#Stop trying to kill me with cuteness and softness

[floraliike]

K-pop Demon Hunters | Fanfic

Secret Dates, Surprising Discoveries

Rumi x Jinu | fluff, dating, mentions of zoeystery, miromabby and zoeby (Zoey x Baby)

Rumi and Jinu go on a date, the Huntr/x and Saja Boys don't know of their relationship just yet, but soon they discover their friends have secrets of their own.

One shot | m.list

The state fair pulsed with a vibrant, chaotic energy that was a stark contrast to the shadowy battlegrounds they'd recently left behind. Jinu pulled the brim of his baseball cap lower, adjusting the face mask that covered half his features. Beside him, Rumi, equally disguised in an oversized hoodie, face half hidden by a mask, clutched a surprisingly large cotton candy.

"Can you believe it?" Rumi's voice was muffled but full of delight. "No Gwima, no Honwoon. Just… fried dough and screaming children."

Jinu chuckled, nudging her. "Don't forget the challenge of avoiding hordes of our screaming fans." He glanced around, noting the effectiveness of their disguises amidst the masses. "Now that the Honmoon is back in place, we have to face an even harder challenge: telling the guys we're together. Mira might kill me"

Rumi giggled, swatting his arm. "Oh, stop being dramatic. They'll be fine. Abby might cry though."

"And Baby will demand to know why I didn't tell him sooner, Romance and Zoey will try to make our relationship their business..." Jinu shuddered playfully. "Still, it's easier than fighting the forces of darkness."

They drifted past a ring toss game. "Think you can beat me?" Rumi challenged, her eyes twinkling.

Jinu smirked. "Please. I've dodged your attacks before. I think I can handle a few plastic rings."

He paid for a few rounds, and they fell into a comfortable rhythm of playful banter, each trying to outdo the other, punctuated by bursts of laughter. They talked about their individual routines now that the supernatural threat was quelled.

"Derpy misses you, you know," Jinu mused, aiming a ring. It missed by a mile. He then gently took Rumi's hand, lacing their fingers together. "You can go visit him whenever you want." He pulled her a little closer, pulling the mask down and leaning to press a soft, quick kiss to her covered lips. "He really misses you." It was a transparent excuse to have her come to his apartment, and they both knew it.

"He does?" She asked, amusing him. "He's just so adorable, this morning seemed to be just fine when I sent him home to you" Jinu's tossed out a little wonky at her comment. "Is he the one missing me or are you?" Rumi expertly tossed a ring, scoring a small prize, missing Jinu's smile at her clear catch of his bluff. "See? Superior skill."

"Beginner's luck," Jinu retorted, but a soft smile played on his lips beneath his mask. "You got me, I miss you" He admitted, holding her by the waist, closer to his body "Though he genuinely seems to prefer you over me. My own demon familiar, preferring my girlfriend."

"Well, I am much better at giving belly rubs," Rumi teased, gently squeezing his arm. "And who can resist his little snout? So cute."

Their easy conversation flowed as they wandered, until something caught Rumi's eye. "Wait a minute," she murmured, nudging Jinu. "Do you see that?"

He followed her gaze. Heading towards the Ferris wheel was a petite girl, skipping towards the attraction, wearing a familiar yellow bucket hat, and practically dragging along a guy in a hoodie, his face completely covered by his hair.

"Is that… Zoey?" Rumi whispered, disbelief in her voice. "And Mystery? What are they doing here? Are they… following us?" Her voice was laced with a mix of panic and indignation. "Together?" Her eyes narrowing.

Jinu squinted. "Not sure how she convinced him to come here, Mystery doesn't like crowded places. You think they're on to us? Maybe suspect we're dating?" He asked, looking at Rumi who was already walking after the other two.

They stealthily followed the pair, keeping a good distance. Zoey and Mystery boarded a car at the ferris wheel. Jinu and Rumi waited two cars down, then quickly got into their own, pulling their disguises tighter as the wheel began its ascent.

As their gondola reached the top, offering a breathtaking view of the sparkling fairgrounds, they looked towards Zoey and Mystery's car. It was illuminated by the fair lights, and what they saw made their jaws drop. Mystery's usually stoic face was tilted down, his hood falling back slightly, as he was clearly and unambiguously kissing Zoey. Zoey, for her part, had her arms wrapped around his neck, clearly returning the kiss with gusto.

Jinu and Rumi exchanged wide-eyed glances. The surprise was genuine, yet somehow, not surprising at all, Zoey was always very vocal at her attraction towards the silver hair man and Mystery kept a picture of Zoey in his room, the boys would sometimes catch him staring at it, sighing longingly. But, dating? "How could she not tell me she's dating!" she exclaimed, the irony completely lost on her. They leaned back into their seats, the initial shock replaced by a relaxed amusement.

"Not surprised Mystery kept the secret," he mused, missing the irony just as completely. "But Zoey?"

Jinu reached for Rumi's hand again, lacing their fingers. He pulled down his mask slightly, and Rumi did the same. He leaned in, their lips meeting in a soft, tender kiss under the vast, starry night sky. The soft glow of the fair lights below was a perfect backdrop to their shared secret, and the knowledge that their friends were just as messy and secretive as they were, made everything feel even more right.

Back at Rumi's apartment, they slipped in quietly through her bedroom window, trying not to alert a possibly sleeping Mira. The plan was a quiet movie night, a continuation of their perfect date. They were in Rumi's bedroom, setting up the projector across the room, when a sudden noise from down the hall made them pause.

"What's that?" Jinu whispered, his head cocked.

"Sounded like Mira," Rumi said, already moving towards her bedroom door, her hand instinctively going to the familiar weight of her sword. They had just defeated Gwima, but old habits died hard.

They crept down the hall, their movements silent, until they stood outside Mira's closed bedroom door. A muffled, exasperated voice, unmistakably Mira's, filtered through the wood. "If you two don't stop being so annoyingly competitive, I'll kick you out!"

Then, a second, silky voice, was heard from inside "Hmm, you love it, admit it." That was unmistakably Romance. What was he doing here? They looked at ezch other, surprised all over their faces when a third, sleepily playful voice made Rumi and Jinu freeze. "Oh come on, just come back to bed and kiss us already." It was Abby.

Jinu and Rumi stared at each other, eyes wide with incredulity. Mira, Romance, and Abby? The realization hit them like a ton of bricks, simultaneously shocking and hilariously obvious in hindsight.

They began to back away slowly, retreating towards Rumi's bedroom, when Zoey's bedroom door swung open. Baby emerged, an empty can in one hand, reading one of Zoey's small, leather-bound diaries with an utterly nonchalant expression. He looked up, spotted Jinu and Rumi standing there, nodded once, completely unsurprised, and continued on his way towards the kitchen, presumably for more drinks and snacks, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to casually stroll out of Zoey's room reading her private journal.

Jinu and Rumi stumbled into Rumi's bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. The movie they'd planned flickered forgotten on the screen. The implications of what they'd just witnessed, and who they'd just witnessed, slowly settled over them. Baby and Zoey. Zoey and Mystery. Romance, Mira, and Abby. Everyone.

Jinu turned to Rumi, a slow, bewildered smile spreading across his face. "Well," he murmured, "one less thing to worry about, I guess."

Rumi chuckled, shaking her head. "Now we just have to tell Celine." Jinu visibly shuddered. The former demon hunter. That, indeed, was a challenge even the forces of darkness couldn't prepare them for.

[ncsdlr]

So Loved

Billie Eilish x Reader

—————————————

Hotel Room, 12:47 AM

The lights are low, city glow spilling in through the curtains. Billie’s just stepped out of the bathroom, damp curls falling around her face, drowning in one of your hoodies that hangs past her thighs. She looks exhausted—but still stupidly beautiful.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, a neatly arranged spread in front of you: her favorite snacks, a jade roller, a fresh pair of fuzzy socks, and a tiny black box that looks suspiciously like jewelry.

Billie stares.

“…What the hell is all this?”

You pat the bed in front of you. “Come here, baby. Sit. Let me take care of you.”

She doesn’t even argue. Just climbs into your lap like it’s instinct, arms loosely around your waist as she rests her head on your chest.

You take the jade roller and gently press it to her cheek. “You were so good tonight. Killed the whole stage and still smiled through soundcheck bullshit.”

She sighs, eyes fluttering shut. “Mmm.”

You press a kiss to her temple and keep your voice low. “So I figured you deserved a little princess treatment.”

She lifts her head, lazily blinking at you. “You bought me—” she gestures at the stuff on the bed, “—like, a spa night and a snack haul. And what’s in the little box? Don’t tell me you got me jewelry.”

You smirk and open it without a word. Inside: a delicate silver necklace with a tiny “B” charm, wrapped around a tiny emerald.

Billie’s jaw drops. “Baby. What the hell. Are you serious?”

You shrug, stroking her thigh gently. “It made me think of you. Plus it’s your birthstone, and you’ve been working so hard—”

She kisses you mid-sentence. A soft, grateful, melting kind of kiss. The kind that says thank you without needing to.

When she pulls back, she’s smiling. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smile right back. “That’s the plan.”

****

Soho, 3:22 PM

It starts raining the second you step out of the little vintage shop, and Billie makes that half-annoyed, half-cute noise she does when she’s caught unprepared.

You don’t even blink. You pull out a folded umbrella from your tote bag—the same one you brought “just in case” because the weather app said there was a chance of a drizzle.

“Turn around,” you say.

She blinks. “Huh?”

You hold up a hair tie. “You’re gonna hate the way your hair feels on your neck if it gets wet. Let me tie it up for you.”

Billie’s shoulders drop a little in that quiet God, you know me so well kind of way, and she turns around without another word. You carefully gather her hair, fingers gentle, looping the scrunchie just tight enough.

Then you drape your hoodie over her shoulders, tug the umbrella above both your heads, and guide her toward the bakery across the street.

“Babe,” she says, soft, hand slipping into yours. “You’re spoiling me.”

You lean over to kiss her cheek. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

She grins, eyes sparkling under the umbrella. “It’s not. I just don’t get it.”

You stop walking. She turns to look at you.

“I get it,” you say. “I get you. And I love you. So I do what you’d never ask for.”

Her face goes all scrunched like she’s trying not to get misty-eyed in the middle of the street, and you just pull her into your arms anyway, hoodie and umbrella and all, because you’ve got her. Rain or not.

****

Backstage, 10:03 PM – Just After the Show

Billie’s drenched in sweat, face flushed from the adrenaline of screaming crowds and stage lights. But the second the show ends, the second she steps offstage, her heart dips a little.

Because you weren’t there.

You’d texted earlier—apologetic, rushed:

“I don’t think I can make it tonight, baby. Something came up. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

And she understood. Of course she did. You’re busy. You’re always doing a million things. But the whole time she was performing, she kept glancing over to where you usually stand, just offstage. That empty space hit harder than she expected.

She wipes her face with a towel and quietly ducks out of the chaotic hallway. Everyone’s buzzing, yelling about how good the show was, and all she wants is a second to breathe.

She slips into the green room—

—and stops dead in her tracks.

You’re there. Sitting on the couch, arms full of flowers, a stupidly soft smile on your face.

Billie freezes in the doorway. “You said you couldn’t come.”

You stand, set the flowers aside, and walk over. “I lied.”

She blinks. “You lied?”

You grin, wrapping your arms around her waist. “I wanted to surprise you. There was no way I was gonna miss you singing ‘What Was I Made For’ like your heart was falling apart in real time.”

She laughs into your neck, a shaky little sound. “I was so sad you weren’t here.”

You kiss her forehead. “I know. I’m sorry. But I made it. I’ll always make it. Okay?”

She nods, then buries her face into your chest like she’s been holding her breath all night and can finally exhale.

“God, I love you,” she mumbles.

You smile, running your fingers through her damp hair. “I love you more.”

And just like that, the green room becomes a little sanctuary—quiet, warm, and full of everything Billie needs: you.

****

Lazy Afternoon, 4:46 PM – Billie’s House

The cramps are cramping. The heating pad is losing its warmth. Billie is curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, a blanket over her head like a cape of suffering.

From beneath the blanket she groans, “Baaaabe… come die with me.”

But you’re in the kitchen, fully on your own hormonal warpath, grabbing hot water bottles and chocolate-covered pretzels like a one-woman rescue mission.

You shuffle into the room with two mugs of tea, one heating pad, a snack bowl, and a container of Midol tucked under your arm like you’re doing a speedrun of Period Olympics.

Billie peeks from under the blanket. “Why are you still walking around like a functioning human? You’re cramping too.”

You gently lift the blanket and slide next to her, tucking her into your side. “Because you look like a Victorian child with consumption, and someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

She laughs weakly, head falling to your shoulder. “You’re bleeding out and still taking care of me. That’s kinda hot.”

You smirk. “Everything I do is hot. But right now it’s also deeply maternal.”

You hand her the heating pad, tuck the blanket tighter around her, and press a kiss to the top of her head. She closes her eyes and melts into you.

“You’re such a simp,” she murmurs.

You nuzzle into her hair. “Damn right. Bleeding in sync just means we suffer together. You’re not going through this alone.”

Her hand finds yours under the blanket, fingers cold but steady. “I love you,” she whispers, a little quieter than usual. A little more raw.

You squeeze her hand. “I know. Now shut up and drink your tea.”

****

Evening, 7:39 PM – Your Place

The rain taps gently against the window, and the world outside feels a million miles away. Inside, it’s warm. Quiet. Just low music, candlelight, and Billie—straddled over your lap like she belongs there. Legs tucked around your waist, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, no makeup, hair loose, sleepy eyes.

Your fingers are everywhere, like you can’t decide what part of her you want to worship next.

You tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’re so fucking pretty it pisses me off sometimes.”

She scoffs softly, smiling. “That’s a weird compliment.”

You trail your fingertips down her cheek. “It’s not weird. It’s honest. You’re unreal.”

Your thumb grazes over her bottom lip, and she kisses it gently, almost without thinking. You chuckle.

“Your lips are literally not fair,” you murmur. “Like, did God just say ‘yeah, let’s ruin everyone’ when he made you?”

Her cheeks flush. “You’re annoying,” she mumbles, tucking her face into your neck.

You don’t let her hide. You lift her chin and kiss the tip of her nose. “No, I’m in love. There’s a difference.”

Then your fingers drift to the chain around her neck, thumb rubbing the charm resting just above her collarbone.

“You even make jewelry look better,” you whisper. “Like the chain’s lucky just to sit there.”

She laughs again, but it’s breathy—quiet. She’s gone soft in your hands, fully melted into your lap, like she’s letting herself be held together by you and nothing else.

Your hands drift lower, brushing along the swell of her chest, and she raises an eyebrow.

You grin. “Sorry. Had to. They’re right there. And they’re perfect.”

She blushes. “You’re disgusting.”

You shrug. “You’re hot.”

Your touch softens again, back to stroking her face, her jaw, her temple—like she’s fragile and divine all at once.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” you say finally, voice quieter now, like it’s just for her. “Not for how you sing, or how you look, or how your boobs sit when you wear my shirts—though, bonus points—but for all the weird little things that make you Billie.”

She’s speechless for a moment. Just stares at you, wide-eyed and shiny.

Then she leans forward and kisses you like she’s trying to pour her entire heart into it.

And in that moment, Billie doesn’t feel like a pop star, or an icon, or anything the world tells her she is.

She just feels like yours.

——————————————

Soft lil thing because I said so

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

Cuteness aggression with the diaboys?

Shu Sakamaki

You're babbling about something excitedly, eyes wide, hugging a stuffed animal—

And Shu just stares.

“Stop being cute. It’s annoying.”

But he’s gripping your wrist harder than usual, pulling you into his lap, burying his face in your neck with a groan.

“…I wanna bite you. Hard. You’re too soft and warm and stupidly cute. Just… sit still.”

He ends up nuzzling you aggressively, claiming every inch of you like a lazy, possessive cat.

Reiji Sakamaki

You shyly hand him a handmade gift with sparkly eyes.

He goes stiff.

“…Why must you act so infantile?”

But his hands are trembling slightly as he adjusts his glasses, face flushed.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing to me, do you?”

He corners you against a wall, lips tight.

“If you’re going to be that adorable… I’ll have no choice but to discipline you. Thoroughly.”

Ayato Sakamaki

You’re licking sauce off your fingers like a kitten.

“OI! Chichinashi! STOP THAT!”

His face is red, fists clenched.

He grabs you and bites your cheek. Hard.

“I CAN’T STAND IT! YOU’RE TOO CUTE, DAMMIT!”

He ends up tackling you to the bed and pinning you down while yelling about how annoying you are—then hugging you like he’ll never let go.

Kanato Sakamaki

You kiss Teddy’s head and then his cheek, whispering, “I love you.”

He snaps.

“DON’T DO THAT UNLESS YOU MEAN IT!”

He tackles you with full force, burying his face in your chest.

“YOU’RE MINE. I’M GOING TO BITE YOU. RIGHT NOW.”

Your cuteness makes him spiral into clingy, aggressive affection—followed by biting, crying, and possessive babbling.

Laito Sakamaki

You're giggling and blushing over something innocent.

“Nfu~ you really are trying to kill me, Bitch-chan~”

He grabs your face with both hands, gently slapping your cheeks.

“I wanna eat you. No—devour you. Every inch.”

He ends up nipping and kissing you all over, laughing like a man unhinged.

“You’re a walking temptation, did you know that~?”

Subaru Sakamaki

You peek at him from under a blanket, wide-eyed and shy.

He explodes.

“DON’T—LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!”

He punches a wall, face beet red.

“I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU’RE GONNA MAKE ME GO INSANE!”

He grabs you in a tight hug, buries his face in your shoulder, and shakes.

“…You’re… too precious. It’s pissing me off.”

Ruki Mukami

You call him “Ru-chan” with sparkles in your eyes.

“…Livestock.”

He tries to remain composed.

But his lip twitches. His eye twitches.

“You’re acting spoiled… and adorable. And I don’t like it.”

He grabs your chin, kisses you hard, and bites your bottom lip.

“…You must be punished. For testing my control.”

Kou Mukami

You wear his merch and do a silly little fan dance.

He squeals.

“EHHH?! Neko-chan~ YOU’RE TOO CUTE! I’M GONNA EXPLODE!”

He lifts you and spins you around, laughing like a maniac.

“Let me bite your cheek~ just once—NO, TEN TIMES!”

Expect love bites, bear hugs, and giggling fits of desperate affection.

Yuma Mukami

You’re humming and swaying while baking, face smudged with flour.

He slams his hand on the counter.

“YOU WANNA DIE, SOW?! YOU’RE TOO FUCKIN’ CUTE!”

He storms over and lifts you onto the counter, devouring your lips in a kiss.

“I’m gonna wreck you. You can’t act that sweet around me and not pay the price!”

Azusa Mukami

You whisper, “You’re cute, too,” and kiss his scars.

He trembles.

“…You’re too kind… too soft… I want to… hurt you. Gently.”

He starts kissing you over and over, holding you like you might disappear.

“I feel… dizzy. Your sweetness is like pain.”

Expect emotional overload, needy touches, and soft moans of “I love you…” as he clings.

Shin Tsukinami

You make him a flower crown and call him “my fierce little wolf.”

He visibly malfunctions.

“You… you brat! Don’t call me that!”

He growls and tackles you onto the grass, biting your neck hard.

“You think you can act cute and mock me? Then I’ll make you cry from it.”

He adores it—he just hates how much he adores it.

Carla Tsukinami

You sleepily curl into his lap with a content sigh.

He freezes.

“…You truly are… dangerous.”

He brushes your hair back with shaking fingers.

“You make me feel emotions I do not wish to feel. I should punish you… and yet…”

He kisses your temple with a quiet groan.

“You’re too perfect. It’s maddening.”

Kino

You show him a dumb meme and giggle.

“…You’re so stupid. So small. So… AGHHH!”

He throws a pillow at the wall.

“I WANNA SQUISH YOU! WHY ARE YOU SO CUTE?!”

He climbs on top of you and starts aggressively nuzzling and biting your shoulder while shouting nonsense.

“STOP MAKING ME FEEL THINGS!”

[liesandspookyfairytales]

Captured

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader Word Count: 2k A/N: *cutely holds out this fic* "here, have some angst" I know this fic wasn't in my poll, but I read @moody-alcoholic's fic 'This is going to hurt' and I was inspired! Anyway, enjoy and as always:

Comments, likes and reposts are greatly encouraged and appreciated!

I blink groggily as I’m woken up by a door slamming shut. My body screams as I move to sit up. Being tortured for god knows how long really takes a toll on the body. I register footsteps nearing the cell that I’m being kept in. Looking up, I see Hadir. He looks perfectly fine, making my blood boil. He’s fine while his sister suffers from his actions. One of his followers places a chair in front of my cell. Hadir sits down and studies me for a while before he hums. 

“So,” he starts, “how is my sweet baby sister?” I scoff, glaring at him. “As if I’d tell you anything that has to do with her.” He bristles and jumps from his chair, “she is my sister, I have the right to know how she’s doing,” he snaps, making me laugh bitterly, “Oh Hadir, you lost any rights to her the moment you turned your back on her.” “I did not betray her,” he insists, “everything I have done is to protect her, to protect our people.”

“No, you turned your back on her by betraying everything she stands for, she’ll never forgive you for what you've done.” Hadir looks slightly taken aback by my words. “If we won’t stop her, she’ll kill you herself.” He pales at my revelation of Farah’s desire to kill him. “You sound like you do not agree with it.” I shake my head, “I don’t.” Looking straight into his eyes, I continue, “you need to die, there’s no question about that, but she shouldn't be the one to kill you.”

Hadir hums, “this is the most information that you have given us the last two months.” I shrug, “you might be a worthless excuse of a human, but you deserve to know that even your own sister hates you enough to want to kill you.”

The leader of Al Qatala looks at me with interest. “You know, I’m impressed that you care so little about yourself and your wellbeing that you won’t tell us anything,” he sits back in his chair. “You might not care enough about yourself, but do you also not care about the baby?”

I frown, “What baby, what are you talking about.” Hadir grins, “well the baby that’s currently growing in your womb ofcourse.” My eyes widen in shock. “Oh, did you not know?” he acts shocked. “You’re lying,” I grit through my teeth. He shakes his head, “I can assure you I am not.” He snaps his fingers, before speaking in Arabic. The door next to my cell opens again and a woman enters. She carries a medical device that I quickly recognise as a device to do an ultrasound. 

The door to my cell opens and I scoot back, pressing against the wall as two guards enter with the woman. They pin me down to the ground as I try to fight them, but my tortured body is weak. Hadir just watches with amusement as the woman squirts some gel onto my stomach. “Imagine our surprise when we did an ultrasound yesterday, to check for internal bleeding and instead we heard a heartbeat,” he explains. As the woman moves the device over my stomach, I indeed hear a soft heartbeat. I choke out a soft sob.

“Like I said, you might not tell us what we want to ensure your own wellbeing, but I think that will change when your baby’s life is on the line.” Hadir gestures for the guards to let me go and leaves the room. The woman gently wipes the gel from my stomach, while looking at me sympathetically. “I’m no medical expert,” she says, “but I have cared for many women during their pregnancies, and as far as I can see, you’re about three months along.”

I nod numbly and she gets up to leave. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what’s happening to you, you deserve to be at home, with the father of the baby.” With that, she leaves. 

Once the door closes behind her, I let the tears flow. Three months. Hadir said I’d been here for two months, so the math is easy. I think back to a month before I got captured. It had been the night before we left for deployment. We’d spent the night in our comically large bed at home. 

John had kissed our worries away. Kyle had whispered reassurances with soothing touches and skilled fingers. Johnny had encouraged all of us to let out our nerves in a ‘healthy’ way, which meant getting fucked six ways from sunday. Simon had never complained when I needed him more and more, because I couldn’t get my mind to settle down. In the end, all five of us had collapsed in a sweaty, sticky mess, surrounded by each other's love.

And then I got taken. Now I’m getting tortured for information that I would never give up. Even if it killed me. 

But what if it killed our baby?

-

More months had passed since I found out about the baby. I was visibly pregnant now. I even felt the baby kick a few times. Luckily, they tortured me less than before. The woman from before, I found out her name was Amara, had done a few ultrasounds since then. Just last week, she told me the baby was a girl. She looked grim while telling me. When I asked her why, she told me that Hadir didn’t plan to let me keep the baby, that he had said that if the baby was a girl, she needed to be raised properly. That she needed to be raised to do her duty to her future husband. That was why they didn’t torture me as much anymore. The true torture would come when they would take my baby.

I had cried again, something that I did a lot these days. I had begged her to help me, but she couldn’t, not without risking her own life and those of her own children. I turned hysterical as she left, eventually passing out from exhaustion.

I was woken by someone calling my name. Shifting to sit up, I groaned at the pounding in my head, my eyes feeling swollen. Someone called my name again and I turned to look at whoever it was. I cried out as I saw Johnny in the cell next to me. He looked like hell. Bruises and scratches everywhere, bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted. “Bloody hell, Johnny, what the fuck are you doing here?” I exclaimed. 

He gave me that crooked grin of his. “Well ah said it in our wedding vows, didnae ah? Ah vowed that ah would ne’er let ye go, that ah would dae whatever it took tae keep ye safe.” He reached through the bars and I did the same. Wanting nothing more than to touch him again, but I couldn’t reach him. My shoulder ached as I reached as far as I could, Johnny doing the same, but we couldn’t touch, other than the tip of my finger nail brushing his. It was bittersweet, being so close, being technically able to touch him, only to not be able to feel him, his warmth.

Johnny frowns as his eyes fall to my swollen belly, they widen as he looks at me in shock, “yer pregnant?” I nod, placing my hand on my stomach. “Did they-” he cuts himself off as he swallows, his voice shaking, “did they rape you?” I see the tears in his eyes and I quickly shake my head. “No, no they didn’t, my love.” Johnny almost collapses with relief, sagging against the bars of his cell. “Thank god,” he mutters, before looking up again. This time with a small smile. “So tha’ means we’re gonnae be daddies.”

I laugh, “yeah, if we’re ever getting out of here.” Johnny’s expression turns serious. “We will, I promise.” I sigh, “I’ve been here for months, Johnny, I’m honestly not so sure anymore.” “Ye dinnae think ah came here without a plan, now did ye?” I quirk an eyebrow, “and what, prey tell, is your plan?”

“A tracker,” he announces. “A tracker?” I repeat. He nods proudly. “I’d hate to disappoint you, love, but I can guarantee that they searched you before putting you in here, that tracker is definitely already destroyed.” Johnny smirks, causing me to frown. “The tracker isnea exactly on me.” He’s basically glowing with pride. “Johnny,” I sigh, “please tell me you didn’t swallow a tracker.” He nods enthusiastically, “aye, ah did.” 

I groan, “Johnny, you can’t just swallow a foreign object, it’s dangerous! If I gotta explain that to you now, how on earth will we ever raise a child?!” Johnny tuts at me, “It’s not jus’ a tracker, love, it’s one of those thingies we use fer the K9’s. I figured that if we can use them fer dogs, it would be safe ‘nough to swallow.” I hum, massaging my temples, “Johnny, those things are meant to be surgically implanted, not swallowed.”

“Oh,” he responds and I laugh, “god, you’re lucky you’re cute and that I love you.” Before Johnny can answer, the door opens and Hadir enters. “Ah, I see you two love birds have caught up,” he states, gesturing to the guards to open Johnny’s cell. They drag Johnny out and to my cell, opening the door. They stop him from entering, instead another guard enters. He pulls me to my feet, before pinning my arms behind me, holding me tight.

“It just makes this even more unfortunate,” Hadir continues sympathetically, pointing at me, “remember, this could all have been avoided if you had just cooperated.”

Before I can react, he steps up behind Johnny and drags a knife over his throat. I scream and thrash as blood spurts from the cut in Johnny’s neck. Hadir lets Johnny go, and he falls to his knees. The guard shoves me onto the ground and my belly slams against the cold, hard floor, causing me to cry out. The guard locks the door behind him and follows Hadir out of the room.

I crawl on my hands and knees to Johnny, who’s coughing and spluttering, blood pouring steadily from his neck. Sobbing, I put my hands around his neck, applying pressure, begging him to stay with me. “Breath through your nose, okay, try not to move, it’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.” At this point, I’m sobbing hysterically. I feel stabbing pain in my stomach, but ignore it.

Eventually, I lose track of time. Johnny’s still breathing, but has passed out. The pain in my stomach has only worsened and I noticed a liquid running between my legs. I’m only six months pregnant, so I can’t be in labour.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of gunshots and shouting. I hear pounding footsteps coming closer, before the door blasts open with a loud crash. I cry out in shock and Johnny trashes weakly. I’m shaking as a familiar figure steps into the room. Kyle, followed by John. I call their names, sobbing and I see both pale at the scene before them. Kyle rushes forward, John right behind him. They fish out a crowbar and break the door of my cell open.

John makes his way towards me, while Kyle goes for Johnny. They radio in for a med evac as Kyle’s hands replace my own. John gently pulls me to my feet and when I look down, I see that the liquid between my legs is blood, my own blood. John tugs me from the room, telling me that this isn’t something I should see. As we exit the room, I see Simon storming towards us, covered in blood. He strokes my cheek in passing, before leaving to help Kyle. I notice both John’s and Simon’s eyes on my belly, before John is leading me outside, telling me it’ll be alright.

But how can it be alright if Johnny might not make it?

[strohller27]

Yes Hello to all my fellow Miss Lemon fans out there:

If you love her as much as I do, then 6.2 Hickory Dickory Dock is the episode for you

Now let us all just take a moment out of our busy day to bask in her glory:

That coat with those hats?? ICONIC she has such a flawless style

and this little scene where she's like 'this is just a quirk of Mr. Poirot's, don't worry about it' fellas help she's so cute

also HELP lads she took Poirot's comment about Inspector Japp's 'healthy appetite' way too literally!! LEMON SOLE! she's so funny aagh

Also she looks really damn good in burgundy wow

Also you know I hate the trope where guys tell ladies to take their glasses off and let their hair flow in the wind because they'd somehow be 'sexier' or whatever. That is just simply not true. Case in point: Look at how cute Miss Lemon is in her glasses!!

Just. Everyone just. Look at my favourite girl. Look at her!!! Her filing system is perfect! Her filing system could kick your ass!!!

[screampied]

Imagine riding choso so good that he feels like he's the one who's going to get pregnant

☆ cw. fem! reader, reverse cowgirl, overstim, premature ejac, spanking, milkin’ him, breedīng, mdni.

“h- holy shit..” choso’s eyes widen, leaning back against his fluffed-out pillows. you’re straddling him in reverse, being in the prettiest fuckin’ arch he’d ever seen as you’re playfully wriggling your ass against him. just a few more centimeters and your dripping cunt would’ve been stuffed full of his aching cock. it’s veiny, and multiple veins throb from the lanky sides with pre-cum decorating his ruby tip. “you look so pretty in t.. this view,” he nearly choked on his breath, openly staring at the way your ass continued to still itself to hover over his length.

“tell me when to start, baby,” you softly hum, both hands of yours planting deep in the velveteen sheets. they create a print as your palms sink into the mattress, and your sopping cunt’s so teasing. with a tiny shimmy of your hips, you start to smear your entrance over his tip and you could hear him loudly sucking his teeth.

with a deep, protracted sigh, choso’s hand traces over the outline of your rear - so pretty. he stares at its shape from all angles before feeling his dick twitch the second you arch your back further. “you can start,” he shakily murmurs, and once you gradually start to plop yourself down on his cock he loses it. as his hooded eyelids start to droop, he lets off a soft whine once his cock’s slowly delving inside, pushin’ past the tight ring of your hollow entrance. “o- oh my god, your pussy’s gonna kill me.”

“hng-” you let off a quivering moan, biting the inside of your cheek once it takes him a few seconds to successfully bottom out. choso’s thick, and with the slight add of a prodding curve to his dick, you felt him expand everywhere. in you and through you.

he’s lean ‘n tall, easily fitting inside of your cunt like a puzzle piece.

choso’s got his bare hands glued to your hips the entire time, watching as your ass teasingly presents his pelvis with one big wet flop! choso groans, already feeling his knees starting to get weak at the stability of your greedy hips once you’re starting up a frenetic pace. “mhm, that’s it, baby. jus’ hold my hips.”

“god- you’re so hot,” he lets off a gruff huff, the tips of his ears burning over hundreds of degrees the moment you start to accelerate. your exposed backside was so pretty, especially in this position. choso stared at your jerking body - studying your tensing, flexing muscles and all of their glory. he can’t help but start to feel the inside of his mouth swelling up with salty saliva, and oh- he’s drooling already. “look back at me, princess. w- wanna see you while you ride me good.”

with a playful smile, you twist your torso just a bit to get a short glimpse of choso through your peripherals.

he’s so cute, slouched all the way back against the bed with the neediest pout plastered across his lips. he’s already sweating too - tears of sweat poured down the sides of his forehead and his usual ponytails were more unkempt than usual. “hi baby.” you mirthfully purr, and he grunts once he feels your rhythm starting to quicken. fuck, your hips were a menace.

“h…. hiii.” he hiccups, trying to smile but he only ends up moaning once his tip thrashes its way against your g-spot. right there, right-fuckin’-there, and you let off a small yelp. it’s so tender and choso starts to spasm underneath you. it was something about you riding him in reverse that made him lose his mind. the way you look back at him as you ride him to lewd oblivion, sexily tossing your hips in a circle with that cheeky grin on your sheeny lips—christ..

choso’s rock-hard abs through his white tee tenses against the fleecy fabric of his shirt and he moans. “f- fuck, don’t stop. don’t…fuckin’ stop—yeahhh, yeah like that,” and as your hips relentlessly smack back against him, nearly giving him whiplash, he whimpers. “ah. s- so warm inside, think ‘m hah- gonna make a…mess again, princess. y- your hips, ohmygoddd.”

and he’s just continuing to babble and ramble out all sorts of words with his hands still attached to your waist. he was holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go. choso’s cock dragged through your gummy walls through ‘n through, searching its way through every sloppy orifice and cavity..

you can see how his naturally drowsy eyes were already starting to roll back and his pretty pink tongue’s starting to loll out his mouth. oh- he was definitely drooling, all because of your sweet, sweet pussy. the grip you had was maddening, and each slam of your ass onto his pelvis had him whining out for more. dark thin brows of his crease into a crimped furrow as he’s trying to weakly guide your hips back into him. “mhm, touch me more baby. don’t be.. shy.”

you could feel how hesitant his fingers were, but he couldn’t resist allowing his hands to gently trace and explore down the outlines of your curves. “ughhh, i’m g- gonna,” and he pauses, letting off a husky groan the moment your ass rudely smacks back into him. it’s so impactful that for a second—the half curse was speechless. choso gasps, his eyes widening before he sobs out a crooning whimper. “faster, p…pleaseee. fuck me, r- ride it like it’s your princess. ‘m all yours, a-all yours.”

“s- shit,” you moan, snagging the edges of your teeth with your bottom lip. his dick’s steadily caressing your walls with his fat curve, locating and reaching every spot just to make you whine right with him. each pivotal thrust was killer, and you’re starting to puff out heaving breaths yourself.

choso’s fully laid back now as he watches your ass bounce itself up and down on his length before he starts whimpering again. he sounds so pretty the entire time too—

just babbling out sweet nothings, chanting your name over ‘n over as his swinish hands greedily try to reel your hips back into him. he’s addicted, and your hypnotic rhythm had him hungry for more. choso could almost taste his incoming release—syrupy pollen that’s slowly but surely salivating on his parched flat tongue.

“m..mngh,” he grunts, giving your ass a soft spank. he hears you playfully ‘oooh!’ at the swat of his hand and choso’s cock twitches inside of you. “wanna marry your hips. ‘m gonna…marry y-your hips, baby,” he starts rambling again, moaning at the speed of your rotating ass.

each wet thrust sends him shivers an abrupt rabble of butterflies, and choso’s damn near fully fucked dumb before he starts to whimper aloud yet again. he’s soso sensitive. the wide tip of his reddened shiny tip continues to swirl its way around the bulb of your clit before within seconds later—he finally cums… hard.

“oh, fuuuck—fuck,” he lets out a gargled whine and the carnal squelches of your cunt slamming against his lap get louder. choso erupts like a violent volcano - active ribbons of his handmade lava slowly pumping inside of your deprived cunt. choso’s sharp breaths become raspy as he feels your hips coming to a devastating halt, and he licks his lips. “t- thank you, thank you, thaaank you baby.” and you didn’t even know what he was thanking you for.

choso’s eyes close as he’s still filling slimy thin clods of cum inside of your puffed pussy.

it’s hot - and you then bring a hand toward your left ass cheek, squeezing it while still gradually fucking back against him. you’re reaaaal slow, working your hips on his active cock that’s spilling so much from the tip and the twitching sides. choso grabs onto the back of the wooden creaking headboard, and his abs clench as he watches the mess start to dribble further down between your thighs. a white puddling mess of his seed that’s drooling straight out of your flooded cunt makes him moan. “b- baaaby..” he swallows thickly, his ravened eyes fixated on your pretty plump ass that’s perfectly arched over his lap. “hah- think you just…impregnated me.”

“cho, that’s not possible,” you tease, and he moans once the warmth of your cunt starts to fade the second you get up. right away, a sloppy string of his cum glosses onto your slick entrance as you ‘pop’ his dick from between your sprawled numb legs. you turn around, straddling him from the front now, before kissing the side of his twitching mouth. “i can’t impregnate you, silly.”

“o- oh! right… um,” he breathes, sticky black bangs running down his eyes.

choso grabs your waist, a thumb shamefully swiping down the center of your runny pussy. so . . much. he locks eyes with you for a long four seconds as you’re now grinding your drenched folds against his flaccid cock that rests on his tummy. choso cutely scratches his head, and he lets off a soft whine once you sneak a wet kiss on his rosy lips. “i mean- i can try to impregnate you then.”

with a hum, you nibble on his chin. “mhm, wanna test that theory then, baby?”

choso’s so cunt-drunk that’s he’s just entirely dumbfounded. intently, he’s staring right into your eyes—barely registering a thing you just said before he cups your chin, panting at the shocks of rapture. choso’s still faintly whining under his breath before he smears a thumb over your wet-slick lips, lovingly.

“l- let’s get married,” and you gasp once he gingerly spanks your ass, an inaudible sign for you to ride him again—this time from the front so he could visibly watch your pretty face. “make me a daddy, princess, w.. wanna be all yours. please..”

[holeforzenin]

You’ve been with Satoru for almost a year now—laughing at his dumb anime references, dodging his wandering hands because fuck he’s just so overwhelmingly clingy, and letting yourself fall into the stupid, soft little rhythms of loving someone who should’ve been your enemy.

And that’s the problem.

Because the whole reason you were ever supposed to get close to him was to kill him.

It’s not like you hadn’t tried before. Sneaking poison in his tea—he spat it out and made you drink it instead, pretending it was some flirty trust game. A cursed blade under the bed, slipped under his ribs during sex—he moaned louder and flipped you over, praising how “kinky” you were getting like it was a joke. He just…never. Dies.

And now you’re sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, guilt scraping your stomach raw because tonight is supposed to be it.

He’s so warm and soft under you, stupidly shirtless like always, skin golden and freckled from the early summer sun. That dumb blindfold is pushed up into his hair, white lashes low over his eyes so blue that you still can’t believe they’re actually real.

You can feel the edge of the cursed dagger against your thigh under your dress. All you have to do is reach.

“You okay, sweets?” he murmurs, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your lower back. “You’re all tense”.

You look at him—at the little beauty mark under his eye, at the way he’s already fondly smiling at you, like he knows.

“…Yeah. Just thinking”.

“About murdering me again?”

You freeze.

He hums, nuzzling his face into your cheek, his warm breathe giving you goosebumps. “Don’t pout. You get all cute and tragic before every attempt”.

“So you knew?���

“Course I knew”. He laughs boyishly like he’s tired of it but loving it anyway. “Why do you think I’ve been letting you get close? I wanted to see how long it’d take you to catch feelings”.

Your face burns. “I haven’t—!”

“Oh no?” His hand drops low, palm spreading over the curve of your ass, squeezing just hard enough to make you twitch. “Then what was that little speech last night? About how I’m the only one who makes you feel safe?”

“I was drunk”.

“No no, you said it while sober”.

You scowl. “Oh my gosh, you’re so insufferable”.

“And you’re a very bad assassin, angel”.

“Stop calling me that”.

“No,” he says, sweet and final. Then he leans up, brushing his mouth over yours like you’re not seconds from killing him—like you couldn’t, even if you tried. “Do it, then. C’mon”.

You blink. “What?”

He nudges his nose along your jaw. “Go on. Try again. Right now”.

Your fingers tremble where they curl around the handle under your dress. And he knows—he wants you to do it. But not because he’s challenging you.

Because he wants to see what you’ll choose.

And you hate it—hate that your heart clenches instead of your grip. Hate that your thighs press tighter around his hips instead of shoving off him. Hate that it’s already decided, and it’s not him dying tonight.

“…You’re a bastard,” you whisper as the dagger slips from your grip and lands on the floor with a loud, dramatic clatter.

He grins as his lips brushes your ear.

“Mmhm. But I’m your bastard now, huh?”

[noredemptionhere]

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 𖤝 𝚆𝙸𝙵𝙴!𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙺𝙰 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼!𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

tags: modern setting, fluff, too much fluff.

𖤝| sevika won’t let you leave angry. not the room, not the house, not even her side. if you try, she just blocks the door with her body, calm, unmoving. “we’re not done,” she says, but there’s no threat in it. just finality. she doesn’t shout. she doesn’t argue. she waits you out like a storm, and you always break first.

𖤝| the first time you went full cuteness aggression and pinned her down kissing her face like an attack, she let you. quietly. didn’t say a word. but when you stopped she flipped you. suddenly she’s the one kissing you over and over like she snapped. teeth grazing your lip. eyes half lidded. voice low “no tapping out now.”

𖤝| sevika has exactly one hoodie she lets you steal. you wore it once and she never took it back because she saw how soft you looked in it and it made her weak. now, when you’re in it, she stares a little too long. if you try to give it back, she just grunts and walks away. you’re never giving it back.

𖤝| you keep climbing her in quiet moments. sitting on her lap while she’s reading. hugging her from behind when she’s washing something. she acts unbothered, but at a certain point, she just slams the book down, hauls you over her shoulder, and says “you want attention? you got it.” and disappears into the bedroom with you over her shoulder.

𖤝| she’s careful with her strength around you. too careful. like she’s scared of cracking you open. she opens jars before you even reach for them. carries things before you even ask. when you say you can do it yourself, she nods.. but doesn’t move. just stands there, watching. waiting. and eventually, you let her.

𖤝| you kiss her bicep every time she flexes. doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose or not. she lifts a box? kiss. stretches her arms? kiss. scratches her head? “wow, so pretty.” another kiss. she pretends to act casual about it. secretly flexes more.

𖤝| sevika never tells you when she’s angry at someone else. but you notice the way she tightens her grip when she brushes your hair that night. how the strokes lose rhythm. how her breathing changes. she’s careful not to take it out on you, but it leaks through anyway. and you learn to ask less questions on those nights. to be still. to give her space.

𖤝| she has the nerve to look this good when she sleeps. shirt riding up, one arm behind her head, mouth slightly open. so of course, you crawl on top of her at 3am, kiss her ten times in a row, then whisper “you’re killing me.” she stirs. half opens one eye. “good.”

𖤝| sevika doesn’t like when you dream of other people. not lovers—anyone. when you wake up and tell her you saw your mother, your old friend, a teacher from childhood.. her gaze sharpens. she asks what they said. how they made you feel. and the next night, she holds you tighter. harder. like she’s trying to squeeze the memory out of you before it sticks.

𖤝| sevika never tells you she’s angry. she just stops touching you. not cruelly, not obviously—she’s still there, still present, still herself—but her hands don’t find you in passing. she doesn’t tuck your hair behind your ear, doesn’t brush crumbs off your chin. you feel it immediately. the absence. and it hurts more than yelling ever could.

𖤝| sevika keeps your baby picture in her wallet. you didn’t give it to her. she found it somewhere.. old, worn, tucked into a book you forgot. she didn’t ask. just slipped it into the fold behind her mints. now it’s always with her. when you noticed it, it made your heart flutter.

𖤝| she now accepts that she is your personal body pillow. you spoon her. you lie across her. you lie on top of her. she’ll just be flipping through the pages of her book while you’re starfished across her torso. sometimes she lifts your arm so she can read under it.

𖤝| you’re constantly climbing on her lap, even mid-conversation. she’ll be talking to you about something or someone and you just quietly sit in her lap like a cat. she doesn’t stop talking. doesn’t react. just rests a hand on your thigh like this is perfectly normal.

𖤝| she tries to act unaffected when you smother her with kisses. you kiss her cheek fourteen times in a row and she just blinks like nothing’s happening. but the second you stop? “that’s it?” she doesn’t even look at you when she says it. you kiss her fourteen more times.

𖤝| one day, you try to be normal. no biting. no climbing. just sitting beside her, hands folded, behaving. after ten minutes she grabs your wrist, pulls you into her lap, almost mad. “what’s wrong with you.” you say “i’m giving you a break.” she deadass looks offended. “i don’t want a fucking break.”

𖤝| sevika pretends she’s bothered when you hang off her like a backpack but her hands always find your thighs to hold you in place. you’re clinging to her back like “hi :)” while she’s trying to cook, and she just sighs and shakes her head, but always kisses you at the end of it.

𖤝| she can tell when you’re needy just by the way your toes curl while you stand in the kitchen, your long nightgown brushing the floor, sleeves too big, your fingers twisting in the fabric. you don’t say anything. you never do. you just look at her with those glossy eyes, lips parted, thighs pressed tight. and she’s on you in seconds. lifts you onto the counter and says, “c’mere, crybaby.“

𖤝| you cling when you’re upset, too, and she knows exactly what to do. no questions. just picks you up, sets you on the couch, pulls you into her chest. one hand rubbing your back, the other cradling your head. “i’ve got you,” she says, and you believe her. because when she says that, the whole world goes quiet, and your heart goes lighter for a moment.

𖤝| you say “babe” fifty times an hour and she answers every single time. sometimes with a grunt, sometimes with a flat “what now,” sometimes with a gentle “yes, sweetheart?” and sometimes, she just pulls you into her lap without answering at all because she knows you don’t really need anything. you just wanted her attention.

𖤝| she always tries to carry all the groceries herself. no matter how many. no matter how heavy. you offer to help, and she goes, “i got it.” ten seconds later she’s grunting under seventeen bags like a mule, refusing to make two trips. “don’t look at me,” she huffs.

𖤝| she takes the “eat the last bite of my food” thing as a personal challenge. you’ll leave one bite of cake on your plate, go to the bathroom, and come back to find her chewing suspiciously. “where’s the cake?” you ask. she shrugs. “gravity.”

𖤝| you’ve convinced her to watch trashy reality shows. she says she hates them. she complains the whole time. but if you talk over the drama for even a second, she pauses it like a schoolteacher and goes, “you’re gonna miss the good part.”

𖤝| one time, sevika came home after a long, brutal day.. she comes home late. later than usual. her back hurts, her shoulder’s stiff, and the joints in her prosthetic are clicking in that way that makes her feel ancient. her keys jangle, and she’s already halfway through a groan. except you happened-

standing dead center in the living room.

in your nightgown.

past your ankles.

sleeves draped over your hands like some sad little heirloom doll.

eyes puffy. hair wild. lips trembling.

you look like a haunted Victorian ghost who just crawled out of the floorboards.

sevika freezes.

and you say it.

you say it like you’ve been waiting centuries:

“are you cheating on me?”

she blinks. keys still dangling from her fingers.

“…the fuck?”

you take a step closer. the nightgown rustles. it sounds like a threat.

“you didn’t answer my texts,” you say, almost breathless. “or my other texts. and then you liked that girl’s picture.”

sevika just squints at you. “what girl?”

you shrug. desperate and grieved. “she had a neck.”

there’s a pause. a long one.

“…everyone has a neck.” her voice is so flat.. like she just woke up or something.

you blink. like that genuinely never occurred to you.

then your lip wobbles again like you might cry or perform a dark spell.

sevika sighs. long. slow. the tired kind that comes from a full day of chaos only to come home to.. more chaos. nightgown-wearing chaos. she lets the keys hit the floor with a dull clink and walks toward you.

“baby,” she mutters, eyes soft now. “you think i’m cheating on the girl who looks like a kicked bunny and accuses strangers of having necks?”

you blink again. then whisper, defiant

“…maybe.”

there’s a twitch at her lip. like she’s trying not to smile. like she wants to laugh and cry and throw you over her shoulder all at once.

“you want me to prove it?”

you nod. sniffly. bravely.

she just scoops you up.

no warning. no argument.

one arm under your knees, the other around your back. lifts you like it’s easy. like you’re made of clouds and dramatics.

you squeak—actually squeak—like a startled kitten.

“what are you doing?!”

“proving it.” she says it like it’s obvious. like it’s the only rational response to your witch trial.

you clutch at her jacket, all nightgown and flailing sleeves and messy hair. she carries you to the couch and sits with you in her lap like she’s bracing for war and your love is the weighted blanket holding her together.

her hand is splayed across your back, fingers warm through the fabric. the other supports your thighs. her face presses against your temple.

“mmhmm,” she mutters, low and sarcastic. “cheating on you. that’s why i’m holding my delusional little marshmallow like this.”

you pout. whine. nuzzle into her collar. “i’m not delusional.”

“baby,” she sighs, brushing your hair back and kissing your cheek. “you accused a stranger of having a neck.”

you glare up at her. absolutely betrayed. “and you liked it.”

sevika just looks at you. quiet. soft. half exhausted and half in love with whatever ridiculous gremlin fate bound her to. Her mouth twitches again. she leans down.

one kiss to your forehead. another to your nose.

then a longer, lingering kiss to your lips. she pulls back just a little. “next time you get dramatic,” she whispers, voice husky, “at least wait until I’m not about to drop dead.”

[starrydali]

Cuteness Agression - Rafe Cameron

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ Rafe’s got a temper—everyone knows that. But nothing sets him off like you and those big, wide doe eyes that make him feel like he’s losing his mind. You look up at him all innocent, like you have no clue what you're doing, and it drives him insane. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Rafe Cameron has a short temper he always has.

But nothing—nothing—sets him off quite like you do.

Not in a bad way. No, in the kind of way that pulls at his heart strings, makes his hands too twitchy, and his brain too loud—because how the fuck is he supposed to think straight when you looks at him like that?

Like right now.

You're just standing there, staring up at him with those big, ridiculous doe eyes, all wide and innocent, like you have no clue what your doing to him.

Rafe knows he should still be mad, his jaw is still tight, adrenaline still rushing through his veins from nearly breaking some guy’s face for looking at you the wrong way—but then you go and tilt your head, brows pinching together all cute, and—

"Fuck," Rafe mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

Your eyes somehow get even bigger. "What?"

He groans, grabbing the back of his neck, turning away. "You gotta stop looking at me like that, sweetie."

"Like what?" you ask, voice all soft, tugging on his hoodie, actually trying to kill him.

He whips back around, eyes wild. "Like you’re a fucking baby deer! Like I could put you in my pocket and carry you around or some shit!"

You blink. "You want to carry me around?"

"No!" His hand go to your face, squeezing your cheeks just enough to make your lips pout, and fuck, that’s even worse. "I wanna—ugh—I don’t know what I wanna do! Shake you? Kiss you? Bite you?" His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you impossibly cuter, and he growls under his breath. "You’re gonna kill me, you know that?"

Your cheeks squish in his hands as you let out a soft, "I'm sorry."

Rafe groans again, louder this time, finally loosing it he drops your face and pushes you towards the bedroom.

"Come on let's see if you're still this fucking cute with tears running down your face".

You scrunch up your face in an almost scared look and god does that pull his heart strings. He feels a little bad but if he doesn’t do something about all this goddamn cuteness aggression, he’s genuinely going to lose his mind.

✧. ┊ Send requests! :)

[hanniebaeee]

Touch Me

Felix x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI

Genre: established relationship, fluff, smut

Summary: You and Felix have been dating for a few months now, and you both haven't ventured beyond kissing. And one night, he asks you for something more.

a/n: I had to write one for him.

You and Felix have been dating for just over three months now, but honestly? You still can't stop staring at him like it's the first time. He’s downright mesmerizing - easily the most breathtaking person you've ever known.

Right now, you're curled up together on the couch, two half-drunk glasses of wine sitting on the coffee table. The room hums with that golden, cozy kind of magic - part wine haze, part warm lighting. But also part Felix and the way he’s looking at you like he’s got very specific plans that don’t involve much talking. 

He’s mid-story, waving his hands dramatically about some dance practice mishap, and you’re laughing so hard, nudging his thigh with your socked foot. He’s sprawled out next to you, long legs draped over the cushions, his blonde hair done in a cute bun.

“You're a disaster,” You laugh, and he catches your foot, smirking, and tugs you closer until you’re sitting flush against him. 

“Says the girl who’s been eye-fucking me all night,” he fires back, voice low and playful. His hand lingers on your ankle, sliding up to your calf, and suddenly the air’s thicker.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your cheeks heat up.

“I HAVE NOT. I’ve been… appreciating your storytelling skills.” You say, shivering a little as he drags his fingers along your skin. 

“Liar,” he murmurs, leaning in.

His lips brush yours, soft at first, wine-sweet and warm. You kiss him back, and it’s like flipping a damn switch, because the kiss deepens, all hungry and messy. Your tongues clash, and your hands find his shoulders while, his slide to your waist.

And before you know it, you’re straddling him, heart pounding erratically. 

“Hi,” he breathes against your mouth, grinning like a fool.

“Hi,” you echo, giggling. 

His hands roam up your back, tugging you closer, and you can feel him - hard and insistent against your thigh.

Ok, so you freeze. This is new territory. You’ve kissed plenty, sure, but this? This is the deep end. Felix pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and hooded.

“Touch me,” he says, voice rough but so damn soft, like he’s asking for a favor. 

You freeze - again. Your hands hover over his chest, fingers twitching like they’ve forgotten how to function.

“I…uh…what?”

“Touch. Me,” he repeats, slower, guiding your hand down his chest, past the buttons of his shirt, toward the waistband of his jeans. “You know you want to. I can see it in your cute panic-face.”

“I’m not panicking!” you squeak, totally panicking.

Your palm’s hovering over the situation in his pants, and it feels like you’re defusing a bomb. Except this bomb’s sexy and smirking at you.

“I just… I’ve never… I mean, we’re new, and I don’t wanna mess this up, and oh my god, what if I’m bad at it?” you stutter. 

He laughs, a deep, throaty sound.

“Babe, you could slap me now, and I’d still be into it. Just…here.”

He takes your hand, pressing it against the very obvious bulge in his pants. And holy hell, he’s hard. Like, really hard. You gasp, and he groans, head tipping back against the couch.

He looks so blissed out, you panic even more. 

“See?” he says, voice strained but teasing. ���Not so scary. Just a very enthusiastic Felix junior saying hello.”

“Felix junior? Oh my God, you're ridiculous!” You snort, despite the worry and heat pooling in your gut.

“Only for you,” he quips, giving you a grin. “Now, c’mon, babe. You’re killing me here.”

You bite your lip, the nerves and longing waging a war in your chest. You do want to. God, you want to, so bad. But your hand’s still just… sitting there, like it has lost its function.

He shifts under you, hips rocking up slightly, and you feel him twitch through the denim of his jeans. Your heart literally stops. 

“Okay, seriously,” he says, a little edge creeping into his tone. 

He grabs your wrist, eyes locking with yours, and there’s this wild, desperate glint in them that’s somehow still sweet.

“Are you gonna make me beg? Because I will. I’ll get on my knees if you want. Write you a song even. ‘The Fingers That Won’t Touch My Dick’.”

You burst out laughing, the tension snapping. “Lixie! Are you for real?!”

“Very real and very horny!” he shoots back, grinning despite his frustration. “C’mon, babe. I’m begging here.”

Something about his dramatic plea does it. You fumble with his zipper, clumsy and giggling, and he lets out this exaggerated, “Oh thank GOD,” that makes you laugh harder. 

When you finally touch him, he moans. He is so velvety and hot under your fingers, and you see his head lolling back again.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathes as your fingers wrap around him and he’s putty in your hands. Literally and figuratively - hips bucking, little gasps and whimpers spilling from his lips. He looks at you, all starry-eyed and wrecked, making your heart do a somersault.

“You’re perfect. Knew you’d be.” he praises.

“I’m winging it,” you admit, stroking him nervously, and he laughs, a bright, giddy sound that’s so him, even in the middle of this.

“Wing it harder,” he says, grinning, but there’s a strain in his tone now. His hand covers yours, guiding you, and when you don’t speed up, he whines - whines - and fixes you with those big, pleading eyes.

“Don't be so cruel!” He wails, making it sound as pathetic as possible, and that's all it takes. You give in, wrapping your fingers around him properly, stroking with a little more purpose. And the way he melts - groaning your name, hands gripping your thighs is simply the hottest yet most adorable thing ever.

“There you go,” he mumbles, voice wrecked.

You run your thumb over the soft pink head, tracing over the little slit and he whimpers, bucking his hips into your hand desperately. And it's quiet except for his moans and whines, and the sound of you moving your hand up and down his length.

He kisses again, sloppy and sweet, moaning into your mouth like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s messy and so damn romantic, and you bite his bottom lip a little too harshly, and that's what it took for him to fall apart, whimpering your name like it’s a prayer. 

You grin as he pants, and he pulls you close, sweaty and grinning, pressing lazy kisses to your jaw.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, voice all warm and gooey. “I’m keeping you forever.”

“You’re a dork,” you say, but you’re glowing, warm and giddy in his arms. "But I'd love that."

“I love you,” he says, softly, and you whisper it back against his lips, making him chuckle.

“Now, your turn, or are we ordering food first?”

You shove a pillow in his face, both of you dissolving into laughter. (You definitely don't order food first.) 

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120

[thanoskin]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME

— — —

Pairing: Myung-gi x Nam-gyu x Fem!Reader

Summary: they find you, scared and alone, Nam-gyu pisses Myung-gi off, he takes his anger out on you.

Warnings: minors DNI (18+), quickie, choking, dom! Myung-gi, dom! Nam-gyu, intercourse, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, sudden death (knife), cnc (?), let me know if I’ve missed something.

— — —

The lights buzzed faintly overhead. Shadows clung to the corners like wet fabric. The game had started ten minutes ago, and Nam-gyu and Myung-gi managed to wipe out a good amount of players. Bodies were already piled onto the floors of the haunting hallways, those found too early, too slow, too loud, unable to match the key to the lock in time.

Myung-gi wasn’t here to play nice.

He moved silently through the hallways, knife in hand, eyes focused. Nam-gyu was behind him, humming.

Humming.

“If you don’t shut up,” Myung-gi snapped, “I’ll stuff your throat with that stupid song and leave you as bait.”

Nam-gyu giggled. “Aww. You do care.”

His pupils were blown wide, he looked half-stoned, half-possessed. But he followed, tight at Myung-gi’s back like a dog on a leash. He was surprisingly quiet when he wanted to be, drifting in and out of focus like a ghost. Myung-gi hated how warm his presence felt behind him. Distracting.

“Left,” Nam-gyu chirped, and pointed.

Then — a sound.

A breath.

Myung-gi raised his hand, stopping Nam-gyu with a silent gesture. He turned the corner swiftly, entering a room with a blue door, and there you were.

A girl. Maybe twenty. Skinny, dirt-smudged, your hands shaking as you fiddled with the key. You froze the second you saw them, especially Myung-gi, whose expression was unreadable.

“Found you,” Nam-gyu sing-songed, peeking over Myung-gi’s shoulder.

You scrambled backward, trembling. “Please— please don’t kill me, I haven’t killed anyone on the red team I swear—”

“You don’t have to,” Myung-gi cut in, low and flat. “You just have to lose.” He readied his knife.

Nam-gyu tilted his head. He crouched beside you, elbows resting on his knees like a child watching an ant squirm. “She’s cute,” he said. “Like a mouse. Or a rabbit.”

Your chest heaved. You were silent now — watching him instead of Myung-gi.

“Don’t get soft,” Myung-gi snapped.

“Who’s soft?” Nam-gyu’s eyes glittered. “I’m just admiring the way she shakes. So pretty when they’re scared, am I right?”

There was a pause.

“You’re a psycho…” Myung-gi muttered.

“Takes one to team up with one,” Nam-gyu chirped.

He reached forward. You flinched, but all he did was clean the dried blood on your cheek. His fingers brushed your collarbone. A touch too long.

“What do you think, MG Coin?” Nam-gyu grinned, glancing at Myung-gi. “Do we kill her? Or do we make her beg to survive?”

“You’re wasting time!,” myung-gi shouted. His jaw tensed. His eyes met the yours. You looked pleading, desperate. And then you looked at Nam-gyu, like you could sense the predator behind the grin.

“hurry up,” Myung-gi said.

Nam-gyu stood, stretching with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “I like this part,” he said. “The choosing. You get to feel like a god for a second.”

He looked at you again, then back to Myung-gi.

“Wanna flip for it?” Nam-gyu offered. “Heads, she lives. Tails, she dies.”

Myung-gi stared at him in shock.

“We don’t have time for games,” Myung-gi said. But his voice was nearly shaking.

Nam-gyu took a step closer. His shoulder brushed Myung-gi’s. “We’re in a game.”

Their faces were too close now. Myung-gi’s breath hitched, just a little. Nam-gyu’s grin widened.

You didn’t move.

“Or….”

Nam-gyu trailed off.

“And since we’re in a game,” he murmured, “…shouldn’t we play?”

Myung-gi didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, gaze fixed on you. Your back was still pressed against the wall. Breathing fast. But you weren’t crying. That… intrigued him. You weren’t begging anymore, either. Just frozen, you knew your fate depended on the mood of the two of them.

“Don’t touch me,” you said, trying to sound brave.

Nam-gyu laughed, high and sweet.

“Stop it,” Myung-gi snapped.

His voice cut clean through the tension. Nam-gyu turned his head slowly, grinning like a child who’d just been scolded.

“Jealous?” he teased.

Myung-gi stepped forward. You flinched again, not at Nam-gyu this time, but him. He could see it: your fear wasn’t playful. It was raw. Real.

Good.

He grabbed Nam-gyu’s collar and yanked him upright.

“We’re not here to waste time.”

“She’s still breathing,” Nam-gyu said. “We’re clearly not in a rush.”

“We should be.”

Nam-gyu blinked slowly, then leaned in, whispering in Myung-gi’s ear.

“You keep looking at her like you’re going to plunge that knife into her chest and score us our point. But you haven’t. So what’s really stopping you, hmm?”

His breath was warm. Myung-gi didn’t move. He didn’t like the way his stomach twisted when Nam-gyu got too close, or the way his voice made everything sound like a dare.

“We could make her do something,” Nam-gyu continued. “Not… bad, just… humiliating. Make her crawl. Say something dirty. Cry. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Enough,” Myung-gi growled.

Nam-gyu glanced at him, almost disappointed. “Why? She’s not screaming. Yet.”

Nam-gyu’s grin curled like smoke.

“You’re soft. You’re scared.”

Myung-gi’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak.

Nam-gyu wasn’t done.

“You think I didn’t see her? Your girl. Cute, too. Real brave, from what I saw. Kept looking around. Probably searching for you, you lucky guy.”

Myung-gi turned his head sharply, eyes flashing.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Nam-gyu asked innocently, lips curling. “It’s not like I’m the one who left her hanging.

Myung-gi lunged before he knew what he was doing, slamming Nam-gyu into the wall.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

Nam-gyu laughed in his face. “Or what? You’ll hit me? Come on. Let it out. Do something real for once.”

“If you’re so sure I’m afraid,” he growled, voice low, “…then watch me prove you wrong.”

He turned from Nam-gyu, eyes dark, jaw set, and walked straight back towards you. You shrank a little, unsure what was coming.

“Get up,” he said.

You didn’t move.

“Now.”

His voice brooked no argument. You rose, slow, trembling, whether from fear or anticipation, even you didn’t know.

Myung-gi grabbed you by the throat and pinned you to the wall, he felt you tremble beneath him.

He glanced at the clock, 5 minutes. without hesitation, he yanked down your pants and yanked down his own, but before he could slam his cock inside of you, Nam-gyu pushed his hand between your legs, feeling your wetness.

“Look how fucking wet she is,” he sneered, in excitement as he moved his hand away only to massage myung-gi’s shoulders as Myung-gi entered you.

You moaned loudly, he could feel Nam-gyu’s stare on his length but he was too flushed and angry to care.

He pounded you, with haste, his eyes darting between the timer on the wall and the scared, pleading look in your eyes.

Two minutes remaining.

A whimper escaped his throat, earning a chuckle from Nam-gyu whose back was against the wall a few inches away from them, watching.

Myung-gi lifted your legs up with ease and filled your cunt with his load, he tossed his head back and groaned.

You screamed rather loudly.

He slowly lifted his head up to look at you and to his shock, a knife was pressed into your neck.

Nam-gyu laughed again, before yanking the key from your neck, it was a circle, just what they needed to find the exit.

Myung-gi quickly pulled out and tucked his cock away, looked at Nam-gyu in disgust, ashamed and guilty, and utterly shocked.

Nam-gyu shrugged quickly and grabbed Myung-gi’s sweater sleeve, before using all the keys to open the door.

They made it just in time.

— — —

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN? | JK | PART 𝐈

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[sacrificiallane]

nsfw ﹙ hey cute jeans , take mine off me ❞ COWBOY!PERCY

about ! ― you devour cowboy!percy in his car / tw ! ― giving head , and a handjob. mention of cum.

soft noises were spilling over your lips, and Percy Jackson was having a hard time keeping it together.

having parked his truck right outside the ranch ― your father's home ! ― the young cowboy was fidgeting in the old leather seats of his truck like a literal virgin. he swears he isn't one ! It's just the heat ― the hot summer air that's wafting through both rolled down windows ― was making it so impossible to focus on anything but how your hair felt under his touch. the soft… soft… strands , now tightly wrapped around his hand.

only one of his hands was fisting your hair ! his other occupied with grasping ― clawing , at the leather , so he wouldn’t finish early and very possibly embarrass himself under your attentive care. his blunt nails digging almost through to the cheap foam underneath. and if he were to find scratches later , he'd know who to blame…

"god …" oh and Percy wasn't a religious man , but having your backside on display like this ― barely covered by the jeans shorts you were wearing ― it had him think of prayers that probably didn't even exist. the image of you was unholy , yet so beautiful , and Percy wished he had some way of capturing the sight. he could barely breathe.

"fuck …" his fingers only became more tense "how … where did you even learn all that , huh ?" and if you were to say 'porn' in your soft , innocent voice , he would be a total goner !

his voice only grew more hazy , breathless even. and if you weren't so focused on not choking around him … then you would've caught a glimpse of Percy Jackson throwing his head back against the seat , messy hair stuck to his forehead , curling at the ends because of the humid air inside the truck.

you didn't give an answer to his question , much too busy with making him feel good ! and maybe he was your first , or maybe you already had practice. didn't really matter to the cowboy. Percy was just content with whatever you were giving him.

and you had been so quick to unbuckle his jeans … so quick to shove it past his knees , that his mind had barely been able to process what was happening. oh , Percy was a lost cause , letting pretty girls with whiny attitudes touch him up , even when they really should just keep their hands to themselves. or , maybe , it was just you. not just any girl. but you.

his hips bucked when your lips wrapped tighter , and his tip disappeared completely from view. "you‘re killing me …"

the flushed mushroom head left your mouth with a soft 'pop' , and the cowboy couldn’t help but smile slightly when you sat upwards again and tried to chase his lips with yours like you needed him to breathe. your mild hesitation didn’t go unnoticed , though. you’ve heard before that not not every guy was eager to taste himself in such a way.

but Percy oh , that boy didn’t know 'gross' , and so his fingers tugged you closer , still wrapped around your hair. in a way that was coaxing you , smiling still , when your soft warm lips finally landed on his.

the boy kissed like he was trying to drown himself in you ! the taste just so uniquely sweet , that the mere thought of parting from it was making him kiss you even deeper , with his tongue sliding through your parted lips like he was actively trying to find himself in there.

chasing the taste of how you'd just worked him …

"Perce …" he wanted to eat you. the noises , your smell , it was all making him feel fuzzy. it amazed him how he could coax out the prettiest moans from you from simply just kissing. how ? he would never know , but he relished in it.

"you don't ―" his lips opened with a little grunt , feeling your fingers wrap around his still very hard one with … one purpose only. "you don't have to sweetheart. s‘ fine… " he would be more than content to just stop this here , even if he didn’t come. even if he was quite literally throbbing for you.

but you wanted to , didn’t you ? staring at him with a pout was enough to convince him so. and who was he to deny you.

the air quickly turned stuffy when your fingers glided over his flushed tip , up and down , circling the spots that mattered. and Percy could only watch … his shirt now bunched upwards , stuffed in his mouth so he wouldn’t let out noises that would get too loud and be heard. god knows he was prone to get stuck in predicaments. and the cowboy certainly did not want your father to see him getting turned to mush by his darling , sweet daughter.

and he whined , god , he wanted to come apart so badly ! So, so badly , that a mere glance to your face , and the way you were so adorably focused on making him cum , was enough to have him jerk into your hand "m’ fuck… "

Percy heard the morning birds chirp when he fell apart … , his body heaving with the intensity of leaving milky ropes all over your hand and the car seat.

and when he finally came down , he was all gentle , grabbing tissues to clean your hand , rubbing circles into your skin and kissing it too ! it had you stare in admiration , knowing that if anyone on this earth were to treat you right , it was him.

"don‘ go looking at me like that ..." his voice was so hoarse. much like when he would spend a rough day at the ranch , barking words at horses that did not want to nearly cooperate with him as smoothly as you did.

and you just smiled , and Percy couldn’t help but mirror that expression , before his lips gently grazed yours again. in a way, it was like a ‚thank you‘ …

"maybe you should go wash your hands , ya know. before it get's all gross and crusty …" what way to ruin the moment

"Percy !" "jus‘ saying. " oh , what an idiot.

proofread / edited may 2025 .

[wispitty]

(short reacts) | "waking up at the foot of his bed" + one piece men

summary: you stir awake after taking care of him all night when he had a fever, and he's there watching you. (part 1 here)

characters: crocodile, mihawk, marco, ace, shanks, law, corazon

CROCODILE

You stir slowly.

Eyes heavy. Neck stiff. You blink up and find—

Him.

Propped up in bed. Awake. Watching you with a strange look—torn between awe and disbelief.

You rub your eyes.

“You’re awake…?”

He nods once. Still staring.

“You passed out.”

“I was just… watching over you…”

You sit up, stretching. Your back pops. His brow twitches.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.

But then, after a long pause:

“...Thank you.”

You blink.

And then his hand brushes yours under the blanket.

“I’ve never… had someone stay.”

MIHAWK

Your eyes flutter open.

You shift, a little dazed—and realize you’re no longer in the chair. You’re tucked neatly beside his bed.

Blanket over your shoulders.

A warm hand gently resting atop your folded one.

“You’re awake.”

His voice is soft.

You look up—he’s staring right at you, his golden eyes unreadable.

“You stayed the whole night.”

“Of course,” you mumble, still half-asleep.

He looks away briefly.

Then back.

“...You humble me.”

And you don’t even know what he means.

But later, when he presses a kiss to your forehead?

You understand.

MARCO

You blink slowly, blinking the sleep away—

And he’s smiling.

Lying back, eyes half-lidded, cheek resting on his hand.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

You jolt upright.

“Wait—! I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was just—”

“Takin’ care of me. Yeah. I noticed.”

He chuckles, reaching out to tug you gently down beside him.

“Next time, sleep on the bed.”

“I didn’t want to get in the way…”

He grins.

“Please, get in my way. Please.”

ACE

You wake up to fingers in your hair.

Gentle.

Almost shy.

You open your eyes—he gasps like you caught him committing a crime.

“AH—uh—YOU’RE AWAKE—”

You blink blearily.

“...Ace?”

“Y-Yeah! I just—you were there and I—I mean you fell asleep and you looked really cute and—and—”

You just stare.

And then smile.

“I was taking care of you, dummy.”

He looks away, red as a tomato.

“I...I’ve never had anyone do that before.”

Then, softly:

“...Don��t stop, okay? Promise.”

SHANKS

You stretch with a yawn.

“Mmh… my neck is killing me…”

“Should’ve used the bed,” a warm voice teases.

You look up.

He’s smiling at you—but there’s something different in his eyes.

You blink.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just…” “Never thought I’d wake up and see someone like you here. Like that.”

He reaches out. Brushes a crumb off your cheek.

“It’s dangerous, you know.”

“What is?”

“Loving me like that.”

Then he grins. But there’s so much longing in it.

LAW

You stir to the sound of pages turning.

You look up, neck sore, blanket around your shoulders.

He’s sitting upright in bed. Reading. Calm. Collected.

“You’re awake.”

“Did I fall asleep…?”

“Obviously.”

You blink.

He closes the book slowly.

“You could’ve left.”

You sit up straighter.

“I didn’t want to.”

His gaze lingers on you.

Then:

“...Don’t do that again.”

“What?”

“Don’t show up like that. Stay all night. Make me feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’d fall apart if you didn’t.”

CORAZON

You stretch and yawn, arms over your head—

And you feel it.

A warm hand cradling yours. His fingers intertwined with yours.

You look over.

He’s already awake.

Eyes soft.

Tears dried on his lashes.

You sit up, startled.

He just pulls out a note:

“You stayed. Honestly, I don’t know how to handle that.”

Another:

“But I want to try. If it’s you.”

You don’t say anything.

You just lean forward and kiss his temple.

He melts.

[snail-day]

Can We Prep?

TW: Lovedrunk! Suguru x Reader, Mentions of SatoSugu, Double penetration (w/ toy), Unprotected sex, Creampie, Size kink, somno-adjacent (reader sleepy aftercare), Aftercare, Praise kink, Soft Yandere Themes, Sugu a little insecure. MDNI WC: 1.7k a/n: okay I really need to clean my house now, I literally started this earlier this morning and then stopped. Then came back. and now I reallyyyy need to prep my house for guests. Enjoy <3

Now, Suguru wasn’t expecting you to shyly come up to him early in the morning, fidgeting with your fingers while he scrolled through his phone just after Satoru left.

Wasn’t expecting you to bite your lip, fiddle with the hem of Satoru’s shirt you were wearing, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet. His first thought is immediate and irrational: What’s wrong? What happened? Did Satoru do something? Who do I have to kill?

His phone long forgotten as it drops to the bed as his hand instinctively comes up to cradle your face, tilting it toward him, making sure you’re actually looking at him. “Your words, please?” he murmurs, already trying to quiet the panic in his chest. Because the truth is - he’s so scared sometimes. Scared that this dream is too good to last. That you’ll choose Satoru. That you’ll wake up and realize you don’t want them both. Don’t want him.

But then you kiss the pad of his thumb as it brushes your lips and mumble under your breath, “Do you think I can take both of you?”

And his brain promptly shuts down.

Like, blue screen, buffering circle, full system reboot. Both of them. You want them both. His sweet, shy girl, asking him so bravely, trusting him first. His heart fucking stutters in his chest.

He barely manages to drop his hands to your waist and press his forehead against your chest, letting out a long breath because you’re too much.

You came to him. Not Satoru. Him.

Because you know Satoru wouldn’t prep you right. Wouldn’t go slow. Suguru would have to stand behind him the whole time and tell him what to do - like always. But now? With you all flushed and fidgety and asking him first?

God, he doesn’t even try to hide the soft little laugh that escapes him, low and warm against your chest. He looks up at your pout, the flushed stain on your cheeks. It must’ve taken everything in you to come ask him. You trust him that much.

Of course he says yes. Of course he’s going to prep you. Tells you you can stop anytime. That he’ll take care of everything.

Because the idea of hurting you? Unthinkable. But the idea of them both being in you? Holy fuck.

It doesn't take long for him to get you on you’re on your stomach. Face down, legs parted, ass up. And he thinks this might actually kill him. Sure, him and Satoru have thought of this before. But didn't want to pressure their girl over it.

You’re already so wet, so soft for him, as he laps the last of your cum from his lips and lifts the blue dildo - almost identical to Satoru’s size, and watches the toy slide into you. He can’t help but press a hand to your tummy, splaying his fingers outwards, holding you there as his long hair falls over his shoulder. Whispers soothing little praises as he works the toy in and out in slow, deep strokes.

His chest aches. Literally hurts with how much he adores you. How cute those sounds you make are.

When he pauses, murmuring “Back it up for me,” and sees your hips roll obediently, working yourself deeper onto the toy? His heart squeezes so tight he’s not even sure he can breathe.

You’re working so hard. For him. His pretty girl.

And when the lewd squelching sounds start, the lube and cum dripping onto the sheets below, his cock is already leaking. He doesn’t even try to hide how desperate he is as he lines himself up behind you, cock flushed and twitching.

Pressing the thick dark tip inside, careful and slow, whispering, “We can stop anytime, just say the word, okay?” But he already knows you won’t. You’re clinging to the sheets, gasping as he inches in.

And he’s falling apart.

She’s letting me in. She wants me. She’s trusting me with this. Oh my god, I’m going to fucking die.

“Fuck - fuck - you’re doing so good, baby,” he groans as his pretty eyes squeeze shut, barely managing to bottom out before reaching for his phone with one trembling hand. Lifts the dildo just a bit to frame the shot - his cock and the toy both buried inside your soaked cunt - and sends the video with shaking fingers.

Our girl wants us to fill her up. Hurry home <3 Be safe. We love you.

Then he tosses the phone like it’s nothing, already focused entirely on you again. Because his thoughts are spinning fast now.

Now, his first worry is: he’s going to cum. His second worry is: do you even have space for it?

He strokes his thumb along the rim of your other hole, feeling your walls tighten around him as he rocks his hips a little deeper, his mind already spiraling. You're taking it so well. You're perfect.

He’s holding your belly like it’ll keep him connected. Like if he lets go, he’ll float away. That soft squish of skin, the bulge where he and the toy both stretch you open - it’s almost too much for him. The sight of it all. The sound of you gasping. The feel of your cunt gripping him so tightly like you never want to let go.

And then he’s moaning, biting your shoulder gently as he cums. Long and deep, his whole body trembling as he fills you to the brim. He doesn’t move. Can’t. Just breathes through it, forehead pressed to your shoulder, muttering, “Such a good - fuck - good - girl. Love you. C’mon, tell me you love me too,” he pants in short bursts. Suguru isn’t the type to beg, but in moments like this? He pleads as he spills inside you. Waits for your cunt to stop fluttering around him as you cum. Listens to your babbled I love yous through the haze.

“You okay?” he whispers against your skin, kissing the dip of your spine. “Still doing good, sweetheart?” Another kiss. Then a third. “Too much? Tell me, please.”

You nod sleepily, letting out a soft sound, and he exhales shakily - relief and adoration curling in his chest. He waits a beat. Then asks again. Feeling your legs shake less as his palm grazes across them.

“Still okay? You need water? A snack? Do you want me to pull out now, or do you need a minute? Take your time, baby, no rush - just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

He’s already brushing your hair back, peppering your shoulders and neck with the softest kisses like he can’t help himself. And he really can’t. He’s not thinking straight. All he can do is touch you. Kiss you. Hold you. Because he loves you so fucking much it’s making him lightheaded.

Once you give him the okay. A small little nudge. He pulls out slowly - so slowly - hand on your lower back, the other bracing your hip, whispering, “Easy, easy, baby… I got you,” as if your body might fall apart without him holding it together.

And when the toy slips free with a wet pop, his breath catches. You flinch just the slightest bit and he’s already bending down, voice tender and panicked all at once - “Did that hurt? Hey, hey, look at me. You okay, pretty girl?”

You nudge him again to continue, a small whine that he's being too much which he releases an airy laugh. His heart is still pounding. Not from the sex, not entirely, it’s from the trust. From how warm you feel. From the way you whispered “Do you think I can take both of you?” like it wasn’t the thing that just restructured his brain chemistry forever.

He presses a kiss to the swell of your ass, then your lower back, then between your shoulder blades, murmuring “Good girl” between each one, believing that if he says it enough times, maybe you’ll understand how much you mean to him.

“Gonna clean you up, love. Warm rag, okay? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

His hands tremble slightly as he leaves your side - just for a second, just a second, stay right there, baby - and returns with a soft, damp cloth. It’s not even hot anymore, but he tests it on the inside of his wrist like you might bruise if it’s a degree too warm.

Every wipe comes with a whisper.

“You did so well for me, baby.” “Still with me? Want some water?” “I know, I know - it’s a lot. You were so brave.” “I’ll make you breakfast after this. Whatever you want. Okay?”

When he wipes between your legs, he's practically holding his breath, voice breaking around the edges.

“Hurts at all? Tell me, please. I need to know. Want you feeling good, not sore - shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone so deep - ”

You have to grab his wrist to get him to calm down, which only makes him melt harder. He exhales a laugh, quiet and shaky, before leaning down to nuzzle against your cheek.

“I just… fuck, I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much it’s stupid. You don’t know what you do to me.”

You’re still blinking through the haze of afterglow and overstimulation, and he can’t stop brushing your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear so he can see your expression. “Hey, baby - still okay? Still feeling good?”

You nod, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Good girl,” he whispers again. “You have to tell me if anything hurts, okay? Or if it’s too much. Or if you feel funny. Or cold. Or if you want a bath. Do you want a bath? I’ll run one. I’ll add bubbles. Epsom salt. Rose petals if we have them.”

“You’re rambling,” you murmur, voice small, and it makes him smile like a lovesick idiot.

“I know,” he says, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “I’m just so in love with you, that’s all.”

He doesn’t even try to play it cool.

When he finally wraps you up in a clean shirt - his shirt, because it smells like him and he likes the idea of you covered in his scent - he tucks you into his lap on the couch, arms wrapped tight around your middle like he can fuse your hearts together if he holds you close enough.

"You warm enough?" "Want a snack?" "Want me to braid your hair while you rest?" "You okay, sweet girl? Still feeling good?"

Every five seconds. He’s hopeless. Disgustingly in love. His fingers brush over your thighs, your tummy, your shoulders, checking for signs of soreness, massaging the base of your spine as you curl up into him.

And then, quietly, “Hey. You really meant it, right? You really want… both of us?”

You hum, eyes fluttering as you rest your cheek against his chest. “Mhm. I want you, Suguru.”

His throat gets tight. His arms tighten around you. Watching you pick a show on the screen as he continues peppering you in kisses.

Just a man in love.

[lxnarphase]

I NEED MORE FRATBOYS! GETO AND GOJO

✮₊‧⁺...lunar's note: im being self indulgent and im not sorry at all so enjoy a lil blurbie :33

✮₊‧⁺...content: fratboys!stsg x fem!reader, mentions of weed use, breeding kink, wet and messy, dirty talk, overstimulation, dumbification, teasing, degradation, mentions of birth control

"aww...satoru, you're gonna break the poor thing."

suguru's soft hand moves to push some of your hair out of your face, a coo leaving him as he watched your eyes try to focus on him. you're just too cute for your own good, looking up at him with those teary eyes while satoru fucks you like a bunny in heat.

poor thing...you wouldn't be walking right for a while after this.

in a weak attempt to comfort you, suguru leans down after taking a hit from the joint hanging loosely from his fingers, blowing the smoke in your face. he knew it wouldn't do much to help your fucked out state, but you just looked so cute when you pouted at him for it.

"goddamn, satoru. you're fucking her like you're trying to get her pregnant," suguru chuckles as he exhales more smoke out of his nose, eyes following as it dissipates in the air. "stop tryna breed the poor thing , y' gonna kill 'im."

the room goes silent and suguru knows he's made a mistake. making such comments around the satoru gojo only ends up with trouble...

satoru looks down at you, eyes wide and wild, almost looking as if they were glowing.

pregnant?

you can't get pregnant, you're on birth control and never miss a pill, it wouldn't take, he thinks with a huff of a laugh.

but...the thought of trying to knock up his darling best friend who's already fucked so dumb does something to satoru. and that's when it clicks in his brain, his mouth dropping open in a little gasp.

"b-breed...i-i'm gonna fuckin' breed you," he whispers, an evil grin breaking out on his face. "hoooh my fuckin' god, baby girl, i'm gonna breed ya all fuckin' night," satoru groans, lifting your legs up over his shoulders as his hips start to move again.

those broken whimpers and whines from you turn to gasps and hiccupped cries as satoru presses even deeper into you, so desperate to make sure you can't feel, smell, taste, or process anything but his cock abusing your insides.

"'t-toru, s'toruuuu," you drool, plush lips parted as moans constantly pour out from you. "d-don' fuck me like that, i-i'm gonna make a mess! s-s'toruuuu!"

suguru can only hope the music from downstairs is loud enough to cover up the sounds you're making that are accompanied by the nasty, squelching sounds of that tight, sloppy cunt gushing the mixture of your slick and suguru's cum.

but...would that be so bad?

if everyone could hear how cute you sound crying out for both of them? knowing that none of them ever have a chance with you? his thick cock twitches a little, the exhibitionist in him clearly liking through that.

"tsk, tsk, tsk...you both are nasty, y'know that?"

suguru leans back down next to you again, able to watch both of your expressions. the way your body trembles from overstimulation, unsure if you want more pleasure or want a break, your hips jerking with each of satoru's deep, unforgiving thrusts.

"ohh, but you could never be a desperate lil' slut like satoru is, could you, sweet angel? look at those tears...poor thing, we're corruptin' you aren't we?"

he reaches out, brushing away some of the tears just to lick it off his thumb. "you can take it, angel girl, you can take 'toru's big, stupid cock in that pretty little cunt."

he's mean, so so mean and unfair. not just to you, but to satoru too. he's barely holding it together, the mixture of the primal need to fuck a baby into you and the heat in his lower belly from suguru's teasing too much for him.

"fuck, f-fuck, baby, wanna fill y'up, wanna give you my kids! i-i'll take such good care of you, y'know that, right," he pants, voice husky and desperate. those baby blue eyes are unusually dark, watching as his cock disappears inside your creamy cunt over'n'over, a pitiful little whine falling from his lips.

"y-yeah, yeah, yeah, imma...i-imma get you nice and—fuck, don' squeeze yet—a-an' round, mama, then we'll propose at graduation s' everyone knows you're me 'n' sugu's, you wan' that, baby?"

oh, that expression your wearing nearly sends him spiraling into insanity. he can practically see those hearts floating in your eyes as you nod almost drunkenly, your hands shakily finding themselves into his hair.

"m-mm! wan' your baby in me, g-gimme a pretty one," you pout, tugging his hair just right. satoru just lets out a crazed laugh, his eyes wide and manic.

oh boy...what did you just agree to?

"y-yeah? h-hehe, yeah? knew you wanted it, knew y'fuckin' wanted it," he groans, smashing your lips together in a sloppy, wet kiss, tongue sliding against yours noisily. "me 'n' sugu gonna take turns breedin' this pussy, mama, 's okay? never gonna be empty, even after y' get that thing removed, gonna have ya full all. day. long."

suguru just chuckles and shakes his head, one of his hands trailing up satoru's spine. the way his hips stutter inside you is adorable.

"mm, that would be nice. the pretty angel feeling out cum sloshing around her pretty tummy all day in class, having to talk to professors while it drips out of her gooey little cunt, getting those panties all messy? mm, sounds like a dream come true,'' suguru purrs, leaning in closer to satoru's ear.

"who knows...maybe if you cum enough, she won't even have t' stop taking her pills...maybe it won't be able to work if you flood her pussy with enough cum."

you keen as you get folded in half, the tip of his cock knocking again something that makes your tummy squeeze. poor satoru, he's got pleased tears in his own eyes now, just suguru's words nearly making him explode inside, his balls aching, needing to empty themselves inside you where all his cum belonged.

"get deep, get real deep in her, satoru, kiss her cervix f'me, pretty boy...'n' make sure you kiss it niiice and deep when you cum, okay? let's see if we can breed her t'night."