measures to protect themselves.

Chris’ face stays hard and impassive as he listens to Stiles but Allison isn’t as good at hiding her emotions, her face betraying her disdain and hatred. Stiles can’t help thinking those emotions don’t suit her, it makes her look a lot like her mother. the entire time Stiles speaks, she keeps her eyes on Boyd but the imposing beta doesn’t even bat an eyelash. It’s only when Allison’s eyes move to Stiles with the same animosity, that Boyd takes a step closer to Stiles, almost moving in front on him. a soft rumble growing louder the longer Allison looks at Stiles.

Chris’ eyes snap to Boyd for a second before falling to Allison and he stares her down until she has no choice but to lower her eyes, whole body shaking in anger. Boyd stops growling but he doesn’t step down or away from Stiles.

when they finally leave, Boyd walks with Stiles at his back and keeps his eyes the two hunters until they’re both back inside the house and Stiles is safe in the jeep.

Boyd and Stiles share a look when they’re both sat in the jeep. words aren’t necessary here. Boyd has done more than words could ever express so Stiles just pats Boyd’s shoulder, smiling and then he grips it for a few seconds. he’d prefer to hug him but in the jeep it would be too awkward so this would have to do for now.

not long after, the meeting happens. Derek, Boyd and Stiles arrive early. it’s happening at the outskirts of town, almost at the border of the territory. Erica and Isaac are stationed close by and they howl in warning when the hunters approach.

when Scott gets out of the SUV along with Chris, Allison and two other unfamiliar hunters, he’s the only one who reacts. he gasps and his jaw falls open in indignation but he immediately shuts it and rage courses through his veins. he never thought he would ever be feeling like this when it came to Scott but here he is. the gun in the waistband of his jeans at his back burns as his hand itches with the urge to take it out. he could shoot Scott, just to show him a lesson, he doesn’t even have wolfsbane bullets, he’d recover. but this meeting is more important than his ex best friend’s idiotic decisions.

he’s seething in it when Derek’s big hand falls to his shoulder and squeezes for a moment. Stiles calms down almost instantly. his breathing calms and he touches Derek’s hand softly with his fingers in acknowledgment, in thanks and Derek lets go. Scott’s eyes follows the movements and vague disgust blooms on his face.

Derek openly stares at Scott as he walks up along with Chris and his daughter. his stare is hard and unforgiving and he stares until Scott lowers his own gaze to the ground, fidgeting.

Derek leads the meeting and he’s surprised when Chris is the one to lead his own party. he was certain Allison was the one in charge now. She turned 18 and had finished her training months prior. that meant Chris and his men didn’t consider her ready for some reason. it must be because of the way she can’t seem to be able to keep her feelings in check. her hatred and discomfort at being in their presence is so palpable, Derek couldn’t avoid the smell even if he wanted to.

the terms of the Hale pack are brought forward. Hunters have a month to leave Hale territory or face repercussions. if they want to parley in the future, after leaving the territory, they will reach out to the pack for a meeting, the proper way. any other manner of ways used to reach out to the pack, will be considered a breach of the terms and the pack will be forced to take action.

Derek is implacable, his word is law. Stiles feels it in his bones, the skin at the back of his neck prickles with goosebumps. the wind picks up, the trees trashing with it and it becomes undeniable just how powerful Derek truly is at this moment.

the nematon is alive. Stiles has been working tirelessly for months with Deaton to purify it and then secure it’s connection to the Hale bloodline. tonight was the first test in checking the connection and the result is more than promising and Stiles can’t help giving a little smirk.

Chris looks around them furtively, feigning calm but there’s beads of sweat forming at his forehead. he watches Derek for a long time as the trees trash and creak under the force of the wind around them. the ground starts to shake slightly, pebbles and gravel rattling about.

it goes on until Chris finally extends a hand toward Derek and accepts the terms. Derek simply grips Chris’ hand in his own and they shake on it. the ground stops shaking and the the wind slowly die down to a gentle breeze.

Erica and Isaac show up at that moment, making themselves known and the entire pack watch as Chris, Allison, Scott and the two other hunters walk back to the SUV and drive away.

Stiles knows they’re out of earshot once the betas’ tense postures finally relaxes. Derek stays tense for much longer but that’s only before his senses are sharper than the betas.

Stiles and the betas celebrate by sharing hugs and a few nuzzles to cheeks. then Stiles walks over to his Alpha and just has to wait him out a few more seconds before Derek’s posture also relaxes.

he reaches out to place a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and pulls him into his personal space. he pushes his forehead to Stiles’ own and they breath the same air for a few moments. Stiles lets his eyes fall shut and he grips Derek’s henley at his side.

eventually, they separate and Derek’s hand shifts to lay to the side of his neck, thumb brushing back forth. Stiles can’t look away from Derek’s gorgeous face, his heart pounding in his chest. emotions surge up inside of him and the next thing you know Stiles is kissing Derek on the lips, arms around those broad, strong shoulders.

his uncontrollable emotions seem to burst inside of him and tears prickle at his eyes behind his tightly shut eyelids. he wants to give Derek everything. everything he has, everything he is. he wants Derek to own it all.

the Alpha must feel it all because when he puts his arms around Stiles he squeezes him so tight it borders on painful but Stiles doesn’t even notice it.

when they finally let go of eachother, the betas are gone. they probably left pretty quickly, giving them privacy. they probably went ahead to wait for them at the diner where they said they would regroup after the meeting.

Derek entwines his fingers with Stiles’ before pulling him gently towards the waiting camaro. Stiles steps up quickly and lets go of his fingers to instead hug Derek’s entire arm, smiling brightly. he may let out a few giggles, he’s so giddy he can’t help it.

after the diner, Stiles invites Derek over and they end up watching a movie in the living room since his dad is out pulling a double shift but Stiles can’t seem to concentrate on any of it. after the movie, Stiles asks Derek if he wants to sleep over. he can’t look at Derek in the eyes when he asks because it’s actually the first time Stiles does and there’s arousal thrumming in his veins that he knows for a fact Derek can smell.

he slowly makes his way up the stairs, knowing Derek will follow. at the landing he takes off his t-shirt and drops it to the floor. his jeans, underwear and socks are next, then he hears the creaking of the stairs and he knows Derek is almost at the landing.

he enters his bedroom, still keeping it slow but he chances a look back from under his lashes to watch Derek enter his bedroom with all the grace of the apex predator he truly is.

a shiver runs up Stiles’ spine and goosebumps spreads over his entire body. Derek’s eyes are glowing blood red and he’s fixated on Stiles so intently, it’s like he can feel the gaze on his skin like a physical touch.

heart pounding in his chest, he breaks eye contact to climb into his bed and settle comfortably onto his back. their eyes meet again and he watches as the Alpha stalks stalks deeper into his bedroom. their eye contact break again when Derek pulls off his henley and then Stiles’ eyes are naturally pulled down to watch Derek undo his belt.

he’s panting as Derek pushes down his jeans and underwear at the same time and he spreads his legs almost on instincts. slowly oh so slowly, Derek climbs into bed to settle onto top of Stiles and in between his spread thighs.

Stiles rummage under his pillow until his hand finds the bottle of lube he left there earlier in the day exactly for this. he presses it to Derek’s hand. he doesn’t want to wait anymore. he needs it, he needs it so bad.

Derek doesn’t use the lube right away though, instead he folds Stiles almost in half and opens him up with his mouth and tongue for a long time. Stiles squirms and moans, his dick so hard it hurts but he won’t come. he knows he won’t and he doesn’t want to, he wants to come on Derek’s dick, like he should but he’s already close so fucking close.

when Derek finally pushes two fingers into him Stiles is whinny and he’s panting hard. he knows he’s babbling but he’s not sure what he’s saying. when the third finger goes in his ass it starts making an obscene squelching sound as Derek’s fingers thrusts in and out of him. there’s no discomfort at all and he knows he’s ready, he’s so ready. he tells Derek as much and Derek who’s also panting at this point, takes out his fingers and strokes the lube onto his dick before moving his knees up a little for better leverage and lines himself up.

he kisses Stiles as he breaches him and continues to kiss him as he slowly pushes until he’s balls deep. Stiles can only moan and grip Derek’s shoulders hard as the stretch borders on painful for a moment until his body adjusts.

he doesn’t even have to say anything for Derek to know exactly when the discomfort of the stretch abates because the second it does Derek starts moving. slow steady thrusts that leaves Stiles whining into Derek’s kisses.

slowly but steadily, Derek picks up the pace and then they’re both panting too hard to kiss so they pant into eachother’s mouth for a while, Stiles sometimes babbling unintelligibly. Derek then moves his kisses to Stiles’ cheek, down his throat and settling there. he lavishes Stiles’s throat in open mouthed kisses and starts making a constant rumbling sound in his chest that Stiles can feel under his own skin.

with a hand in Derek’s hair holding him in place at his throat, he slides his other hand down to Derek’s ass to edge him on and he starts begging his Alpha to go harder. Derek doesn’t need to be told twice, on the next thrust he slams back in so hard Stiles screams.

after that, Derek fucks him so hard it’s hard to make any sound. the wolf is growling on top of him, leaving bite marks at his throat and Stiles arches into the thrusts, pleasure climbing until he’s on the edge.

then Derek’s thrusts go erratic and he’s growling louder before he pierces the soft skin of Stiles’ neck at his shoulder with his sharp teeth and Stiles is coming. spurts after spurts of come painting the length of his stomach and torso while Derek spills deep inside of him.

there’s a moment of stillness, Stiles breathing really hard and Derek twitching with aftershocks. the moment passes and Derek lowers himself gently to rest his weight completely on top of Stiles. Stiles lets out a small contented sigh. he’s so happy. he’s so sated. he’s done it. he gave Derek everything. he’s Derek’s now. he’s so happy.

when they’ve both regained their breathing and Stiles starts to doze off, Derek nuzzles his cheek and whispers “you’re mine, i love you so much.” in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles’ heart flutters and warmth spreads in his chest.

“yes, God yes, i love you too.” Stiles whispers back.