#I need to write a full fic on this one day

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

[hoonquette]

these are the days, nishimura riki.

【 another night with your friendly neighborhood spider-man 】 fem ! r 𓈒 fluff college au spider-man!riki + 665wc ── incl. mentions of injuries unproofread writing.

it's been an entire month since you've gotten a full night's rest. granted, you should be used to it—college has definitely ruined your sleep schedule for the next four years—but you'd gotten at least three hours of sleep.

thanks to nishimura riki, your friendly neighborhood spider-man (more commonly known as your boyfriend), those three hours have been reduced to maybe one. since you've found out about his identity, you've spent most nights worrying about his wellbeing, other nights were spent patching him up and tending to his wounds.

tonight is one of those nights.

one of the nights where you rub ointment against his bruised and cut skin, a look of disapproval on your face. he's tried talking to you, but you didn't answer, not wanting to snap at him for being so.. impulsive.

when you're done, you sigh, closing up the first aid kit you'd bought after the second time he came through your window. he stares at you, his eyes apologetic and a small frown on his lips.

he had changed once you let him in, throwing off his mask, and changing into one of the pair of sweats he'd left here. he foregone a shirt—wanting you to see the bruise that'd no doubt be forming on his back after being slammed against a wall.

you nearly strangled him when he told you that.

you understand that this is his unofficial job, something that he enjoys, but it doesn't mean you have to like it. especially when he's not being as careful as you would like him to be.

"alright, fine." he starts, leaning back on your bed, "i'll stop going after the small guys."

"i'm not worried about the 'small guys', ki."

"car jackers can be dangerous. so can—" you interrupt, hitting him with a pillow. he rolls away and lets out a surprised yelp. from the edge of the bed, "you shouldn't hit your injured boyfriend."

"my boyfriend wouldn't be injured if he stopped being stupid."

"i'm a superhero; we're all stupid."

you glare at him and he relents, holding his hands up in surrender. "okay, i'll be more mindful of how hard i'm being hit from now on. good?"

"not good," you crawl over to him, laying next to his body, "but fine. just stop coming over when you look like you're about to pass out. go to an actual hospital."

he rolls over again, this time so that he's hovering above you. suddenly, it feels like you're the one with the concussion—no matter how long you're with him, you don't think you'll ever get used to the close proximity riki seems to crave—and you look away.

you can see him smile out of your peripheral, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "hey, look at me."

you debate not listening to him, but you know he won't speak again until you do, so you (hesitantly) look at him.

riki's smile brightens and he places a kiss on your nose, then on your cheek, forehead, and finally your lips. the kiss lasts for a fleeting moment, but it melts you all the same.

"i wanna be with you, though." he kisses you again, "want your face to be the last thing i see before i faint from exhaustion."

you can't help the giggles that escape, turning your head away from him and covering his mouth with your hand. "stop—don't say that."

"it's true." he pulls your hand from his mouth, but not before kissing it. "plus, i can't go to a hospital, dork."

"okay, okay, whatever. new rule: be better than the other superheros. be smart."

"that gave me chills. you should be a motivational speaker."

you shove him off of you, telling him yo be serious as you do so, and your boyfriend lets out a dramatic scream of so-called pain. when he's done with his mini-monologue about how mean of a girlfriend you are, he caresses your cheek.

"i'll be smarter, though, make you worry you less. promise."

ADRiANNA 🦷 hai :3 i needed a spiderman!riki fic in order to heal from Well idk most things

[uhdrienne]

the embodiment of grace and deviousness

⛓️ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader ⛓️ genre: sfw, fluff, angst, mafia au, soulmate au ⛓️ word count: ~8k ⛓️ warnings: mentions of violence, weapons, open wounds. do not interact if it can be triggering! there's going to be cursing too because seungcheol is a grumpy one :") ⛓️ summary: as an author, it's almost poetic that your soulmate tattoo would be a flower. actually... half a flower. a snapdragon, to be exact. the petals on your arm, the vines on seungcheol's. it's even more cliche when you meet him on valentine's day. to you it means grace, but for seungcheol, he still has zero idea on what flower his tattoo is. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious at all, but during this season of love, you're about to figure out exactly what this all means for you and him, the leader of the city's most dangerous mafia.

author's note: suuurprise! to commemorate my first valentines' on this platform, here is a fic, part of @ddeonghwa-s Secret Cupid Event 💌 thank you so much to @ddeonghwa-s for putting this event together, and of course to the wonderful @kpopflowerfield for giving me this opportunity to write for you, i hope you like this as much as i did💘

here is the event masterlist! do support the works of all other authors too, all of them are so so amazing <3 happy valentines' day!!

depending on the POV, italics signify either the author's writing or Seungcheol's thoughts <3

"Territory 13 is acting up again, sir."

"Are they?"

"They're giving trouble. Threatening to cut off our chain supply in the north."

“Hm.”

“We’ve lost a few men fighting them for the past few days. The situation doesn’t seem to be de-escalating, so we reported to you.”

“Nowhere else we can push to weaken them?”

“They seem to have it figured out, sir. They outnumber us at every turn.”

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"No, sir."

"You have three hours till dawn. Take the men you need and get it settled. It won't be pretty if I don't get better news by then."

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

He swings his chair around to the fading sky of the night, nursing his glass of amber. He looks down to his full sleeve of black, red, and blue ink. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, like the highlight of a Naturalism painting, a whorl of vines and small, green leaves, linked to the vines of other flowers. He has no idea what it means, has had no idea since the day he got it. Ever since, all he's focused on is getting it covered, blended in with other flowers on his skin.

What is the point of such a mark on his skin, he wonders for the umpteenth time as he runs his hands over the permanent imprint, if the universe won't show me what it means?

He glances at the corner of his screen. 1:30am. 14 February. Hm.

He looks away.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we can proceed with cover design and vetting for you, ma'am."

"Oh... Not possible? At all?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Your drafts weren’t given the green light from our Head of Publishing, and our team can't exactly spare the manpower to help you right now."

"...I see. And there’s no one else I can look for? Or….. any contacts you may have?”

“We can try, ma’am, but we can’t promise anything. It’s busy period for us publishers at the moment.”

“Ah. Well, thank you anyway. I hope we can work together in the future."

You put your phone down and sink back into your chair, covering your face with your hands. Your most recent creative co-director pulled out two days ago, another graphic design deal fell through, and now this publishing company. At this rate, you don't know if your book will even ever reach the local bookstore across the street.

You blow out a breath, look down at the only black ink on unblemished skin, the one that's been there since the day you turned 20 years old.... the petals of a snapdragon.

Your phone lights up with a text from a friend, and as you unlock it, the date catches your attention.

14 February. Happy Valentines' Day to you.

Your final straw comes when you're walking home from your office the next night. You rub your tattoo, which has been irritated the whole of today. You have no idea what it means, just that it can't be good for your soulmate bond. But you've never been concerned for him, not the slightest bit, since the day you got the tattoo. Because he's not something you're looking for right now.

Then you hear scuffling, a familiar thing here in the rougher area of town where you live. Your only intention is to walk past and ignore everything. From prior experience, that's the best survival tactic you have: Don't go looking for trouble, and it won't find you.

A man appears on the sidewalk and walks towards you. You walk faster, calculating the distance it takes. Two hundred metres and you'll be under the safety of the street lights. One hundred and fifty. One hundred. The man seems to be getting closer.

You hear a thud. Fuck. What was that?

You squeeze your eyes together and turn around. It sounds stupid, but you'd like to at least see the face of your captor before you see darkness. You read novels about this. When a character gets out of a captor's grasp, they can never tell the police what the kidnappers look like. If now is your time, you won't go down making the same mistake.

Except there isn't a captor nor a body bag. It's just another man, hands in pockets, bending down to survey the unconscious lump on the concrete ground just behind you. He looks at you, the exact moment that you too meet his eyes. And you feel it. At the worst possible time in your life, ever, for crying out loud.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of volts of electricity. A rising and a pop in your head, a sizzling burn on your forearm. Who knew a soulmate bond snapping into place could be this painful? You choke out a gasp as the pain sears, brands itself into your arm. The outline of the flower appears in full glory, the vines entwining itself around your arm as it links with the petals. It's beautiful and horrifying, and you watch as the flower you've been waiting for finally, finally blooms.

Before long, the bloom appears on your forearm. A snapdragon.

The man seems to feel the same thing, as he doubles over in pain, pupils dilated in shock and clutching his arm. His face is covered by his hood so you can't see what he looks like, but he turns and runs, and before long he's disappeared into the darkness.

A few minutes pass before the pain finally subsides, and in its place comes a wave of exhaustion. You sink on the concrete, careful not to stir your unconscious stalker, who's still lying on the ground motionless.

You've found your soulmate. On the day of love.

You touch your mouth when you feel a smile creeping up your face.

--------------------------------

Seungcheol opens his door, barks an order to his guard outside not to disturb him unless "someone is bloody dead", sinks down on a couch and grabs a whisky. He downs it, the burn of the alcohol close to nothing as compared to that of the flower sitting oh-so-innocently on his forearm. He'll never forget the way the snapdragon petals appeared, as if they were burnt into his skin.

He stares at it, remembers the girl who gasped in pain just as he did. He never meant for this to happen. He was only passing by and saw a man from one of the local, problematic gangs sneaking up on you. He only meant to get the man away as he usually would for anyone else, because his principles, despite his rough line of work, never permitted him to disrespect women. He only meant to do one thing and go on his way. He only felt his arm burning right before he turned onto that damn street.

He glares at his arm, like the ordeal is its fault. His hand is shaking. It never shakes.

He didn't mean to feel his bond snap into place, never meant to meet you. He takes another long swig. This is the worst timing ever, he thinks darkly.

Meeting your soulmate on Valentines' Day can't be pure coincidence. If there wasn't a sign before that this was your chance, there very well was now. The next day you come up with a mission plan.

Find the man who is apparently my soulmate

...........

And that's when you sit down and have a good think. What are you even going to do when you do find him, anyway? Get together with him purely because he's meant for you, as the universe dictated? What if he's a rude jerk? What if he's ugly? What if... oh god, what if his breath stinks?

What if... he doesn't like you?

You continue writing on your notepad, absently, mindlessly writing sentences and paragraphs like word-vomit. Before long, you look down on the page to see almost a full journal entry, like you always do when you're anxious or stressed.

"Great," You mutter. "May as well write a book about this."

You enter the bookstore, waving at the little old lady who runs it.

"Good morning," She hums. "What are you looking for?"

You smile, thumbing through the different books on the shelf. "Morning. Something about flowers, maybe? I'm doing research... for a book I'm writing."

She nods. "Perhaps a book that explains the flower on your arm?"

You chuckle. Nothing could ever get past her eyes. "You caught me."

The lady laughs in return. "That," she says, hobbling out from the counter to rummage her inventory, "is a snapdragon. Yours is lovely -- a nice shade of red."

You smile. "Does its colour represent something, too?"

The old lady pulls down a thick book, flips through it and sweeps off the dust on the cover. "Every colour has its representation, but it's also your choice to decide what it means to you." She passes you the book. "In Chinese culture, it means prosperity. It's a lucky colour. For others, it could mean passion and love. It could also mean danger, perhaps courage..."

"Wow," You mumble, flipping through the book. "One colour and thousands of meanings?"

The old lady shrugs. "Colours and nature existed way before we did," She takes the book from you and goes to wrap it up in construction paper. "Is that the tattoo that brings you to your other half?"

"So the world says," You shrug, as you pay for the book. "I had the petals first, so the stem and leaves appeared when I met him, but I don't know where he is... or even what he looks like."

The lady nods in understanding. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find your way back to each other. I'd think that's what the tattoo's for."

"Do you know about them? What do they do?"

"Some stories say they help soulmates detect when one is in danger. Other stories say the closer you are, the warmer it feels... I've never tried."

Huh. You nod. "Thank you. So very much."

There is a soft shimmer of fascination in the old lady's eyes as she waves you goodbye. "I have faith that what's meant for you will come to you in due course, dear. Have a good day now."

------------------------------------

Seungcheol hasn't stopped glowering at his tattoo all day. It looks... out of place. The petals aren't supposed to be there. It looks like an outsider, a strange feeling he can't place. If this is the bond acting up, he surmises, it fucking sucks.

He needs coffee to cure the pounding headache building up.

He orders someone to get his coffee, and as he sits to wait, he taps at his keyboard impatiently, trying to figure out how the tattoo had built up.

The petals came later, he thinks. Is that supposed to mean something?

When his right-hand man, a freckled, tan man comes in with the coffee, Seungcheol is still none the wiser on the phenomenon. So he lowers his guard (for once, he thinks bitterly, for a soulmate bond of all things), and asks the man who's currently laying his coffee cup down. "Lee."

Lee looks up. "Yes, sir?"

"What do you know about soulmate bond tattoos?"

Lee looks visibly excited. "Did you get yours, sir?"

"Asking for a friend," Seungcheol deflects immediately. "So, what do you know about it?"

"I have one, sir," Lee says, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal a... half-faded anchor tattoo. "I was so.... it felt so strange to meet my other half."

"Strange. What was it like?"

Lee shrugs as he sets down a serviette. "Can I speak freely?"

Seungcheol waves at him to go ahead. He's usually the man who acts like he has a stick up his ass, but this time, he wants to find out everything he can about having a soulmate. Just so I don't drag the poor girl down with me for no good reason, he reasons to himself.

"It wasn't all good feelings," Lee explains thoughtfully, hands pausing mid-air. "My soulmate... he was an underground weapons dealer. And you know people in our circle, we don't do feelings. They're liabilities, it's another thing enemies can use against us." He chuckles bitterly. "That was one of the only things we had in common."

Seungcheol doesn't miss the way he's speaking in past tense. "You don't have to explain yourself," He says cautiously.

"No, that's okay," Lee says. "It was a while back. See, I have fading scars to prove that."

"What did it... feel like?"

"It started fading and it hurt so much, I knew something was wrong." Lee shows his arm again.

"What happened?"

Lee shrugs. "He died in an underground turf war. One of those."

Seungcheol makes eye contact. "Did you at least have good days with him?"

Lee looks at him, then looks away. "We did. Almost left the circle for each other, but..." He shrugs again. "Time just wasn't on our side."

"No," Seungcheol agrees. "It wasn't."

His fists clench. So this is what could happen to both parties who were in the circle, nevermind a civilian. He nods. "Thank you for telling me."

Lee gives him a half-smile. "So is this about your tattoo?"

"Y- No, for my friend," Seungcheol replies, cursing himself at the slip-up.

"I see," Lee says, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. Seungcheol knows Lee doesn't believe him. As his right-hand man for years, how could he not see through Seungcheol? He starts walking towards the door. "Well, tell your friend that if there's anything I learnt, it's that time is a bitch. There's going to be a lot of fear, and it won't be pretty. But... take it from me," He smiles sadly. "It's going to feel worse when you don't treasure time and lose them. After all...." He opens the door. "I lived to tell the tale."

When the door closes behind him, Seungcheol leans back into his chair and rubs his temples.

"Some soulmates you find in the lecture hall of your school. Some you find along the way of life. Some... are pre-ordained by the universe, in the form of a snapdragon tattoo.

But are these... pre-meditated, pre-planned people meant to stay?"

You put down your pen.

You're curious. At the world, for giving you a person. How that system came about. About your soulmate. What he's like, what he looks like.

But there's no straightforward way to find him. No instruction manual that tells you where to go and what to do.

You decide to take a walk that evening. No distance limit. Just wherever your feet takes you.

And it brings you to this cafe on a street you've never been, with soft music and oak furniture, and a smiley, freckled and tan man behind the counter grins at you. "Welcome to Choi's."

"Hello," You say, smiling a bit. "Could I get a latte, and... that croissant? It looks amazing."

"Of course," He says, before turning to another burly staff that just appeared. "Get her a latte, will you?"

The staff nods, and disappears behind the coffee machine.

You take a seat, and hum as you wait. When the pastry and drink appear on your table, you thank the staff and look down to see the milk foam in the shape of a heart. Mmm. You take a sip, already feeling a lot better.

The bell jingles, and a man steps in, hands in his pockets. and heads for the counter. By force of habit, you look up and send him a cursory glance. And then you freeze. The man has rolled up his sleeves as he speaks to the staff, as if they already know each other, and on his arms....

A full tattoo sleeve of flowers. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, a whorl of vines leading to the most prominent flower. It looks fresh, like it was inked in a mere five minutes earlier.... in a shade of brilliant red... a snapdragon.

It's him.

The man must have excellent situational awareness because he acutely notices someone staring at him and he turns to you. Your shell-shocked face, your trembling hands... and his eyes fall on your forearm.

Choi Seungcheol had never felt this thunderstruck, not even when he found out half his men had been bought over by rivals years ago. He knows he'll never forget this feeling.

So he does the next best thing. He excuses himself from his staff and leaves.

So you get up and run after him.

Seungcheol's in the middle of cursing himself and the world out when he hears your voice calling for him.

"Sir...?"

He can pretend he doesn't know you're calling him. Sure. He can do that. Keep on walking, Seungcheol.

Until he hears running, and a tap on his shoulder. Ah.

He swallows, closes his eyes, and turns around. "Yes?" He asks coldly.

Ah. So he's not in the habit of making conversation, you think. "I'm really sorry about this, but can I...."

"Can you what?" Seungcheol replies, even though he already knows what you're going to say.

"Can I see your arm? For a second? I just wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing wrongly."

"No, you may not."

You cringe. Silence dwindles between both of you. "Uh... right."

Seungcheol reaches for his car key. "Why do you want to see my arm, love?" He casts a cursory glance at your arm. "To see if I'm your soulmate?"

You look down, then at him. "...Yeah. I got this tattoo, and I don't know what my soulmate looks like, so..."

"So you're trying to find him in me, huh?" Seungcheol doesn't mean to be rude, but this is the only way to get you off his back, at least until he knows how to move forward. The least he can do is to warn you. "News flash, love. I'm just a man who enjoys flowers. But me as your soulmate?" He chuckles and presses a button. From a distance, his car makes a beeping sound and unlocks. "I highly doubt it. You'll need to know who we are before you enter our world."

"And who are you?" The words come out before you can stop them.

Seungcheol supposes it doesn't hurt to establish who he is, just so you'll have enough sense to stay away.

"The mafia, love," He says softly, as he walks towards his car. "I'm the leader, here. I'd advise you to stay away from me, soulmate or otherwise."

When his car pulls away, you sigh and look at your tattoo.

The biggest joke the universe could have pulled on you. Making a mafia leader, out of 8 billion other people, your soulmate.

When he reaches home, Seungcheol reaches for his phone. When Lee answers, Seungcheol gives him a long list of things to do, for the cafe and for the mafia.

"Has anyone caught on the cafe yet?" He asks.

"Nope," Lee answers. "It was a good front to keep track of the public, but it seems like a normal cafe to them. So I'd say everything's fine, boss."

"Good."

"Anything else?" Lee says.

"....One more thing." Seungcheol says, sighing through his nose. "A girl came to the cafe tonight."

"...Uh-huh."

"The girl in the white cardigan and jeans."

"Right."

"Warn her not to divulge who we are and what the cafe really is. With any luck, she'll figure out that the cafe is protecting us."

"Protecting us..." Lee gasps. "Sir, you told her who you are? Why?"

"To get her to leave me alone," Seungcheol mutters. "Anyway, just tell her to zip her mouth. I don't care how you do it."

He regrets the words once they exit his mouth. "Just don't hit her or anything. We're not in that business."

A soft laugh comes over the phone. "She your soulmate or something, boss?"

Seungcheol pinches his nose. "So she thinks. Just because we have a matching..."

An idea hits him. "Do me another favour."

"Name it, boss."

"Find out where she was last night. Just to make clear something for me."

"You got it."

A knock on your door sounds in the middle of the night. When you open the door, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you flinch when two burly guys flanking the same freckled, tan man from the cafe last night step in your doorway.

"Uh...you're from the cafe, aren't you?"

"I thought a familiar face might help matters," The freckled man says. "My name's Lee. And you?"

You introduce yourself cautiously, but you look at the two men. "So... what the man said yesterday was true? You're not really a cafe, are you?"

Lee shrugs. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, anyway." He nods to the men. "We just came here to give a little warning."

You have a feeling you already know. "What warning?"

"Don't pry, and don't tell," Lee says, still smiling, but you sense the underlying threat within. "I don't know what business you have with us, but it should end now." He nods at you. "For both yours and our good."

The burly man on the left makes a point of nodding towards your home. "We know where you live, and we can find you no matter where you go. Don't complicate things for yourself. You won't like what comes next."

And they leave, leaving you shaking in the doorway. Anger courses through you. Your soulmate sent people after you to push you away.

You don't know everything about soulmate bonds, but what you do know is that soulmates are drawn to each other: to protect, and to take care of. Either your soulmate is very, very clueless; or he just doesn't want anything to do with you. You have to find out which answer it is before you decide whether to let go of him or not.

Alright, Mr. Mafia Boss, you clench your teeth. I don't have to deal with your mafia directly to get an audience with you. Let's see how far this game can go.

Moonlight slants through his ceiling-to-floor windows. Seungcheol grits his teeth as he watches the surveillance that Lee found for him. You, walking home the night of 14 February, around 10pm, going faster and faster as that son-of-a-bitch followed you. His arms rest on his chair as he sees himself appear and knock the guy out cold.

He sighs. So it really was you. He'd recognise that face anywhere.

He looks at his tattoo once more, hating how perfectly it entwines with the rest of his tattoos. So much for covering it up. He turns his arm around again and again. It's exquisite, but it lies there like a burden.

And it picks the perfect timing to start burning. Seungcheol grunts in pain, clutching his arm as it burns, sears with the same pain it did that night. He doesn't know how the system came about, but what he knows is this: You're in danger. And as annoyed as he is about this whole situation, he has to find you. If only to make the pain stop.

He reaches for his telephone, and when the other line picks up he hisses: "Find her. Now. Scour all the surveillance in the city. I don't care what you have to do, but find her."

He can hear his man barking out orders in the background, and he shakily puts the phone down. Lee comes bursting into the room, grabs Seungcheol's arm to check on him. Normally, Seungcheol would have the head of anyone who dared to touch him without permission, but given Lee's position in this predicament, he allows him to.

"Is it supposed to be like this?" Seungcheol groans out. "It hurts like hell."

"Yup," Lee mutters. "It is. Looks and seems exactly like mine whenever Bri got into danger."

"Danger--" Seungcheol scowls and tries getting up. "You mean she's injured?"

Lee shrugs. "I don't know if it extends to normal minor situations, but whenever Bri got into a fight, I'd feel my arm burning."

"Her, fight. Don't make me laugh," Seungcheol scoffs, then grunts again as another wave of pain hits him. "She looks like she couldn't hurt a fly."

"We've located her, boss," Another man comes into the room, holding a laptop towards him.

"Where?"

When silence answers him, he hisses. "I didn't ask you this question for you to not fucking reply. I asked where?"

"The border of Territory 7, sir."

"What the hell is she doing there? Is she an underworld member, too?" Lee wonders out loud.

Seungcheol pushes himself up off his seat, wincing as his arm throbs slightly. "Fuck if I know. But I guess I have to find her if I want this pain to stop."

"I'll get men and go with you," Lee starts, but Seungcheol waves him off. "No need. We don't need to stir up a fuss, not when the territories are already misbehaving these few weeks. I'll get her, and... figure it out later."

You're tapping your foot as you wander the edges of the city's largest turf. It's well-known that civilians shouldn't pass by here if they want to get home alive and well, but with the recent news of unrest stirring in such turfs, you figure that it's the best way to seek Seungcheol out. It's stupid, but it's your best bet. Plus, you figure that the nearer you are to

You must be near a group of militants on patrol duty, because you can hear hushed orders and boots crunching. You sigh and look at your watch.

"Are you actually stupid?"

You raise your head. "So it worked. So nice of you to join me this evening."

Seungcheol storms towards you. "So you tricked me?"

"Wasn't a trick." You mutter. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You are a nutcase," He seethes, as he grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. "Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone caught you? These few places are red-light districts now. You're not supposed to be here."

"I wouldn't know. You came anyway."

Seungcheol lets you go and huffs at you. "Go home, and don't get any more stupid ideas. Yes, I'm your soulmate. Yes, my tattoo is also a snapdragon, and I guess I can sense when you're in places you shouldn't be because my arm fucking burns, okay? Got your answer?"

"No," You say defiantly. "I haven't found out one thing. Why were you so desperate to deny that you weren't my soulmate? But you still came running anyway."

"This," He hisses, stepping closer to you, "is a pain in my ass. I can't work if my tattoo's going to start hurting every half hour. So for god's sake, please stay out of anything that doesn't concern you. Do not run into a lion's den to get an audience with me."

"So you're going to give me a way to contact you?" You shrug. "Sure, if that will keep me from making rash decisions."

Seungcheol furrows his brows. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, you can't think I'm going to let you go after all of this, do you?"

What??

"Did I not make myself clear en-"

"Oh, you did," You say. "Like you said, you came running because you could sense I was somewhere I shouldn't be. So you can't stay away no matter how much I piss you off, can you?"

"I nev-"

"That's how soulmates work, Mr. Mafia Boss." You say smugly. "We can't stay away from each other, like a moth can't stray from the light."

Seungcheol scowls at you and then proceeds to maintain a ten-second glaring competition until he blows out a breath.

"Ten more reasons why I hate this bond so much," He mutters, before pulling out a business card and shoving it into your hands. "I've got ground rules. Don't call me for stupid reasons. Do not call to ask me out privately. Do not give my number to anyone for any reason. No exceptions, unless you want a bullet through your brain."

"Did you just threaten to shoot me...." You peruse the business card. "Choi Seungcheol?"

"Yes, and what about it?"

"You know nothing about being a gentleman."

"Never said I was one. Get in the car."

"You''re going to shoot me in there? With the expensive leather?"

"I will if you don't keep your mouth shut and start moving."

You zip it and follow him.

Success. You've met your soulmate. (You're sitting in his car, too.)

He said you couldn't call. But texting exists, so.... You're determined to bug him until he takes notice.

"It's me."

He leaves you on read.

The next day you add another message. "I guess I'll write to an empty chatroom. I'm doing good, I just had a sandwich for breakfast and I'm going to continue writing now."

5pm: "I'm done with my next chapter. Trying to find an illustrator for the cover. I'm craving soup."

11pm: "goodnight! hope your work or whatever's going well. You can't tell me anything about what you're doing?"

And so it continues, for a full three days, with silly texts about a sentence error you wrote, or a funny thing you ate, or asking him what he's doing at work, until you get a single response from him that has you rolling your eyes: "Be quiet."

You do not, to Seungcheol's chagrin, keep quiet.

He didn't think you could talk so much to someone who never replied. In a week he'd all but figured out your life pattern: wake up, eat, write (he had no idea what you were writing), find publishers and illustrators, take a walk maybe in the late afternoon, eat again, and write until it was time to sleep. You lead an awfully idyllic life compared to him, he thinks as he closes your text.

You also seem to have a love for soup, he realises. The weirdest fucking craving.

And croissants from his fake cafe. You sent him photos of it across the week, and he wonders how you never get tired of the damn thing. Your food cravings change from soup to something else every now and then, getting more bizarre with each one. (Pasta with pickles? Really?)

It was cute. (He cursed himself out after thinking about it.)

And so it goes for two more weeks until Seungcheol decides this has to stop. He texts you back for once, and you're elated as you read his text.

"Be ready Saturday night. Zip it for now, will you? I'm trying to work."

You're waiting outside your house when he pulls up. You already know that he knows exactly where you live, so you never bothered texting him your address. You get in once he stops the car, his grumpy face still on full display.

"Thanks for taking me out," You say, smiling at him, and he grunts as he pulls out and steps on the accelerator. "Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"

You shrug. "And you gave in. Is that a soulmate thing?"

"I will drop you off right this second if you say 'soulmate' one more time." He threatens.

He rubs the sleeve covering the skin on which his tattoo lies, and you frown. "Is it causing you trouble? I haven't gone anywhere weird recently, though."

"No. And you better not have."

He doesn't say much after that, simply drives about twenty minutes to a sleek, al fresco restaurant. The neon lights, warm-looking space draws you in, and when you read the menu outside while waiting for him to park...

"Soup? So you did read my texts!"

"You won't shut up about it. A little hard to miss it even if I wanted to."

You chuckle and flip through the menu. "So what're you getting?"

"You pick, you're the one craving soup of all things," He mutters absently. "Don't really care. Just came to get a message across."

"What is it?"

"Sit first before I tell you."

And so you do. He lets you get tomato soup and grilled cheese, pasta and a soda, and says absolutely nothing. He eats a little, rolling his eyes at the amount you inhale. Finally, you put down your fork. "So what did you want to tell me?"

He swallows his water before putting the glass down. "Just one thing."

You cock your head. "I'm listening."

"Why are you contacting me personally, so often? I'm sure I said not to do that."

"You said not to call," You reply, smiling. When he looks like he's about to protest, you smile again. "So I texted."

"You're fucking impossible," He mutters.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing. Anyway, stop that. I'm a busy man."

"I know. That's why I text, like, three times in a day. It's not a lot, is it?"

His hand comes down on the table, not loud enough to cause a scene but firm enough to catch your attention. "I don't have the time to entertain you, Miss Y/N. You know who I am, and that was my fault, and I think it would do you good to remember that."

"Pulling the mafia leader card on me, again?" You sigh and shake your head. "I don't know what you do, and you won't tell me. I write about people like you and mobsters. You're exactly what I write in my books."

"I am not one of your little book characters," Seungcheol hisses back. "I am not a work of fiction or something you pull out of your imagination and twist about like your plaything. I am real, and I am someone who can hurt you if I want to. And I don't owe you any information. Stop bothering me, got it?"

"Is that why you brought me here?" A surge of confidence and defiance grips you. He couldn't have taken you out to somewhere he knew you'd enjoy for no reason.

He scowls. “I can go wherever I want. Don’t read too much into it.”

You grin. “Sure.”

He nods.

“So can I continue messaging you?”

He groans. “Did you not get any of what I just said?”

You shrug. "Guess you’ll have to tell me a few more times.”

He sighs loudly, and his fingers drum the table as he seemingly goes deep into thought. The scowl is almost becoming a permanent fixture on his face, you think.

After a long moment, he groans and utters: “Next Sunday. 6pm.”

He takes you out two more times. The next Sunday, to a small restaurant you chose. This time he ate better, the consistent strain in his forehead almost easing as he bit into the lasagna.

He answered your questions, albeit grumpily, and when you got off his car that night, you thought, as you opened your journal up again, that he was finally, finally warming up to you.

But the next time he brings you out, he is visibly in a stormy mood, barely making conversation and stabbing his meat with his fork.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask.

“No.”

And there the conversation ends.

As dessert rolls in, you try one more time.

“So… how’s work lately?”

“Fine.”

“Ah.”

Please talk. Please.

“You know, I always wonder what a mafia boss does,” You pick up your spoon. “Like, order kills or something?”

Seungcheol picks up his glass. “I remember telling you not to ask about what I do.”

“And you don’t have to give me a full answer,” You shrug. “I’m just asking for a general idea. I thought it’d be nice if I got to know what you do.”

Seungcheol sits back in his seat. "Don't read too much into what I do, love." He takes another sip of water. "You can't honestly think I'm interested in you enough to reveal myself after a few meals. You said you're a writer. You shouldn't be this easy to lie to, you know that?"

Yeah, screw this.

Any confidence you had sizzles out. Easy to lie to. He thinks you're a gullible, small girl eating up every morsel of attention he deigns to give you when he feels like it. Red-hot, burning humiliation and shame rise in you.

After a long pause, you nod. "Alright. Fine. I get it. I apologise for occupying your time."

He surveys you for a second, then nods, like he just made a good business deal. "Just so we make things clear with each other."

"Crystal," You reply, no warmth in your words. "I think I finally got what you wanted to say. I thought you just weren't used to this... idea of having a soulmate, so I wanted to warm you up to it. But now I see you never wanted one in the first place."

Seungcheol furrows his brows just a fraction.

You push your chair back. You're careful not to look or seem angry, in part not to show him you're affected, and also to just... save face. He already embarrassed you. No need to do it again in public. "Take care, Mr. Choi. Thanks for putting up with me, anyway. It won't happen again. I’ll get the bill."

Soulmate, my ass.

----------------------------------

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.

Glass meets the plaster of the wall. His tattoo lies there, barren, lacking its usual warmth even though nothing was taken away.

----------------------------------

Ladies and gentlemen, this is perhaps how the story goes. He pushed her away, and she realised how the universe’s plan, this whole concept, had utterly failed. There were never meant to be pre-ordained people. People change, and oftentimes they disappoint…

The journal remains open, the last sentence discontinued.

T w o M o n t h s L a t e r

Soft, oozing vocals of Clara Bow fill your apartment as you pack your writing materials. You're done writing for the day.

You glance at the clock. Nine p.m. In time for a snack and TV before you head to bed.

When you turn on the TV, the news catches your attention. Another territory struggle, another turf battle for control. You shake your head and switch the channel. Typical.

As you settle down into the cushions with chips and a glass of white wine, sudden searing pain, hot and white and agonising, shoots down your arm. You gasp and grasp it in your other hand, almost keeling over at how painful it is.

Something is wrong. Very, very, wrong.

You sink to the floor, clutching your arm and sweat starting to bead your forehead. It hurts, your arm hurts, everything hurts.

Is Seungcheol in trouble?

His name card. Right. You can just find out for yourself, and if he asks, you could just say the tattoo's causing you a lot of pain. Yes. That's it.

You stagger to your drawers to find his card, messing everything up in the process. You fumble for your phone and dial his number, again and again and again, but all you’re greeted with is a beep and an automated voice instructing you to leave a message.

You don’t know what to do. No emergency contact, no one you can find… hell, you don’t even know where he is. As you’re standing, getting ready to run out and search, there's a pounding on your door.

You barely make it to the door and open it, and there stands the freckled, tan man whose name you never got. He looks awkward, eyes racing to your tattoo. "I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain," He says. "Mr. Choi ordered me to check on you."

"Check on me?" You almost wheeze. "What's going on that my arm hurts this badly?"

Lee shakes his head. "Not right now. We will talk in the van."

"Of course you can't say." You snap, patience wearing thin, temper as riled up as the pain in your arm. You're done with his secrets. "I can't know what he's doing, I can't know where he is, or if he's alive or dead, even if the pain he's causing may very well kill me too."

"You won't die," Lee says, a little more kindly. "If this comforts you, my soulmate's gone, and I'm still here."

Your anger evaporates a fraction. "I'm sorry about that."

"No need to be." Lee sighs, then reaches his own arm out. "Hold on to me, I won’t do anything weird. I'll take you to him. He's going to be a bitch when he sees you, but... I think it would be good for both of you. More often than not, distance breaks things apart."

"He's enough of a bitch even when I'm around," You mumble, but you take his arm anyway as he helps you out.

Without much effort, he gets you into the van he came in, and barks out an order to the curious men inside to drive into what he calls "The Heart".

"What's the Heart?" You ask, as he passes you a canteen of water to drink from.

"It's what it sounds like. The heart of our territory." Lee explains, eyes trained in front. "Mr. Choi's there when we... have scuffles, and that's usually the place where security is tightest, so he can be near to us to get updates and give orders, and still not get into danger."

"So he is a leader."

"He is, and one of those you wouldn't want to cross. He's quick with his work, and he can resort to getting his hands dirty if he has to. His network and connections are... frighteningly impressive, to say the least."

"Funny how I'm hearing it from you and not him," You huff as you lay your head back, trying not to think about the pain.

"He hasn't had the experience of telling people about his life, Miss," Lee chuckles. "But I figured you'll know eventually, so better sooner than later, right?"

"Sooner than later?"

"You're meant to stick around him, Miss. For the good and bad. You're his soulmate, after all."

"I don't know if we'll get there." You sigh, and close your eyes. "Is he badly hurt? Will me being there even help matters?"

Lee shrugs. "We'll find out."

Lee gets six men to flank you both as he walks you in. Up ahead, there's a building seemingly made of unforgiving steel, it's blank canvas looming in the dark red, streaked sky.

"That's the Heart?"

"That’s the one. Unpenetrable, Miss. Let's go in."

You pray for all your sakes it really is as Lee takes you up into the elevator. When he opens one of the (almost) hundreds of similar doors to lead to an empty, cell-like room, and inside sits Seungcheol, with a red fabric pressed---

"You're bleeding," You blurt. The pain in your arm subsides just a fraction, perhaps jarred by the sensation of finally, finally, meeting him.

He looks up, eyes twisting in furious shock as he glares at Lee, and then you (you don’t know why). "Exactly which part of my order did you not understand, Lee?"

Lee bows his head in apology. "I'll never take away a chance to meet your soulmate away, you know that, sir."

Seungcheol scowls hard, and you're almost afraid he's going to shoot Lee there and then.

"Get out."

Lee smiles, ushers you in and walks out. "I'll be back in half an hour to report. I'll call for the doctor again."

You bend and peel aside the fabric. Once white, it's now soaked red, it's warmth unsettling. There's blood, so much of it, and on his once unblemished skin now contains a mess of open flesh, blood, and a...

A bullet.

"A gun." You mumble.

"Try not to throw up." He replies, ever-so-gently nudging you away. "This is Armani."

"You jerk."

His face twists in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The anger is returning. "You say all sorts of fucking nonsense to keep me away, and we meet again months later because you're shot. And that may be a normal day for you, Mr. Choi, but us civilians don't go about our day-to-day expecting a bullet hole to appear in our skin."

His hand clenches up.

"This is why I said everything I did," He snarls in return, putting more pressure on his wound. "I knew I would never want you to try to handle what I am!"

"You never let me try," You hiss. "You refused to tell me anything, to let me see what your life was like. No, you chose to shut me out! And don't you dare tell me what I can or can't handle."

He huffs. "I see no reason in dragging you, or anyone else, in when it isn't needed."

"Yet Lee brought me here tonight." You point out. "He knows something you clearly don't."

"Lee is a nosy fucker." He snaps.

"He's someone who's experienced it all. His soulmate is gone, Seungcheol."

"And look at the pain it caused him. At least if anything happens to me, it's no love lost for you."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I said shut up. Sometimes people want to help you. Sometimes people wouldn't actually mind, I don't know, going into this Heart place to check on you. Sometimes, you need to get it into your thick skull that I actually want to be here, to make sure you don't die while this stupid snapdragon is burned into me!"

His eyes meet yours.

"But you won't get it!" You chuckle. "You send men to check on me when I’m in pain, but I doubt you have any intention of finding me after all this gets better."

"You think I wanted to?" He shoots back.

"And you think I had it all settled for me? That I was better off not knowing the person that was meant for me, this whole time?"

"I never wanted that." Seungcheol insists hotly. "Look at my world, it's a mess, a violent place, a--"

"And there has to be a reason I'm the one picked out!" You defend. "Do you have any idea what snapdragons stand for?"

When he doesn't reply, you continue. "It stands for grace and strength. I can handle all of this. I'm not meant to measure up with your headstrong personality anyway."

"Then what are you meant for?" He asks, tone now soft, dejected.

"To complement you," You reply. You've never been this sure in your life. "To make up for the traits you lack. I'm not supposed to be as strong, or as fierce as you are. I'm meant to... ground you. That's what soulmates are. To... allow each other's strengths to shine and make up for what they don't have yet."

Seungcheol goes quiet.

"And you?" He asks, after a long pause. "What do I complement you in?"

You survey him again. "That's something I can't discover yet, because you won't let me."

“So what do you suggest?” He continues.

“No more hiding. Show me who you are. No restraint, I don’t need you to keep anything secret.”

“What if you end up like Lee?”

“Then it would have been a life well spent, at least.”

Seungcheol grunts with effort as he leaves his seat and stumbles to you. "And if I obeyed, and let you in?"

You look at him square in the eye. "Then it would be my honour to stand with you... or in the shadows, or wherever you make me stand."

"This sounds a lot like an induction of one of my men," Seungcheol murmurs. "I don't want that."

"Then what do you want?" You ask softly.

Seungcheol looks down at you, emotions warring in his eyes. After a while, he slumps and turns away. “Fuck. I can’t do this to you.”

“Tell me what you want, Seungcheol,” You say quietly. “You order people around for a living. I’m telling you to be honest with me, too.”

"…You. With me. Wherever you, or I, want to be."

You shrug a little as he cups your face. "I can live with that."

"You better," Seungcheol mumbles, as his mouth finds yours at last, burning more than any wretched tattoo, warmth spreading to your fingertips. "After everything you just said... I don't imagine you're going anywhere for a while."

February 14, 2026

The doctor came to patch him up. His hand squeezed yours hard as the bullet was finally pried out of him.

It's honestly a blur to you now when you think about it, but all you remember is his eyes boring into yours, his unwavering, callused grip on your hand.

"The snapdragon symbolises strength and grace reflected in their tall, strong stems, blooms and resistance to colder temperatures. Others believe they also represent deception and deviousness.

She embodied grace. She was his missing piece, the trait he needed to complement his headstrong nature. But he also needed someone strong enough to stand with him, through every obstacle his work throws him in. And she... she needed his courage and unwavering will to stand with her through it all."

You put the pen down. Mmm. Not too bad for a closing chapter. You send a text to the new publishing house that you contacted two weeks ago. They had seen your draft, and they loved it. Two weeks from now, when everything is settled, you promise yourself, you will show Seungcheol. He'd been curious for a while now about what holed you up in your writing room.

"Love?"

You look up from biting into your croissant. "Well, look who's back from Sicily. How did the meetings go?"

Seungcheol smiles and opens his arms. "Not too bad. I suppose the love you share for novels, along with the Don's* wife, was a selling point. She was most keen on sending you," He cocks his head to the pile of books at his feet, "this. She said it'd make a good Valentines' gift, since I've been poor at accompanying you these few months."

"That sounds perfect. We're both suckers for romances."

As you sink into his embrace, the tattoo once again burns, but it's not the passionate, red-hot zealous heat. It's warm, comforting, like a hot chocolate in winter.

He sighs. "Happy Valentines', love. I'm going to lose my girl to a bunch of fictional mafia men again?"

"You know it."

"I still don't understand why. You have one right here, next to y-"

"Softer! Do you want the whole town to hear you?"

fin.

*Don = the highest role in an organised crime family

thank you for reading 💟

[cherrriesinthespring]

would you do a full fic? if so, sub!spencer with 79, 68, and 66

i wouldn't say this is a full fic? it's longer than what I usually write anyway

warnings: thigh riding, spitting, blowjob, begging, teasing, denial (kinda?) fem reader, mommy kink (i LOVE mommy kink spencer my baby 😩) if i missed anything please lmk!!

-------------------

he begged you for weeks, it's impossible to deny those brown doe eyes of his but you managed, until today. spencer wanted you to dom him again, and you denied the first night with the excuse of being tired. he accepted. the next night you told him you didn't feel well. he took care of you and accepted your excuse.

night after night he waited, you never actually felt any of these things, you wanted to prolong it. last night he'd asked you and you told him you need to 'fold the dishes and put them away'. he tilted his head and mumbled "I already did them..?" of course he's clueless on why you begin to laugh, it's only when you eventually fall asleep he realises what you said.

..---..---..---..---..---..---

the next day

you took some time to relax while spencer finished some paperwork, watching a movie on your laptop. you laid on your side, hip slightly popped out, your ass curved perfectly in the low lamp light. when spencer turned to let you know he'd finished his work, he practically whined at the sight of you... you looked like a goddess. still dumbstruck, he stands from the chair and you shuffle to lay on your back before sitting up against the pillows.

arms spread, inviting him in, he takes it almost immediately. he straddles your thigh, arms around your neck, face buried in the crook of it. he tenses at the feeling of your hand meeting his back but he relaxes when you slowly rub soothing circles into his skin. the tenderness turns him on, as if you looking so beautiful wasn't enough. not to mention the nights of denying him, he would never force you, but now he knows you were doing it purposely. he can't take it any longer.

spencer shifts to 'get comfortable' that's when you feel his hard-on against your thigh. you don't say anything, you ignore it.

"what was the paperwork for..?" your voice is low, and almost a whisper, it spurs him on. he never answers, instead, his hips slightly begin to rock against you, using the fabric of your pajama pants against his trousers to get relief. when you don't react for almost three minutes and 34 whole seconds he thinks he's getting away with it. obviously you noticed, how couldn't you when he'd been whining in your ear like a dog?!

you lift your leg, the tiniest bit and he whimpers, your hands fly to his hips.

"no more." your voice is firm, you go back to the movie on your screen as if he's not rock solid. your sudden order makes his whole body shiver. and his cock twitches. then you feel something warm, and wet. you don't look down, you know what he's done, you meet his eyes and his face is flushed. when he opens his mouth, it's clear he's about to go into a ramble of apologies and that's one thing you don't need.

"don't- listen, it's okay.." your hands cup his cheeks, pulling his gaze to yours. "waited all this time, such a good boy.."

he could've cum again if it was up to him, but you'd moved away so quickly. he caught himself on the mess of bedsheets behind him, your laptop now forgotten about. on your knees infront of him, you smirk as you crawl closer to his form. he's leant back on his hands, legs spread open, chest heaving. waiting for you.

you're between his legs now, hands smoothing over his dress pants, reaching for the button and undoing them. he helps you remove them, lifting his hips and tugging off his own shirt as you pull the trousers down his legs. you're still clothed, he's in boxers and he feels so exposed but he thrives on it.

"tell me what you want." your voice leaves no question and he chokes on his own words before he asks way too polite- "ruin me..”

"alright, sweet boy, whatever you want" his breath hitches.. always been one for praise, but now you think of it. he also likes being degraded. that's the last thing on your mind now though, he's already cum in his pants once, why not make him cum again?

you hook your fingers over the waistband of his boxers, the splatter of release over the inside glistening in the light when you pull them down. his cock springs up and if you didn't know he'd already finished, you would've thought he never had before. his tip was darker than the usual pink colour, balls heavy and maybe you imagined it but the veins were throbbing.

“you’re such a fucking slut, spencer. look at you” you croon at him, he bites down on his lip with a whimper.

"mommy, please-" his voice is just as pathetic, you decide to do him a favour. a firm hand over his sensitive cock causes his hips to buck, almost the way they had earlier, against your thigh. your mind slips back to how long you've made him wait, his whimpers above just amplify the desperation.

he's trying his best not to squirm too much, he needs this. he knows if he's too fussy you'll leave him high and dry, so he refuses to let himself be naughty. you watch him as your hand begins to slicken up with precum, it's slightly easier to move over him now. but you really want to ruin him like he asked.

you dip your head, his hands instantly move to your hair as you take his tip into your mouth. you run your tongue along the head, swirling it around his slit, then finally hollowing your cheeks as you take him further down. you stop at halfway, unsure if you can take the rest, his fingers clench around the hair in his grip. the feeling of your mouth on him is intoxicating, he couldn't ask for anything better. after nights of him eating you out, fucking you until you can't speak, it's time for you to repay him.

spencer's whole body shakes as he gets closer to orgasm, he practically cries out at you.

"wanna cum- oh! oh, please, please!" tears brim his waterline, you look up at him through mascara coated lashes he almost loses it. now you take him further, tapping his thigh to let him know he can cum whenever he's ready.

it doesn't take him long and you can't blame him, poor baby had been needing your mouth for a whole seven days. you pull away and stick out your cum coated tongue, spencer is still catching his breath when you present it to him. he smiles though, smile widening into a smirk when you lift to your knees on the mattress. pulling on his lip, he opens, you spit. he grimaces at first, and waits for your order.

"swallow" and you wait, his mouth closes. spencer's adams apple bobs and when his lips part, it's gone.

"thank you mommy.." he nuzzles into your open palm on his cheek.

[andy-15-07]

Hiii! Would you write a hurt! Kraven x reader fic like... he comes home seriously injured after a hunt and she patches him up?

Injuries and Care

pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x female!reader

word count:2549 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

The day had been long and treacherous—one of those days when every instinct screamed danger, yet Sergei could not resist the call of the hunt. You’d spent the morning preparing a quiet afternoon together, unaware that the man you loved would soon return battered and bruised, both in body and spirit. When the sharp rap of the door startled you, your heart pounded with anxious anticipation. As you opened it, there he stood: Sergei Kravinoff, his dark eyes shadowed by pain, his usually immaculate attire splattered with blood and sweat. He leaned heavily against the frame, struggling to smile through clenched teeth.

“Sergei… what happened?” you managed, rushing to his side as concern immediately overwhelmed you.

His voice was low and gravelly. “I… I encountered more than I bargained for out in the wild today. There was a beast—a wild, furious creature that caught me off guard. I fought it, but… it overpowered me.” He hesitated, wincing as he tried to shift his weight. “I needed to bring it down, to prove my worth… for the thrill of the hunt… for you.”

You gently guided him inside, supporting him as he sank onto the old sofa near the entryway. “You scared me, Sergei. Your life is far too precious for any hunt. Come on, let me take care of you.” With trembling hands and a voice full of compassion, you helped him remove his jacket to reveal deep gashes along his arms and torso. His skin, marred by cuts and bruises, told the story of a battle he’d fought with every ounce of strength. One particularly jagged wound on his side seeped steadily, the dark red contrasting with his pale, sweat-slicked skin.

“Stay with me,” you murmured, retrieving the first aid kit from the shelf. “I’m not letting you face this pain alone.”

Sergei managed a wry smile despite his agony. “I’ve always prided myself on being self-sufficient… But sometimes, even the strongest warrior needs a refuge. Thank you, my love.”

You set to work, carefully cleaning each wound. As you dabbed antiseptic on his skin, he winced and murmured, “It hurts… but your touch—it makes it bearable.”

“Shh,” you soothed, wrapping a soft bandage around his arm. “I need you to stay still, Sergei. Every mark tells a story, but I’d rather see you healed than hunted down.”

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours with vulnerability rarely seen in the fierce hunter you adored. “I always believed that strength was measured by the scars you earned. Yet here I am, scarred in more ways than one.”

You paused, looking deep into his eyes. “Strength isn’t only about bearing scars—it’s about knowing when to lean on someone. Let me be your strength, Sergei. Let me help mend not just these wounds, but the parts of you that bleed unseen.”

He squeezed your hand, the grip both desperate and tender. “You have no idea how much I need you right now. I’ve spent my life chasing danger… and in the process, I forgot what it meant to feel safe.”

As you continued your careful ministrations, the room filled with soft conversation. The hum of the old house settling provided a backdrop to the honesty that flowed between you both.

“Tell me,” you asked gently as you bandaged his shoulder, “what went through your mind during the fight?”

Sergei closed his eyes for a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was so focused on the thrill—the raw, undeniable call of the chase—that I lost sight of everything else. And then, in a single moment, reality hit me: I wasn’t invincible. The pain… it reminded me of my mortality.”

You nodded, your eyes brimming with empathy. “I wish you’d never felt that fear, that pain. But maybe this is a chance—a moment to understand that no hunt is worth risking your life, or ours.”

He managed a soft chuckle despite the pain. “You always manage to ground me. Even now, as I lie here broken, I see that my fire doesn’t have to consume me. Perhaps it’s time to let someone else share the burden.”

The room grew quieter as you both settled into the gentle cadence of honesty. Outside, the light began to fade, and the only illumination came from the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You propped Sergei up with pillows and continued to check his wounds, your fingers light and deliberate. Every so often, his eyes would flutter open as if in a silent thank-you, his gaze lingering on yours with gratitude and something deeper—a silent promise of shared futures.

“Sergei, promise me something,” you said softly, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “Promise me that from now on, you’ll let me worry for you. That you won’t face every danger alone. I love you too much to see you hurt.”

His eyes, usually so fierce and unyielding, softened as he replied, “I promise. I’ve always been a lone wolf, chasing shadows and thrills, but you… you’ve shown me that even a hunter can find solace in vulnerability. I’ll try to be more careful. For you. For us.”

The dialogue carried on into the night, as you recounted memories of earlier days—when the two of you first met, when you discovered each other’s hidden depths. “Do you remember our first adventure?” you asked one moment, a playful glint in your eye. “You were so determined to prove yourself, yet you ended up in a trap in the forest. I had to rescue you, didn’t I?”

Sergei chuckled, a sound that was both amused and self-deprecating. “How could I forget? I was stubborn enough to believe I could outsmart the wild, only to be humbled by it. And you… you saved me then, just as you’re saving me now.”

The memory made you both laugh—a genuine, hearty laugh that filled the small living room with warmth. “I still don’t understand how someone as fearless as you could be taken down by a trap,” you teased lightly. “Maybe you should have let me do the saving.”

He grinned, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “I was saving my best charm for you, wasn’t I?”

Between laughter and quiet confessions, the night wore on. You meticulously applied salves and rewrapped bandages, interweaving care with conversation. “I want you to heal, Sergei—not just these wounds, but every part of you that aches from a life of constant danger,” you confided. “Your worth isn’t measured by the hunts you conquer, but by the love you share and the life we build together.”

He looked at you, his voice soft and sincere. “You’re right. I’ve spent so long trying to prove something to myself, to the world… but all I needed was you to show me that my true strength lies in the love we have. I’m tired of letting the thrill overshadow the quiet beauty of simply being alive.”

In the midst of that tender conversation, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes shone with a mixture of pride and regret—a reminder of all the battles he’d fought, both with wild beasts and his inner demons. “There’s a beauty in vulnerability, Sergei,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his knotted hand. “The scars we bear are not just marks of pain—they’re reminders that we have lived, loved, and survived.”

He exhaled slowly. “Perhaps my scars will one day be seen not as symbols of failure, but as testaments to a life lived fully. And with you by my side, I know I can face anything—even the parts of myself I’ve long denied.”

The conversation shifted seamlessly into future dreams and quiet hopes. “Once you’re well,” you proposed one evening as you both sat by a small window overlooking the garden, “why don’t we take a little vacation? Somewhere safe, where the only hunt is for sunsets and quiet moments. A place where we can truly be ourselves without the constant threat of danger.”

Sergei’s eyes lit up with cautious optimism. “That sounds… perfect. A retreat where I can relearn what it means to live without always chasing the next thrill. To just be… alive.”

There was a long pause, filled only by the sound of your synchronized heartbeats. “I want us to dream together,” you added. “Not just about adventures and battles, but about a future where every day is a gentle reminder of our love.”

He reached across, his fingers intertwining with yours. “I used to believe that my legacy would be built on conquests and trophies. But now I see that my true triumph is in the quiet moments—when I’m with you, when I can let down my guard and simply exist in your light.”

The nights blended into mornings, each sunrise a gentle reminder of a second chance. One early morning, as soft light filtered through the curtains, you found Sergei already awake, sitting by the window with a contemplative look. “Every sunrise feels like a promise,” he murmured. “A promise that even after the darkest night, there’s hope.”

You joined him, cradling warm cups of tea in your hands. “It’s the promise of a new beginning,” you said. “A reminder that no matter how harsh the world may be, love will always light our way.”

He smiled, eyes distant yet focused. “I spent so many years hunting the thrill, trying to fill a void. But now I understand that the real chase is for love, for meaning, for the moments we share that make life worth living.”

Later that day, in the quiet sanctuary of your small garden, Sergei’s tone shifted as he broached a subject that had weighed on him for some time. “Do you ever think that all these scars, all this pain, is just a mask? A way to hide from the possibility of being truly seen?” His voice wavered with vulnerability.

You took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’ve seen you, Sergei—the man behind the hunter. The fierce warrior is only part of who you are. I see your heart, your doubts, and your dreams. And I love every piece of it. It’s okay to let the mask slip now and then.”

He drew a slow breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m learning that it’s not weakness to be vulnerable. It’s… it’s human. And with you, I feel safe enough to let that side of me show.”

The intimacy of that exchange created a cocoon around you both—a safe space where neither danger nor pride could intrude. “I’ll always be here,” you promised. “Not to fix you, but to walk beside you as you heal. Your journey is ours to share.”

Over the next few days, as Sergei continued to mend physically, you both began to explore deeper parts of yourselves. Mornings were spent in quiet reflection, with Sergei often gazing out at the horizon as if searching for something beyond the endless hunt. “I used to think the wild was all there was,” he confessed one morning, voice hushed. “But now, I wonder if there’s more—a life where the only chase is for dreams and shared moments.”

You smiled softly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Every day with you teaches me that love isn’t about perfection or conquest. It’s about acceptance, about the courage to face our own fears. And I promise, no matter how rough the path gets, I’ll be here to remind you of the beauty in healing.”

There were lighter moments too. One rainy afternoon found you both curled up on the sofa, a cozy blanket wrapped around you as you reminisced about past misadventures. “Remember that time you got lost in the woods during a sudden storm?” you teased, laughter dancing in your voice.

Sergei’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “How could I forget? I was so determined to prove I wasn’t afraid of nature’s wrath, only to end up drenched and shivering while you navigated us home using nothing but the stars.”

You laughed, the sound mingling with the soft patter of rain against the window. “I still say that night was one of the best adventures we’ve had. Not because of the danger, but because it brought us closer.”

He leaned in, his voice tender. “Every adventure, every challenge—good or bad—has led me to you. And that, above all else, is the greatest treasure I’ve ever found.”

As the weeks passed, the memory of that brutal hunt—and the wounds it left—became interwoven with a newfound understanding between you both. The scars were visible reminders of the dangers he’d faced, but they also symbolized the turning point in his life: the moment he realized that vulnerability and love were not weaknesses, but sources of true strength.

One cool evening, as twilight draped the room in gentle blue shadows, you sat beside Sergei on the worn couch, the soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminating his thoughtful expression. “Sergei,” you said softly, “I want you to know that your past doesn’t have to dictate your future. Every scar, every painful memory, is a reminder of how far you’ve come—and how much love has helped you through.”

He looked at you, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions—regret, hope, and an unspoken promise. “You’ve given me more than you could ever imagine,” he whispered. “You’ve shown me that it’s okay to heal, to be vulnerable. I was once a man who measured worth in battles and scars, but now I see that my true legacy is the love we share.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Our love is our sanctuary,” you replied, voice thick with emotion. “No matter how fierce the storm outside, here we have a haven where both of us can be truly seen.”

In that moment, as the night deepened and the quiet hum of your home enveloped you both, you understood that every whispered conversation, every shared tear and laugh, had been a stepping stone toward a future built on trust, vulnerability, and undeniable love.

As sleep eventually claimed Sergei, you stayed awake a little longer, watching over him and reflecting on the promise of each new day. “Rest well, my love,” you murmured into the quiet dark. “Tomorrow, we’ll build on this healing, this connection, and together we’ll write a new chapter—a chapter not defined by the scars of the past, but by the strength we find in each other.”

And so, in the gentle silence of the early hours, as dawn tiptoed over the horizon, you made a silent vow: no matter what challenges awaited, you and Sergei would always find your way back to this sacred space of understanding and care. The wild may call to him, and danger may lurk in the shadows, but here—in this home, in this shared heartbeat—you had found the true prize of life: a love that healed, a love that endured.

Together, you faced the promise of a new beginning, where every scar was a story of survival, every tender word a step toward a future filled with hope. And as the first light of day embraced you both, you knew that this journey, as painful as it sometimes was, was the one worth living—side by side, heart to heart, forever intertwined in the gentle art of healing and love.

[sanaxo-o]

Fell in love all over again (Joshua Hong)

Warnings/genre: pure fluff, established relationship, making out, the reader overthinks for a while, Hyunjae is the cutest at the end, comfort (?), nicknames (love).

Sana: so this is my remake for this hyunjae fic of mine. Happy Valentine’s Day lovely’s <3 I cannot wait to get back into writing like usual once my exams get over so until then enjoy this small fic <3

Word count: 1,423

Sitting down at the table, you looked around the place, it was a place you would always dream about.

A huge hall with a chandelier in the middle— which was full of diamonds making it shine brightly. You let out a small laugh of content when you notice the ring on your finger.

Never would you have imagined that you would get married to the person you spent nine years of your life with.

You have known Joshua since you were in highschool and up until now. And he had managed to prove himself that he was the one for you countless times.

The day you felt alone and needed comfort, he was there for you with a tub full of ice cream and a night full of cuddles as he listened to you talk about your feelings; how you would sometimes just get the feeling of being alone as if no one was on your side and you were left to fight your battles all alone.

But he was there to prove you wrong. To tell you that even though you felt as if you were alone he would always be there by your side with open arms. No matter what happens, he always got your back.

That was also the time when you were damn sure that he was gonna be the man you would want to get married to. No one else would be able to have your heart like he has.

The day you got into your dream university, he was there to celebrate it with you. Even when you doubted yourself about not being worthy enough he made himself clear that you’re in fact one of the people who truly deserve that spot because of your hard work.

You look around the place once more and you could suddenly feel your heart sinking, what if this was not the right thing to do?

You could feel your hand start to shake. All you wanted to do at that very moment was to get up and just storm out of the place, but you were afraid to do that.

It was Valentine’s Day and Joshua prepared all of this just for you only to see you storm out like that. You did not want to seem ungrateful so you tried to calm yourself down but the more you pondered about your future the more anxious you got.

From the corner of your eyes you noticed Joshua walking back to the table. Taking a deep breath in you tried to look normal but as the time passed by, every passing second felt like hours.

Placing your hand under the table you kept your other hand over it in hope that it would stop shaking but it was of no use.

Looking up you observed as Joshua took a seat in front of you. Giving you a small smile he poured you a glass of champagne and raised his to make a toast with you.

Holding the glass in a tight grip you clink your glass with his as you take a small sip from it, “Happy Valentine’s Day love. I hope you like what I prepared for us.” Joshua says with a soft smile playing on his lips as he takes a sip of champagne from his own glass.

Passing him a small smile you anxiously look around the place, not having it in you to look him in the eye. You knew how happy he was and you did not want to ruin this moment with him just because of what you were feeling.

You knew thinking so ahead in the future was stupid but what could you do? Your habit of overthinking always got the best of you…

“Are you okay?” You snap out of your thoughts when you hear Joshua’s voice. Looking back at him you nod your head slightly but you notice how his eyes searched for yours.

You could see the slight flicker in them as he placed his glass of champagne back on the table. Standing up he forwarded his hand towards you as he waited for you to take his hand in yours.

Without any questions asked you grab his hand in yours as you stand up from your seat, “Do you trust me?” Joshua asks as he walks towards the exit with his hand hooked with yours.

Giving him a small nod you continue walking with him, “What about the food though?” You ask softly as you stop on your tracks which made him halt in his tracks to turn around and face you.

“Don’t worry. We can come back later, I cannot let you go back home empty stomach now, can I?” Joshua says with a grin on his face as he drags you towards his car.

Opening the backseat door he lets you enter the car first as he himself enters once he’s sure that you’re comfortable sitting in the seat.

“What’s wrong, hmm?” Joshua asked softly as he tangled his hands in your luscious hair. Pushing the strands of hair behind your ear, he slowly made his fingers come to your forehead as he applied slight pressure on them to give you a massage.

Closing your eyes at his actions you let your head rest against the seat as you take in deep breaths to calm your heart down, “I don’t know, aren’t we too young to get married? What if something goes wrong? I don’t want to lose you..” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper as you slowly look towards Joshua who continues to stare at you with his soft gaze.

“No, I don’t think we’re too young. We’re both financially stable at the moment and I believe in the fact that nothing would go wrong. Our love is strong enough for that sweetheart..” he says as he gently pulls you closer towards him in the backseat of the car.

Resting your head against his chest you close your eyes as you listen to his heartbeat, “Promise me that you won’t leave me alone? Ever..” you whisper with your face buried in his chest as Joshua continues to stroke your hair in a gentle manner.

“I promise I will never leave you alone. Ever..” he says as he brings his hand towards your chin and makes you look up.

Leaning down he slowly attaches his lips on yours, sitting up straight you tangle your hands in his soft curly hair as you pull on them while Joshua continues to kiss you.

You could feel your heart come up in your throat as he continued to kiss you, his hands wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer towards him if that was even possible.

Pulling away, you gasped for air as you noticed the string of saliva which was connecting you both together, an indication of the intense makeup session you just had. Staring into his eyes you leaned closer towards him once again as you gave his nose a light peck.

Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, Joshua smiled as hugged your figure closer to his warm embrace, “I think I just fell in love with you all over again..” Joshua mumbled in the crook of your neck. His voice sends vibrations throughout your whole body as you give out a small laugh at his words.

“Every minute of the day makes me fall in love with you even more if you’re wondering..” you tell him while playing with his hair.

You don't even know when you sat on his lap in the backseat like this but all you know is that this Valentine’s Day was a day to remember.

Stealing a glance at Joshua you let out a giggle when you notice his ears turning a shade of bright red.

“Are you blushing because of what I said or because of the make out session we just had?” You say in a slightly teasing tone as you poke his cheeks with your fingers.

Looking back up Joshua looks everywhere but you, “Oh look at the time. We should head back inside to have our dinner..” he says trying to change the subject.

Opening the door of the car he lets you get down first before he got out. Locking the car you both started walking towards the hall again with your laughter beaming through the night.

The moonlight shining its light on the two of you making it look like a scene right out of a romantic movie.

[ekingston]

the gay fanfic problem: he sees him. For a moment i thought it was going to be about the lack of 'she sees her'. But no. Typical.

you said that there's good ways to work around the 'actual' problem he mentions, and now that you've mentioned it, i don't think i've ever been confused reading your fics who's doing what! Do you have any tips or advice you could share :)?

xxx adoring reader and wannabe writer

GRAND, EXCELLENT compliment for a writer who adores not only sapphic love scenes (of which I agree there SHOULD be more) but also group dialogue and very, very long sentences. I'm going to be insufferable about this one for DAYS.

And speaking of being insufferable: I do have tips! As always, grain of salt, etc. I may know the rules but I really enjoy breaking them, and I'm sure I've done it in ways that have annoyed some readers.

Which makes for a decent segue to my first (and most important) tip: don’t be afraid to annoy your readers. Fanfiction is one of the least filtered forms of media. No one can keep us from writing (and, thanks to AO3’s user policies, sharing) whatever we want, however we want. We should take that seriously! If sprinkling your work with sparkly descriptors like ‘the ravenette’ makes you happy, you absolutely need to keep doing that! Also, let’s face it—if you share your work online, somebody at some point is not going to like it. You can’t appeal to everyone. Trying to is just going to suck every bit of joy out of this whole endeavour and ultimately burn you out. JUST WRITE IT THE WAY YOU WANT TO.

That being said, you asked for practical tips. I put them below the cut. Because I can never keep anything short, apparently.

1. When in doubt, just use your characters’ names. Even when you feel you’re overdoing it. You’d be surprised by how easily names blend into the background. My fics are full of instances where I use the same character’s name seven hundred times to make it clear who I’m talking about. You just didn’t notice! (Unfortunately you’re probably going to start to, now that I've pointed it out.)

2. This is an actual rule: pronouns (tend to) refer to the most recently mentioned character or noun.

This is why, instead of having to write

Lena winks at Kara. Kara blushes. Kara knocks over three glasses when Kara stares too long at Lena’s neckline

we can write

Lena winks at Kara. She blushes. She also knocks over three glasses while staring at Lena’s neckline

without making our readers wonder who we’re referring to. So that’s how I personally roll, unless:

an action requires emphasis;

it flows better with the rhythm of my prose;

I’ve started another paragraph, and there are multiple characters using the same pronouns in the scene;

there’s only one character in this scene, but I just realized I haven't said their name for, like, the third paragraph in a row.

3. Phrasing! There’s about a million different ways to structure a sentence or paragraph. Knowing how to shuffle words around is a skill that comes in particularly handy when two or more characters using the same pronouns are involved and you feel you’re drowning in a sea of ‘she’s.

Kara blushes when Lena winks at her. She also knocks over three glasses, staring hard at Lena’s neckline.

4. Strengthen your characters’ voices, mannerisms, moods and motivations.

If you know your characters well and you’ve done the work to make sure your readers know them too, we should be able to tell which one of them you’re talking about when describing a scene.

__ winks at __, smiling—pleased with herself—when __ blushes and promptly knocks over three glasses, her eyes glued to the neckline of __’s dress.

If you’ve sufficiently established their dynamic, your reader should be able to tell who is doing what from the context you created. This is also where writing a very close third person POV kind of feels like a cheat code: when your narrator's voice is the same as your main character’s, your reader will start unconsciously assuming you’re referring to your main character when you’re not specifying otherwise.

When you keep the above in mind, navigating additional characters is like learning how to braid with four, five, six etc. strands, it just gets easier every time, and things like

Lena looks at Kara. Nia sighs. Kara and Lena both look worried. Nia knows Kara still isn’t sure about Nia’s plan, and Lena doesn’t trust Nia’s instincts either. Nia can’t blame them. She is new to their world, and Kara and Lena haven’t had a chance to get to know Nia yet. “Please,” Nia says. She just needs a chance to prove to Lena and Kara that her instincts are usually correct.

can become

Nia huffs when Lena and Kara share a worried glance. “Please,” she insists, growing more agitated with every second that ticks by. She knows she hasn’t earned their trust yet. She knows she can’t count on Lena to come to her aid the way she would if this was her world. But she’s not going to change that by letting them call all of the shots. She needs this win, needs to help, needs to prove to them that her ‘instincts’ are—at least usually—correct.

A final note regarding descriptive nouns:

The reason I personally dislike when writers refer to characters by their hair color or job title is that it makes their characters sound like complete strangers to each other. In my opinion, Maura wouldn’t kiss the detective unless it’s an AU where they’ve just met during a kiss-in protest and Jane is a nameless woman with a badge. And if you’re making Lena shiver at the touch of the older woman’s hand, I’m picturing gray hair & the last person I’m going to think you’re referring to is Kara. Queen Rhea maybe, after the mask has come off and you’ve established that Lena feels she can no longer refer to her former business partner by the name she gave her because it too was likely a lie.

Anyway: unless it’s done as a gimmick or a joke (humor would be, like, its own entire book compared to the chapter that is this ask response), I personally use descriptive nouns only when they specify a relationship & come with a possessive adjective, like 'her sister', 'her girlfriend', 'her assistant'. These emphasize connection rather than alienation, which is what I feel happens when neutral terms are used to avoid referring to characters we're supposed to know by name.

FYI, did you know it used to be extremely common for femslash (F/F fanfiction, for those of you who never owned a walkman) to be written in second person POV, avoiding this issue entirely? The fact that these days it’s used almost exclusively for the self-insert genre is a tragedy. we used to be POETS. I cut my fanfiction teeth on second person POV and it will never not feel like home to me. All of my notes for YMHW were in second person, and I'm surprised some didn’t sneak into the final version.

[irregularcollapse]

Hey, I'm so sorry to hear about how you feel about the mota fandom and what happened to you :/ I meant to send a message earlier but life got in the way. I hope you're feeling better now, and I can only tell you that your fics and writing are some of my favorite in the fandom. Just by reading your stories, I can tell the care that was put into choosing each word to best convey the story and the characters' feelings, and it is really somethinf I admire :) I hope I can be as good a writer as you someday ❤️ And for the mota fandom, I totally get what you and that anon said! If you'll allow me a bit of a rant, to me, the mota fandom is full of well-intentioned people but I found that one of its problems is that, as much as there is enthusiasm, it is going in circles. Many have said it and I've noticed it too, but some have a tendency to jump on other people's ideas without giving credit or even asking if it's okay to expand, and on more than one occasion I found one of my ideas in someone else's inbox just a week after I'd posted it which threw me off posting any kinds of hc or random ideas, I only post full fics now because I'm scared that people will see an idea/au that they like on my blog and decide to expand on it without my consent or even crediting me for the original idea :/ To me that sucks because what I love about creating is the interactions with people, but because of the seldom posting except for full fics I don't get much 😂 And I know I could post snippet or hc, but the overenthusiasm bordering on no fandom manners that I've noticed stops me from doing that. Also, as a writer, it is quite discouraging to see people constantly reccing the same 5/6 fics/authors. Don't get me wrong, those are GREAT fics and authors, but babes, there are over 1,000 works in the clegan tag on ao3, why are we constantly reccing the same fics as in summer 2024. It feels like people only read the fics with the highest hits count, and from an outsider's pov, you'd think there are only 10 writers in the mota fandom 😭 I don't if it's bc the mota fandom is new so there are a lots of people from tiktok/that weren't on tumblr/in fandom before but it truly feels like fandom manners are getting lost, despite the plethora of incredible creators in the mota fandom. So there's this opposition between the enthusiasm over new ideas that seems to die down as soon as a story is posted, except if if it's one of the big fics from the summer. Imo the actual recognition of fics doesn't follow the enthusiasm of ideas and hcs, which is a bit of a shame I think, and to be quite honest, it made me lose my motivation to write for mota bc it just feels like I'll post a fic, it'll get traction for maybe a day or two, and then it'll be forgotten somewhere when people sort ao3 by number of hits or kudos

Anyway that was quite long I'm sorry, you don't have to answer this at all, I just needed to get this off my chest, but I really hope you know that even if it may not feel that way, you are an amazing writer, who clearly loves your stories, the characters and the words you use, and that is translated to the ao3 page <3 You truly are one of the most talented fic writers this fandom has, and I'd support you and your stories in whatever fandom you may be in ❤️

I assure you, anon, that you're not the only person to feel this way! I've had quite a few private conversations with friends and mutuals about really similar experiences and observations, and how disheartened and uncomfortable it's making us feel.

I guess people don't say anything because they don't want to be seen as sowing discord or being mean. I know that there are going to be people who might see this and interpret it as me "fuelling fandom discourse" or "fandom wanking" or "being a cunt" but actually I'm just talking about how we treat creators in online spaces, and the way that people en masse have apparently forgotten that creators in fandoms are people.

I had another anon tell me that someone laid claim to one of their ideas in the tags of their headcanon post, and I don't think you're the only person whose idea has been stolen and passed to another writer. I'm really sorry that's happened to you, and you're so right to not feel like posting anything because of it! This is truly the kind of stuff that makes people not want to participate or put themselves out there. Sometimes it's even writers doing the stealing, blatantly and without credit. It makes me think that a lot of people haven't shared creative spaces before and don't know how to be polite.

I also 100% agree about the fic rec thing. It's really disheartening to see the same fics passed around over and over again, not only from a writer perspective but a reader perspective. Something that seems to have emerged in fandom spaces over the years is deifying certain authors of popular fics - fic authors being treated like celebrities, the concept of a "must-read fic", even people only reading fics and authors that are already seen as popular/successful. I get that some people don't want to spend time scraping ao3 for niche fics, that's super understandable, but that's also why it would be nice to see a bit more adventure and variety in fic rec lists!

There is a low-key competitive feeling which a few people have mentioned to me - the feeling that there are people who want to "win" fandom or be the most popular/most reccd/most recognised writer, or whatever it may be. I just feel like anything that makes people feel like they're better than others is... come si dice... not good. I think it's a shitty way to treat people you're sharing a creative space with, to view them as competition and commodity.

Writing for consumption or writing for audience approval isn't something I've ever done, but I feel like it's cropping up more and more in fandom spaces too - not just MOTA, either. That's sort of a different discussion, but I do feel it's related to the copying/stealing in a way as well.

Now I also have to apologise for this getting too long! I'm glad you got it off your chest, and please feel free to come off anon at any time, because you've got an ally in me (and others too, I assure you). I think that everything you've said here merits consideration from everyone, at the very very least! It's in the interest of pursuing a more inclusive, supportive fandom space.

Thanks heaps as well for saying nice stuff about my writing! I only ever want to tell stories, and to give people something to enjoy that has clearly been created with care and consideration. I write to express things I want to express, and so it means a lot to me when other people see what I'm trying to say and pick up what I'm putting down. Truly madly deeply, my most boundless thanks!!! ♥️♥️♥️

[activesplooger]

𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓜𝔂 𝓕𝓲𝓬𝓼

ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓶 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 | 𝐿𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒻𝑒𝓇 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 | 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: What reader got from some of my fics !! ft. vox, adam, lucifer, and alastor

ᴠᴏx:

ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - a voxtech company card that went out to all employees. however, a little message was inside! :) "To my favorite employee,

Happy Valentines Day.

-Your Boss

-Your Friend

-CEO of Voxtech

-Vox

ʜɪꜱ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ | ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ!ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - shit ton of gifts, a fabulous dinner, and a pair of lingerie... yay.... his hands werent away from you for even one second: caressing you, holding your hand, lingering on the small of your back, etc.

oh and he fucked you ALL night

and though youd never admit it, it was a bit enjoyable

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ | ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴜ - a weird morning mass about saving yourself for marriage and cherishing your husband/wife— immediately followed by a gentle fucking in his office upstairs

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ - he wined and dined you tonight! what kind of loser overlord is alone on valentines day? he couldnt be seen alone! so, he brought you to a fancy dinner place and bought you a nice dress to wear so you wouldnt look like a hooker! it was nice, and he paid you double for the occasion. Though, once you two were out of the spotlight of publicity, he brings you back to his dark, desolate, penthouse where he cries softly as you suck his dick. yikes....

reader, talking with her mouth full: are you crying?

vox: *sniffles* NO SHUT UP

𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓶:

𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓶 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 | 𝓥𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯 - adam awkwardly shows up to your door with flowers and chocolate, mumbling about how he doesnt usually do this "simp ass shit". he hands you the gifts and asks you to be his valentine, you laugh and nod, "of course!"

𝓗𝓞𝓞𝓣𝓔𝓡𝓢 - a hugeee tip stuffed in your pocket along with a little card that says "be mine <3 please". anddd once hes drunk enough he gives you a valentines day motorboat which immedietly gets his drunk ass thrown out of the hooters. what a man

𝐿𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒻𝑒𝓇:

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 - morning sexxxx!!!! you wake up to him already buried inside you from last night, his dick fluttering to life as he wakes up. he starts to thrust into you lazily as he presses kisses to the back of your neck. "happy valentines day, princess". he then makes you pancakes and babbles on about the fancy resturant he plans on taking you to later

(holy shit i need to write for him more lmao. once ss2 comes out my hyperfixation will come back fr. i have more fics than just the one but idk lucifer would do this in all of them aqkfhjbwefjhwbf. ALSO WHY I GOT SO MANY FUCKING ANGSTY FICS FOR HIM LMFAO???)

𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫:

𝐑𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐙𝐍 - he cooked for you :) a nice homemade dinner that consisted of a nice cooked deer and gumbo! it was delicious, of course... he surprisingly kept his urges under control; it was that time of the year again and you had no idea. it wasn't until you took your jacket off that he went feral. the sight of your bare shoulders and sinfully low neckline made him pounce. his pupils were blown wide at you and jumps at you across the table like this (lol)

bites the shit out of you and rips ur clothes off. you werent sure if he wanted to eat you or fuck you (probably both) but you were into so hell yeah.

𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 | 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 - a sickeningly sweet note left on the bed with love petals leading up to your shared bathroom. following the petals, your led to a beautifully set up bath with essential oils, bubbles, flowers, you name it. but the most beautiful thing is the sight of your lil deer soaking up in the bath waiting for you, "happy valentines day, my dear! care to join me?"

__

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY BITCHES!!

ok now pray that i finish his new obsession part two lol

[gracie-rosee]

Late night fourth wing thoughts…

So anyways guys what’s the monetary system like in the Empyrean? It just occurred to me that Violet is like, richhh now. Actually she probably has been all along. And her friends and all the marked ones are probably dirt poor because their entire families were.. you know 😭

This is just the shit I think about and those of you writing fic right now have probably thought about this before. But seriously, what’s the name of their currency? Was it mentioned and I just forgot? Also, what’s the tuition rates for Basgiath? I mean, it’s college after all. (Cries in student loans)

Seriously though, since the series is told through Violet’s eyes, we don’t even know. Violet probably got a full scholarship because her mom was the general but do you think everybody else has to pay off their education after they graduate, either with years of military service or just by paying?

Who’s paying the professors then? Are they even getting paid? They don’t seem particularly happy to be teaching a bunch of 20 year olds. Then again… neither would I, even if I was being paid.

99% of the series takes place inside a school where they get all their amenities provided for them (I guess?) So we don’t see how people live outside of that.

How much is a loaf of bread at the local market these days? Are crop prices going through the roof because farmers can’t grow on venin drained land? Hello? This is what I need to know.

[changbunnies]

Mint (18+)

♡ Pairing: Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff, smut, pwp

♡ Word Count: 2.7k

♡ Summary: It's the little things your boyfriend says and does that fills you with love for him; and you'll take any opportunity, no matter how small and mundane, to shower him with the love he deserves.

♡ Smut Warnings: light d/s dynamics (switch!bin and reader), vaguely plus size reader (because i am nothing if not self indulgent), light nipple play, oral (m rec), some begging from bin because i literally cannot stop myself from writing it lmfao

♡ Notes: this was supposed to just be a binnie drabble because it's been too long since i last wrote for him and i miss him, but i got a lil carried away as usual :') this is valentine's day fic in spirit only, there's really nothing thematically that makes it suit vday lol i truly just wanted to write something fluffy for bin even if it was small and plotless <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts with a giggle; the bashful kind Changbin always fails to suppress when you start kissing him stupid. They’re simple, repeated little pecks, and you can feel him trying not to smile too hard, lest you end up kissing his teeth instead of his lips.

His lips are as sticky as they are plump and soft, the result of a combination of indulging in strawberries & cream hard candies, and his healing mint chapstick. The taste is pleasant, and your own lips tingle from the healing mint transferring to you, as well as growing sufficiently sticky from having a candy of your own before kissing him.

He doesn't know what brought the kiss attack on, but there's nothing he loves more than being doted on and feeling your affection, so he happily (and greedily) takes all the kisses you offer him.

Still, Changbin's curious– so when there's a small lapse in the kisses due to your need to take a breath, he asks; "Why are you attacking me, baby?"

The question is spoken with evident joy, the hints of his previous giggles still lingering in his voice. And there's no "reason" per se– all he'd done was sit there on the couch with you, in his cute cable-knit sweater with his tamed (but still ever so fluffy) hair and wire-frame glasses, eating candy.

It wasn't so much a particular action he took, or a special instance out of the norm that caused you to bombard him with love. There was no grand gesture of affection, no pre-planned romantic intent, no shameless display of affection. Changbin loves to do those things, certainly, but this wasn't that kind of moment.

You were simply in your shared apartment, cuddling under your couch's designated throw blanket as you watched a movie together post-dinner, snow falling peacefully on the cityscape outside your windows. When you were shopping for ingredients to make dinner tonight, he couldn't resist grabbing a bag of candy when he noticed it on sale– because who doesn't love a treat when it's discounted?

And it was all made better by knowing they were a favorite of yours too– so when he tore open the bag, full to the brim of small, individually wrapped candies, he took one for himself before eagerly tilting the bag in your direction to take one. Changbin watched you take it with a sweet smile, turning back to the tv before unwrapping another candy to pop into his mouth; and the simple domesticity of his affection was reason enough.

He turned to you when you called his name, a question lingering on his lips as he felt you inch closer; did you want another candy? Did he accidentally leave the bag too far out of your reach? But within seconds, you were surprising him with a kiss.

It took him off guard, you could easily tell by the squeak he let out, but the corners of his mouth curling into a smile before he returned the kiss told you he was more than happy with it.

"Because I love you," you answer his question earnestly; it was all you thought as you pulled yourself closer to him, the only words lingering in your mind as you hastily pressed your lips to his.

A tiny blush crawls over Changbin's features as he smiles, as full and radiant as it ever is when you dote on him. His eyes squint beneath his glasses, his adorably round nose scrunching, and you can't help but smile too; his joy is infectious, after all.

And perhaps in some ways it's silly, but it's always the small actions he takes that remind you of how in love you are with him. It's always moments like now, when you're relaxing together, at peace and comfortable in his presence in a way you are with no other, that your heart swells with love for your boyfriend the most.

Slow moments, where you can really appreciate the man beside you, when the full weight of your affection for him can settle over you like a warm, fuzzy blanket. Moments where any problem you have melts away, fading to the background because Changbin is with you, and that's all you need to be okay. 

And for Changbin, it doesn’t matter if it’s the 1st, 100th, or 1000th time you’re kissing him– it always sparks something in him. He isn’t greedy about many things, but when it comes to you– that’s a different story entirely; he’ll hold you tight and endlessly drink in all you're willing to give him. 

Your lips taste similar to his– a more muted, subtle version of strawberries, cream, and mint; he indulges in it, his hands finding their way to you and leaving the bag of candies forgotten to the side. He hums pleasantly when you crawl your way onto his lap, obediently parting his lips when he feels your tongue slide against them.

It doesn’t take long for him to start chubbing up beneath his cream-colored pants– and how could he not? You’re in his lap, kissing him deep and slow, with your fingers in his hair. They glide easily through his soft, straightened hair, and while you can’t help but miss his natural curls, you do appreciate your fingers not tangling in them and pulling. 

Changbin would like it, you know– he’s strong enough to manhandle you without breaking a sweat, can flip you and hold you into any position and make you take it with ease; but in the same breath, he’s pliable, ready and eager to be molded into whatever you need him to be. He loves his body, and his strength, and the squeals he can draw out of you by using it– but what he loves even more is being good to you. 

But this moment isn’t about that– you aren’t looking to take control, nor to make your lover meek and pliant; it’s about showing him the depth of your love for him in the only way you can when words fail you. What else can you do when saying “I love you” doesn’t feel like enough? When the heat that’s building in your chest will burst if you don’t kiss him and kiss him and kiss him?

He isn’t hard enough for his erection to quite be “obvious” in his loose pants yet, but you’ve been with Changbin long enough to see when he’s getting worked up. His breaths come out harsher, and the pink tint to his cheeks spreading to his ears paired with the quickened beating of his heart you can feel just beneath your fingertips tell you all you need to know.

He has a dazed, lovesick look in his eyes when you pull away from him, paired with a goofy, beaming smile. “I’m so lucky,” he breathes as he hugs you, the squeeze so tight it almost feels like it could crush you– but Changbin knows the limit. “I’m crazy about you– you know that right? I love you so much.” 

You’re effectively trapped in his arms, but that’s no problem for you– you return his hug, giggling as he returns your affections. Your soft laugh delights him, and he shows it by peppering your cheeks in chaste kisses before moving on to your neck. 

“Bin, that tickles,” you whine between your laughter, his hands squeezing you as you squirm in his grasp. He laughs too, lifting his head to meet your eyes with the downturned smirk that tells you he’s amused.

He thinks to tease you; playfully peck you over and over whilst saying you attacked him first, so it’s only fair– but it melts away when you tenderly reach to his face, cupping it in your hands. Your thumbs resting on his full cheeks, you kiss him again, soft and sweet. It effectively turns him to putty, a content sound rising from his throat as his squeeze on you loosens. 

You take the opportunity to slip a hand into his sweater, caressing his plush stomach for just a moment before bringing it to his chest. You love the way he feels– bulking muscles under soft skin, pecs strong and well-defined but so easy to squeeze in your palms. He shivers under your diligent touch, your fingers always so soft and motions so purposeful.

He keens when you tweak his nipple just the way you know he likes, and he has to make a conscious effort to stop himself from unconsciously bucking his hips up. You can feel him, fully hard beneath you now and pressing into the fat of your ass.

On another day, you might tease him about it; coo over how sensitive he is, watch him squirm as his face burns deep red. But the way Changbin looks at you, so reverent and adoring with a haze of lust, never fails to fill your stomach with butterflies.

It's obvious with just a look that he's becoming needy; he’s expectant, wordlessly pleading, skin tingling with anticipation for what you’ll do next– and you’ve decided from the very start that you’ll give him anything he wants. 

“Ah–” his brain lags when you ask what he wants, if there's anything at all he'd like you to do, the air suddenly feeling heavy and thick around him. And it’s not because he’s shy, necessarily– it’s just that the loving gaze you hold for him while waiting for him to answer is making his mind feel fuzzy.

He swallows, and in the end his words are less than eloquent, but they're enough. “Your mouth– please?”

You smile at him sweetly, a shudder traveling the length of his spine when you dip your hand between your bodies to palm his cock over his pants. He sucks in a breath, shivering as you make quick work of freeing his erection from the fabric. The inside of his underwear is sticky-wet, the result of pre-cum steadily leaking from his sensitive tip.

His fists are clenched, breaths labored as he watches and waits for you to deliver on his request. You shift carefully off his lap, letting the blanket covering you both fall to the floor– along with the plastic bag of strawberries & cream candies that you entirely forgot were still there next to you. 

The clatter of them falling to the hardwood almost makes you jump, and you watch as some of the candies roll out of the bag, scattering in all directions. You stare for a moment, blink before you turn to Changbin and laugh. “I forgot,” is all you say, and he giggles with you, leaning over the couch to assess the damage. 

“We can clean it later,” he assures, grabbing your hand so you focus on him instead of on the mess. If there’s one saving grace, it’s that the candies are all individually wrapped– and you’re certain that getting your boyfriend's dick in your mouth is of much higher priority than picking up some spilled, but otherwise perfectly fine, candy. 

“Wait,” Changbin says after you sink to your knees, grabbing a cushion to place under them, “don’t want you to get hurt.” You smile and thank him warmly, getting yourself comfortable on the cushion– and he’s quick to reach to the floor where the blanket fell, wrapping it around your shoulders snuggly. 

“Changbin,” you giggle as he secures the blanket around you.

“What? I don’t want you to get cold either,” he says, and it’s so endearing you can think of nothing else to do but kiss him, just as before.

“What about you?” you ask, and he simply smiles while assuring you he’ll be perfectly fine. And you’re sure it’s true enough; Changbin tends to run hot, after all. Still, you get as much of his legs in the blanket as you can as you inch closer and settle in between his muscular thighs. 

You take his cock into your hand once more, the length short but impossibly thick in your comparably small fingers. The sight of it, leaking and throbbing as it silently pleads for stimulation, is always mouth-watering to you, and the change in your eyes is enough to make him squirm in his seat. 

You take your time planting slow, lingering kisses to his steadily leaking tip, coat your lips in his arousal and trail it down his length before slowly licking back up. You repeat– enough times to have him biting his lip and tensing his thighs, desperate pleas for something more just a breath away from being uttered. 

It’s a little cruel to tease him this way considering you said you’d give him anything he wants, but how could you resist? Still, a promise is a promise; so just before you think the thread keeping his restraint together is about to snap, and he’s ready to string together a babble of begs and pleads, you engulf his tip in your mouth. 

The relief is instant– a loud, shuddering whine leaving his lips as you lower your head, sliding the entirety of his length into your mouth. It’s always a stretch, even just for your mouth, but you’ve grown used to ignoring the ache in your jaw. He’s heavy on your tongue, but you’ve always liked that– and the moans you’re met with as you bob your head make any tenderness you’ll feel later entirely worth it. 

You can feel him tremble, the sound of your saliva pooling and dripping down his cock enough to make his head spin. Needing something to hold and ground himself, he desperately searches for one of your hands; you offer one to him quickly, let him squeeze as much as he needs once your fingers are intertwined. 

Your other hand caresses and squeezes over the meat of Changbin’s inner thigh, and his head falls back against the couch cushion, eyes closing as he releases another high pitched whine. Suddenly he feels much too hot, sweat threatening to drip from where it builds on his brow. You swirl your tongue around his cock to the best of your ability as you take it to the base, and it nearly makes him sob.

“S-So close, please–” he manages to choke out through a whimper, shivering when you hum and quicken your efforts. It’s utterly dizzying– how good your mouth feels, the salacious sounds that pour from it, the heady cry of his desperate, pleasured voice; overwhelming and baffling, almost, how a man as big and strong as him can be a weak puddle in your hands.

“Gonna cum– ‘m cumming, c-cumming for you,” he manages to stutter out just moments before his thighs and stomach clench and his eyes roll back. His back arches off the cushion as he writhes, his cum spilling down your throat, thick and pleasantly salty. The overstimulation as you continue to lick over his now softening length makes him gasp and squirm until you inevitably release his cock from your mouth with a pop, satisfied with your efforts cleaning him up.

Changbin is utterly breathless, but still quick to help you back to the couch when you move to rise; your knees ache from being stuck in the same position for so long, but it’s certainly not as bad as it would’ve been if he hadn’t offered you the cushion to rest them on. He smiles at you as you wipe the accumulated sweat from his brow, a sweet thing full of awe and adoration. 

“I love you,” he reminds you with a sappy, downturned smile and you giggle before offering him another kiss. “And,” he quickly adds, effortlessly scooping you up into his arms now that his strength has returned and his body no longer feels like jello, “we’re not done yet.” 

“Binnie!” you can’t help but squeal, clinging to him tightly as he rises from the couch with you in his arms, as if you're light as a feather. He kicks the bag of fallen candy as he walks, and you giggle as you hear more pieces rattle and roll around on the floor and out of his path; you almost want to playfully scold him for worsening the mess. 

“We can clean it later,” he repeats, as he enters your shared bedroom. He carefully lays you down on the bed, crawls over you and kisses you with all the passion and ardor he can muster. His hand traveling slowly, purposefully down your body, until it finds its home between your thighs.

There’s a whispered promise then; that you’re not leaving the bed until he makes you cum again and again.

[druidbottles]

Incomprehensible

My first foray into writing fic for Arcane! *Shoves my SkyVik propaganda at you and runs.*

No warnings, honestly just Sky being cute and Viktor being bad at understanding his own feelings.

You can read it on AO3 or it will be under the cut!

Viktor liked Sky, he really did.

He’d always thought she was a sweet girl. Sky was an optimist, the kind of person who would get excited over small things and smile at children and cute animals on the street. It was endearing in a way that he wasn’t used to.

Viktor had worked hard to be accepted into the Academy, and he had worked even harder to assimilate into life in Piltover. He was used to the harsh conditions of the undercity, and he knew that Sky had grown up in that same environment. When Viktor saw people like Jayce, so full of enthusiasm and energy, he always assumed that their happiness was the result of a sheltered upbringing, a life of privilege. But he knew Sky wasn’t privileged. She had come from the same background as him.

So how in the world did she manage to be so sweet and kind?

He didn’t understand her, despite his best attempts to. He wanted to understand her, because he could tell that she was doing her best to get him to open up to her and trust her, but it was difficult when she was so incomprehensible.

Viktor’s pencil tapped against the page of his open notebook. He had been looking over equations, absorbed in a mixture of his work and his thoughts. This was how most days tended to go for him. Viktor didn’t have much of a life outside his work. He would spend time with Jayce sometimes, but there wasn’t much that he did in terms of leisure. Why should he waste time on that when he had put in so much effort just to get to this point?

“Ah, Viktor. I made you a coffee.”

Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Viktor was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of Sky’s voice, looking up just in time to see her setting a mug of coffee down on his desk next to his notebook. His eyes followed her movements, the way she smiled at him almost shyly as she straightened her posture. “Right…” Viktor spoke without thinking, and then struggled to correct himself, suddenly remembering his manners. “Thank you, Miss Young.”

Sky nodded her head, humming gently as she shifted her attention towards the equations he had scribbled in his notebook. “Oh, are you still having trouble with these ones?”

Viktor was a bit surprised that she remembered he had mentioned struggling with these equations a few days ago. Somehow Sky always managed to be incredibly considerate and thoughtful. It was no wonder that she had had an easy time finding friends ever since they were kids. He remembered all the times he saw her playing around the undercity, she had been surrounded by a gaggle of other girls. Despite being popular, Sky had never seemed particularly outgoing, though.

“Yes, they’ve been causing me trouble for quite a while now.”

“Hmmm…” Sky leaned down to get a good look at the notebook, and Viktor’s breath hitched ever so slightly at how close she suddenly was. He supposed that it was normal for her to be close. They were colleagues, and she was always there to help with whatever small tasks were needed of her, so it made sense that she would be in close proximity. But something about her face being so close to his, close enough that he could smell the sweetness of her shampoo, was enough to make his heart beat a bit faster.

“You…” Viktor found himself sputtering a bit, though he cursed himself for making his embarrassment so obvious. “You don’t have to waste your time helping me solve mathematical equations, Miss Young.”

Sky looked up at him, and God , having her eyes on him while she was so close was not helping with how flustered Viktor felt. “I don’t mind. It’s my job to help you out, you know.” Sky smiled, and even though it was the same as every other smile she had ever given him, this one felt particularly cute. “Besides, it makes me feel useful to know that I can help you with something.”

This woman was going to be the death of him.

“You like helping me that much?”

He had asked it before he had the chance to think better of it, and Viktor could feel his face growing hotter as he realized how odd of a question that was.

Sky didn’t seem to mind, though. She just tilted her head to the side a bit, almost as if she was thinking to herself, her smile never leaving her face. “Yeah, of course I do. I care about you even outside of a work context, Viktor.”

Viktor had to suddenly force himself to look away, certain that if he maintained her gaze any longer, he would combust from embarrassment. He raised his hand so he could cough into his fist, attempting to seem nonchalant and not like he was losing his mind. “Yes, well…” He could see in his peripheral vision that Sky was still looking at him, her lips drawn into an almost confused pout. “I care about you as well, Miss Young. You are a good woman.”

That seemed to cause Sky to smile again, and Viktor could hear her breathe out a soft chuckle. “It makes me happy that you think that, Viktor.” She stood back up then, patting his shoulder gently before taking a small step back from him. “I need to deliver some files to Jayce before his next council meeting, so I’ll be off, then.”

Viktor could hear the clicking of her shoes for a few steps before she stopped for just a moment. “Oh! And I think the answer to that equation might be 473.”

His eyes drifted back down to his notebook once more as he heard the sound of her walking out of the lab, the door softly shutting behind her. He instinctively reached for the mug of coffee and raised it to his lips as he attempted to do the calculation once more, seeing if he could replicate her suggestion.

Sure enough, 473. The answer was 473.

Viktor sighed and shook his head, taking a long sip of coffee, ignoring how the heat of it burned his mouth just a bit. His heart was still beating a bit faster than usual, so maybe caffeine wasn’t the best thing in the world at the moment, but he couldn’t be bothered to care much. He tried his best to calm his racing thoughts and steady his focus back onto the rest of the equations in front of him.

He really didn’t understand Sky at all.

But maybe that was okay.

[carmenberzattosgf]

[sorry this is so long....time got away from me and in an hour and 20 mins i was possessed by the writing spirit that SHOULD BE INSPIRING ME TO DO MY HOMEWORK....ahem ahem...anyways. yea :) habby valentimes day :) a fic for youe :)...!] having a relationship with carmen was like breathing in prophetic future tense. you know, from the moment you wake up in the morning to an empty bed, that by the time your head hits the pillow the coming evening, carmen will have had at least one full uninterrupted hour of pawing at your flesh till satisfaction. you know that, when he’s stressed and overworked, by the time you two fuck it out of each other, you will have had sweat beading in every crevice of your skin, and pinned by his dead weight, you will have had to whine and plead and squirm just to get yourselves into the shower.

so, when the start of a new year, the stagnation in uncomfortable weather, and a clawing mind fuck of your circadian rhythm going out of wack all set in like sisters to give you a hellish week, you just force yourself to move between pulses of blood. you are stressed. you will be better. you will have been stressed, and he will have already made it better. you were pained and you were better. it has all already happened, even as it’s happening, even as it is yet to happen. it’s not a matter worth questioning, and it’s as sure as thought happens in your mind. you are already going to be made better.

carmen is meticulous and particular, though at this point, your mind is tinged, and it can only come up with conniving, mean, Machiavellian. your partner is a wicked piece of filth for how he treats you, for how he plays your body, for how he steels his willpower when he wants to. an orgasm for every layer of clothes between his touch and your flesh, to melt away that prissy little furrow in your brow you brought home with you.

for the first build-up, you’re entirely still frustrated, still annoyed with the professor who keeps leaving you notes about diction, who nitpicks your theories in class and turns to nod along to another student who’d be better situated in a junior high review course. shit, you need to stop being so mean, you tell yourself, maybe you're the one trying to take this course too seriously. but carmen, eyes calm, words clear, creeps his fingers through your mind to find what he needs to get done. so as he guides you to grind over his knee through the fabric of your skirt, he reaches over to massage your wrists, all click-y and sore from expo markers and flat keyboards. you can’t relax into him, not yet. no draped cuddles and sweet moans, no soft kisses on the neck, sloppy and saccharine, not just yet. all he’s looking for is that soft huff at the exhale of your breaths. just physiological for now, he knows what he’s working towards, he knows your mind isn’t quite here yet. the ice machine on the counter is making an odd noise and you want to go fix it. you’re close to cumming, carmen’s thick cock is chubbing up in his old sweatpants and you’re trying to figure out if that’s the sound the machine makes when it’s empty, or when the ice is stuck. yeah, we’re not there yet.

the second orgasm, stockings stretched taut over your legs, pulling a slight little divot into your stomach from where the elastic band reaches up, and to make things fair, carmy will shed a layer too. his ears are pink in that sweet little way he gets when he likes something he doesn’t want to comment on. your slick seeping through your soaked panties and into the seam of your stockings, writhing over his cock strained against his boxers is seemingly really doing it for him. your mind is working it’s way towards that single-track pleasure state he’s drawing you into, and it’s definitely making the burn in your thighs worth it. you can allow yourself to get closer now, chest brushing against his, arms draped over his shoulders, soft little pants against the collumn of his throat, toes curling and tensing as the sound of your arousal becomes faintly audible. and, for all your kvetching earlier, carmen isn’t entirely sadistic, so he wedges one of his hands between the crux of your thighs and his lap, working his fingers over the fabric, a tense exhale pulling from his lungs as he finds a searing heat even through those layers. but he’s patient. he can be patient. he will be, he already has been patient. this one comes quicker, with affectionate kisses smeared over his jaw and cheeks, his lips finding their own trail at the cozy softness of your neck, and one of his favorites, that little hollow under the lobe of your ear where the bone of your jaw starts, a little nibble that always makes your breath go funny and your fingers twist up into little fists.

no, you haven’t done your math wrong. carmen is finally allowed to peel off his boxers, but you’re still stuck in an uncomfortably soaked set of underwear. but carmen, sweet carmy, darling carm, is entirely gracious, is sweet to you. baby, he knows you, of course this is how it’s gonna go. he shepherds you quietly to your bedroom [unplugs the ice machine on the way. you think you’re going to swoon], and finally, as a relief to your stiffened muscles, you get to lay down. blissful relaxation for a full breath, in and out, and you even get in a delicious little yawn and stretch, as carmen crawls over the bed to hover his way over you. smiling now, both of you. he’s smart, honey, he knows what he’s doing, he knows why he’s doing it. and he knows that it’s going to drive you entirely fucking mad and whiney when he settles into a rythmn of smoothly pressing and dragging his cock over your entirely empty, blood-flushed, swollen, needy, clothed cunt, with an utterly enamoured warmth on his face as he looks down at you. he loves you, so, so bad. you want to bite him and kick out at the mattress and throw an absolute fit. it’s not fair. it’s entirely not fair. he gets you all sticky and gross and needy and heaving like an animal in heat, just so he could watch you squirm with those pretty half-lidded eyes? carmen berzatto can actually go fuck himself.

you need to trust him more, you really do. halfway between the third spiel you were about to give on reciprocal affection and half-whined complaints and insults, carmen just sticks his middle and pointer fingers into your mouth, watching silently as you sputter for a moment, a chest-fluttering sigh leaving his soft lips as he strokes gently at the wet muscle of your tongue, something sickeningly affectionate in his eyes. and once that mouth is occupied, off come the panties, and you practically claw at his arm in anticipation. an inexplicably sweet gesture, carmen’s fingers slip out of your mouth, to be replaces by his own tongue, as he guides himself into your warmth, that sore, empty stickiness, a garbled whine he pours into your mouth when he goes as far as is comfortable. and then, blissful movement. and you remember why you stuck through this whole game. carmen, beauteous carmen, one spit-slicked hand holding the side of your face, the other pawing at the softness of your stomach, is fucking every thought out of your head. he’s perfect and warm and strong and he reminds you to breathe when you space out, eyes unfocused as you let him drive into you until you’re limp. limp, but not having cum yet. no, you’re just perfectly fucked stupid for him, just like you needed, just like you came into your home, pouting and stamping and begging for. you’re not sure what day of the week it is, but you think the weekend is something that’s happening soon. you’re not sure what color the sheets are, but you know they’re sticking to the small of your back. and carmen, carmen throughout all of it. in your mind, in your face, in your skin, in your hair, pumping in and out of your sweet clutch, pulsing so perfectly, just for him. in the end, it really is more simple than you think it would be. one last orgasm for you, brought upon by a few slick swipes over your clit as he nudged up into the soft patch of heat that punched breaths out of your lungs, and instead of a sweet little keening whimper, climax comes with a low, rasped-out groan from your kiss-bitten lips, and carmen pulls out to jerk himself to finish, knowing that you were undeniably already sore from how much tedium he’d put your poor muscles through. but this quiet now, your eyes closed, the backs of your knees weirdly sweaty, your hands feeling limp, this is good. all you need to do is breathe, just breathe, and you feel good. a thump onto the bed next to you, and a heavy arm drapes over your stomach loosely, a slightly clammy hand rubbing softly over your ribs. he doesn’t expect words out of you, but his heart is entirely warmed by the imprecise little kiss you mush against his cheek. this is good. this is just plain good.

-🫒

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY TO ME. I HAVE NO WORDS NO NOTES THIS ATE THE FUCK DOWN. I’m properly tagging this so more people can see this masterpiece. I LOVE YOU 🫒 THIS IS A LOVELY GIFT

[realitysucksgivemefictionalmen]

Gentle Love

As a warning this one shot has mentions of physical emotional and mental abuse. This is a self indulgent one shot for cathartic release. Need some soft loving.

This is also kind of a test to see if I want to turn this into a full fic. If you like this and want to read a complete story of this with background and a developing romance, let me know!

Because this is a one shot, a simple synopsis is in order to help better understand my OCs personality and issues. My OC Avery Wilson comes from a single parent household with an abusive father. She has experienced emotional, physical and mental abuse from him.

This one shot takes place pretty soon after Johnny came in and saved her. Their relationship is past friends at this point but not quite together and they are at the base. She has also met the others, so yay! Also, the way I wrote Soaps lines might be a little weird. I tried my best to write the words out in a way that so they sound like the way they are spelt out to best capture his accent. Please enjoy and tell me what you think!

*******

The bright florescent lights of the hospital room shine bright in Avery's eyes as she sits in the large bed. Her blond hair hangs in waves past her shoulders, clean with the help of the nurses. Her bright blue doe-like eyes are distant as she catches her reflection in the mirror across the room.

Her neck is wrapped in bandages and a black eye fully formed on the left side of her face. The freckles sprayed across her nose are covered on that side of the face because of it. Her gaze trails down toward her full pink lips. Her bottom lip is split though it is now slightly healed. She could feel the itchy bandages wrapped around her chest under the blue loose fitting shirt that was 3 sizes too big. Her wrists are also wrapped in bandages that stop at her elbows and under the blanket she wears a pair of comfy black leggings. All of her injuries are pretty much above her waist with some bruising around her legs.

It's been three days since Avery escaped her fathers abuse with the help of Johnny. She slightly smiles and it finally reaches her eyes as she remembers him sweeping her into his arms and away from her father like a knight rescuing the princess from the dragon. Though she was unconscious soon after he cradled her tiny body in her arms, weighing almost nothing to him, as his heart broke.

Avery is shaken from her self evaluation and memories by the sound of knuckles wrapping against the door frame. She looks over and sees him. Johnny. He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed and a bright smile on his face. He looks so handsome with his beautiful blue eyes and white perfect white toothy grin. His black mohawk styled with the sides of his head left unshaved and left an inch from his scalp. His facial hair, barely there, highlights his gorgeous smile blinding her more than the uncomfortably bright lights of the room.

Johnny is dressed comfortably in a black tightly fitted t-shirt, showing off his muscles as it strains against his biceps and broad chest. A pair of jeans wraps around his large legs and a pair of combat boots finish the look as he stands at an imposing 6 foot 2 inches. Dwarfing her 5’2 frame."I kem t' see if ye wanted t' get out o' here an' eat somethin' oder than tha' aful 'ospi'al food." Used to the Scots accent (though it still made her legs weak even in the hospital bed) she shyly smiles as he walks over to her. "Would ye like tha'?"

Avery hesitantly nods while looking shyly away to the side. The mans larger than life personality still overwhelms her. Johnny, though kind and joyful, exudes an effortless confidence that matches his size. His flirty nature never helped calm her nerves either, as she seems to always be a blushing stuttering mess around him.

He helps her out of the bed and into a nearby wheelchair, so gently, Avery almost cried. The way he treats her is a stark contrast of what she was used to at home with her father.

After he helps Avery in the wheelchair, Johnny gets behind and pushes her out the door and down the white sterile halls of the medical wing. They leave it completely behind them as they roll down the hall, the walls fading into the older and cracked concrete of the military base that is home to Johnny's team.

As they continue their journey, they pass by the occasional group of soldiers stationed at the base. Every time, Avery averts her eyes and hides behind her golden blond locks, unable to stop herself from being intimidated by the unknown faces while also being embarrassed about her current state.

Johnny notices and leans down to quietly murmur, "Yer okay li'l bird, Yer safe now. No one ‘ere will ever hurt ye. ‘Specially when 'Am around." Avery now hides her face for an entirely different reason as she flushes a deep red all across her cheeks and down her neck. She battles with the feelings of bashfulness caused by the pet name and the desire to cry from the kind words and safety they bring her. Because they came from him. Her protector.

They finally reach the mess hall where only a group of men sit at a table near the kitchen area. The room is small and cozy. With a few tables, a full open kitchen and a lounge area on the other side filled with couches and a pool table.

Avery's attention is brought over to the men at the table that Johnny pushes her to. When she stops, she is greeted with the smiles of Captain John Price, with his fishermans hat and mutton chops and Gaz, with his beautiful dark skin and twinkle in his eyes. Price is seated to her left while Gaz sits across the table. Besides Gaz sits Ghost, whose skull masked face is turned toward her as he greets her with a nod before turning to the paperwork on the table in front of him. Avery smiles gently at the trio and looks down at her fidgety fingers as she picks at her nails.

"How are you feeling?" Price says in his gruff British accent. He looks kindly down at the tiny young woman in the chair. She was small, especially while surrounded by the large men of task force 141.

"A bit better, still sore" Avery finally speaks after a quiet moment as if to gather her courage. Her voice is soft and melodic, which complements her personality and angelic appearance.

Sitting in between these strong, giant men, Avery looks like a wounded bird. Tiny and fragile in her bandages.

Price smiles at the poor young lady, turning to his tea and paperwork like Ghost. "That's good to hear."

"Yeah, especially since this idiot here couldn't stop worrying about you!" Gaz loudly spoke around his mouthful of food. He swallows and acts all serious and worried "I wonder ef she's okay. Do ye think I should sneak ‘er some chocolate? Maybe I should visit ‘er. I should make sure the staff are treatin' er right. How often are they checkin' on ‘er. What ef she's all alone n’ scared. The fuckin' doctor won' let me see ‘er again, said tha' ah'v been around too much n’ she needs te rest." Gaz's surprisingly accurate reenactment is cut off as an embarrassed Johnny slaps him on the back of the head.

"Away n’ bile yer heid ye wee bastard!" Johnny huffs at him, his accent making it hard to understand in his embarrassed anger. His ears slightly red as he argues trying to save face. "I was jus' worried about ‘er bein' all alone in a strange place!"

Avery quietly giggles at the men's antics as Price smiles fondly in his tea with amusement and Ghost ignores them as he usually does.

"Yeah yeah, it was adorable mate!" Gaz hells over to Johnny as the now bashful man starts putting together a plate of food for the still giggling girl.

Gaz leans over across the table to whisper to Avery as she watches Johnny. "He really was worried. When he wasn't with you and got kicked out of the medical wing, he was either pacing or beating the shit out of the new recruits." He laughs lightly at the wide eyed girl and the light blush forming on her cheeks at the information.

"Oi whatta ye tellin' er?" The Scotsman questions as he narrows his eyes at the Brit and sets the food down in front of Avery. He sits down next to her as Gaz shoves a large bite of food in his mouth and shrugs innocently.

Johnny's attention is pulled away from the smug Gaz when he notices the beautiful girl next him scarfing down her food as fast as she can.

"Whoa slow down ye wee lassie! No one is goin' te take away yer food from ye." He laughs out as the skittish young woman looks up and freezes. She chews for a bit, analyzing his words, before swallowing. Her eyes wide and innocent as she looks up hopefully at him with a hint of hesitation in her uncertain gaze.

"Promise?"

Silence

That one word was all it took. Paired with the pitiful expression of the injured and traumatized girl, that quiet pleading word made all four men stop what they were doing. While two of them stare at her with a mixture of sad and shocked gazes. Ghost looks at her with a grim understanding that only he shared with the poor little bird. Johnny on the other hand…

Johnny was livid.

After the shock, which he felt like a blow to the gut, all he felt was anger. Heat filled his stomach and heart as he fought off the instinct to go find the girls dead beat father and kill the fucking bastard. The monster who took pleasure in destroying the purest creature Johnny had ever met.

His girl, who now looks worried after the long painful silence drags on. And as she takes in the flurry of different looks passing across his face that finally settles on anger, her worry grows, afraid she said the wrong thing.

Johnny notices the wary look on his little bird's face and quickly forces his body to relax. He couldn't afford to lose his temper in front of the poor girl.

"O' course not. Ye never 'ave te worry about tha again. Ye will ALWAYS 'ave food sweetheart" Johnny coos at Avery and brushes a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"You sure?" She says wobbly, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"O' course!" He replies gently, now cupping her cheek.

Avery leans into his touch and fiddles with the end of her shirt that falls just above her knees, fitting like a dress. It smelt comfortingly like Johnny and his cologne. She looks down as she practically whispers, "It's just," she looks up skittishly as she continues after a brief moment, almost scared, "you look mad."

Johnny takes her face in both of his hands now as carefully as he can as if she could break at the slightest pressure. "Not at ye little bird. Never at ye. Don' worry about me. Eat yer breakfast and afterwards, I'll take ye out te get some fresh air."

She looks into his eyes for a moment and then smiles before nodding softly in his hands. Tears now gone and her heart feeling light, she turns back to her breakfast without noticing the warm smiles the other three men share toward the pair, not so much from Ghost as only his eyes soften at the interaction. Then they grow serious as they all, including Johnny, think about the long journey the wounded girl will have to take to recover what her poor heart, body and soul was put through all those years. And then they think of the man who caused all of her grief and the fact that he still breathes air, even if he was behind bars. No prison sentence will ever be enough for such a horrible man.

They force the thoughts out of their head as they share looks of determination as the young woman smiles at her food, excited to see the birds later as she eats slowly, enjoying her first real meal in a long time.

His little bird will never go through anything like that again as long as they are around.

Johnny would make sure of that.

****

I hope you all like it and that it was good. Again if you would like more, please let me know, and I will consider turning this into a full on fic! Love you all! ❤️

[themeraldee]

I think Homelander would love someone who gets jealous. Not 'i need space to calm down for a bit' jealous but 'i'm gonna either be super clingy or fuck you into the bed for the rest of the night' type of jealous. Because his SO doesn't kill people even if they're chill with it.

But imagine them having a jealous streak and Homelander finding it out because after a while he connects the dots of people flirting with him or Vought pushing a relationships for media purposes to the times his SO is suddenly VERY clingy or is pouncing on him

yes yes YES!! My man's ego is gonna be through the roof. As if it already wasn't. But if it's the kinda jealousy that makes his SO clingy he is SOO gonna indulge in that anytime there's a chance (upon finding out about this in the first place).

With all his previous relationships not caring about him to that degree to finally have someone who literally FIGHTS for his attention? He's smug as hell. Teasing you about it when he figures it out.

"Don't tell me you're jealous." He's biting back a grin, instead cocking his eyebrow.

"How could I not be! She was all over you!"

"It's her job. Madelyn wants her to be my public girlfriend." He keeps riling you up. Especially mentioning the new superhero meaning to act as his new 'girlfriend'.

"Well maybe you should tell Madelyn that it's not happening." You walk him to the couch and he lets you push him down on it. Immediately straddling him. "You..." You start off with fire in your eyes. "Are in a happy committed relationship. It's not fair that I have to see you with other people." You're close enough to nuzzle into his warmth, your face stuffed in between his neck and his collar, inhaling that intoxicating scent of his.

"Mhm you're right it's totally not fair." You feel the rumble of his voice in his throat.

"Stop taking this lightly!" You're already peppering kisses across his neck. Your hips having a mind of their own are already grinding down against him.

You have this intrinsic need to make him smell like you, to touch him and kiss him everywhere you can. If you can't be out there in public with him you'll make sure that he remembers your fingers and lips all over him. Not a part of him that's been untouched by you.

"I'm not. I just love when you get like this." He finally lets himself grin at the needy way you're pushing yourself against him and he couldn't be happier that you want him this bad.

He needs to make you jealous more often.

[clockwayswrites]

Be gentle with your comments, darlings. It's really hard to be motivated when people are on your work in the comments asking for someone else to make a 'full fic' out of your finished one shot. Or saying they want a series to update more with zero positive words to go with it. It's hard enough writing already.