#THE ENDING FAIRY MOMENT TOO ??

[fumifooms]

Falin who cares too much and too little - analysis

Been stewing on Falin thoughts for a while, I know I have an interpetation on her that differs from many but I’m jumping into the fray. I think there’s a lot to be said about what we do see of Falin. This shorter Falin analysis I made is heavily encouraged prior reading. This analysis mainly explores her complex relationship with caring and so it’s sort of structured in two halves, with Faligon at the crux of it all.

Falin cares too little :

A lot of people assign Falin a people pleasing mindset and I… Don’t agree. We never see her care at all about people in her town or at the academy not liking her.

We do see her worrying about what people think of her… ONCE. And Laios comforted her, told her they didn’t matter and she should be proud of herself. She latched onto that hard. That’s why this scene was so important to be included during the dragon fight, relationship-defining; it’s always been them against the world. She grew to not care what others thought, to only focus on her close loved ones. No one else matters.

Laios’ words were her world. Her older brother who taught her how to feel comfortable with herself, who told her, you’re great, others are the ones in the wrong to not see that, I’ll always be with you, always be there for you. Older brother who always made great plans, who always knew more, who was better at wrestling to name the dogs, who she has always idolized. Laios who always spoke of traveling the world, to which she always said she wanted to follow. And she would, she’d follow him even if it meant leaving the academy and all she knew behind, she’d follow him to the ends of the world, and that’s what she did.

She didn’t care about showing to her classes or keeping up such appearances, she doesn’t even think of toning down her jumping into bushes when Marcille recoils, etc. She acts like an obedient pawn often, to her parent’s directives and then following Laios around no matter what he decides to do, but I don’t think the motivation is people pleasing, rather it’s being with & caring for her loved ones, and her go-with-the-flow attitude enhances the impression. Not that it’s as simple as that, mind you, but let’s talk about this for now.

Falin is perceived as selfless because we, the audience, have our perspectives revolving around the main people in her life (Laios, Marcille). They’re the ones she’s devoted to and people who care about her back a lot too, but to people like her classmates or the towspeople she probably must have seemed like someone who didn’t care about the people around her or her surroundings a lot, who just went on alone and did her own thing.

What matters to Falin? From what place does her kindness come from? Is a part of her keeping up appearances? And I think that’s the point, the horror of Faligon as well, that we can’t tell just how in control Falin the person is as the chimera (because we are shown that she’s in there, we just don’t know at what degree), that we don’t know her enough to be able to tell when she’s at her most genuine, her most raw. That even if you do settle on none of her being present as Faligon, we have to at least consider it, consider that she may be able to do something like this and have a part in it, brutal and uncaring. That even the lenses we see her through, the people who love her, may be unreliable.

And this is what’s very interesting about her too, she truly is so idealized by people around her as a saint. She’s so good and kind and caring to everyone etc etc etc. Laios, Toshiro and Marcille all see her as the paragon of goodness in the world. More cynical characters like Namari and Chilchuck have more layered opinions on her, the latter finding her somewhat unnerving because he can’t read her well. But then with that one flashback scene we see that… Her priorities are intensely focused on Laios and Marcille, she doesn’t care all that deeply about anyone other than them (+ maybe her parents). The rest of the party is in the same danger here but only Laios and Marcille who she’s speaking to get the special ,ention, and if they don’t cross her mind then of course she’d be ready to sacrifice strangers through a risky teleportation. That doesn’t make her not kind or caring!! Just that greater good isn’t exactly her priority. Any means is alright if the end result is her loved ones safe, it usually takes the form of healing and caring, but we see she’s ready to fight and make dangerous calls too. To me there’s this aspect to her that she isn’t as pure and magnanimous as everyone thinks she is, both in-world and interestingly enough meta wise as well, and there’s something interesting to that.

People pleasing implies a need to be liked, needs for the motivation to be that. A yes-man, etc. But if we analyze Falin, her general kind, smiling demeanor is more a matter of passivity I yhonk. Conflict avoidance is easier, so she’s friendly and hopefully things’ll be smooth sailing. It’s easy to be kind to classmates even if they act wary and rude if you don’t care about what they think either way. Of course she prefers good things happening to people over bad things, she is genuinely kind, but I think people tend to assign her a very grand altruistic way of life when to her the motivation is pretty self-centered. She doesn’t do what she does because she loves them, but because she loves them.

One situation that’s interesting to dig into for her way of thinking, and what I’m trying to get at, is Shuro’s proposal to her. I’ve seen people saying she hesitated because she didn’t feel comfortable saying no even though she wanted to, "I can’t say no, I don’t want to hurt him", something that sounds sensible and familiar, but it’s actually canon in the Adventurer’s Bible that the reverse was the case, that she didn’t feel comfortable saying yes. Because the offer was tempting, but it’d have been a loveless agreement on her end. And it makes sense she’d want to say yes too, like we see with the Toudens, marriage is very much a political strategical economical thing in their village, there’s even a bit on it on Laios’ Adventurer’s Bible profile about dowries, and both siblings were engaged very early. They lived poorly for a long time, it’s an enticing idea to marry rich, to have not only yours but your brother’s needs met forevermore easily, which at one point in their careers was their main worry and goal. Why shouldn’t she accept a life of leisure and wealth handed to her by a lovely friend?

So her hesitance was "yeah that’s convenient for me, but where it’s everything to him and heartfelt I’m able to be detached because I don’t care about it that much… Can I do that? I’m not reciprocating, not saying yes in the way that matters. Can I do that to him?" Very caring even though it’s not what you’d expect, isn’t it?

And central to my analysis, where I’m going with this is, I feel like that’s the thing with her character, that she doesn’t feel as strongly as she "should" sometimes, or feels a different way than she "should", or at least that she feels that way and others say she does. She didn’t mind suddenly leaving the academy, leaving Marcille behind and not seeing her for 4 years. She acted like it was no big deal that she sacrificed herself after getting resurrected after the red dragon fight. And in both those cases it upset the people around her greatly that she didn’t seem to get why it was such a big deal, didn’t seem to care about how they’d experienced her choices.

So it’s a tendency… And it’s not that she doesn’t care, it’s just that the way she measures what’s good for the ones she loves isn’t the same as what they themselves think it is (like Laios and Marcille not wanting to be apart from her). It’s an overt but quiet kind of care, it’s doing things like following them around and making sure they bathe and have a meal, even if that means she has to be dragged into misery too.

So yes she probably would know "not caring enough/the right way" is one of her perceived flaws, and that informs how she tries to handle her response to Shuro’s proposal. Her not wanting to accept like her first gut instinct, is because she’s thinking about reciprocity, about if it’d be right to go into this knowing that they have different priorities and she might not be able to keep up with the type and amount of emotions he wants/expects from her. And that’s a big part of her character isn’t it, having expectations pushed onto her. Her trying her best, but in her own way that may seem odd or even unfeeling. Not unlike when she exorcised the ghost as a kid too, unblinking and matter-of-factly, and not seeming to understand why people stared the way they did.

Even though she answered his proposal only post-canon, she’d been pondering it for a while even pre-canon and the Adventurer’s Bible explanation was released midstory, so I’m hesitant to assign her much growth about her hesitation and what I went on above, since she still didn’t react "right" with Laios after the red dragon fight (even if she apparently doesn’t remember sacrificing herself) and put herself in that situation in the first place. She hasn’t finished her arc on that flaw of hers is what I’m saying, she for sure still has it, but I certainly think her thoughts on Shuro’s proposal shows awareness, both of herself and social.

And awareness is a big analysis key word with Falin, especially here it can be hard not to conflate not caring with not knowing. How socially aware is she? It’s rather layered, because canonically she wasn’t aware of her ostracization in her hometown at all, and we’re not sure if she knew Shuro was interested in her before he proposed, but she generally seems more socially aware than Laios. She tags along on his caravan job to make sure he isn’t being mistreated (though doesn’t ask he get a salary), she catches social faux-pas more easily like in the genderbend magic mirror omake with Shuro, and interestingly enough she’s very good at empathizing with her parents and understanding their perspective. We see when she’s worried about Marcille coming that she does know about propriety and how appearances shape impressions. Being a chief’s daughter must at least have taught her a thing or two on that front.

She never stands up for herself, but when it comes to defending others she worries, strategizes and explains.

And this sort of understanding is part of why I think she’d notice the expectations pushed onto her like I was saying earlier, notice how she makes people feel when she’s careless. But if she changes anything about herself in response to noticing is for her to choose, and generally I think it’s a sort of inbetween of yes and no: that she becomes more complacent but also more reserved, complying but by hiding more of herself passively. She’s not sure wether to accept or reject Shuro’s proposal, doesn’t want to lead him on? She’ll just be taking a while to silently consider it, try to keep things as they are for the time being. The third, less conflicting option. She doesn’t feel heard by Marcille who keeps infantilizing her? Just bear with it. Retract yourself emotionally. Settle for it.

We see that when she was young she had a tendency to not read a room, and I think that’s here too. She doesn’t get why her nonchalance upset others but that doesn’t change that she doesn’t want them upset or hurt, so she tries, albeit in maybe a roundabout way. She always had a hard time deeply connecting with people, often keeping herself some amount of emotionally distant: erasing herself from the equation, from the two-way trade that relationships are and making it a onesided thing instead, where all their needs and emotions are directed towards her but she only lets out a bit of her own show. She takes everything upon her and deals with it and tries not to give others this same burden, though not on a conscious level, it’s just that she’s learned growing up that she doesn’t have much agency.

Like I went into with my analysis linked at the beginning, I think Falin is used to just taking what she can get and not asking for more, when it comes to social bonds. She’ll take spending time with her mother no matter what it is they do, she’ll follow Laios to the graveyards and stick by him even when he’s pushing her away (because he doesn’t want her borrowing his book or "No copying!" or such). Her father was always distant, cold and uncommunicative, her mother was considered sick from anxiety and the exorcism attempts were the main way they spent time together, at dinner tables there were only her and Laios. The dogs picked on her too even if she loved them— And so did the townspeople, maybe that being normal to her at home is why she didn’t notice the ostracization she suffered.

She’s always been the last to be asked about decisions or what she wants, never asked to play with at recess, neither her father or Laios asked before sending her to the academy or leaving the village. At home, in the hierarchy she was considered to be below the dogs by the dogs themselves, as someone they can disrespect. Dogs learn from example and behavior, so this means Falin must have been pushed around a lot, and that the family didn’t try hard to rectify the dogs’ misconception, likely worsened by Laios regularly wrestling with her as a competition.

So for example when Falin showed Marcille food, it was her way to implicitly ask to have lunch with her without voicing that question, without daring to take up space. Someone’s presence isn’t something you ask for, it’s something that’s bestowed upon you, you can follow them around but you can’t ask them to stay or to come with.

She’s used to her needs and wants not being listened to, so she’s learned to have less wants. Caring less about herself, caring less about other people beyond her safe zone, was a defense mechanism in part. She has a sense of learned helplessness too, like how when Marcille came to take her away from Laios, even though she didn’t want to leave with Marcille it felt so determined and unshakable to her that whatever Marcille decided Falin would have to comply with.

And still, it’s the "marrying you would be awfully convenient if it wasn’t that I’d feel guilty for not loving you back, the way you wanted me to when you proposed to me" and the "I don’t regret leaving the academy and leaving you behind without goodbyes but I’m sorry that you’re so much more upset about it than me". It’s the guilt of not loving people back the way they want to be, with the same intensity or fervor.

It’s the autism it’s the aroace of it all, it’s the emotional stunting and confusion but the pit in your stomach telling you you did something wrong again. The no object permanence even for people you love even for 4 years, it’s the feeling like you’re somehow at fault for someone having fallen for you and not knowing what to do with any of it. I’m not joking btw it isn’t uncommon for autistic people to not see their close friends for a long while, not having missed them all that much and for that to be really hurtful for the other if they notice/ask about it. "Hiii bestie! Oh umm you’re uh more emotional about this than I expected, hopefully you won’t feel alienated by me not feeling as intensely about it…"

So… Yeah. I think she thinks of things and relationships in a different way than most people, and beyond "good things happening to people is good" I don’t think she actually cares about people all that much. I’d argue that Laios shows more desire to connect with others and make relationships. And just like with Laios and his own issues with humans, that doesn’t mean her kindness is a lie or ungenuine or worthless! It just means that like, well it’s pretty straightforward really, she’s not all that social and doesn’t see casual bonds as meaning all that much and whatnot. She does want to see people happy, but it’s not as much like… A conviction or goal. She’s too laser focused on a select few people. "It’s not that they’re bad people, they just aren’t interested in humans."

And sometimes it feels like people get defensive about Falin in a meta way too, like if you ever so much as imply Marcille isn’t her whole world or that she isn’t the kindest soul out there then you’re saying she doesn’t care at all or she’s evil. And that’s actualy exactly the sort of vibe I wanted to get through with my analysis above here actually haha, that she does care and she is kind but it’s not in a way that’s quantified or understood in a way that makes people feel comfortable. In a way, that makes people feel insecure because they don’t have the same logic as her, don’t show love the same. And I think this is another stellar depiction of autism, of parts of it that feels unpalatable to many, if I’m making sense. The fandom idealizes her as well, which isn’t uncommon or surprising for the character embodying the trope of the perfect beloved to rescue.

And disclaimer, as I said in the tags I feel like the details of Falin are pretty vibe based when it comes to analysis, there’s absolutely a valid angle where she does super care about everyone always, feel free to disagree with me on the overarching angle of my analysis. There’s enough supporting evidence to tip the balance either way I think, and the reason I’ve chosen this angle is I feel it’s more compelling for the themes in Dunmeshi of idealization and being different, of desires vs wants, and because I think it neatly ties up Falin’s character arc as I’ll go over throughout the next section…

So.

Not feeling as much as she should. And……. Is this not Faligon pushed to the max?

You can’t tie down a dragon. As the chimera, she gets to just not care about everyone else and be on her merry way.

Part of it I think is finding comfort and freedom in the mindlessness, in not having the burden of feelings and connections and a consciousness (despite still ending up seeking those in a stranger, Thistle). Like when she’s dead in the purgatory as well, she gets to just… Hang around and do whatever. Similarly to when she played in the forest instead of going to class in her academy days. That’s what freedom and peace of mind looks like to her. Why she decides to roam post-canon, if only now with the goal to find herself instead, with her mind in tow and somewhere to go back home to.

There’s excellent analytic framing out there about how of course, Dungeon Meshi has a big theme of grief and letting go, and… Falin was always a symbol narratively, idealized by characters and often underconsidered by them despite their love. It was Falin’s choice to sacrifice herself for Laios, she thought it was worth it, knowing that it would be her end. Her resurrection and the process of it intertwining her soul with a dragon’s wasn’t done with her consent, and the subsequent opening it gave her to become a chimera puppet. She’s stripped of her agency consistently, and so… It’s very noteworthy that the final choice, of wether to go back to life or to stay dead, in that purgatory scene, was up to her. And she chooses life, but I do think about her in those fields and how at home she seemed there. Peaceful, by herself in a vast calm expanse she could explore, free.

Personally, I think freedom is Falin’s own subconscious selfish desire. And though to us becoming the chimera is obviously a shackle, I think it felt like freedom to her somewhat, too.

And if you think I’m going wildly off the rails here I want to talk about Laios’ wish of becoming a monster. And to be clear before getting into it, being mentally a monster is absolutely a big part of the appeal for Laios, it’s something that’s consistently referred to, something especially pointed out in the werewolf monster tidbit with Lycion. Right panel is from that, but left panel is from the extra with Izutsumi where Lycion talks about suppressing souls in a beastkin body, the human or the beast soul.

Finding comfort and freedom in being mindless, less sentient, less aware? While being unaware in her hometown might have saved Falin a lot of heartache although perhaps stunted her emotional growth, it’s always been Laios’ curse.

Actively, through his choices, he seeks to grow closer to people, to form deeper bonds, to understand and be undertood, but… On a deep seated level, what he desires is to leave humanity and civilization behind. He has an irrational hatred for humans, born from the trauma of ostracization, being different, being beaten up and rejected consistently through his life. Running away from problems is easier. He wants to be free from being a social animal from a social species who has deemed him the black sheep, he thinks it’d be simpler to just leave it all behind, people and his own humanity. At its core, to Laios becoming a monster is a power fantasy, a coping daydream of "if only I could be strong enough to never be hurt again, the power to destroy anything I want, the power to go somewhere better, if only it was possible for me to never feel hurt again. If only I could be someone, something, that can never be hurt". "If there’s someone you don’t like, you can gobble ‘em up in one bite. If you could fly, you’d be able to leave this village right now." It’s a childhood fantasy, from a deep sense of being misplaced and a desire to be able to stand fearless, thinly covering up resentment that Laios represses.

But you’ll notice, when the Winged Lion is enticing him in the last page, even now with his lifelong wish of becoming a monster on a silver plate, he still cares about his friends. He still has that sense of responsibility to his friends, doesn’t want to leave knowing they’ll be in danger and alone. The offer that his friends may be left unharmed is already good, but Laios also visibly flinches when the Winged Lion offers to specifically care after Marcille and rid her of her biggest fear. Laios’ care runs that deep. Not unlike with the succubus, he resists temptation until he gets reassured that everyone will be okay. But see, what he desires isn’t to stand alongside Marcille until her last days, it isn’t to stay and see how well his friends will live, it’s to go. It’s to leave. It’s to fly away, a monster both in body and mind. He wants to be free from caring here, wants to not have to worry about his friends, wants to just go do his own thing, but for that he needs to feel safe in the belief that said friends will be safe even without him being there to see it, because despite everything else he cares, he does. It’s again that dichotomy about caring and wishing you didn’t, or not caring and wishing you did.

In the end, it’s Falin who achieves that wish. Both by becoming a chimera during canon, and by going traveling post-canon. In the latter, being both free of human relationships as something chaining you while still being uplifted by them, by the knowledge that there are people out there you love and that love you. It’s a theme that can also be connected with Marcille, because she gets anxious over people she loves getting out of her sight, worrying they’ll get themselves killed, that time is passing while they’re away from her. But before she can get to the point where she can both have her freedom and being uplifted by her social bonds, regaining both her individuality and her connections, she has to get a taste of just one at a time. Before they can find balance in her life, she has to see what it’s like to have what she’s never had on its own. Unapologetic freedom, and power.

No one can blame you for not caring enough or caring right if you’re a fricking dragon!!!! You make the rules when you’re a beast and you can just… Fly away. From anywhere, from anything. And if a dog bites you you can just crush it. Instead of being pushed around by the dogs because you’re at the bottom of the hierarchy, you’re now at the top, the one with the power to be heard and do what you want without consequences.

I think she’s on autopilot. I think she’s on autopilot a lot of the time, even before being a chimera, and it’s partly why her will is so weak compared to regular dragons. (Again, read my shorter analysis.) It’s familiar to slip back into the role of following someone around unquestioningly. And that’s what is weaponized when she’s a chimera, that instinct she’s been nursing all her life to unconditionally support, defend and follow someone. Only now, that someone doesn’t matter in itself, only the symbol of it. She doesn’t mind, either way is fine. Her will is weak after all, because she’s trained it to take as little place as it could.

Falin cares too much

She spends all her time caring for Laios and Marcille alternating that none of her care and emotional energy is left for others, including herself. So she had to get relieved of all of that for a bit, becoming the chimera so she could reset and recenter and remember that she, too, indeed, is there and an important part of her own life.

So you’re probably seeing the duality I’m talking about here, Falin is very self-sacrificial but for specific people in ways that they often don’t recognize or appreciate. She cares but selectively, both in people, putting all her eggs in the same baskets, and in the ways she cares after them. She doesn’t care a lot, but when she does she cares a lot. Falin doesn't have a lot of earthly attachments, but when she does, they're her world.

In canon her arc, especially post-canon, is to grow beyond Marcille and Laios. Her caring for her close loved ones held her back from looking after her own self-fulfillment needs. And this is what I mean when I say she cares too much; she could gain from caring more about the world besides Laios and Marcille, both lands wise and people wise. She cares too little, but her arc centers her flaw around caring too much instead. Her pitfalls that Kui highlight over the course of the story, while of course her selflessness is appreciated for how she saved Laios and everyone, on a personal level is shown to be self-effacing and damaging. She’s undermined by Marcille, without the courage to voice her thoughts and wants, she would dedicate her whole life to Laios. And I mean, it’s text, in the response to Shuro’s proposal extra no less. And she’s so laser focused on her most loved people that she’s fine with being callous and risking others’ lives, even.

Post-canon, she needs to leave to find herself, away from them.

Herself. What if she wants to just be with herself for a while.

And this is me reaching but I feel like, not unlike Izutsumi who learns to feel this sense of never being alone, always having someone on your side what with having two souls, the dragon in her would make her consider herself more. She finds it easier to care after other people after all, and in the purgatory fields sequence she takes care to bring the bit of dragon left with her… Not unlike with Izutsumi, having two souls forces you to think about your identity and figure yourself out. Besides being this sort of duo now, where if she wants to care after herself she can channel it to that other side of her too… In meta dragons are symbols of greed, and I think the bit of dragon would push her to want more and listen more to her desires, primal and self-serving as they might be. The dragon soul which warped her human body with feathers and draconic features, her image of perfection marred, her weirdness externalized in a way that’s not palatable. But she doesn’t care, about if her appearance is palatable for most people, she hasn’t for a while now, and that’s great.

Notes & nuance

I’m struggling with the structure of this post, making my points organized, concise and strong at once. It’s difficult to make any statement without going "things are generally like this, but there’s this time that this contradicting thing happened too" or "it’s ambiguous enough that you should just follow my interpretation for the time of this analysis" haha, so this is the pit where I put all the stuff that wouldn’t fit well in other places but are interesting for Falin’s character. This section is pretty separate from the main thesis of the post, it’s just more Falin observations. The post has reached the 30 pics limit so I can’t just pull it up whenever it’s relevant but I really encourage scrolling up to read the stuff I highlighted in her Adventurer’s Bible profile if you haven’t already.

I think with the shy-looking loner type autistic kid archetype, and knowing she didn’t seem to mind others ostracizing her, it’s easy to lose sight of how she was by no means an unemotional child. In all the bits we see of her as a kid she’s bursting with energy and emotions. Canon confirms Laios leaving the village did affect her and make her lonely and she cried a lot, too. She may not be social in the traditional sense, but she was clingy with her brother, and she also never was all that shy about who she was, wearing her heart on her sleeve.And okay. Okay okay okay. Speaking of appearances. About what I said of her not caring about what people think of her, even seeming defiant with the caravan leader… There’s one istanxe of her caring actually, and it’s about how her face blushes easily. I remembered it as being because Laios’ said it and as I rambled Laios’ words are her world, but actually it’s ambiguous. It’s only Marcille imagining up this scenario where Laios says Falin looks weird because of it, there’s no evidence Laios said or thought that at any point. And on the other hand…

Her Adventurer’s Bible says: "5, Lovely Skin. She isn't particularly careful with it, but Falin's skin is fair and beautiful. Possibly as a result, her cheeks seem to flush easily. Marcille's always saying she's cute, and she secretly has a sizable complex about it." The phrasing makes me think the complex she has over her blushing might have developed because of Marcille more than Laios. "Marcille's always saying she's cute, and she secretly has a sizable complex about it." It could be related to how Marcille gets swept away and infantilizes her, calling her cute wanting her to wear cute feminine outfits etc. Again this feels like it relates to Falin’s struggle to be seen for who she is and what she wants to be seen as, her struggle to be recognized, having ideals and perspectives pushed onto her. Here Falin is insecure over her blushing implicitly because she doesn’t like being called cute over it, but that’s not how she wants people to see her. She doesn’t want Marcille to always see her as her 10 years old adorable friend. Like if your friend said you had puppy energy, it can be flattering, but it can also make you insecure.

Here’s a link to what I mentioned about her being uncomfortable wearing feminine outfits. It does seem to be more about comfort than the aesthetic perse, to me. Interestingly the shirt & shorts don’t seem like they show much more skin than her beach outfit, so maybe it’s more about the shirt and shorts being tight-fitting. Like the skirts and heels they feel stifling. Again a bit with themes of freedom and not wanting an aesthetic pushed onto her. So yes just to reiterate, I think this is more about self-affirmation and how her identity and self-image gets shown to others, rather than wishing to hide parts of her body like her blushing etc for people pleasing reasons. Makeup was a way for her to appear how she wants to and feel more confident. It was a way to take control over her own image. She didn’t keep doing it, the narrator stating the process to be ‘troublesome’. Ultimately she still prioritizes her comfort, and it was a lot of recurring efforts to go through.

And on the topic of appearances… A friend once asked me: "Does she really hide herself or not? I keep thinking about "falin is herself first and foremost" (in her Adventurer’s Bible profile) it’s just so. Hmmmmmmmm... I just keep seeing people say she hides her real self from people when I feel like the issue is more about her charitable traits straying too far into becoming flaws but people around her dont realize that..."

Imo the thing is, I don’t think she hides her identity, but I do think she suppresses her individuality for others’ sakes if that makes sense. In the way that only post-canon does she allows herself to go see what the world is like, but that’s not personality wise it’s needs and wants wise. And I do feel like that’s the closest interpretation of canon, she says it herself she doesn’t know what she wants because everything she’s done was always about Laios or Marcille, but she doesn’t change her demeanor or personality for others. But she *will*, like, not ask for things she wants directly, like sharing lunches with Marcille at the academy, she suppresses her wants, doesn’t ask things from people and doesn’t hope for more, hope for better. I don’t think we ever see her actively repress her personality, except like what, being more laidback than enthusiastic but I do feel like unlike Laios with her it’s less ‘appearing stoic to fit in more’ and more ‘yeah i’ll just chill until I’m needed or something activates my enthusiasm’. To which said friend quoted: "to feel like you belong you need to be useful. when you can’t be useful the next best thing is being convenient."

And speaking of passivity… I want to speculate about Shuro’s proposal some more. Shuro and her got along well though we don’t know how much, or how often they hung out, she even saved him from a nightmare. Why did she take so long answering Shuro’s proposal? Was it an effort to preserve or was she really just that conflicted? Procrastination probably yes, but what is the core motivation of itl Considering she ended up saying no to travel the world instead, I don’t think it was as simple as ‘she wanted to say yes for convenience’. Logically it’s what would have been best, but it’s not what she wanted for herself, but it was and still is hard for her to even know what she wants. Probably, since like she states it was a great offer and she doesn’t think she’ll get proposed to again, it’s that self-effacing tendency that yes it’d be convenient and logical, and that makes her want to say yes even if her spirit isn’t in it, because if it’s convenient then that’s more important than her feelings on the matter. Man also… Obviously Marcille is very vocal about how she shouldn’t get with Shuro, but imagine how Falin’s whole perspective on marriage must have felt when her only friend ever is a Romantic with a capital R who gushes about idealized romances and grand gestures and True Love and doing things with fully pure feelings all the time.

AND speaking of passivity!!! How much Falin is "there" as the chimera, just how much she’s master of her actions, is left ambiguous and intentionally so imo, but she’s for sure there & influencing the dragon’s action to some degree. Having a dragon’s foot on her in purgatory that keeps her from moving for sure visualizes how it must have been like, but there’s Falin calling out to her brother Laios, there’s the kind attentions towards Thistle that are so Falin-like, and most explicitly there’s the Adventurer’s Bible stating "Even after becoming a chimera, she has a soul that's as kind as ever", which I honestly dislike, a fantranslation puts it as "Even as the chimera, her caring nature remains" and either way to me it feels like confirmation that it’s her giving those berries to Thistle. Now, wether or not she has the mental capacity of a chicken or something closer to human Falin, no clue, there has to at least be some kind of mind bond between monsters and the dungeon lord, compelling or forcing them to go along with orders, or calling her to him in distress like with the fight on the first floor. But yes, it’s interesting to wonder what it is that a Falin, with her kind soul but without her human mind, would willingly do. On her profile, she’s described as Thistle’s guardian and servant. The power dynamic between the two are very interesting, I already went into how it might have felt like freedom to her while being fake so I’ll reign myself in and just mention it again. She’s still at the heel of someone, only now it’s someone who doesn’t care about her back. Going from being cared for so strongly that it’s suffocating and they would defy death and the world for you, to being devoted to someone who has not one feeling about you besides your utility as a paw . She has all this care to give and to focus onto others and he has none to send back to her and I think that’s part of it. In a way, being left with only her own feelings and a void, without expectations or feelings or ideals pushed onto her, it might have been soothing in itself, and eye opening. But yes the way I think of it, her care for Thistle isn’t unlike the care she gives the ghosts.

Interestingly, the care she extends for the ghosts is sending their soul to a peaceful death, freeing them, of life and any earthly attachment. Take that as you will with the themes of freedom and burden of life and mind, immortality and becoming a warped version of who you were, and such and such.

But going back on the topic of connections and bonds for a bit, I think academy days Falin & Marcille is super interesting bc we’ve never really see Falin form a connection besides with Marcille and even that is kept pretty ambiguous. When was the point that Falin started seeing Marcille as a friend and seeking her out? When was the "I’ll lay down my life for you" point? I’m so fascinated by how she wanted to share lunches with Marcille but never truly asked, only made little "hey want this? I found it isn’t it cool?" gestures of showing things to her… It’s the only way she knows to ask, or maybe it’s the only way she feels comfortable to. In all the scenes of young Falin and Marcille Falin seems comfortable in her friendship with Marcille, but at the same time… I think we see Falin at her most insecure around Marcille, because she really does care about Marcille and what she thinks of her so much, and while Marcille is a bit of an unstoppable force tornado style (affectionate) Falin is something of a doormat. I’d usually say showing her berries was her earnest way to connect and be like "Hey bestie look at this! :]" , but there’s a real possibility that she was self-conscious and holding herself back.

Friendship and Marcille! Involving Laios into this too but, again with the autism thing of not showing you care in ways that others understand, Marcille being very overtly affectionate and clingy was so so soo important… Marcille keeping on hanging out with Falin and caring after her, and being undeterred/unbothered by Falin not always seeming like she cares all that much back in the conventional way, as in Falin acts nonchalant and a bit like she didn’t mind wether she was there with her or not during her outings to the cave dungeon. Caring and being clingy and so affectionate despite that in such a classic Marcille way is soo needed, because so often people will get discouraged by say, their friend not keeping in contact regularly/well, seeming disaffected or as happy-go-lucky as ever even if you haven’t seen each other in a while or when they’re alone, and yes there’s potential for a strong friendship there but someone like Falin won’t be committed enough to reciprocating attention the same way… I hope I’m making sense but yes this angle in particular strongly correlates to autism. And the way Marcille always initiates physical affection, both Toudens being awkward about initiating touch because they don’t know if that’s allowed, if they’re going about the social interaction the right way, if they’re allowed to ask that out of someone…

Another fun observation to make is about the 4 years Falin and Marcille spent apart. Marcille despite being of a long-lived race treated these 4 years of separation with more gravity than Falin did. Falin brushed it off very dismissively to say the least. But then you remember that the amount of time Falin and Laios didn’t see each other after he left the village was 8 years. Double the years, double the time. And that reminder makes Falin’s actions so starkingly understandable. Of course she wouldn’t see 4 years of separation as a long time if 8 years of separation with her beloved brother is her point of comparison. Of course she’d see it as worth it to leave Marcille for 4 years if it meant ending those 8 years instead, especially if she was worried about him (the reason why she followed him into his caravan job).

A friend always says that while Falin is the center of Marcille’s world, Laios’ is at the center of Falin’s, and I tend to agree.

It’s fun to think of how her career dreams had always been shaped by Laios, even when they were kids. Of course there’s how traveling the world began as a dream they talked about and shared, but there’s how he reassures her by listing cool jobs she could do like traveling exorcist, etc. And then of course, she gave up on her magic academy and career path to follow him and do odd jobs, etc etc.

I should go into the violence of Faligon more tbh, because I think there’s an interesting parallel to how she has no problem wacking things with a mace, wether a ghost when she was a kid or a walking mushroom as an adult. Something that often surprises fans when they remember, I don’t really want to get into the whole " Falin hates violence and hates seeing people in pain to an intense degree. ‘If you die do it somewhere where I can’t see’ style’ interpretation, it has some weight but on the whole I don’t vibe with the theory she has a particular aversion to violence, she seems to be fine resorting to it as much as any other adventurer as long as it isn’t needlessly against ghosts. And Falin’s sudden mace hits are fun to me too because it’s not her becoming a berserker when the need arises as much as her becoming active because something she cares about is threatened, and that brings her out of her passivity from 99% of the rest of the time. Thistle included. Falin always could be violent, she just dislikes senseless carnage. The Shuro party vs chimera fight is a bit ambiguous on it, because you can argue she only attached after being provoked, presumably offscreen as well while the ninjas went off to fight the harpies. Falin becomes the most active when she needs to protect someone, she has no qualms doing whatever’s needed for that, wether it be leaving the academy & Marcille without notice no matter the consequences or what her parents think, or teleporting the party, etc.

I’m working on a post specifically pointing out all the differences between Falin and Laios, but yes I think both of them selfishly desire freedom in different yet similar ways. Falin’s dark secret is "Ethics and risks are optional if it means I can protect those I love" like the teleportation, and Laios’ is "Ethics and risks are optional if I can be free of all this bullshit" aka humanity aka his wish with the winged lion.

Conclusion

Flighted birds have hollow bones. With freedom and wings there comes risks and sacrifices.

Tldr: Falin doesn’t care all that much, she’s very go with the flow. For example if someone hates her she doesn’t really care because that’d require her caring about what they think of her in the first place, and she only cares about her loved ones. She smiles, but it’s more a state of being rather than out of active goodness: she’s canonically very genuinely kind, but it’s more out of a general want for pleasantness than active care itself. She’s passive, and softspoken because that’s just how she seems, but she has no problem hopping into bushes or getting heated if something calls to her enthusiasm or calls for action and a hit of the ol’ mace. Her loved ones needing tending or protective is what makes her go from passive to active. That familiar autopilot mode of making someone the center of her world and following their every move is what made her so easy to be controlled as the chimera, even ferociously defending him with her life. Faligon is most interesting to me with the theme of freedom. She’s shackled to Thistle and out of her mind, but there’s also a sense of empowerment and freedom from expectations and society. She spends all her time caring for Laios and Marcille alternating that none of her care and emotional energy is left for others, including herself. So she had to get relieved of all of that for a bit, becoming the chimera so she could reset and recenter and remember that she, too, indeed, is there and an important part of her own life. There’s a way of caring after others that can be selfish, not unlike Marcille being overly coddling and not listening to Falin. In Falin’s case, I think it was so selfless that it ended up looping back around to erasing her sense of self. In losing sight of herself, that devotion becoming neither quite selfish or selfless but a fact of life and a state of nature, muddled by its lack of direction.

She’s sooo used to never being able to ask things out of others, you get the crumbs of affection and approval that others offer to you unprompted and that’s it don’t hope for more don’t ask for more. (Also reflected in how she follows her loved ones around without complain or personal opinions and how she’s not willing to rock the boat and affirm herself in her relationships like with Marcille during canon)

Falin cares so much, so much and so laser focused on her few loved ones that it blinds her and she loses sight of everything else, she ends up neglecting herself and the rest of the world. As Kui puts it, Falin is herself first and foremost. She just had to remember the importance of that.

-

I see her as an enneagram 9, which can be surprisingly accurate and fun to research through the lense of Falin. Excerpt below from this book, but like my god, good way to put it

That’s it, ty for reading. Even if it’s a bit of a mess, hopefully you’ll have gained a thing or two from it. Falin is a character hard to pin down, but it is very gratifying when you find the way that the puzzle pieces fit together right for your own understanding of the story. Fantranslation of the shuro proposal comic by @/thatsmimi here.

Here’s my spotify playlist for her if you’d like

Sometimes love is about letting go, a lesson a lot of the cast needed to learn. Self-love’s important too, and just like with diets we need a healthy balance.

[oneluckydragon]

"Suddenly the world was gray and dull and my heart was so heavy I felt like I couldn’t move, let alone make it back to Treasure Town. But because of Echo’s last wish… I was able to keep living.”

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

SORA : (Partner)

Abilities: Justified / Inner Focus

Nature: Gentle / Hardy

Moveset: Aura Sphere / Metal Claw / Poison Jab / Dragon Pulse

[randomwritingdrabbles]

Just started rewatching futari wa precure (I had a huuuuuge precure phase when I was a kid and I watched like all the seasons available then) and I was reminded of just how similar miraculous ladybug is to precure. Like legit it is just a magical girl anime but with normal superhero outfits pasted over the top and it got me thinking about how we were fucking robbed of magical girl Adrien.

Like they should have based the outfits on what the user deemed a superhero outfit cus Adrien would be rocking up in frills and thigh high heels while Marinette would rock up in gotham hero grunge.

Like you cannot tell me that lonely baby adrien wasn't an avid consumer of precure and sailor moon but in the same vain, Marinette would have definitely been a western superhero fan with emphasis on the batfam.

Like just imagine:

Adrien: "I run off the power of love and will protect the people of paris with the help of my fairy plagg!"

Marinette, who's favourite show is batman and the only magical girl show she's seen is magi madoka: "w h a t???"

-

Adrien, going through cutesy choreography that is 100% unessesary for his attack: "with the power of light I dispell you!"

Adrien: ✨️disintegrates a man✨️

Marinette: "..."

Marinette: "I am both terrified and amazed..."

(Adrien is upset he doesn't get a beam attack but he will make do by just making his cataclysm as extra as humanly possible)

-

Marinette summons her lucky charm by rummaging through her utility belt, also she also has a gun because she was having a red hood phase when she got the miraculous. It shoots whatever bullets she's feeling like because creation magic bullshit.

They're mostly rubber but whenever hawkmoth shows up they become metal and also explode... Gabriel Agreste is terrified of the both of them and refuses to attend fights in person ever again, after the time that Ladybug almost blew off his leg because he was temporarily blinded by cat noir's petticoat.

[c-schroed]

I knew what had happened to Cameron Boyce before watching The Rise of Red (and gosh, it broke my heart to find it out), so I thought I was prepared to not see Carlos de Vil return.

But, well.

Turns out I was not prepared.

Not at all.

[xiaohuayaos]

Honestly the reason the "love triangle" in lbfad works so well for me is easily because it's not completely lazy?

So many love triangles in romances are very clear cut and you can typically tell who is going to "win". Usually one pairing is written with far more care than the other, and for sure we get that with Dongfang Qingcang and Xiao Lanhua. They get the meat of the story, but regardless Changheng and Xiao Lanhua do have a really nice chemistry. When you watch them together you can easily see the alternate universe where this is a story about /their love/ There's just this genuine sweetness that aches from their early scenes together that makes it a little bit painful to watch- like I love.... the love between The Fairy and The Devil, I do. They have such great chemistry and they're so, so fun together-The difference of this cold and dark and brooding entity and the little flower spirit that charmed him is everything I could ask. It was never a question that I wanted to see them together in the end but there was still moments with Changheng that just made me go Oh, maybe it really will be him and her in the end...

then of course it doesnt happen. And I'm so happy to see my favourite duo together in the end, because they are just so good together, but its a little sad, too. I don't want Changheng to sit around with his heartbroken, I feel kind of terrible for him... and god if that isn't a better love triangle than I ever anticipated.

[gogandmagog]

“A love story with a psychological interest … a rather doubtful experiment with a public who expects a certain style from an author."

— Lucy Maud Montgomery, the Selected Journals of, on the subject of 'Kilmeny of the Orchard'

[vilelittlecritter]

About half the reblogs are about 73 yards and I'm sorry to break it to you but I don't really like 73 yards that much..

No hate to the episode I thought it was cool as an idea but wasn't really well done in my opinion

Firm believer that doctor who should get fucked up and unnerving on the regular

[taegularities]

meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them. 

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core. 

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR. 

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey.​ Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet. 

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.” 

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…” 

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.” 

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought. 

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

[chuluoyi]

✎ a birthday to remember

- gojo satoru x reader

what is the so-called grand surprise does your husband prepare for your birthday?

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—massive fluff, comfort, pregnant!reader, (cough) pregnant sex

note: hi peeps it's been ages since i last wrote gojo :') and love entries on that matter *sobs* but here it is... my birthday has passed too but here's to any of you whose birthday is near!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sensei— happy birthday!”

This year, your birthday happened to fall on a workday.

If it were up to you, you would have taken the day off. However, Satoru had been assigned to Osaka and wouldn’t be returning until weekend, so taking leave and staying at home would most likely make you feel lonely.

Not only that, with you entering the fifth month of pregnancy, you figured it was better to stay active. And by the end of the day—you didn’t regret coming in at all. The students were all so sweet, they even chimed in to get you a pretty maternity dress to wear. You couldn’t wait to tell Satoru about them tonight.

You skipped happily toward the parking lot, but right when you turned the corner, suddenly—

“Wifeeeey!”

“Oh my god!”

You let out a loud gasp and took a step back, taking in the view. A sea of colorful balloons, with a man in suit standing right in the middle of it—

Your husband. In flesh. You blinked once, twice— thrice.

“Satoru...?”

He poked his head out of the string of balloons, a beaming, million-dollar grin lit up his face at the sight of your shocked expression. “Wifeeey! Happy birthdaaaaay!”

Before you could even process his sudden appearance, he had you in a chokehold, engulfing you in a bear hug and nuzzling his face against yours with childlike enthusiasm, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“What are you doing here?!” you half-shrieked, the surprise spilling from your voice.

He pulled back, frowning dramatically. “Ehhh? You don’t want me to be back?”

“Yes—”

His eyes widened as if you’d just committed the gravest betrayal. “You big meanie!”

“No,” you quickly retracted, trying to hold back your own smile at how comically dejected he was. “I mean… aren’t you supposed to be back on Sunday?”

“Heh heh, nope! I lied~” Satoru chirped, his grin returning in full force. “It’s my wifey’s birthday—how could I not come back for you?”

In that moment, your heart fluttered. He was probably saying it for no reason, but the fact that he really did fly back from Osaka just to meet you for your birthday meant a lot to you.

His big, warm hand then gently caressed your visible baby bump, his grin widening when he got a kick. “Ah, right… Hello to you too, baby! Did I startle you too? Sorry~”

You rolled your eyes, retorting, “He is terrified.”

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper directed at your belly. “Don’t worry, baby. Papa’s here now, and he’s got balloons. That makes everything better, right?”

“...how long have you been standing here with these balloons?”

“Hmmm, not long. About an hour, maybe?”

“You shithead—why didn’t you just come inside?”

Satoru’s gasp of mock offense made you laugh despite yourself. “And ruin the surprise? My wifey deserves the full dramatic effect!”

Being Gojo Satoru’s wife certainly came with its fair share of patience-testing episodes, and sometimes you wanted to return him to Yaga for additional lessons of discipline.

But it was candid, over-the-top acts like this that reminded you just how lucky you were to have him.

Satoru brought you to a high-end restaurant for your birthday dinner before the two of you finally returned home.

And the moment you opened the door, you were greeted by countless balloons floating on the ceiling and the ground, the fairy lights illuminating the room in a cozy glow.

You were taken aback, mesmerized by the sight. “When did you even have the time to decorate the house?”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “I have many little helpers—”

“Don't tell me it's Ichiji and Nanami? Satoru, you—!”

“I promised Nanami I wouldn’t make him blow up balloons! Though I might have heard him grumble something about being above this…”

"You're unbelievable..." You let out a resigned sigh, yet still smiling as you stepped further into the living room, now bathed in the soft, golden glow.

Satoru observed you with a quiet smile. His pretty wife, and the small life within you. He adored you the most out of everyone else in this twisted world.

Click! Click!

"Huh?" You turned to him when you heard the distinct sound of a camera shutter.

Satoru was holding his phone, an amused glint in his eyes. “Just capturing the moment, you know. You, the lights, and baby. It's perfect.”

You giggled. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

He shrugged, that signature grin returning. “What can I say? You’re beautiful.”

Later, you'd find out that one of the photos would be his lock screen from now on. It would be the first thing he saw every time he unlocked his phone.

Satoru brought out the box he had prepared, handing it to you with a sly grin. “Look, sweets, before we go to bed, I have one more gift for you—and you have to wear it now.”

You arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, as you took the box from his hands. The moment you opened it and pulled out the contents, you froze.

“—?! Satoru!”

A scarlet lingerie set. The bra features intricate lace trim along the edges, and the matching panties are equally bold, with a sheer lace overlay. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Satoru, who was watching you with an winning grin, clearly pleased with his choice.

“What?” he challenged. “They'll suit you, c'mon.”

“You're absolutely shameless.”

“But you love me anyway~”

You let out a defeated sigh, glancing up at him, already realizing there was no way out of this now.

“You’re lucky I’ve hit my head somewhere and married you.”

. . .

He was right. It fit you perfectly.

The moment you got out of the bathroom, Satoru could feel himself getting hard already. You looked like a vision, the deep red seemed to highlight your every curve, turning you into an effortless seductress.

And not only that, you were adorable too— fiddling with your fingers and touching your rounded belly, barely hiding how self-conscious you were.

"Don't just stare at me..." you mumbled, glaring at him.

He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch tender despite the fire in his eyes. “You’re making it hard to look away, you know.”

His hands then trailed down, skimming the sides of your body, each touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. It was almost as if he was unraveling you, piece by piece, and you weren’t sure whether to pull away or pull him closer.

And wait... was it just you or were the space between your legs indeed getting hotter and wetter?

As if reading your mind, suddenly two of his fingers touched your barely clad pussy, and you gasped. That's right— there is indeed a hole in this freaking lingerie!

"Are... we...?" you swallowed, your gaze meeting his.

"Can I?" he asked back, voice husky. His crystal clear eyes burning with lust as he assessed you— from your eyes, lips, and then the inviting sight of your cleavage.

Did you want this?

Of course you were. Your birthday was still far from over, and you missed him too.

In response, you pushed his already hovering fingers inside you, making you hold your breath. From that point on, Satoru knew what you wanted.

Without another word, he rubbed soft circles around your clit, and you let out an unabashed moan at the contact, clinging to his shoulders for support. "Ahh..."

He teased you for a while, before slowly entering his fingers into your throbbing folds, and you were close to collapsing if it weren't for his secure hold over you.

"You're so, so damn naughty..." he whispered lowly in your ear. It was taking everything he had not to lose it right then and there. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible, but the sight of your writhing face and that baby bump was damn distracting and ignited the beast inside him.

He made you pregnant already, but there was just this primal desire— wanting to mark you more...

His fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, dragging them deep but just not deep enough—

"Please..." you scratched his back unwittingly, frustrated at his shirt that got in the way. "I-I... want... you..."

How sweet. Satoru relished in your titillating breaths and chuckled, vigorously continuing his dirty ministrations.

"Say it louder," he growled in your ears. "Can't hear you."

The bastard. You yanked his hair and made him catch your teary gaze. "I... want you..."

Sinful desire flared to life at your words. "Your wish is my command, missus."

Satoru suddenly pulled out his fingers—ignoring the whine you accidentally let out for being empty all of a sudden—and admired the sheen, sticky whiteness on them.

"I barely did anything and you're this wet already," he snorted, tasting it. "They're right about the pregnancy hormones."

He placed his hand on your waist, pressing a kiss on the firm skin of your belly, before undoing his belt and trousers and pulling out his hardened member.

The sight made you actually gulp, especially when he pumped it. He pulled you to his lap and guided his pride to your sopping entrance. The moment he inserted himself, he let out a groan of relief, while you arched your back and hissed, "Ngh!"

Satoru captured your lips, his hand pressing against your aching spine. He pulled you closer, urging you to take him completely.

"Ahh— ugh... mrgh!" you sighed against his neck as soon as you did, trying to even your breath. This was something you had done so many times before, but why was this time felt like an awakening of some sorts?

"Most beautiful," he breathed in your ear wickedly. "Don't worry, leave everything to me."

He rocked his hips against yours, one hand on your back and the other gripping your thigh. With each salacious thrust, you mewled and he panted, keeping you steady all the while.

He could feel your baby bump rubbing against as his toned abs, going along with the rhythm. Satoru grinned proudly, noticing how much it had grown over the past few months. The baby must be healthy in there, huh?

The relief somehow spurred him into pick up his pace, thrusting you more deeply than before. You almost squealed.

"You know what?" he grunted, mind hazed. He didn't really realize what he was saying to you, to be honest. "You're the prettiest when you're like this— round and full, with my kid."

You only caught the lewdness in his words, but you weren't able to ponder about it as he suddenly buried his face into your supple breasts.

"Look at them, getting bigger too— these days..." He sucked on the sensitive skin and you gasped in pleasure, crying out afterwards when he fondled them with both hands.

Your senses were overly heightened and you knew you wouldn't last long. Satoru too knew he was nearing his orgasm as he tore your new bra and sucked on the mound, furthering your never-ending moans, causing your eyes to roll back as the blinding pleasure overtook you— pushing you to cum right then and there.

In the next second, he pushed you into him impossibly deeper, and his hot release gushed inside your womb. You writhed at the sudden fullness, before getting limp and collapsed into him, not even realizing that you had squirted all over his lap and dress shirt.

Your husband glanced at you, in disbelief himself at the messy scene, but utterly satisfied as his bright eyes twinkled. "Heh..."

You were awoken at three in the morning, and the first thing you noticed was that you were in Satoru's warm embrace.

His arms were wrapped around you securely, holding you close as if he were protecting you even in his sleep. You must have passed out afterwards, as all you recalled was the numbing exhaustion.

Yet you knew for certain that Satoru had cleaned you up, dressed you in your pajamas, and even placed a heat pad on your hips to soothe you.

(He remembered the one time you woke up with cramps right after a raunchy night before)

Your husband was a cheeky shit, but for you, he was willing to go extra miles. It was an overlooked fact sometimes due to how unserious he was, but each time he did and you were reminded of it, your heart always soared.

Looking up, you found his peaceful sleeping face, and not for the first time, you couldn’t help but marvel at how truly handsome he was. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gently caressed his face.

"Hmm...?" he frowned adorably, and you almost giggled. But when he cracked his eyes open, you almost regretted it—oh yes, he is a light sleeper.

"Sweets...? Can't sleep...?" He turned to you, voice thick with sleepiness. "Anything wrong?"

"No, I'm just watching you." You smiled, poking his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Really? Nothing's amiss?" His hand gently slid to your belly, giving it a reassuring rub. "You have to tell me if anything’s not right..."

"Hush, I'm fine."

After making sure you were indeed fine, Satoru tightened his arms over you and pressed his eyes shut. You wrapped your arms around his back in response, feeling his steady warmth. Right in this moment, you were overwhelmed with this gentle, soft feeling— love, the kind he gave you so freely and candidly.

Your birthday had passed, but if there was one wish only he could fulfill, surely you could still ask him, right?

"Satoru..." you muttered, feeling the cool breeze of the air conditioner lulling you back to sleep. "Will you stay with me... forever?"

A smile curled on his lips at your question, his eyes still closed. "Silly girl, it's your bedtime, so why ask that?"

You thought he wouldn't answer it as he didn't say anything more. But right before you drift into deep sleep, he pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, giving you his promise— one that felt truer than anything else he had said to you before.

"I will... so you must stay with me too, got it?"

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 22ND ★ SOMNOPHILIA - seishiro nagi .ᐟ

[CHAPTER TWENTY TWO SLEEPING BEAUTY ] once upon a time, a brave knight, destined to marry someone she’d never met, says fuck it and plans to reap the rewards of saving the prince from eternal slumber. without realising that he’s already awake… ( 8.8K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters in their 20s, sleeping beauty!au, somnophilia, hold the moan, overstimulation, cockwarming, dacryphilia, outer-course, handjobs, blowjobs, pussyjobs, free use, dub con, cumplay, creampies, not beta read, knight + fem!reader, aurora!seishiro nagi.

✧ fairy godmother's note - this is so late i'm so sorry, i think i might start posting kinktober towards the end of the week and into november, enjoy me loves. miss u loads! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

you hardly remember the day that prince nagi was born — despite most definitely being there for the ceremony that commemorated it. at the time, you were hardly out of your own leading strings, still babbling dumbly and clinging to your mother’s garments whenever someone poked their nose in your face. obviously far too young to remember the curse placed on him by that wicked witch maleficent. 

prince seishiro nagi was beloved by all and affection for him was widespread throughout the kingdom. he was born deep into the night, at a time where the sky had been painted with deep blue and midnight hues, with hair as silky and pale as the silver moon and eyes like the glittering starry sky. so they said. at least that’s what your been told. while present at the time, you would hardly know — you were too young to remember how he looked nor the very moment you were promised to him as a baby yourself. 

from the moment you were born, your fate was signed away before your very first breath and once you arrived and took two steps you were instantly reared to become prince seishiro’s future wife. to help join two kingdoms in harmonious union. from the moment you could talk, you’d spent your entire life training to become the wife of a man you hardly knew. there were lessons in perfect posture, dainty dancing and simple sewing. not to mention how to serve a king and please a husband  — who apparently had unnatural beauty, the softest voice and the kindest of hearts. outside of nagi, you hadn’t a single hobby or interest that didn’t concern him, solely born and bred for his best interest. how were you supposed to know if any of those spoken traits were really true and not just word of mouth when nobody had any idea where the prince actually was. 

rumour had it, that the silver haired royal had been whisked away to the woods to be raised by the very fairies that blessed him — with hopes of avoiding maleficent’s malevolent curse in which seishiro was destined to prick his finger on a poisoned spinning wheel by age twenty three. in an attempt to undo the wicked spell, the fairies had combined their magic and made it so that only a true love's kiss would be able to wake up their beloved prince. which soon became your duty, by the time you came of age too. 

since then, and for twenty two years after, there was not a peep from the prince — to his people and his kingdom, he’d practically vanished overnight, becoming one with the moon and stars they prayed to each night. holding out hope for his return to the throne. 

in turn, you had no idea when your duty would come to fruition. maleficent's thunderous mountain, shrouded in a thick layer of green, jealous smog that was sure to suck the life from any innocent soul still raged on — meaning her curse hadn’t come true. she still hadn’t found the prince. no one had.

no one except for you. 

unknowingly, you’d met nagi humming amongst pointed shrubbery and wild flowers deep in the forest — absentmindedly complaining about tne berries he was forced to forage for his uncles back home. for you, it was instant, as though an invisible force had drawn you two him like the the two poles of a magnet. prince seishiro was a sight to behold, even before you knew who he was, the timbre trill of his voice filled you with a wave of unfamiliar butterflies that battled their way into your throat — trapping your voice. his eyes were an enchanting pool of riches, frightened of your presence at first, but filled with stripes of silver you were sure had to be stolen from the moon. 

for you, it was love at first sight. a powerful urge to be near him building up in your lungs like fluid in a sick person. you were sure he felt the same — the emotion obvious in the way he tentatively touched you as you talked about nothing and everything at all. the way he swooped down to your height to listen to tales of land and fortune he could only have dreamed of.

in those hours that you spent alone together; pressed into one another’s side’s amongst intertwined tree branches like two lovers' limbs after a night of improper passion  — you’d felt the most seen you had in all your life. for the first time in forever, someone saw you as more than just a bargaining chip or a trophy to be paraded around royal courts in honour of union. someone saw you as a whole, read your story from start to finish and still wanted to know more. you weren’t just a knight made to save a prince. to nagi, you were so much more.

and to you, nagi was a breath of fresh air — someone who craved a more exciting life rather than being banished to a life of greenery and foliage. despite his charming air of laziness and naivety, he expressed to you a burning sense of eager deep within. it was innocent, inquisitive but nagi’s thoughts called out to you like the bird song of two mates. the worlds you came from were different, clearly, but you just made sense to one another.

but back then, in those quiet moment with your head on his shoulder and nothing but the sound of oak leaves swaying in the gentle summer breeze — you’d had no idea that the silver haired stranger was just prince seishiro living under a different name. you thought him a commoner and he thought you a random huntress on a horse. no one had any idea that he was the crown prince, that he’d been snuck back into the castle on the day of his twenty third birthday to regain his title and his crown… only to be lulled by the cruel call of a sinister stranger  shortly — pricking his finger just like maleficent had planned. 

you were meant to marry. you were supposed to go back for seishiro and run away together, live apart from the expectations bestowed upon you as children. unfortunately, you wouldn’t find out until returned to the spot where you’d first met him, and were met with the face of the villain herself. instead of your lover. that’s when you realised the gravity of it all. who seishiro was. who you were meant to be. 

deep down, you knew this was a love too sacred to pass by, and with the white haired prince counting on you —  you would do everything in your power to save him. save the prince and the kingdom from sleeping soundly for the next one hundred years.

with the help of the fairies who raised nagi, you were able to take down the terrible maleficent — grateful that your parents had at least made you handy with a sword. through the flames of the beast above you, you wielded your weapon with a strength and bravery that would go down into the history books of lands far and wide. killing maleficent in the form of the dragon had been no easy feat but you fought, with screaming muscles and a bloody face — fulfilling the duty you had been born to do. trained to do. for nagi and for your kingdom. 

the difference was, this time, you were doing all of this for love. not just for honour.

after winning the flaming battle, you staggered your way through the kingdom despite your burns and free bleeding wounds, making your way up to the tower where your silver-moon haired lover slept. part of you felt envious of the slumbering kingdom, the eternal rest they had slipped under while your body burned and ached with every step that you took… but as soon as you laid eyes on your handsome prince — sleeping like a fallen angel crowned by scattered lights. the glinting particles of dust forming a shining halo over his sleep the steel hair. 

the beat of your heart quickens as you approach the bed tucked deep within his quarters — rivalling the speed of the finest royal race horse and the world completely falls away until the all that remains are you and seishiro. your prince. your love. even while he sleeps, he’s unfairly handsome, grey lashes dusted with starlight just barely brushing the apples of his milky-toned cheeks, his hair curls against his forehead and his lips, rose-tinted, part with each gentle exhale his body takes to keep him alive. without even thinking, your finger trails the slopes and contours of nagi’s delicate features, brushing over his Cupid’s bow that seems damp with the condensation of his warm breaths. the sensation stokes a fire within you while your mind wanders to less than pleasant thoughts.

how would his lips feel if you were to kiss him? how would they taste? how would seishiro kiss you back? the questions swirl around in the calcium cage of your skull like a storm untapped, fuelled by the remnants of adrenaline that simmers in your veins from the fight. it would be wrong, to do what you’re thinking of doing — to press your lips to the seam of his and run your tongue every inch in his hot mouth, behind his teeth and over his own pink muscle. maybe even to cup his throat and feel every breath he takes. it would be so wrong… and yet, your moral compass and previous duties seem to be out of working order, thus, losing the war the flickering desirous flame within you. one that rivals the breath of the dragon slaid outside.

no one would really care if you were to have the way with the crown prince. after all, you would need to be rewarded for your self sacrifice and service to the kingdom that could have very well been burned to the ground if it hadn’t been for your bravery. you deserved this, you deserved him and the chance to appease your growing appetite for the sleeping beauty before you. right now, there were no barriers… no servants and squires and maids or men to tell you what was proper of a knight or of a promised woman, and there certainly weren’t any barriers to the body of the silver haired prince. without any blankets, there wasn’t much to stop you from trailing a hand over seishiro’s clothed stomach and over the hills of his princely dress pants.

your fingertips grazed the taut muscles of his thick thighs as you teased yourself. teased the slumbering royalty. daring tug at the belt loops and thick leather her bound his trousers to his unfairly slender waist. with your lip caught between the sharp edge of your teeth, you unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants inch by inch, a tidal wave of goosebumps erupting over the surface of your body like freshly plucked chicken skin as you reveal more and more of his milky, toned flesh. he’s smooth all over, blueish veins apparent as they spiral underneath his skin, but nagi is just as soft as you remember, as warm brushing up against you as he was the day you first met in the woods.

saliva spreads across your tongue like a sheet of rain during a storm or a flash flood when his undergarments come down with the hem of his trousers, revealing a snow white path of pubic hair that curls prettily against his pelvis. there’s a craving for more that sloshes into the dips and deficits of your brain, like a dark haze that shrouds your brain in nothing but lust — so you act on the feeling, pulling more and more fabric away from seishiro’s most intimate parts until his cock, half hard and already leaking, is able to spring free. 

the sleeping beauty’s breath hitches and catches on the edges of his throat as his hard-on first hits the cool air shrouding his chambers. whatever preconceived notion you’d had of the prince’s body beforehand is quickly tossed away when you finally set your sights on his girth — he is as long as he is thick, chubby against the softness of his tummy with a pink tip that already oozes a thick stream of cream caused by the ghost of your touch over him. a warmth spreads through your entire body, an urge to taste him washing over you in a poor attempt to cool your need down. if you taste him, would that be part of your reward? would it matter to anyone if you put your mouth on the prince while he innocently slept… especially after you’d saved everyone?

you still cannot find it within yourself to care. 

perhaps the wounds maleficent inflicted upon you have left traces of her bad energy, for you continue to disregard your own morals and good intentions by crawling onto nagi’s bed ( careful with your movements while he shifts in his slumber ) and you keep your touch tender when taking him into your hold, the supple pads of your fingers wrapping around the length of the prince’s shaft while you smooth the pad of your thumb into the slit on his cockhead. rubbing the precum into it sweetly. now up close and personal with his most intimate parts, you’re able to catch the scent of nagi… which only worsens your hunger for him. he smells so good, the musky scent of his arousal almost sending your eyes into the back of your skull — acting like fumes of a pretty wildflower in the forest you once met. 

it hypnotises you, takes over your every thought and action in the heat of the moment. every sensation you once felt is now heightened by your own arousal, the feeling of your tongue behind your teeth and the silken sheets against your knees and the blistering temperature of seishirou’s girth in your palm. adjusting your grip on him to something more firm, soft little hands dwarfed by the sheer size and thickness of him, and accidentally pull a tiny moan from your sleeping lover. any trepidation mingling with the air in your lungs is quickly eradicated once you finally give in, flicking your tongue over the cream gathering at nagi’s mushroomed cockhead that burns a painful shade of deep red.

opening your mouth, you take seishiro down your throat as though it’s the easiest thing in the world, your tongue flexing against the bluish purple forked veins that spiral down his heavy shaft. all you want to do is make him harder, feel the blood rush from his slumbering brain to his balls so you can take him properly, elsewhere, later on. what doesn’t fit past the seams of your chapped lips, you continue to palm, setting a steady pace to the rhythm of your hands jerking the silver-haired prince off. its slick and easy, aided by the thick globs of precum that spill over your knuckles and sink into the lines in your palms — seishiro may be asleep, but his body reacts, hips bucking into your closed fist while he squeaks and sighs lazily. 

his head remains tacked to the pillow tucked behind it, starlight locks splayed out across the cooling silk fabric — perfectly tousled despite being slightly out of place as he writhes under the sinful prison of your hot, wet mouth. even you have to moan as you sink down on him, his heavy and pulsating balls meeting your chin while your nose nudges the prickliness of his happy trail. if he were awake, you wonder if nagi would be the type to coax you through giving him head — soft whimpers glossed in his lips while those moonshine grey eyes hold your gaze. or would he push your head down on him and fuck your mouth lazily as though it were another hole to fill with his cum.

part of you wants to rouse him right now, with the kiss of true love the fairies said would work on him, but only to hear how much louder he’d cry and moan for you. you want to hear how the Prince would praise you for taking him so well, slurping the early seed from his tip and hollowing your perfect pudgy cheeks as you gargle him down your eager throat. your imagination runs ahead of your actions as you bob your head faster and faster without regard for your lover sleeping soundly above you lewd slurping sounds echo throughout the room as you picture him looking down at you with flushed cheeks and lidded moonlit eyes — coaxing you to take more of him. 

the heat between your thighs returns, an unbearable searing ache pulsating through your clit as blood carrying lust and other happy hormones shoot straight to it. in one swift motion, you shove a single hand past the waistband of your own pants and undergarments to toy with the sensitive bud, smearing whatever remained of his precum and pre-release against your awaiting cunt. your eyes flutter shut at the taste and heaviness of nagi on your tongue, his viscous arousal flowing down your throat in saltine waves. the flavour was addictive and you found yourself bobbing your head faster, and faster — matching it to the pace at which you stroked your own sticky slit.

lavishly, you run your tongue back and forth over the opening of seishiro’s bulbous cockhead, humming happily around his thick shaft when he involuntarily bucks into the hellish fire of your mouth — it makes your heart swell to know that his body is reacting to you and you alone, how it could very well be this way for the rest of your lives. while you hump your own fingers, their tips pruning with how wet you are as you circle your clit, the sleepy beauty’s balls batter your chin as his taut hips thrust upwards instinctively to chase your dripping tongue and mouth.

drool pours from the corners of it, just as you leak against the seat of your panties — your juices hot and viscous while you finger fuck yourself and get off to the sensation of blowing the sleepy prince while he rests. everything is so sloppy, so messy and wet and you can’t help but to spit down on nagi as his dick swells against your tongue, the frothy mixture clinging to the prominent blood flushed veins that sprinkle from the tip down to his base. 

your release sneaks up on you like a silent figure in the night; hiding from the moonlight and a dirty moan slips from between your lips as you let go of your lover with a lewd pop, your jaw aches deliciously and your tongue is sore from running circles over his tip — as is your wrist from being down your pants to bully shapes into your clit but you don’t mind the pain, it’s all worth it to make yourself feel good. to make nagi feel good so you can use him later on, turning him from a prince into a sex doll. dopamine continues to spark across your brain as you switch from sucking to jerking nagi off, keeping the rhythm of your slick palm wrapped around him in tune with the one that rolls your clit between your fingertips and pinches your swollen folds. 

you don’t last much longer, not when you’re able to watch the moonlit prince fall apart above you even when the depths of sleep cling to the fine lines of his soul. the last remaining thread of your sanity snaps before you’re cumming against your own digits, gushing through the gusset of your panties and straight through the layer or your pants — even while you shiver and shake from the force of your own orgasm, you manage to find a the mobility to tap nagi’s cockhead lewdly against your pink tongue, grinning with an open mouth as his own orgasm rips through his unconscious form. 

warm and viscous seed paints a pretty picture against your strawberry tastebuds as it spurts copiously from his ravaged, fully erect cock. even hitting the back of your throat. 

but it’s not enough, it’s still not enough. a fire of desire still burns bright inside of you and nagi is still as hard as a rock in your hand. so you don’t see a point in stopping, not when you still want him and he clearly still wants you. 

in a whirlwind of fabric, you quickly abandon the lower half of your clothes — even though your legs are violently shaking and there’s a fizz in your brain that makes your vision go blurry from your orgasm, you find the strength to clamber into the prince’s lap and straddle him. a pulse of excitement runs through you as your bare ass meet his half dressed thighs and you set your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself above him. you’re barely able to contain the wavering moan that rumbles in the back of your throat as seishiro’s erection jumps against your sluice sex, as if coaxing you to lower yourself down onto him.

without an air of guilt, you do just that; indulging your sleeping lover’s underlying plea as you slip a hand between your temperate bodies to position his creamy cock at your weeping entrance — you run it back and forth over your slit a few times whilst holding back a quivering hiss, letting him dip in and out of your unused hole. you can’t help but squeak adorably when you start to rock your hips down, sucking him in and stretching over the thick circumference of his tip. you even manage to clench down on seishiro, trapping him inside with each inch you manage to take.

your head hangs low and you steady yourself against nagi again; nails forming pink crescent moons against his pearlescent skin because you’re not sure how much of this burn you can take. he’s so big, yet his cock is so helpless against your sticky walls — it’ll take a lot of work just to reach the hilt. “oh, fuck,” you whimper to yourself quietly, not wanting to be caught taking advantage of the kingdom’s slumbering royalty. you try to stablwlisw your breathing, hold onto your sanity by only fucking yourself over his tip because right now… it’s all you can manage. getting used delicious stretch to your pussy and the resistance of your hole as nagi slips into your tightness. 

in order to ground yourself, you press yourself against the moonlit prince until you’re both chest to chest — allowing your body to relax against is as you slide further down his cock. and, with this change in position, you easily dot feather light kisses from the pale skin, unmarked skin of seishiro’s neck up to his jawline — licking the light layer of perspiration that added diamonds to his skin. his pulse is slow, languid under your lips, just as the rise and fall of his chest is. nagi still sound asleep as you bathed his cock in all of your syrupy wetness. eventually, you reach his lips and hardly hesitate in kissing them, lapping over the seam of them with your tongue as if you’re asking for entrance when you don’t really need to.

not when his body is so willing to give into you, even while seishiro rests.

you swear you feel his lips twitch apart against your own, parting specifically for you to pour your withering moans into him and breathe life into his unconscious soul — your tongue licks at his, relishing in the flavour and slight sweetness to his mouth, letting it distract you from the twinge between your thighs as you finally seat yourself on his girth fully; breeders balls nestled comfortably against the curve of your ass. a feeling of content washes over you, feeling the chubbiness of his girth press hotly against your ribbed walls that catch on his prominent veins there. 

panting lightly, a ripple of desire is the next sensation that you feel, experimentally clenching around the prince below you — bottoming out as your cunt drools down on him. somehow, you find the strength in your thighs to lift your hips and thrust back down, a wet slap bouncing off of all four walls in response. it’s insane how tight, warm and wet you are — how thick, heavy and nagi is, constantly pressed up against your g-spot before you’ve really even moved. you splutter and hiccup as you begin the slow bounce of your hips and allow yourself the grace to accommodate for your sleeping lover’s size, his bright red and possibly overstimulated cockhead nudging feverishly against the pleasure spots that decorate your temperate silken walls. 

“…gods,” comes your shaky voice, trapped behind the prison of your teeth in a weak attempt to hold in your moans. “s-seishiro, f-feel so good…” though you speak to no one in particular, using the sound of your own wailing voice to get yourself, you can feel the white-haired royal underneath you buck upwards as though he wants to fuck you back — driven by tired strings of lust and desire as though he’s a puppet on a set of strings for your own pleasure. collapsing forward, you nestle your head underneath his chin so that the only part of your body moving is your hips working up and down on nagi’s pulsating cock at break-neck speeds. in this position, your murky breaths of exertion coast over his pearlescent skin and your eyes grow misty at the perfect angle. your stream of thrusts are constant like a rushing river, allowing his bulbous leaky tip to barrage into your sex and pull squelching, lewd noises from your poor pussy.

you’re already so sensitive, it’d be a miracle if you last much longer riding your lover like this and to your heart’s content. slumped over him, chewing on your chapped lips to hide the debauched noises that slosh over your tongue and are churned up in your mouth with the drool there. it’s pathetic, really, but your mind is too hazy and high on the drug of ecstasy to care. to pacify yourself and the growing fire that burns the butterflies in your tummy, you switch from bouncing on his fat girth to grinding against it, dancing with your partner in a sensual sticky grind where only you are able to lead. every stroke of his cock within your sluice, pulsating walls makes it harder for you to keep quiet or keep still — the bed creaking beneath the weight of your movement becomes a loud wail and harmonises perfectly with the tune or skin slapping on skin and your pathetic bleats of bliss. 

sweat from the exertion of pounding your mound down on the curve of his cock begins to bead at your hairline, pearling in opaque orbs that form your own halo. one that belongs to a fallen angel. it drips down the side of your face onto the prince below you, another way that you mark him, just as your juices do — droplets of it trailing down his shaft, balls and even his ass. if someone were to walk in now, they’d set their sights on an obscene display of sin, their perfect prince defiled by his knight to be, but you don’t care, your mind and exhausted limbs buzzing with wanton. you’ll use him until cum, claim your prize and work your selfish pussy over him until you know every constellation by heart because of how many times you’ve used seishiro to make yourself see stars.

every sensation overwhelms you, the creamy and tackiness to his cock between your slicked up thighs and the pressure of his purpling cockhead as it digs disgustingly against your g-spot in the most perfect of ways because you clench down on him every now and again. static rings loud in your ears that burn with both shame and lechery for taking advantage of your sleeping lover, the notes from the tune your fat pussy pap-pap-papping as it connects with stitchers of nagi’s bare flesh has a tingling sensation spreading under your skin too. even when he bucks instinctively into you, your entire body jolts in response because there’s no greater relief than knowing that you are yearned for… even within the clutches of unconsciousness.

when nagi whimpers in his sleep, you have to bite his shoulder — keeping your wailing mouth occupied even if you’ll leave teeth marks against him in place. someone could hear the way you beg him to fuck you, muffling yourself as you whisper dirty fantasies to yourself and split your swollen nether lips open on his drippy dick. you’re not sure if that is a good or bad thing to want, to be heard.  “f-fuck me sei… p-please my prince,” everything feels so depraved and so wrong, while you whine sweetly against saltine skin. however, you don’t see yourself stopping — not until you can no longer feel your legs from riding him and your cunt aches from cumming so hard. “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

the back and forth of your sluice sex over nagi’s lap tampers with your system, sending orgasmic shockwaves down your spine and happy hormones into your bloodstream. you alternate, once more peeling your soaked thighs away from his and lift your fluttering entrance higher and higher up his shaft until there’s barely an inch of the white haired royal left inside of you. the emptiness makes you miss him, a choked sob weaving its way like a vine through the gaps in your ribs as it claws its way out of your throat. it’s a shuddering noise that you suppress by locking lips with seishiro again, wet on the seam of them as you lift your head to kiss him. 

“i wanna cum, nagi!”

the words are just about to melt in his mouth but…

…but euphoria is quick to slip into your veins like a welcomed chill on a hot day when nagi suddenly rouses from his slumber — following a natural compulsion to snap his hips upwards with a powerful force and filling you in one fluid motion. he’s awake. one of his hands, extremely strong and veiny and firm takes you by surprise as it clamps down on the back of your neck  so that he can keep you in place too. it was almost as if he was chasing the snugness of your oozing, squelchy mound. an incredulous gasp drifts warmly from your mouth and condenses in nagi’s, for a second you worry that he might push you off and yell for help… but recognition registers on the slope of his handsome features. 

he’s awake…how long has seishiro been awake? 

moonlight lashes flutter against your face from your proximity and murky grey eyes, littered with exhaustion between their flecks, light up with a sprinkling of hearts as then open to look at you. slowly but surely their gaze drifts downwards, honing in on the point at which his milky cock repeatedly disappears into your puffy pussy, the glaze of your essence on his rock hard cock and clinging to his pubes put on display. 

groaning hoarsely and deeply, nagi’s freehand shoots down to the bouncing flesh of your ass without a lick of hesitation and pulls you the rest of the way down his pulsing girth. then up again. then back down — giving him all of the control to pummel your pussy to the high heavens. hard and fast. “i thought… thought you wanted to cum,” the moonlit prince mumbles, voice still puppeteered by the last strings of sleep. “don’t make it a hassle by holding back now… fuck your self down on my cock ‘n cum…”

he’s awake… how much of this has seishiro been awake for? 

nagi builds up a formidable momentum inside of you, dragging his seedy tip along your ravaged walls, shocking for someone who had essentially just woken up from a curse of eternal slumber. he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve been using him like a toy for your own sexual desires, but how could he? not when you’re dousing him in your sweet nectar, slapping your soaked sex down on him and squeezing his aching shaft just like that. how can a man, no less a prince, whine about waking up to such a good fuck?

all you can do is reply with a high pitched squeal, your body jerking and jolting on top of nagi as you struggle to keep up with thrusts. “come now, don’t make me do all of the work,” white starts to froth at the base of his cock, bubbling up while it streaks over your ruined pussy lips and clit. “after all, you started this… took advantage of me while i slept. s’only fair, angel,” he adds nonchalantly and makes you gush unbelievable amounts of arousal at the condescending air about his words.

he’s awake and now seishiro wants you to cum for him.

you do try your very best to do as nagi says, selfishly squeezing down on him and locking his precum bleeding tip inside your gummy walls, but your hips fumble their rhythm as soon as he looks up at you — sweaty hair splayed out in the sheets like an angel, lips parted in both curiosity and awe, cock bulging in your lower stomach. you’re choking the life out of seishiro and he likes it, feeling like he’s been rewarded for just being a pretty prince. 

all you want is for him to make you scream and squirt — your clit smears against his pelvis while you buck down on him feverishly. he barely lets you lift of his erection at this point. “‘m close… s-seishiro, please! c-can’t…”

it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name directly to him since your love-at-first-sight encounter in the woods and it flips a switch in the peaceful prince of the night. “y-yeah you can, angel. of course you can…” with a breathy, almost whiny moan, seishiro uses his newfound energy to assault your cunt with a barrage of wild thrusts. jackhammering into you, jerking you about on his throbbing length, coated in a milky mix of your shared arousals. “had no problem… fixing yourself on my cock before. ‘m sure you can make yourself cum on it now that i’m here to help,” he adds through gritted teeth, never letting up on his incredible speed. “shouldn’t be a hassle.” 

that’s all you really need to hear before you’re thrown into the deep end, the dark abyss of the night. while the ropes in your tummy unravel and unwind, the tune of sinful sex reaches its final crescendo and the world around you fades away as you’re thrown over the edge and temporarily black out — you practically squirt in an aggressive, clear stream and renders you a cum soaked mess in the prince’s lap. he forces your head into the junction between his neck and jaw, utilising his hold on you to help muffle the scream that burns at the sore edges of your voice as you cum for him. practically drowning nagi in everything you have to give. 

as if chasing something, your lover speeds up his thrusts, trying to make sure he isn’t left behind while you cum for him. growls and grunts spill over his lips, nagi’s pink tongue darting out the flavour you’d left on him as he slept. he buries himself deep inside of you, lunging into that one special spot nestled deep within your walls so that he can prolong your release — working hard even though he was just roused from what seemed like an eternal night.

the aftershocks of your high and heavenly spasms of your hole around nagi simply aren’t enough to satisfy him however — whatever remains of an orgasm he had coming fade away like embers of a dying flame while you come down. in fact, before you can even collapse on the white haired royal fully, he uses a strength you were unaware that he possessed to immediately flip you onto your back — manhandling you into the position he desires most. your thighs pushed together, knees pushed into your chest and him… towering over you menacingly.

only now do you realise how… large seishiro is. how much more dominant he is over you. how it may have been a mistake to think you could steal pleasure from him while he slept as a personal reward and not expect consequence. or at least a consequence you might enjoy too. “such a waste,” he comments groggily, pulling his cream soaked cock from its home within your pretty pussy with a hiss. using one hand, nagi grabs at his ravaged shaft and taps it against the swell of your thighs pushed together. “how can you use me like that…and still fail to make me cum? i’ll have to do it myself. what a bother, angel.”

your breath catches in your throat, indicating your surprise. “seishiro…w-wait,” you plead, lips parting in a quiet moan at every squeeze of your flesh and tug of hips to get your body into place. you don’t even know what you’re asking for or why you’re asking him to stop, you still don’t care about the consequences. all you want is for the sleeping beauty above you to fall apart, to hear your name on the tip of his tongue, to feel him cum wherever that may be. “‘m sorry…i-i didn’t know you were awake!”

“don’t care darlin’,” seishiro’s breathy words hang between the pearliness of his teeth, shaggy hair tickling the skin on your calves as he positions them over his shoulders instead of in the air. “don’t r’member much… just my finger gettin’ pricked ‘n then you… using me. on top of me…” his cock makes a home between your plush thighs, pushing back and forth against the flesh to relieve his painfully hard erection. the action itself paints the canvas of your body with remainders of your arousal and essence — thick stringy globs of white forming tracks against soft skin. “f-fuck angel, you put in all this work to make yourself cum using me… now it’s my turn.” 

eyes that mirror the silver light of the moon flutter shut and nagi’s nose judges against your ankle — lips grazing the pointed bone and in their wake leave a trail of inflamed bites from where he leaves his mark on you, hoping that they’ll be present on the morning to remind you of who you belong to. his pink tongue peeks out to lick, loll over and soorje what he nips at, but the wet sensation doesn’t distract from curious finger tips that dance their way down and pinch your arousal soaked, fat folds together. neediness streams into your tone as you whimper out for more and your hips arch up to chase the feeling. 

in response a lazy grin twitches at the corner of your prince’s mouth, playing with the tackiness your cunt leaves against his hand before he spreads it over his bright red tip as lube. “quit squirming angel, s’too much of a bother to keep you pinned down,” seishiro then adjusts his knees on the bed and his hips begin to brutally rut into you, dragging his sloppy length back and forth, back and forth through the makeshift pocket pussy he’s made out of your quivering limbs. his precum loaded tip prods at the softness of your tummy and earns you a symphony of high pitched moans and heaving pants, harmonised with heavy balls slapping wetly against your clit over and over again. to the point where you fear you may be overcome with another orgasm all too soon.

being used like this, it feels humiliating, shame burns like paper held to a flame underneath the surface of your skin and tears begin to sting in your lower lash line as your entire body jolts up the bed — nagi throwing you about like a rag while he plunges his hips against your doughy thighs. his stamina impresses you too, but you find it hard to dwell on how quickly your lover was able to be riled up after rising from the constraints of an all powerful curse. you don’t mind the aching pulse to your untouched pussy when you get to watch nagi hang over you and hungrily hump your shaky legs — his usually kind eyes are swamped with darkness of lust the back of his pupil practically eclipsing the grey colour. 

his head darkens at the roots from how much he’s sweating, droplets crowning his head and running down his back like water on a glass windowpane. he’s a sight to behold, he makes your holes drool and mouth water, the both of you completely wrecked by a little thigh fucking and humping. between his merciless pace and the creaks from the bed, nagi jams a veiny hand between the sensual bump and grind of your bodies to grasp at his thick, temperate shaft — pulling it down to run through the entire length of your slippery before tapping it greedily against your puffy clit and snack between your thighs.

the sweet squeak you release has the prince repeating his action over and over, blood rushing through the purpling veins that spiral down his chubby cock. you’re the perfect sticky little fleshlight for him to fuck, to hold and love, and he hisses, jutting his hips forward in order to chase the euphoria coursing for his veins like the next best drug — all while he pounds your thighs to the starry heavens and back. 

juicy, wet sounds fill the room to the brim, a concert and performance of moans and whimpers to match and accompany nagi pounding away at your thighs, grinding against your sex. the white haired man leaks copious amounts of precum, milky like his hair and loose from his sore and sensitive rouge tip, that can’t stop weeping, oozing. his arousal makes each of his movements easier and more fluid, slipping and sliding between your legs and just grazing your sobbing mound. this way; you’re reminded of the sheet sheer size of your lover from the woods — be throbs, swollen and fat with an oncoming orgasm, with the seed that weighs down his balls that swing with each rut of his hips.

a hearty sob escapes you each time they press against you, dragging over your clit that begs for attention. the visage of your prince above you — flushed at the cheeks ( if they’ve been kissed by the petals of a rose), white brows knitted together st the centre of his forehead while ruby lined lips appear bitten and bruised  — begins to blur from your saltine tears. you can no longer hold back, raw and rough desire washing away your ability to control your body and your voice.

the way you cry wracks your body with the case of the shakes because of the wild whines resounding from deep within seishiro’s hard chest. each sound makes your cunt quiver, your juices darkening the sheets below and clinging to his snow while pubes, all the while, the prince ravishes you pulling you apart molecule by molecule before he pieces you back together with just a lazy shape drawn against your hardening clit. 

“w-what a waste of tears, i thought you wanted to use me,” nagi stutters out, breath condescending against your ankles. it makes him pulse between your thighs, knowing that he’s the one able to reduce you to a mess of cum and tears — even if you did half the work for him while he slept soundly. the fact that you threaten to break, still holding onto your inhibitions and desperate moans, only serves to make home rut his creamy cock against you faster. “you should give it up angel, m-much less of a hassle if you give into me.”

and with that, seishiro leans down to kiss you, his swiftness akin to a starved man. he manhandles your thighs to sit either side of his unfairly slender waist, granting him the room to swoop down until you’re chest to chest — his wide, large frame hiding your shaky one away from the world underneath him as his teeth sink into your bottom lip. he licks into your mouth as you open up with a shy mewl, devious tongue wrapping itself around your own as he tastes himself there. “thank you for waking me up, angel,” spit slings between your eager mouths, movements a little out of sync and languid since they’re so driven by a raw passion that simmers underneath the sleepy fog clouding the prince’s brain. “wakin’ me up to do this,”

he settles back on his haunches after coming up for air, laughing tiredly at the pout on your lips from the loss of contact. 

but now that you’re spread eagle with your cunt drooling openly on the bed and glistening under the moon’s light — the white haired royal angles his hips just right, shuddering from head to toe as his sex soiled girth slots between your swollen folds perfectly. his bulbous tip peeks out against your clit and he circles it against you, desperate to hear you wail like the wind again. “feels so good against you, s’not fair how good you feel,” he says under his stuttering breath, using a thumb and forefinger to spread your pussy lips apart — groaning at the strings of clear slick that tie them together. ““later on, when i’ve got more energy, i’m going to fuck this pretty hole. make sure i really have my turn.” nagi promises and swallows thickly at the raunchy sight of you, viscous drops of your treacle like nectar running over your slit and down to your puckered asshole.

you’re grateful for his touch, the friction you’re about to receive… but you miss seishiro’s lips and his tongue so deep in your mouth he might as well have been fucking it too. why do you miss those luscious lips? because they keep you quiet, muffle your embarrassingly high moans and withering screams of pleasure, cover up your glass shattering cries that accompany your teary face. he’s so heavy and raw against you, grinding his shaft that shoots tiny spirts of precum onto your cunt while you match his rhythm — it’s a wonder why you’re crying right now. not to mention the rounds of overstimulation he’s put you through. 

“you were so quiet before, angel, what happened?” a condescending tone fills out the weight in nagi’s voice, punctuated by the harsh lunges of his hips forwards as he smothers his girth in the juicy offerings from your folds. part of the prince wants to selfishly keep you writhing against his hot and heavy dick for all of eternity, adoring the way you bleat and cry for him through bleary Bambi eyes. hes sure you wouldn’t mind it either, but he’s too far gone to keep edging you both forever. “does it feel that good? so fucking good that you can’t help but whine and whimper for me… s’too much of hassle to hold back, angel. go one, cry pretty f’me, pretty girl…”

you burst into tears, letting your emotions overwhelm you. “feels so, so good, my prince,” you slur back as that familiar twinge of pleasure begins to rapidly mount within your tummy once more — throwing an avid, heated look his way. “s-sei, ‘m close,” one of your shaky hands take purchase in the silvery roots of his hair while the other grasps him shoulder so that you have the leverage to grind into him — rocking your hips in a fluid motion like a boat on rapid waves. sanity slips away from you under nagi, his energy completely unmatched as you struggle to keep up with his pace. the way he chases your sweltering, souse sex with the speed of the kingdom’s finest race horse. he pushes forward when you pull back and it goes both ways — one moment can’t happen without the other. 

nagi simpers above you, smirking lazily as he pushes back the sweaty snowy white roots of his hair — drinking in the sight of you. “that so? you’re close? wanna feel it’s, s’too much effort to have you hold it…not when you sound so wet…” both of you move with increased vigour the closer you get to cloud nine, seishiro cooing to you like over the crude sound of your sexes slipping over each other. “…y’should be embarrassed, yanno,” he presses against you, whimpering happily at the feeling of your breasts bouncing against his chest with each thrust, his breath hot against the tips of your ears and weakly grinds against you clit now — his own orgasm on the horizon.  “taking advantage of me like that. using me. s’naughty princess. such a hassle.” 

he tucks his face against your neck, teeth grazing over the skin while he listens out for your hiccuped sobs and heaving chest — you’re so loud when you’re close and it pleases nagi. he can’t stop tapping your clit and nipping at your flesh — desperate to hear how much louder you can get without holding back. a gargled gasp from you has his cock twitching and threatening to burst with release, while the condescending gripes that vibrate in his chest shoot straight to you’re swollen clit. 

listening to you cry and settling his greyed gaze on your puffy eyes is more than enough for nagi to cum, the string of his own sanity snapping as you scream for him. “you look like you’re about to cum, angel,” he purrs lowly, panting between each word. “mmmh, don’t you think i deserve to go first? fuuuuck i’m close…so close. do you want it inside? i won’t ruin the bed that way… wont need to clean it up…” seishiro rambles over the spit pooling pathetically on his tongue, bucking faster and harder against your slippery cunt with each syllable he manages to get out. “…wanna put it inside you as you cum.” 

you barely have it in you to respond and you can hardly make sense of it all, brain running a mile a minute. the feeling of your orgasm twists in your lower stomach, stacking painfully in your pelvis at a rapid pace you can’t even comprehend. “yes…! want it inside, gods yes!” you sigh out, voice rising several octaves. “want you inside!”

though it’s entirely selfish of you to make demands in the moment, after how you so sinfully used the sleeping prince as your prize — nagi relents, slipping the delicious curve of his cock past your puckered, fluttering entrance just as he reaches his peak. it makes him shake as though the gods have stepped down from the heavens and set foot on earth and he really can’t help it, how much he cums. there's so much of it, white hot seed that spews into you hotly, so pent up from all the pleasure you’d given him while he slept. his heavy load pulses against your sensitive, ribbed walls and sticks — lubing up your insides while he pushes his milky cock deeper into your bare cunt. 

“f-fuck!” the white haired prince curses loud enough to rouse his loyal subjects within a ten mile radius with one final swing of his hips. “f-fuck angel… gods!”  strings of opaque seed tie the veins on his shaft to your precious hole and as he twitches with the last spurts of his orgasm — your own high is triggered.

white flashes behind your eyes and the dam breaks for the third and final time — your release trickles out of you in small waves and you let out a borderline pornographic moan. nagi hums happily at the feeling of you squirting around him, Essen e clinging to his pubic hair too. 

for a second or two, seishiro relishes in the way you convulse around him, giving you a moment to calm down while he pacifies your high pitched squeals with gentle kisses along the side of your head. you’re still quivering when he collapses on top of you exhausted — neither of you having the capacity to speak properly. “d-don’t move… jus’ lay here with me,” he murmurs, tripping on his words. “‘m tired… don’t wanna move,”

you hardly have the strength to deny seishiro or push him off, snuggling into him as the pair of you roll onto your sides. “you’re tired… you almost slept for an eternity!” a laugh escapes you in reply.

“and guess who woke me up and made me work to cum. s’on you not me. fair is fair.” nagi quips back, burying his face into your neck.

you suppose that he has a point, nuzzling him from below as the two of you drift off without the fear of never waking up, of succumbing to lifelong sleep  — content, happy and fucked out by your sleeping beauty.

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[slttygeto]

SWEAR IT’S JUST RIGHT FOR YOU. | NANAMI. K

જ⁀➴ synopsis: when you and nanami are equally as obsessed with each other, it creates this perfect balance. you cook for him, and he treats your pussy like it’s a blessing.

જ⁀➴word count: 3,3k

જ⁀➴ c.w: pure filth with a bit of fluff, soft dom! nanami, he turns a bit rough towards the end, rough facefucking, cunnilingus + fingering, dirty talk + praise, riding, multiple orgasms + squirting.

When Nanami praises you, it’s soft, gentle and endearing. His rough palm gently collides with the soft skin of your jaw and his thumb traces your cheek. He is reminding you of how much you mean to him, how he would burn the entire world if it meant keeping you safe and protected. You are his fairy, his delicate girl whom he could never imagine even raising his voice at. When he scolds you, his voice is stern and filled with worry despite the displeased tone, his hand grabs at your shoulder not to hurt you, and you want to caress your thumb over his forehead and get him to stop furrowing his eyebrows so deeply.

“You’ll get wrinkles, Ken.” Your voice pulls him out of his displeased state for a moment, and Kento hears birds chirping outside of the window and the sunbeam caresses your skin—It hits your beautiful eyes and he takes in every detail; your eyebrows, the slight discoloration the bottom of your jaw, the mole that seems to bring out the beauty in you even more, your eyelashes that aren’t curled but naturally have a pretty shape to them and he heaves out a sigh. He is consumed by love wherever you are near.

Heaven knows how much the man craved domesticity. He found comfort in it—a routine, a promise that when he comes home, he gets to take off his brown shoes at the front door, put his keys in the small bowl that has a mirror hanging right above it. He would then look at his reflection in the mirror and look away immediately when he notices the sweat stains as he removes his jacket. He hears your footsteps as you rush out of the kitchen with a pretty apron around your waist. You made bread, and Nanami isn’t sure whether to be infatuated by the smell of it, or the smell of your hair that hits his nostrils as you wrap your arms around his waist.

He wouldn’t care that your hair is slightly damp, but he would breathe out how the tank top you were wearing was going to get you sick if you don’t watch out. And Kento cares a lot about your comfort, he respects you a lot, so when you hug his sweaty self, his hands would gently try to remove your arms from around him and protest that he was dirty.

“It’s all hard work, Ken. I like it.” To which he wouldn’t say much but give in and let you hold him. He understands that to an extent, having a natural smell like this was attractive, he’s always told you that he likes it when you come home complaining about sweating too much and all he says is that it makes you even more attractive. Your flushed cheeks, your hair sticking up in small antennas, your nose scrunching up at how disgusting it feels to have your shirt cling onto your skin—

“Can I join you in the shower?” Which always catches you off guard, but you accept of course and Nanami sets his book down, he removes his glass and folds them neatly on top of the book before following right behind you in the bathroom. You giggle nervously when you see him close the door and lock it before leaning against it, and you let out a small and timid ‘what?’ when he keeps eyeing with the same intense eyes.

“You are beautiful.” He never denies that he is looking at you—admiring you, but instead reminds you every time that nothing in the world can change his mind about his infatuation with you.

And somewhere in between that comforting thought of coming home to you, a show playing on TV in the living room, bread baking in the oven and the smell of a clean home—Nanami dreams of fucking you stupid on the couch. He wouldn’t remove your apron, he wouldn’t let you wash your hands off of the flour—he would simply drop his pants, push your shorts down and spread your legs only to find out that you weren’t wearing any panties.

He feels sick to his stomach at thought, sighs and rubs his forehead at the fact that he was imagining such dirty things to do with you. If it were a normal fantasy like coming home and fucking you on the bed, he wouldn’t feel that bad. But that was the thing about fantasies, they existed in our head without our control, and it was up to us to act out on them or not. Kento cherished you too much to scare you off with his oh-so-called sick and twisted fantasy of his.

He comes home after a long day at work, and it’s a few minutes past seven. The house isn’t quiet, there is a show playing in the background and that was the first thing that had Kento stop dead in his tracks. He chooses to brush it off and simply rids himself of his jacket and shoes, sets his keys on the bowl before the smell of bread hits his nostrils and his lips part in confusion.

Was he dreaming? Did he somehow astral project into another dimension where his fantasy was a reality? It only confuses him further when you come out of the kitchen wearing an apron—in this reality though, you’ve chosen to wear one of his shirts instead, and Nanami doesn’t know if it’s better or worse. He tries to hide it, the way he can feel his cock hardening in his pants as you approach him with his shirt, fuzzy socks and hands that had traces of flour on them.

“You’re home.” Is how you greet him, your cheek resting on his chest and melting against his body as you breathe in his scent, a constant reminder that you get to be greeted with this sight five times a week around the same time. You boyfriend’s hand travels up to the back of your head and his fingers comb through your hair as he hums a tired response.

“Did you miss me?” Obviously, is what you want to say. But instead, when you look up at him and notice his hooded eyes, you feel his other rest on the small of your back and your heart leaps in your chest. All of a sudden, you feel hot and you feel something poking at you and you’re just surprised.

It was normal for your boyfriend to have needs, you were used to the sexual frustration that comes with having such a stressful job—but normally, Kento would avoid initiating anything with you until he’s showered and made sure he was clean. For him to insinuate that he wanted you, and so loudly with those eyes—you could feel your panties getting ruined.

“Pretty girl,” he calls out for you again when he notices your silence and the hand resting on your waist holds your chin whilst the other firmly grabs your hair. “Did you miss me?” He asks again, stern and you nod. You missed him too much, you realize. Because the lack of conversation beside greeting him and telling him he’s home—all of it was intensifying the sexual tension. It was almost like your body was warning you that Kento wasn’t going to go easy on you this time and you felt jittery.

“I missed you, Kento. Did you miss me?” You say as your hands grab onto his blouse in fists. You bring him closer to you, and gasp when you feel his hand travel down to hold your neck. He isn’t trying to cut your air, but when you make eye contact with him and see that his face has darkened, you let out a small noise.

“Let me show you instead.”

On the couch, Nanami wastes no time to attach his lips to yours and kiss you breathless. He was such a good kisser, always so passionate, always making sure to tease the corner of your lips before biting nibbling here and there—and fuck, did he lose his mind every time you tried to suck on his tongue. He would just push you on your back and cage you between his strong arms.

Nanami feels like he is constantly losing his breath whenever you are near, but when you grab onto his forearms and moan, he goes feral. Suddenly, he is reminded of how much weaker you are compared to him—frail, delicate, soft and sensitive to his touch. He is lucky, he is blessed and he makes sure to spoil you and that pretty pussy.

His kisses trail all the way down from your neck to your collarbones, his takes a whiff of your perfume and hums.

“You smell so sweet,” he mumbles against your skin. Instead of removing your apron and shirt, he pushes them up to reveal the cute panties that you were wearing and his finger traces the wet patch that’s already formed.

“Kento,” you call out to your boyfriend breathless, desperate—as though you were on a deserted island and he was the water to quench your thirst. Your legs spread on instinct for the man to settle between them and you feel his hot breath right against your panties.

“But you smell even better here… Right here,” he says and he pushes your panties to the side to reveal the wet mess hiding behind the fabric. You prop yourself up a bit higher to be able to look at Nanami while he eats you out, and you blush when you notice that he’s already staring at you.

“Up.” He pats your ass and you lift up your hips to allow him to remove your panties for you, but instead of throwing them on the floor, you see him take a whiff of the fabric and sigh and your blush darkens.

“Can I keep these, my love?” He asks sweetly, voice so deep you felt like your pussy was embarrassing you with how wet it was and you mindlessly nod. “Is that so?” He knew you wouldn’t say no, but he still wanted to thank you for trusting him with his perverted intentions.

“You’re too good for me.” Is the last thing that you hear from him before he dives between your legs and fuck—he is too good. You know Nanami is good, you don’t doubt that he can make you cum as many times as he wants before reaching his own high, but something about him eating your pussy like a treat, enjoying every drop and sucking on your clit with the intention of making you lose your mind—that was too much.

You feel his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks before smothering his face in your pussy. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue licks at your folds and you think that for a moment, maybe he is enjoying this more than you do. His hands grip your thighs to keep them in place, and when he notices that your legs are starting to shake and your hips are bucking up, he takes one look at you and his dick almost bursts.

Flushed chest, swollen lips and a fucked out face. If Nanami wasn’t already in love with your beauty, then he feels himself falling deeper for you. You fall apart on his tongue a couple of seconds later, he enjoys the way you gasp, moan and cry as he keeps his lips attached to your clit and you try to push his head away.

“Too much,” you gasp. “Kento!” you cry out when you feel his two fingers nudge at your folds and by this point, you are breathing too hard. You feel his thick finger prod at that one spongy spot almost immediately and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He presses a hand to your stomach and praises are spilling from his lips like a chant, watching as your soul almost escaped your body with every thrust of his thick fingers perfectly against your spot.

“That’s right baby, you’re doing so good,” “this pussy takes me so well,” “you make me so proud, look at this pussy—fucking filthy,”

The mixture of praise and him losing his composure and cursing has you reaching your orgasm again faster than expected. But this time, you make a bit of a mess and you try to apologize for ruining the couch and his clothes but he is quick to shut you up with his lips.

“You’ve just squirted on me, and you want to apologize?” he mumbles against your cheek, fingers still buried inside you and you whine.

“I made a mess,” you try to reason with your beast of a boyfriend but he quickly retreats his fingers back and delivers a harsh smack to your pussy.

“It’s never been a problem when it’s our bed, has it?”

“Kento,” you call out softly when your boyfriend starts to kiss at your neck again. “Kento, fuck my mouth.” Nanami’s brain short circuits at this and the shock is evident on his features. He doesn’t have time to stop you or protest because you are quick to get off the couch and on your knees for him.

“You’ve been so good to me, keeping me satisfied and happy—I bet you want to fuck my mouth sometimes, don’t you?” Your hands are quickly unbuckling his belt. You don’t remove his pants completely, only enough to free his painfully hard cock from his boxers. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and you watch as he throws his head back on the couch with each slow stroke.

“You don’t know what you are asking for,” is what he says as he tries to get you to back out of this, but you are determined to let him ruin your life. Him, the only man on this planet whom you would blindly trust with your life.

“I know what I am asking for.”

“I could hurt you,”

“I will tap your thigh if you do,” and then there’s a few moments of silence where Kento just stares deeply into your eyes. When you see him lean down towards you, your breath catches in your throat and your lips part in shock when his hand goes to the back of your head and the other one grips your jaw open.

“Open up.” And when you do, he rests the fat tip of his cock on your tongue. The pre-cum is a bit salty but you don’t say anything as you let Kento handle your mouth to his liking. He tells you to open up a bit more and breathe before he starts to thrust his dick in and out of your mouth at a slow pace.

You’re taking it well at first, but when you notice your boyfriend’s thighs shaking, indicating that he is holding back on you, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Quite literally.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and you push his dick down your throat, nose nuzzling against his pubes and he curses out loud.

“Fuck--!” You repeat the same motion over and over again, and by the third time, your boyfriend finally breaks and starts fucking your mouth like a starved man. Your knees burn, and so do your lungs—the couch is moving every time Kento brings your head back on his cock and you’ve braced yourself on his thighs for support.

“Sorry—fuck, I’m sorry baby,” he says between gritted teeth. However, when his eyes catch that you’re rubbing your swollen clit to the same rhythm of your head on his cock, something in him snaps.

He pushes you off of his cock, and any complaint you head is drowned out when he stands up and his cock stands proud. You look up at him from your spot on the floor and brace yourself on his thighs again when you feel him grab your face and push his cock inside your mouth.

“Filthy fucking girl,” he breathes out. “Can’t even let me be sweet to you—shit,” based on how difficult it is to even talk properly, you guess that he is close and so you sneak a hand between his legs and starts fondling with his balls—you squeeze them, and that’s when Nanami finally breaks and cums down your throat with a broken moan.

Even while trying to catch his breath, Nanami’s hands caress your face and neck as he takes a seat and pulls you closer to him. He then helps you get back up on your feet and pulls you on his lap to kiss you. He can taste himself on your tongue even after you’ve swallowed everything.

“Was I good?” You ask when he pulls away from your lips to kiss your cheek and down your neck once again, a pattern that he’s learned always turns you into putty.

“Perfect, my love. You are perfect for me.”

You are surprised at how fast he gets hard again, but you supposed it’s also because you were literally grinding your bare pussy against his dick. Your hands hold onto his shoulders for support as you try to slip his dick past your folds, but you let out a surprised noise when he easily lifts you up and aligns the tip of his cock with your pussy.

“Noticed that you like my arms a lot,” he says and you are obliged to stare at his forearms and good lord—the way they flex as they hold you above his cock, Nanami lets out an amused chuckle when he sees a string of arousal drip directly on top of his cock. “You do like them, huh?”

“Baby,” you whimper and Kento cannot find it in him to tease you any longer. He gently drops you down on his cock and he immediately gets to work. His hand rests on the small of your back and pushes you towards him to press your chest flush against his, his hands then grip your ass cheeks and he starts to slam you up and down on his cock with so much ease.

You sound like a mess. The combination of your boyfriend’s strong arms and the tip of his thick cock abusing your spot turns you into a blabbering mess on top of him.

“So good, so good—fuck, oh fuck,” sounded like music to his ears. Your whines your moans, your fucked out look and your eyes begging him to ruin you—Nanami was addicted to every part of you.

And it only takes a few more messy and sloppy thrusts from him and you cum around him with a loud cry.

“There you go,” he says breathlessly, feeling his own orgasm creeping up on him. “Make a mess on me, baby,”

You shake like a leaf on top of him, hands gripping onto his shirt for dear life and lips pressed against his neck.

“Think you can take a bit more for me? I’m really close, darling,”

“Hurry up,” you say desperately and as promised, Kento thrusts a few more times before he is cumming inside you with a loud groan. He buries his face in your neck, taking in your scent that has now been mixed with his own and a hint of sweat. He relaxes in your hold, hand tracing the small of your back as a way to get you to come down from your orgasm and perhaps even apologize for being a bit rough with you earlier.

All of his worries are brushed off when you pull away from him to press a kiss to his forehead, his nose then down to lips.

“I love you, Ken. I love you too much,” you announce, a hint of sleepiness to your voice and a smile finds its way to his face.

“I love you too, darling. I love you too much.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[yameoto]

SUPERNOVA CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

kpop idol caitlyn X her insatiably horny junior

"Noona is so cool!"  You mimic, voice pitching either higher or lower, depending on which of the plethora of comments you pick, at your leisure. "Caitlyn’s a CF goddess. Her talents are seriously wasted. Wah, her visuals are really otherworldly. Unnie looks so good I’m creaming my pants—" Caitlyn fixes you with a flat, unimpressed look, at that last one. “It doesn't say that.” You grin, like the effervescent angel you are. “Yeah. That was just me.”

tw; dom/sub!caitlyn, brat!reader, idolverse, girlcock, semi-public sex, sex in dance practice rooms, mirror sex, handjobs, handjobs during vlives, voyeurism, mild age-gap, age hierarchy dynamics, use of korean honorifics. idol!caitlyn x idol!reader wc; 5.1k. ao3

notes: set in modern day runeterra. ionia encompasses the entire region of asia in league which i personally find stupid but i dont make the rules. fluff/smut/humour. derivative of korean culture (kpop idol au) + pokes a lil fun at stan culture. no prior kpop knowledge is needed (though it would likely help) the sex is filthy regardless. wrote this after finding caitlyn is only a 1/4 white like hallelujah jesus

CAITLYN looks stupidly good. Like stupid, stupidly good. Her grey sweatpants are slung low on her hips, waistband of her briefs peeking out. Sweat-slickened abs glare back at you, from the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The outline of her bulge is visible. These are all observations that you latch into like an IV-drip hooked-up to your wrist, in order to stay alive—lest you die from the fatigue. And boredom.

“Please,” You grumble, head slumped on your knee as your arm drops to the floor, phone abandoned Candy Crush side, up. “Please, please, please, can we go home?” 

“No,” Caitlyn huffs, hands on her hips, looking entirely too good as she takes a momentary (and you mean, momentary) break to swig a sip of water, before she hurls herself right back into it, sweaty and stunning.

The two of you have been trapped in the practice rooms for what feels like eternity. Or, more accurately, Caitlyn has trapped you in the practice rooms for what feels like eternity. You would rather be snuggled up and content in the comfort of your dorms; rather than slogging away in the basement, like you’re still trainees clawing your way up the company ladder inch by inch—rather than the four-time daesang winners, face of Ionia’s girl-groups’, and other innumerable accolades under your belts that seemingly mean nothing to your fearless group leader. At least, at the moment.

You’ve long slunk to the floor, sleepy eyes tracing the way sweat rolls down Caitlyn’s nape as she re-runs the movements for about the zillionth time. Her shoulder-blades flex through the thin fabric of her shirt, sweat dampening into a darkened pool in a way that should be gross, but on her, it just looks sexy. The ache in your muscles has simmered to a low burn, by now. Jeez, your eyelids are slipping. Thank God you have your sweet leader to ogle. The sight of Caitlyn’s bulge peeking through those sweatpants is practically your sole motivator in keeping your eyes open.

“You know,” After what feels like a decade, you pipe up again, because time has begun to melds together. “You’ve got it. Seriously.” The swig of water that sluices down your throat is lukewarm and unsatisfactory. Fuck, you’re thirsty. “The stage is a week away. You’ll be fine.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow at you through the mirror, incredulous.

“When in the world has fine ever been good enough?” 

Okay, sure. Caitlyn’s right. But she’s more than fine. Almost-perfect, actually—and come seven days—her dance moves will indubitably be heaven-sent and her ending fairy will probably trend #1 on three different social media platforms, and you will most definitely tug her ear endlessly about it, like the benevolent, supportive junior you are.

Seven days prior, however—and all you are is tired, grouchy, and maybe just a little bit horny. 

“I crave the sanctity of my blankets.” You lament, hand falling over your forehead as you languish on the floor, because the sun has probably set by now and you are seriously contemplating the possibility of dying of old age in this godforsaken practice room. (Not that that would be so bad, if Caitlyn were with you).

“You can go home, you know,” Caitlyn sighs, twisting around to face you, sneakers squeaking on the glossy wooden floors. 

“How am I supposed to sleep without my favourite member as a bolster?”  You pout, snatching on the chance to act a brat, immediately. Caitlyn just rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch upwards, so negligible that if you weren't so tuned in to all-things-Caitlyn, you might’ve missed it.

“Clingy.” She mutters, like she doesn't love it. Loves being your favourite. Not that it matters, because the glimmer of hope that flickers in your chest when Caitlyn crouches down in the direction of her bag—is immediately quashed when she only taps her screen, and the speaker rewinds all the way to the start. 

You’re really starting to hate this song.

“Are you serious? That’s not enough to rouse your cold, dead, heart?” You whine, because usually Caitlyn would've caved to your grabby-hands and doe-eyes by now (especially with the way you look; lips parted and shining with spit, water trickling down your chin down the column of your throat, from the leftover rivulets of your water-bottle.) Not that Caitlyn doesn't notice. She’s just really, really determined to get this right.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“You work yourself too hard.”

You stretch to a stand, elongated and cat-like before you slink over and sling yourself dramatically along Caitlyn’s back. Her expression contorts into exasperation. She attempts to turn her head, to face you—to no avail. Not when you’re pushing her up against the mirror and the pinning her down against glass with the power of aggressive spooning on your side. Her hand shoots out to brace against the mirror, as your fingers hook the hem of her sweats, and Caitlyn stiffens under your thumb, lips falling open against her will.

“Darling,” She inhales, in that addictive, throaty accent of hers. Caitlyn sounds almost pained, as she catches your wrists—though she neither takes them in or wrests them away. The both of you have full view of the rising tent in her groin.

“What?” You smirk, teeth grazing the shell of her ear, like the sneaky little bastard you are. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to practice with a boner, unnie. That must hurt.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitches, and her knees almost buckle, if it weren’t for the way your arms tighten around your waist and squeeze the growing problem at her crotch. Your fingers twine with the string of her trackpants, loosening them under slim, deft fingers.

“Honorifics? Really?” Her voice is tight. She’s screwed. You only ever whip those out when you want something, seeing as how you've been speaking informally to your technical senior  since your very first meeting, in trainee days, (an accident she so loves to recount on variety shows. “It’s not my fault you just looked so young and pretty, unnie.” You’d fumble in defense, eyes wide and doling out the extra sparkle for the cameras as they zoomed-in on your frantic apologies, laugh track sure to be edited in. “What was I supposed to think?”

“You’re lucky I was too kind to scold you,” Caitlyn sighs, and—in a dramatic show of theatricality—flips the inky-blue curtains of her hair behind her shoulder, much to the hosts delight. “I can be really mean, baby.” 

That had been a hit. Probably because of the way her drawl had lilted playfully and she’d cupped your jaw in the most egregious display of fan service you’d ever seen. Caitlyn’s always known how to wrap the media around her pretty fingers; and your stammer and ensuing blush had mercilessly crowded your feed for at least two weeks, afterwards.)

That’s in public, though. In private? 

Caitlyn is a puddle to the graze of your fingers along her hipbone, and the glide of your breath up her neck. Dark eyes meet hers, hooded and intent, reflected in the pane of metal in front of you. It’s certainly a sight to behold. The two of you are both dripping in sweat, Caitlyn’s cheeks flushed, bare-faced and glowing—hair tangled up in that loose ponytail that you've always found so much hotter on her, than any amount of hours in the styling chair could ever produce.

“I really need to..” Caitlyn’s protests sound weak even to her own ears. Especially when heat pools in hot, throbbing waves that rush straight to her dick, and she's cut off by her own gasp when you nuzzle in the nook between her shoulder-blades and your hands—beautiful, cunning hands—ghost over her crotch and squeeze. Her entire world lurches into a haze, body spasming upwards.

“Unnie,” You breathe, sweet and soft, like the devil in her ear, “please fuck me.”

Just like that, Caitlyn can’t take it any longer. A low, strangled noise rips from her throat, eyes fogging over and black eclipsing blue. Lithe hands coil around your wrists, and flips your positions entirely—thrusting you right up against the glass.

Her muscles are throbbing, hours of dance practice flaming up her bones; but she pins you down with the strength of a woman possessed, all the same. As far as Caitlyn’s concerned, she’s like a sleeper agent to your bedroom voice, and the fact could never shine with more clarity, than now (other than the time you’d done a Lola Shark impression in an interview and she’d gotten, to her horror, embarrassingly hard underneath the blanket thrown over her lap. She’d had to call in a bathroom break, to take care of it—much to your smug, haunting amusement).

In the mirror, you watch as Caitlyn’s breathing shallows into pants, tongue licking hot up the stretch of your neck to under your jaw. Neither of you miss the brief, smugly satisfied spark to your eyes and glowing hot between your thighs, even as both squeeze shut when you arch up against Caitlyn’s bulge. She grinds down against your ass, and you moan, so brazen she almost can’t believe it.

“Shit. You're so shameless,” Caitlyn mutters, breaths rushing harsh against your shoulder as she fumbles with the knot at your sweats, rutting hopelessly into the coil of your figure. The moment thread slips free, pants pooling to your ankles as you bend over, head thrown back—Caitlyn’s brand-name briefs soak with a splurge of pre so intense she almost thinks she’s come early.

“You want my fingers?” Caitlyn asks, just to be a bitch. Your eyes squint open to glare at her through blurry vision and through an even blurrier visage.

“Don’t joke,” You spit, voice hoarse with want. It's meant to sound demanding, but all it comes out is whiney, and Caitlyn’s laugh sends shivers down your nape.

There’s a millisecond in which your mind empties completely, and it's almost cruel how you can only see the reflection of Caitlyn’s cock curving upwards from her underwear rather than the real deal. 

Caitlyn’s grasp is like steel around your neck. She thrusts you forwards, your flushed cheeks smushing against the cool surface of the mirror as your stuttered breaths puff in grey clouds of condensation. A groan wrangles itself out of your throat from being manhandled like that, knees wobbling the moment you feel something hot, thick and so, so wet press insistently against the backs of your thighs. Arousal has already begun to drip down your legs, running down in rivulets and moistening the floor under your feet. Yours or Caitlyn’s—you don’t have the eyes to know.

“Unnie,” You breathe, shakily, voice raw. Your fingers are slippery against glass, and you whimper when the familiar stretch of two fingers sinks into your cunt. You slide open, just like that, and Caitlyn temporarily wrenches you back so that you can see your fogged-up reflection in all its full, filthy glory. 

“S’not enough,” You pant, back arching and ramming urgently against her digits she’s spreading you wide, with—so eye-wateringly slow. Maybe it’s the fact that you've been working yourself up, blatantly eyeing her down, for hours since your head checked out of training and your brain devolved into its most primitive urges in coping with your mind-numbing boredom. 

“Not enough?” She grins, sharp-toothed and devastating, adoring the upper-hand. “What? You need a third finger, baby?” The noise that tears out of you is almost like a wounded animal, and you'd be embarrassed if you weren't so overcome with need and prolonging this teasing sounds like torture.

So, you answer with the obvious, “Your cock.” You hiss through gritted teeth, because Caitlyn loves it when you beg for her dick and you’re too hare-brained and empty to do anything more than push back, impossibly deeper into her fingers. They sink to her knuckles of entirely your own volition, without her having to do so much as twitch. 

Caitlyn’s laugh is practically a goad in itself. The lush curtain of her lashes are lowered, irises swallowed up by the deep dilation of her pupils. Still, though, she takes her time in playing with you, just a little longer. Revels in the way you thrash around her fingers, fucking yourself back, desperate.

Herself is one thing. Her dick can only take so much, however. The ache becomes too much, too soon, and the second she runs her glossy head against the drenched, hot pulse of your hole—she can’t not shudder, knot in her throat, before her fingers slip out of your pussy and your consequent whimper is interrupted by the plunge of her cock.

“Hah, baby..” Caitlyn whimpers, eyes fluttering back as she fucks you against the mirror, nails dragging up your hips and digging into supple flesh. Never has Caitlyn felt so at home, submerged in the deep, velvet ocean of your cunt.

“Unnie—” You gasp. It’s the one word, echoing over and over, like an all-consuming siren song throughout your head—with each gasp that comes with every thrust of Caitlyn’s hips, motions growing sloppier as the exhaustion of hours of tireless exertion catches up to the both of you. She nips at your ear, then down the curve of your nape, to the unblemished skin of your upper back. Teeth grazing, pads of her fingers leaving scorching trails as she gropes up your body—your mind a jumbled, fuzzy mess. Her cock plunges in and out, still guided, though she never slips out more than mid-way; bodies sticking together like gum. Like she can’t bear to be apart from you for even a moment—even if it is to pummel your cunt until you can hardly take it anymore.

It’s only when the pumps and rolls begin to slow into simple, gentle rocks, to absolutely nothing but a twitch—that your mind clumsily clasps onto a semblance of clarity, hasty and brief, like you know it’ll slip away and out of reach, soon. “Wha..?” You rasp, half-slurred, even if what you really want to whinge is; What’s goin’ on? Why’d you stop? And, please, please, please. Don’t stop. Keep goin’. Fill me up. Please, don’t ever stop— and other half-baked nonsense that you’ll be glad your tongue was too thick and heavy in your mouth to spill.

“I can’t mark you,” Caitlyn grunts, and your eyes sharpen, just a little. Her tongue peeks out from her lips as her expression looks disproportionately distraught, like it’ll be the end of the world if she doesn’t stake some sort of physical claim on you, eyes darting downwards to your unblemished shoulders with a low growl of frustration.

Distantly, that part of you is still clinging onto reality, knows she’s right. That your comeback is in a week’s time and risking a hickey or a bite-mark or worse (because Caitlyn is stronger and sharper and rougher than her delicate figure should ever have been allowed to be), is a bad, bad idea.

But the larger part of you—the part of you that is currently being railed by her unnie’s cock and trying desperately not to squirt cum all over the practice room mirror—rasps out a reckless, ragged, “Who cares?”, and that’s all the permission Caitlyn needs.

Caitlyn pulls out, and slams herself in again, grip on your waist, bruising. Your hands go sliding, uselessly against the steamy surface of the mirror, long fogged-up under the slick tangle of your bodies. She’s mouthing slurred nonsense into your ear, the music speaker knocked over by one of your ankles and emitting distant sounds from where it's rolled, to the other side of the room. Neither of you could give a single fuck. 

Not the least, when Caitlyn’s hand is sliding up your throat and thumbing over your gaping lips. It feels as if a pink-hued fuzziness has descended the room and become a thick veil over everything, and when her fingers slip into the hot, wet gasp of your mouth—it's only right for you to take the digits in your tongue and suck. 

“Ahnngh—Cait—”  

“When did I say you could speak informally to me?” Caitlyn husks, fingers pressing deeper into the roof of your mouth. In your reflection, you can see the razor angle of Caitlyn’s jaw as she nuzzles into your ear. The obscene glisten of your spit, coating her fingers and coasting down your chin as her digits languish between your parted lips. You look every bit like her precious fuckdoll, right now.

“Unnie—”

“Ah-ah.”

“Sunbae.” 

“Mm. That’s better.”

Her free hand skims up your shirt, slipping up the taut lines of your body and flicking idly at one nipple. You whine, garbled around the gag of her hand, and Caitlyn lets out a moan of content when your pussy tightens around her shaft.

“Fuck,” She pants, teeth sinking down into your shoulder and you buck, even though the pain barely registers with how Caitlyn barrels her cock in you, deeper, and your eyes roll back into your skull. Your thighs are shaking. “M’gonna—hfgh—” 

Her hips draw upwards, and Caitlyn cums like a faucet. All of it, inside you. Outside of you. Dripping from your still-leaking cunt and droplets getting fucked out with each, desperate thrust as she moans, guttural. “Take it—fuck—” Caitlyn groans, harsh and insistent as she pounds, your pussy squelching—so wonderfully wet—as your fingers scramble against the glass, her fingers cramming deep inside your mouth.

“Ah-ah—fuck!”

The two of you go crashing down, sliding down against the mirror and onto the floor with a twinning, indecipherable slew of obscenities, a boneless, panting heap, still moving in tandem. 

You both slump, slippery and sticky. The song on the speakers re-starts, yet again, from the other side of the room, though it's the first time it's even pierced your ears in the past forty minutes. Caitlyn groans, pushing her nose into the crook of your neck, arms tightening around your waist. The mirror is splattered in both your cum.

“We’re gonna have to clean this up, aren’t we?”

“..Probably.” You sigh, still leaking around her cock as you angle your head, the two of you slotting together like missing puzzle pieces.

Twenty-four hours and countless Kleenex wipes later (and really, cleaning your own cum from floor-to-ceiling mirrors—with two half-guilty reflections staring right back at you—is an uniquely humbling experience); it was totally worth it to see Caitlyn appropriately red, after the crash of post-nut clarity.

It’s your one, blissfully empty day before comeback promotions launch you all into full-throttle. You intend to enjoy it while it lasts. 

“Your latest Lotte CF went viral,” You pop behind her, totally innocously if weren’t for that familiar, impish glint in your eyes. Caitlyn sighs, not even glancing up from the stove, completely nonplussed. Probably because Caitlyn could record herself taking a piss and it would chart #1 on Melon.

“The seonjiguk is simmering.” She ignores you. You ignore her right back.

“Look at those dimples,” You beam like a little shit as you wave the video in her face. “Maybe you should go into acting. The GP would go crazy.”

“No thanks,” Caitlyn snorts, hand lifting upwards to stifle a brief yawn, sleeves coming up all the way to her knuckles. “been there, done that.” 

“Oh, right. All your Piltovian film connections.” You hum, idly tracing the underneath of Caitlyn’s elbow as you lean over her shoulder to watch her cook. She’s markably improved from her humble beginnings of blackened, bubbling slag (what was once instant Buldak), or the scotchmarks that still hail the kitchen tiles, to this day.

“Mhm. I was almost poached. My mother wanted me to—what was that? Follow in her footsteps.”

“Well, I’m grateful that you didn't,” You hum, into her shoulder. You poke her side, grinning. “Then you wouldn't have met me, and wouldn't that be tragic?”

Caitlyn scoffs, but you feel her sink a little deeper into your embrace, eyes flitting to settle onto the top of your head, as you nudge into her. You both, really are grateful.

You’re pretty sure Ionia is grateful, too. 

Whatever the day, it always feels like Caitlyn’s name has taken up a permanent residence in the nation’s newsites. ICE PRINCESS. AI VISUALS. ATTITUDE PROBLEM. Her quarter Piltovian and subsequent accent injects an ‘attractive exoticism’ (or whatever management had stapled to your files, at the dawn of debut), that had made Caitlyn internationally explosive, too. 

The Kiramman surname certainly helped. Caitlyn’s debut was like, the biggest plot-twist in nepotism, ever. It was like if Nicole Kidman’s kid suddenly became Hatsune Miku. Not to mention the fact the Kirammans are the largest benefactor of Hextech, whose global rollout of leading-edge tech has gone unmatched. Of all careers for the Kiramman’s mysterious, devastatingly attractive daughter to take—this is the one that took the entire globe off-guard. Including the great and glamorous, Cassandra Kiramman.

Of course, the initial shock long lapsed underwater, with the constant roil of the media waves. Caitlyn’s fame, however, has not.

“Noona is so cool!”  You mimic, voice pitching either higher or lower, depending on which of the plethora of comments you pick, at your leisure. “Caitlyn’s a CF goddess. Ah, her talents are seriously wasted. Is she an angel? Her visuals are really otherworldly—”

“Get that away from me.” Caitlyn swats your phone away with a scowl, pretty pink flush glowing on her features.

“Don’t act all coy,” You prod her so-highly-lauded cheekbones as Caitlyn huffs in annoyance, though begrudgingly leans against the touch anyways. You squish. “We all know you’re preening inside.”

“I am not!”

“Ooh, sexy. I love it when your accent comes out like that.”

Caitlyn groans, because you’re impossible, and just twists so that she’s facing you, back against the kitchen counter. You reach behind her to switch off the stove.

She hooks her fingers into the hem of your pyjama shorts, thumbing over familiar cotton. She sighs outwardly, propping her head up on your shoulder and slumping forwards to rest the cold press of her nose into the crook of your shoulder. Her fingers skim up your shirt, absently rubbing circles into the plane of your stomach.

“You know I hate it when you read those.”

“About how you look like an eepy bunny when you’re sleepy? Or that you have moles in the shape of a giraffe on your nape.” You arch a brow, looking past her as you flick through the blurs of text in various degrees of capitalisation, on your phone. A subtle smirk lifts your lips. “Hey. Is that true? Let me check.”

She scowls, and then almost looks offended that you don’t know that already (You do. Caitlyn also has a darkened, heart-shaped birthmark indented in the crook of her inner thigh—but that’s just for you to know, thank you very much).

Your voice raises a pitch. “Unnie looks so good I’m creaming my pants!”

Caitlyn fixes you with a flat, unimpressed look. “It doesn't say that.”

You grin, like the effervescent angel you are. “Yeah. That was just me.”

Oh, now Caitlyn’s cheeks go red. You push valiantly past the triumphant flutter in your heart, in favour of continuing your teasing. Hey—there’s no schedule today, the dorms are all to yourselves—and you’re on a roll. 

“Look. They wanna steal your eyes and put them in a boba drink.”

Thoroughly fed-up with your antics, Caitlyn snatches the phone out of your hand, and you immediately squirm, to lunging for it. Caitlyn’s ridiculous height advantage has the one-up on you, though, and you puff out an aggrieved yelp of protest when she dangles it above your head, like a dickhead.

“Hey, what the fuck?” You complain, like your comeuppance wasn't exactly what you were hoping for. Except you were more aiming for a pin-you-against-the-fridge, fuck-the-insides-out-of-you type of comeuppance. Not a sordid reminder that you need a stool to reach the top of Caitlyn’s head. “Don’t lord your freakish Frankenstein genetics over me!”

Caitlyn laughs, eyes flickering down. “Are you on your tip-toes right now?” 

Your eyes narrow, because you do not appreciate having the tables turned on you. Your hand shoots up to cup her jaw, tilting it upwards. Caitlyn softens, putty in your hands, adorable furrow in her brow melting away along with her pride as she sinks into your palm with a soft sigh, arm falling to her side.

There we go.

“It’s not my fault you avoid socials like the plague. I’m just doing my duty to take care of my leader’s PR. Your fans are starving.”

Caitlyn grumbles, “Well, let them starve.” though it comes out pinched between smushed lips, cheeks squishing like a dumpling. So heartless, like she’s not the industry’s princess and probably makes up a total of 50% of the company’s annual income. You know exactly why, as you cradle her face in her palms and watch as she leans upwards because no matter how disgruntled Caitlyn acts, or how shockingly humble she is under that front of aloof, arrogance–she definitely preens under attention.

Just. Only yours. 

“Hey, you know what? We should go live right now.”

“What—?” Caitlyn stammers, flabbergasted by the sudden change in direction, “Don’t—“

Too late. Within seconds, you’ve swiped your phone back from her limp hands and flipped the vlive on. Recording. Like, now. Damn, you're speedy. 

“Ah..” Caitlyn’s expression smooths over to that charming, impeccably gorgeous grin of hers that shows off the sharp curves of her cheekbones and has won her the hearts of a nation. 

You pull her to the couch, and under the scrutiny of the camera—Caitlyn acquises with little more than a subtle elbow to your ribs, when the both of you go thudding into the cushions with a low oomph.

Then, you flop against her chest, and the stream of hearts that ensue are absolutely incredible, comments rolling in faster than you can read them. There’s a reason why the two of you are the most popular pairing in the group.

“Hm. Is it on?” You muse, faux confusion tugging on your pretty features. Knitted brows and a plush little pout always do the job, especially when you add a sneak of tongue. No doubt to be screenshotted and re-uploaded countless times, within the next hour. “Hello? Can you guys hear us?”

Which is, you know, the perfect time to grab Caitlyn’s dick through her pants.

A choked noise resounds beside you, and you don’t glance over, for you’re too busy fiddling with the phone and the settings and all other kinds of bullshit that is really just an excuse for you to focus your attention on snaking a hand down Caitlyn’s waistband, just out of view of the camera. “Oh! It’s working. Did you miss us?” You beam, as Caitlyn struggles not to either sock you in the stomach or throw her head back and moan.

If anybody notices Caitlyn’s pupils are suspiciously blown, it doesn’t come up. What does come up, is her ever traitorous cock that lilts immediately into your touch. Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

“Aw, little Caity’s missed me, too,” You croon, as your sneaky fucking fingers stroke idly along her girth, underneath the veil of her sweatpants and just over the thin fabric of her underwear. Caitlyn visibly bristles, because, 1. You’re jacking her off. 2. She hates that your coo instigates a flood of love-bombing so intense, that the hearts on the screen almost completely obscure the both of you. 3, and the most important one; you just gave her dick a nickname! 

“Cait.” You tease out, eyes glittering, not even bothering to conceal your amusement as Caitlyn’s hips buck upwards, her fingers pinching against your sides, lips completely shut mum, for fear she’ll let slip a moan on camera. “C’mon. Say something. You missed them too, right?”

Gods. Caitlyn hates you. She really, really hates you. Just—not enough to not shove your hand away when it starts to peel away the waistband of her underwear. If only because the feeling of precum soaking its seat, sticking to her skin, and not because she’s itching for the sweet relief of your hand around her cock.

“..Hi,” Caitlyn forces her winning, boxy grin, and the years of practice make it an admirably unstrained effort. Maybe she really should go into acting. “Mm. Long time no see, hm?” 

“Unnie’s being awkward, today.” You snark, all sly, and Caitlyn shoots you a glare. She’s rewarded by the sudden, fervent warmth of your hand wrapping around her dick, and then the harsh tug of your fist that has her knees jerking upwards and her dastard slit spurting out a shiny, hot glob of precum. She swallows back a low, strangled whine, like a dry pill. Oh, Gods. She’s supposed to say something.

“Ah, just..—we’ve—ah—”

In a rare show of mercy (because apparently, you’re not out to throw both your careers to the dogs), you swipe the phone back with the most cherubic, triumphant grin to adorn your face, literally ever. Catilyn lets slip a barely-audible hiss as your fingers coil, just a little tighter, stroking up and down—thumb running back over the swollen, gloatingly shiny cockhead.

“We just had a long time in the practice rooms for our comeback, yeah? So we’re pretty tired. Right, unnie?” 

Oh, you're really pushing it, now. 

“Mm. We’ve been—working. Really hard.” She has to lean out of the screen to release a silent, desperate gasp, nails digging into the back of the couch as she tries to rut up into your hand in a way that doesn't obviously send the sofa, trembling. You idly thumb over her slit, smearing the thick, embarrassingly copious amounts of pre down her length. It twitches in your palm, as you ramble on about schedules and the comeback and spoilers and other things that have long become white noise in Caitlyn’s ears. Her hips chase your touch, brazenly, now. She barely even realises when you’re calling it quits; early, too. Because obviously, this was all just to fuck with her.

“Caitlyn,” You sing-song—smirking (supremely unsubtly), at the camera. “Say bye-bye.”

She only just registers the comment. Barely. “Bye.” Caitlyn’s voice is a low croak, hips arching upwards off the couch just as you end the live. Just in time, too, because—

“Oh, fuck.” Caitlyn releases the longest moan of her life, cum spilling over your fist, and she collapses back into the couch. Your phone falls from your hand, and you’re practically shaking with laughter. 

(“Little Caitey,” Caitlyn grumbles, after the fact, with your head nestled between her thighs in apology, “That’s preposterous. What’s so little about her?” Nothing. But there’s no fun in that, is there? At the slow, sly smile spreading on your face, Caitlyn groans. “What?”

“You referred to her in third-person.”

“..Please just suck me off already.”)

[solxamber]

Waaaah Cuteness aggression was so cool! Could you make a part 2 with Malleus, Rook, Lilia and Jamil? Thos Boys deserve all the love there is and I think the scenario would be funny. xD

Hope ur well and drink some water 💕

Cuteness Agression with: Malleus, Rook, Lilia, Jamil, Riddle, Leona

Part 1 with: Idia, Cater, Octatrio

a/n: requests are closed but the concept was so cute that i can't control myself lmao and added Riddle and Leona cause i'm down bad. and thank you and i will <3

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia was intimidating to most people. To you, however, he was simply too cute for his own good.

His regal demeanor, the way his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, the slight tilt of his head when he was curious—it all triggered an overwhelming, uncontrollable urge to smother him in affection. Of course, being in a relationship with the crown prince of Briar Valley came with expectations. Decorum. Restraint.

You ignored all of that entirely.

The first time it happened, you’d been walking together through the gardens late at night. Malleus was pointing out constellations, his voice low and melodic, when he glanced at you, his lips curling into a soft smile.

“Do you not find the stars enchanting?” he asked, his tone gentle.

It wasn’t the stars that enchanted you, though. It was him—his sharp features softened by the glow of fireflies, his kind, unguarded expression.

“Uh-huh, yeah, stars,” you said distractedly, before grabbing his wrist. “Malleus, come here.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“Yeah. You’re too cute.”

Before he could protest, you dragged him off the path and into the shade of a tree.

“What are you—”

“You’ll understand,” you muttered, cupping his face and smothering him in kisses.

His breath hitched at first, his body stiffening, but he quickly melted into the affection. “Child of man, I—”

“Kisses now. Talking later,” you said, planting another kiss on the tip of his nose.

When you finally pulled away, Malleus looked utterly dazed. His cheeks were faintly flushed, his pupils blown wide, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

“…You are quite... spirited,” he managed after a moment. “I was unaware my presence inspired such... fervor.”

“Fervor? I call it love,” you said with a grin, pressing one last kiss to his jaw.

Malleus chuckled, the sound warm and low. “If this is your way of expressing love, I find it most agreeable.”

It became a regular occurrence after that. Anytime Malleus did something you found unbearably endearing—which was often—you’d whisk him away for a smothering session.

When he brought you a bouquet of perfectly arranged roses with a rare flower from Briar Valley nestled in the center? You kissed him until he forgot how to form words.

When he tilted his head in that adorable, inquisitive way, asking, “Why does Sebek insist on shouting so often?” You had to physically restrain yourself from dragging him into the nearest alcove right then and there.

Even when he was just being his usual princely self, you couldn’t help it. The way he carried himself with quiet dignity, his cloak billowing behind him like something out of a fairy tale—it all made your heart practically explode.

One particularly memorable moment occurred in the middle of a ceremony. Malleus, dressed in his ceremonial robes, stood tall and composed, his expression serene. But then, he caught your eye from across the room and gave you the tiniest smile.

That was it. Your brain short-circuited.

You grabbed his hand the moment the ceremony ended. “Malleus. Now.”

“Is something urgent?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes. You’re too cute and I’m about to lose my mind,” you whispered, dragging him behind a pillar.

“Child of man, we are still in public—”

“Shh,” you said, cupping his face and peppering kisses all over it.

Malleus froze for a moment before sighing, his hands settling on your waist. “You are relentless,” he murmured, though his tone was fond.

“And you love it,” you replied, grinning against his cheek.

“…That, I cannot deny,” he admitted, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple in return.

Despite his initial confusion, Malleus seemed to delight in your affection.

One evening, as you sat together in the Ramshackle lounge, he watched you with a soft, amused expression. “Do you truly find me so... endearing?”

“You have no idea,” you said, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s criminal.”

Malleus chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Then I shall endeavor to remain... criminally endearing for you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. “You’re too perfect,” you muttered, leaning in to kiss him again.

“And yet, it is I who am fortunate,” Malleus replied softly, holding you close.

If anyone had told you that the fearsome prince of Briar Valley would be so utterly smitten with your relentless affection, you wouldn’t have believed them. But here he was, letting you smother him in kisses without a single complaint.

To Malleus, your love was as enchanting as the stars he so often spoke of. And to you, he was the brightest star of all.

Rook Hunt

Rook Hunt was accustomed to being noticed. Whether it was the way he carried himself with theatrical elegance or the poetic way he spoke, most people couldn’t help but take notice. But you—you were something else entirely.

You didn’t just admire him; you practically vibrated with cuteness aggression every time he flashed that dazzling smile.

The first time it happened, you and Rook were in the woods behind Pomefiore. He’d just finished a long-winded, flowery description of the autumn foliage, his emerald eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, when he turned to you with an expectant smile.

“Mon trésor, do you not find it magnifique?” he asked, gesturing to the fiery canopy above.

You didn’t even look at the trees. “You’re magnifique,” you blurted, already grabbing his wrist.

His brows lifted. “Ah? What is this sudden passion?”

“You’re too cute, Rook. I can’t take it,” you said, pulling him behind a cluster of trees.

“Ah, je suis flatté! But—” His words were cut off as you cupped his face and started pressing kisses all over it.

“Do you have any idea how unfair it is to look this good all the time?” you muttered between kisses.

Rook, to his credit, didn’t resist. Instead, he let out an amused laugh, his hands settling on your shoulders. “Ma chérie, you honor me with such fervent affection. I am truly overwhelmed!”

“Good,” you said, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis.

When you finally pulled away, Rook’s cheeks were flushed, and his grin was impossibly wide. “Quelle passion! You are truly a marvel, mon amour.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you muttered, dragging him back to the trail. “Just stop being so cute, or I’ll do it again.”

“Ah, a most delightful threat!” he said, his laugh echoing through the woods.

It became a regular occurrence. Anytime Rook did something you deemed unbearably charming—which was often—you’d whisk him away for a smothering session.

When he recited impromptu poetry about the way the sunlight danced on your hair? You grabbed his hand and dragged him into an empty classroom.

When he surprised you with a bouquet of hand-picked wildflowers and a heartfelt sonnet? You tackled him onto the nearest bench and kissed him until you were both breathless.

Even when he was just lounging in the Pomefiore lounge, reading a book with his legs crossed in that infuriatingly graceful way, you’d have to physically restrain yourself from interrupting him.

One particularly memorable instance occurred in the Mostro Lounge. You were sitting with Rook and the rest of your friends, enjoying a rare moment of calm, when Rook leaned over to whisper something in your ear.

“You look radiant tonight, mon amour,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

That was it. Your brain short-circuited.

“Rook. Come with me,” you said, grabbing his hand.

“Ah, but our companions—”

“They’ll survive,” you said, dragging him out the door.

When you reached a quiet hallway, you pushed him against the wall and immediately started peppering his face with kisses.

“Mon dieu,” Rook gasped, though his grin was nothing short of delighted. “You are relentless, ma chère!”

“And you love it,” you said, punctuating your words with a kiss to his cheek.

“That is true,” he admitted, his hands resting lightly on your waist. “Your passion is as boundless as the stars themselves.”

Rook, ever the romantic, seemed to thrive on your bouts of affection.

One day, as you sat together on the steps of Ramshackle Dorm, he turned to you with a curious expression. “Tell me, mon amour, what is it about me that inspires such... ferocity?”

You paused, considering his question. “Everything,” you said finally. “The way you talk, the way you smile, the way you somehow make everything look effortlessly elegant. It’s infuriating, Rook.”

He laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. “Ah, to be adored so fiercely—it is a privilege I do not take lightly.”

“You better not,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again.

Rook sighed contentedly, his arms wrapping around you. “Mon trésor, your love is a treasure beyond compare. To be the object of such affection... I am truly blessed.”

If anyone had told you that Rook Hunt—Pomefiore’s poetic, theatrical huntsman—would enjoy being smothered in kisses at every opportunity, you wouldn’t have believed them. But here he was, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as you showered him with affection.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lilia Vanrouge

You always thought you had a pretty good handle on your emotions. Calm, collected, rational—those were the words you’d have used to describe yourself. But then, Lilia Vanrouge entered your life, and with him, your sense of self-control promptly packed its bags and left the building.

How could anyone expect you to act normal when he was that cute?

It started innocently enough. Lilia had been helping you tidy up Ramshackle Dorm one evening. He was humming some cheerful, old-timey tune while he dusted the bookshelves, floating effortlessly in the air as if gravity was just a suggestion.

You were trying to focus on organizing a stack of books, but every time you glanced up and saw his wide, mischievous grin and those bright, playful eyes, your heart would squeeze painfully.

Finally, you snapped.

“Lilia,” you said, your voice a little too tight.

“Yes, my dear?” he replied, flipping upside down mid-air to look at you.

“Come here,” you said, setting the books down with trembling hands.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, curious, but floated down to meet you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the couch. “You’re just too cute, and I can’t take it anymore.”

Lilia blinked, utterly bemused, as you pushed him onto the couch and immediately started peppering his face with kisses.

“My, my!” he laughed, his voice lilting with amusement. “What brought this on?”

“You!” you said, punctuating your words with more kisses. “You’re adorable! How am I supposed to function when you’re like this all the time?”

Lilia laughed again, a sound so warm and joyful that it only made your aggression worse. “You’re quite passionate, aren’t you?” he teased, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.

“You have no idea,” you muttered, before resuming your assault on his cheeks.

From that day on, it became a regular occurrence.

Any time Lilia did something you deemed unbearably adorable—like floating upside down while carrying a tray of tea, or singing one of his nonsensical little songs—you’d drag him away to smother him in kisses.

Lilia, of course, thought it was hilarious.

“Is this what the you'd call ‘cuteness aggression?’” he asked once, as you squished his cheeks between your hands and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Yes,” you said, not pausing in your efforts.

“Fascinating!” he said, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief. “I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” you grumbled. “You’re impossible, Lilia.”

“And yet, you adore me,” he said, grinning cheekily.

You sighed, exasperated but hopelessly smitten. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

One day, you were sitting in the Diasomnia lounge, trying to read a book while Lilia floated lazily around the room. He wasn’t even doing anything particularly remarkable—just flipping through a magazine—but every now and then, he’d let out an amused hum or a soft chuckle, and it would send your heart into overdrive.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lilia,” you said, standing up abruptly.

“Yes, my darling?” he said, peering over the top of his magazine.

“Come here.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile already forming on his lips. “Feeling overwhelmed again?”

“Just shut up and come here,” you said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of the room.

Sebek, who had been studying at the nearby table, sputtered indignantly. “Human! What are you—”

“Later, Sebek,” you said, waving him off.

Once you were alone in the hallway, you wasted no time. Pulling Lilia close, you buried your face in his neck and started pressing kisses along his jawline.

“Goodness,” Lilia said, though his laughter made it clear he wasn’t exactly complaining. “You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?”

“You love it,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his skin.

“That, I do,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around you.

Lilia might have been a centuries-old fae with countless stories and secrets to his name, but in your eyes, he was just your incredibly cute, endlessly lovable partner. And if that meant you had to drag him away for impromptu affection sessions on a regular basis, so be it.

Besides, judging by the way he always laughed and kissed you back, you had a feeling he didn’t mind one bit.

Jamil Viper

It started as a typical day at NRC: chaotic, mildly life-threatening, and somehow made worse by your inability to contain yourself whenever Jamil Viper was within a 10-foot radius.

You’d known for a while that Jamil was attractive—his sharp features, calm demeanor, and the way he moved with quiet precision made it hard to miss. But it was the little things that tipped you over the edge. Like the way his hair swayed when he walked, or how he absentmindedly hummed while chopping vegetables in the kitchen. The final straw? The rare moments when his lips would quirk into a tiny, private smile.

Every time you saw him, the urge to grab him, kiss him senseless, and smother him with affection became overwhelming.

And today was no different.

You were sitting in the lounge at Scarabia, watching Jamil supervise a group of first-years trying (and failing) to prepare a dish. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, an air of quiet authority radiating from him.

But then it happened.

He sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in to salvage the mess. His hair swung over his shoulder, catching the light, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he muttered something about "how hard is it to chop onions properly?"

Your brain short-circuited.

Before you knew it, you were on your feet.

“Jamil,” you said, your voice slightly too loud.

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What is it?”

“Come with me,” you said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the hallway.

“What—hey, wait a second,” he protested, glancing back at the confused first-years. “I’m in the middle of—”

“Later!” you said, dragging him into an empty corridor and shutting the door behind you.

“Do I even want to know what this is about?” he asked, crossing his arms and giving you a skeptical look.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you cupped his face in your hands and started peppering kisses all over his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“Wha—!” Jamil stiffened, his ears turning red. “What are you doing?!”

“You’re too cute, and I can’t handle it!” you declared, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis.

“...Cute?” he repeated, his voice a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

“Yes, cute!” you said, moving to his jawline. “How are you this adorable and this oblivious? It’s not fair!”

“Oblivious?” He frowned, though the pink dusting his cheeks betrayed his flustered state. “I’m not—this is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you countered, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “Ridiculously cute.”

Jamil groaned, though you could tell he wasn’t actually upset. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his hands resting hesitantly on your waist.

“And yet, here you are, letting me smother you with affection,” you teased, pulling back just enough to plant a kiss on his lips.

That finally broke him. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as his arms tightened around you. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he said, though there was a warmth in his voice that made your heart flutter.

“You could start by kissing me back,” you suggested cheekily.

“...Fine,” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile before he leaned down to kiss you properly.

Over time, Jamil got used to your random bursts of affection—well, as much as someone like him could get used to it.

One afternoon, he was studying in the library when you walked in, spotted him, and immediately felt the familiar wave of cuteness aggression wash over you.

“Jamil!” you whispered loudly, earning a warning glare from the librarian.

He looked up from his book, his expression wary. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of his chair.

“Do you have any self-control?” he asked, though he didn’t resist as you dragged him into the nearest empty study room.

“Not when it comes to you,” you admitted, grinning as you pushed him against the wall and started kissing him all over again.

“You’re incorrigible,” he said, though his voice was softer now, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“And you’re perfect,” you replied, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Jamil sighed, but the faint smile on his lips betrayed his true feelings. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, leaning in for another kiss.

And despite his grumbling, you could tell he didn’t mind one bit.

It was a quiet morning in Scarabia, the kind where the golden sunlight filtered through the ornate windows, casting patterns on the tiled floors. Jamil had just finished his early chores and was enjoying a rare moment of peace, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea.

You, however, had other plans.

You had woken up early, groggy but immediately aware that Jamil wasn’t beside you. After a quick search, you found him in the dining room, looking effortlessly handsome as he sipped his tea. His hair was still slightly damp from a morning shower, and the soft lighting only made him more unfairly perfect.

It hit you like a tidal wave: the urge to smother him with affection was too strong to resist.

Jamil glanced up as you approached, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. But the way he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, paired with the serene look on his face, made you snap.

Without a word, you pounced.

“Wha—hey!” Jamil barely had time to set his tea down before you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“You’re too cute!” you declared, pressing kisses to his temple, cheeks, and jawline.

“It’s seven in the morning,” he said, exasperated but not pushing you away. “Can’t you wait until I’ve had at least one full cup of tea?”

“Nope,” you said, smiling against his cheek. “You’re cuter than tea, and I need my morning dose of Jamil.”

He sighed, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist to steady you.

“And yet, you’re still letting me do this,” you teased, brushing your nose against his before planting a firm kiss on his lips.

“Because if I stop you, you’ll just pout and make it worse,” he said, though his voice was tinged with amusement.

“Exactly,” you said smugly.

Jamil shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, peppering kisses along his jawline.

“Unfortunately for my sanity,” he admitted, finally giving in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yes, I do.”

You beamed, your heart swelling at his rare show of affection. “See? This is why you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“Am I?” he asked dryly, though there was no hiding the warmth in his tone.

“Absolutely,” you said, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “And you’re lucky I like you.”

The words, a playful echo of what he often said to you, made him chuckle softly. “I suppose I am,” he said, his gaze softening as he leaned in to kiss you again.

The moment was perfect—quiet, intimate, and filled with a warmth that lingered long after you finally let him finish his tea.

Leona Kingscholar

It was midday, and Leona had naturally gravitated to his favorite pastime—napping. The way the golden sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a glow on his skin and tousled hair, made him look like a scene out of a painting.

You should’ve left him alone, let him nap in peace.

But no. You weren’t strong enough.

“Leona,” you whispered, crouching beside the couch where he lay sprawled out.

One eye cracked open, his voice a low, lazy rumble. “What d’ya want? Can’t a guy nap in peace?”

“Not when you look this cute,” you said, voice strained as you wrestled with your cuteness aggression.

His eye narrowed suspiciously, but before he could move, you pounced. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you planted a flurry of kisses on his face, starting with his cheek, then his forehead, then the bridge of his nose.

“Oi! Get off, you crazy herbivore!” he protested, but his laughter betrayed his words.

“Not until you stop being so perfect!” you declared, squishing his face between your hands to kiss him properly.

Leona groaned, but he didn’t push you away, even as he tried to keep up the act of annoyance. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, giving him one last peck before finally letting him breathe.

You had spotted him in the dining hall, casually sitting at a table and picking at a plate of meat with that trademark nonchalance. His ears twitched slightly at the sounds around him, and he occasionally flicked his tail, his every movement smooth and effortless.

It was unfair, really.

“Leona!” you called, practically running to him.

He glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What now? Can’t I even eat without you harassing me?”

“Nope,” you replied with a grin. “Not when you look this cute.”

“Don’t start—”

Too late. You grabbed his wrist and tugged him out of the chair, ignoring his grumbling as you dragged him to a quiet corner.

“Are you serious?” he asked, looking half-annoyed and half-amused.

“Dead serious,” you said, cupping his face and peppering him with kisses. His ears flattened slightly as his cheeks flushed, but he still didn’t stop you.

“You’re so embarrassing,” he muttered, though the small smile on his lips betrayed him.

“And you’re adorable,” you shot back, pulling him into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just don’t expect me to say it back.”

Leona had taken you to a quiet spot to watch the stars, a rare moment of tranquility for the two of you. He lay back on the grass, one arm behind his head, as he pointed out constellations with a lazy smirk.

You were trying to focus on the stars, really. But the way his voice rumbled when he spoke, the way his tail lazily swished back and forth, the way his eyes glimmered like jewels under the moonlight—it was too much.

“Leona,” you said softly, turning to look at him.

“Hm?”

“You’re too cute.”

His eyebrow twitched. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope,” you said, sitting up and leaning over him. “I have to kiss you or I’ll explode.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” he teased, but he didn’t move as you leaned down to kiss him.

The first kiss was soft, then the second, then the third. Before you knew it, you were practically smothering him with affection, and Leona was laughing—actually laughing—as he let you do as you pleased.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, his voice warm with amusement.

“And you’re perfect,” you replied, grinning down at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pulling you down to rest against his chest. “Just stay here, you crazy herbivore.”

It was early morning, and Leona was still in bed, sprawled out like a lazy lion as usual. You had come to wake him up, but the sight of him—sleep-tousled hair, slightly grumpy expression, and one arm draped over his eyes—made your heart practically burst.

“Leona,” you said, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Go away,” he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

“Nope,” you said, yanking the blanket off him. “You’re too cute, and I can’t deal with it.”

“Not this again,” he groaned, but before he could stop you, you climbed onto the bed and started kissing him awake.

“Oi! Quit it!” he protested, though his laughter made it clear he wasn’t actually mad.

“Never!” you declared, peppering his face with kisses. “This is what you get for being adorable.”

“You’re insane,” he muttered, though his arms came up to wrap around you.

“And you love it,” you replied, grinning as you kissed the tip of his nose.

Leona sighed, but there was a small smile on his lips as he pulled you closer. “Yeah, I do. Now let me sleep, you menace.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle Rosehearts prided himself on composure, discipline, and always adhering to the rules. He was Heartslabyul's steadfast leader, a paragon of order in a sea of chaos. But there was one thing he had no preparation for—you.

Your habit of getting cuteness aggression whenever you saw him was the one thing Riddle couldn’t figure out how to manage. Every time you dragged him away to smother him in affection, it left him flustered, red-faced, and utterly disarmed.

It started innocently enough that day. You’d been helping with the tea party preparations, setting out the sugar cubes in neat stacks, when Riddle appeared to check the arrangements. As always, he was dressed immaculately, his little crown on his head, and his expression firm as he inspected the table.

That’s when it hit you. The way his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration and how his gloved fingers adjusted a teacup ever so slightly made your heart explode.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Riddle,” you called, voice dangerously sweet.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Yes? Is something—oh!”

Before he could finish, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the maze, ignoring his startled protests.

“W-What are you doing?” he stammered, struggling to keep up as you dragged him down a secluded pathway.

“You’re too cute, and I can’t handle it,” you declared, finding a quiet spot among the roses.

Riddle blinked at you, completely taken aback. “I—What are you talking about? That’s absurd!”

“You’re absurdly adorable,” you corrected, cupping his face in your hands. His cheeks were already dusted with pink, and you knew you were about to make it worse.

“Stop this at once!” he tried to say, but his voice faltered as you peppered kisses all over his face. His cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose—you didn’t leave an inch untouched.

“Hey—” he spluttered, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides as if unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. “Th-This is highly improper! We’re supposed to be preparing for the tea party!”

“We can’t have a tea party if I’m dying from how cute you are,” you countered, pulling back just enough to give him a cheeky grin. “This is life-saving first aid.”

Riddle’s lips parted, clearly about to deliver a stern lecture, but the words never came. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

“Impossible to resist?” you teased, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

His face turned an even deeper shade of red, but this time he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a small, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You’re utterly ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” you said confidently, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I—” Riddle started to protest, but he stopped himself, glancing down at you with a reluctant smile. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

His quiet admission made your heart do somersaults, and you couldn’t help but squeeze him tighter.

Later, when you finally returned to the tea party preparations, Trey gave Riddle a knowing look as he noticed the slight smudge of lipstick on his cheek.

“You look like you’ve been... preoccupied,” Trey said lightly.

Riddle cleared his throat, hastily wiping his cheek with a napkin. “Nonsense! Everything is perfectly under control.”

But as he adjusted his tie and avoided your amused gaze, you could tell he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Riddle was meticulously organizing the Heartslabyul ledger, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sat at his desk in the library. His diligence was admirable, but it was also your doom.

The way his fingers adjusted his pen with precision, his lips pursing in thought, and the faint pink tint on his cheeks from the afternoon sun streaming through the windows—he was just too much.

You didn’t stand a chance.

“Riddle,” you whispered conspiratorially, sneaking up behind him.

“Hmm?” he replied absently, his focus not wavering.

You leaned closer, your lips near his ear. “I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t kiss you right now.”

That got his attention. His hand froze mid-stroke, and he turned to you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

You didn’t give him a chance to argue. Gently grabbing his shoulders, you pulled him into your arms and planted a flurry of kisses on his face. One on his temple, one on his cheek, and a quick peck on his lips for good measure.

“You—” he gasped, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and delight. “This is a library! Have you no sense of decorum?”

“None whatsoever,” you admitted, grinning as you pressed another kiss to his nose. “You’re way too cute when you’re working. It’s unfair.”

Riddle tried to glare at you, but the way his lips twitched upward betrayed him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you said smugly, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed but didn’t push you away. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you.”

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when you wandered into the Heartslabyul common room, groggy and still rubbing sleep from your eyes. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake yet, let alone Riddle, who was already immaculately dressed and sipping tea by the fireplace.

The sight of him, with his perfectly styled hair and composed demeanor, made your heart flip. How could someone look so poised this early in the morning?

“Riddle,” you mumbled, walking up to him in a daze.

He glanced up from his tea, eyebrows raising slightly. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Instead of answering, you plopped yourself onto the couch beside him and buried your face in his shoulder. “You’re too cute. It’s unfair,” you grumbled.

“Is that so?” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You nodded against him, your arms snaking around his waist as you pulled him into a cuddle. “I need compensation for the emotional damage.”

“Emotional damage?” he repeated, chuckling softly. “And what form of compensation do you require?”

“Kisses,” you declared.

He sighed, though there was a fond smile on his lips. “You’re impossible.” But he leaned down anyway, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“See? You do love me,” you teased, snuggling closer.

“More than you’ll ever know,” he admitted softly, his hand coming up to stroke your hair.

One lazy afternoon, you found Riddle tending to the roses in the Heartslabyul garden. He looked so peaceful, carefully snipping away stray thorns and inspecting each bloom with the utmost care.

You stood there for a moment, watching him, before the cuteness aggression hit you like a brick wall. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and there was a soft smile on his lips as he admired his work.

“Riddle!” you called, jogging over to him.

He turned, surprised by your sudden enthusiasm. “Yes? Is something the matter?”

“Yes!” you said, grabbing his hand and dragging him to a secluded corner of the garden. “You’re too cute, and I can’t deal with it!”

“Wha—?!”

Before he could protest, you wrapped your arms around him and began peppering kisses all over his face. His cheeks turned as red as the roses around you, and he looked utterly flustered.

“We’re in public!” he hissed, though he made no real effort to escape your grasp.

“Then stop being so adorable,” you teased, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.

He sighed, clearly torn between exasperation and affection. “You’re so infuriating,” he muttered.

“But you love me,” you replied, grinning.

“I do,” he admitted, his voice soft as he leaned in to kiss you properly. “Far more than I should, considering how insufferable you are.”

“Aw, you’re so romantic,” you teased, squeezing him tightly.

Riddle simply rolled his eyes, though the small smile on his lips said it all.

Masterlist ; Part 1 with Idia, Cater, Octatrio

[rafedarling]

drew dealing with rustyns tantrums yk when toddler go through that phase 🥹

love this 👶🏻 love seeing tantrum baby vs drew dad

𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞

request: open

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: new year’s eve is a night for celebrations, but for drew and you, it’s also a reminder of how challenging bedtime has become with your three-year-old son, rustyn.

warning(s): english is not my native language. toddler tantrums, perenting struggles, firm discipline (not hard or abusive)

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy

(love this gif)

New Year’s Eve always been a fun and filled with laughter, music, and the fairy lights strung around the living room. Rustyn, who had been riding a sugar high from earlier snacks and dancing with his parents, was now sprawled on the rug, building a block tower with Drew.

You glanced at the clock: 8:30 PM. Rustyn’s bedtime. It’s always been Rustyn bedtime since he was 1 and you never had a hard time putting him to bed until now

“Rustyn, baby,” you called gently, leaning forward. “It’s bedtime, sweetie.”

Rustyn didn’t even look up.

Drew tried, his tone still calm but a little firmer.

“Come on, bud. You know what time it is time to go to bed.”

Your son continued stacking blocks as if he hadn’t heard a word.

You sighed, standing and walking over to him.

“Do you want Mama or Dada to put you to bed tonight, honey?”

For a moment, Rustyn paused, considering. Drew added, “Mama’s asking you a question, bud. What’s it gonna be?”

Rustyn finally glanced up and answered with a defiant, “No.”

You glanced at Drew, your face falling slightly. Drew caught your look and immediately stood, scooping Rustyn up from the floor despite his protests.

“That’s not how this works, Rusty. It’s bedtime, no arguments,” Drew said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Rustyn immediately began to whine, squirming in Drew’s arms.

“No! no bedtime!”

Drew carried him to his room as you followed a few steps behind, your stomach already twisting at the familiar wails. The moment Drew closed the door to Rustyn’s room, the real tantrum began.

“No, no, no!” Rustyn screamed, his little fists pounding against Drew’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to sleep! I’m not tired!”

Drew sat down on the edge of Rustyn’s bed, holding him firmly but gently in his lap.

“Rustyn,” he said in a low, steady voice, “stop. I need you to calm down.”

Rustyn wailed louder, his little body trembling with frustration.

“No! wanna play!”

You lingered outside the door, listening as Drew handled the meltdown with his signature combination of patience and authority.

“Rusty,” Drew said again, this time softening his tone, “look at me.”

He gently cupped Rustyn’s face in his hands, guiding his tear-streaked eyes to meet his.

“I know you don’t want this fun night to end. I get it and I don’t want it to end either. But you know the rules. It’s bedtime, and your body needs rest.”

Rustyn sniffled but didn’t respond, still glaring at his dad with watery eyes.

“You’re upset,” Drew continued, “but screaming and hitting isn’t how we solve problems, is it?”

Rustyn shook his head slightly, his resolve beginning to crumble.

“Good,” Drew said, brushing a strand of hair out of Rustyn’s face.

“Now, let’s talk about this. Why don’t you want to go to bed?”

Rustyn hesitated before mumbling, “I want stay with Mama. No alone.”

Drew sighed, his features softening even more.

“You’re not alone, bud. Your room is right next to ours. Mama and I are always close by. But we need time to rest too, so we can keep having fun with you tomorrow.”

Rustyn whimpered, burying his face in Drew’s chest.

“But I’m not sleepy…”

“You’re not sleepy now,” Drew acknowledged, rubbing soothing circles on Rustyn’s back, “but if you stay up, you’ll be so tired tomorrow that you won’t want to play. Is that what you want?”

Rustyn shook his head vigorously.

“Okay, then. How about you lie down, and I’ll stay with you for a few minutes until you feel sleepy. Deal?”

Rustyn considered this before nodding slowly.

Drew glanced at you, standing in the doorway, and motioned for you to join them. You stepped inside, sitting beside Drew on the bed. Rustyn reached for you, and you took his small hand in yours.

“You know,” you said softly, “Mama doesn’t like bedtime fights either. It makes me sad to see you so upset, baby.”

Rustyn’s lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

Your heart melted.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Just try to be a good boy for Dada, okay? He’s only trying to help you.”

Rustyn nodded, leaning against Drew as his eyelids began to droop. Drew laid him down gently, pulling the blankets up around him.

“Goodnight, buddy,” Drew said, pressing a kiss to Rustyn’s forehead.

“Night night, Dada. Night night, Mama,” Rustyn murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

As the two of you stepped out of the room and closed the door, you let out a deep breath.

“See?” Drew said with a small smile. “Easy.”

You gave him a look.

“Easy? He was screaming like we were torturing him five minutes ago!”

Drew chuckled, pulling you into his arms.

“Okay, maybe not easy. But he’s learning. He just needs consistency. And a little tough love.”

“You’re so good with him,” you admitted, resting your head on his chest. “I don’t know how you stay so calm.”

“It’s because I’ve got you,” Drew said, kissing the top of your head.

“We’re a team, and Rustyn’s lucky to have us.”

[slowdivinqs]

Golden

Summary: A Sunday afternoon on your farm with Joel.

WC: 4K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Soft, dorky Joel. We pretend Abby and Joel chatted it out. Joel and JJ moments. Breeding ( ? ) kink. Oral sex f! receiving. PinV. In da farm house we’re in love baby! Joel doing physical labor…yeah. Can imagine Pedro or game Joel. Reader can paint!

A/N: I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you for all the love, kind words and support on Magnetism! You all melt my heart. Thank you! I’m not so happy with the smut in this but whatever :,)

The Sade record crackles before your favorite song on the album begins drifting through the air. The birthday gift Joel gave you last year that made hot tears fall out of your eyes, just like him when you gave him a painting of Sarah and Ellie for his birthday that hangs in his woodworking space. Your birthday last year ended with 8 hours spent in the sheets, passed out by the end of it, Joel with a sore back for a week - yet claims it was worth it.

You look up at him right now, peering outside the large kitchen windows and spotting him pulling out carrots, in a tight shirt and his work jeans, arms flexing at the particularly stubborn ones. Banjo following along and sniffing inside Joel’s wicker basket filled with vegetables, his tail smacking into Joel’s side. Rosie and Posie bleating in the distance, their fuzzy woolen coats glowing in the sun, seeming to also take an interest in watching Joel work, just like you.

You hear Banjo’s excited barks before Joel closes the dog's mouth shut with his hand playfully, shaking Banjo’s head side to side lightly, riling him up. The sun starts to set behind them, past the fence surrounding your ranch, behind the tall Wyoming mountains. Orange, pink, and yellow, exploding in waves. The bees returning to their hives from the flower box in front of the kitchen windows．

You laugh when Banjo manages to knock Joel over lightly, the two tumbling onto the grass. Joel laughs too, holding the border collie back with his forearm as he tries to lick Joel’s face with all his might.

You smile to yourself as you get back to work, just as Sade starts singing about ‘his hands’ and ‘the way the mountains look’. Lost in the haze of measuring out ingredients, 2 and 3 quarter cups flour, a quarter cup of sugar. Feeling the weight of the ingredients slide into the bowl. Just as you see Joel slowly walk towards the chicken coup, Banjo waiting in the grass - knowing he’s not allowed there.

Milk and salt are next, and you drift over to the fridge to grab the milk, your long white skirt, embraced with abstract flowery patterns flows against your bare ankles as your toes feel the comforting wooden floors of your warm farm home that Joel made sure to install after you mindlessly talked about your love for warm wooden accents. Sat a 20-minute walk outside the walls of Jackson, a small distance away from Ellie’s farm, closer to the lush woods atop the hills.

As you settle back by the kitchen counter, lit up by warm - almost honey-colored rays of sunlight, you try to spot Joel amongst the chickens, but he seems to have vanished, Banjo too.

You glance around surprised for a moment, your eyes flitting from the coup to the vegetable patches, to the flower beds he planted for you, the fairy garden that he denies he took part in yet carved all of the little toadstool homes for you, and Ellie to paint, and even to Old Beardy grazing in the distance, yet Joel is nowhere to be found.

You even turn to the back door, yet there’s no sign of your man. How can a big teddy bear like him disappear in less than a minute?

You jump and let out an embarrassing squeak as a sudden flash of salt and pepper pops up right on the other side of the window pane. You clutch a hand over your chest as Joel’s face comes into view, his cheeky smile and scruffy beard. Utterly pleased with himself at his success in startling you.

You glare at him half-heartedly, trying to hide the smile that’s inching up your face.

He reaches into one of the large pockets in his jeans, and your attempt at hiding your smile fails when he pulls out a little yellow chick. He lifts it to your view, the little fluff ball wiggling and chirping, looking tiny in Joel’s large, dirty palms. His smile grows wider and tender as he sees you beam at the sight through the window.

He scratches the chick’s head with one of his fingers before walking back to reunite the yellow baby with its mama.

You laugh to yourself at his antics. At a grown, grizzly man, surprising you with a baby chicken. He’s a dork and doesn’t deny the allegations when they’re thrown his way.

Banjo runs circles around the vegetable garden just as the back door opens, closing softly with a click. Joel’s heavy footfall, accentuated by his boots, sounds behind you, getting softer as he heads to the guest bathroom. The house creaks and groans as the water turns on. You’re back to baking.

“Smells real good.”

He hums, his, now soft, footfall appearing once again as he approaches from behind you, burying his face in your neck and sniffling dramatically, you feel his wet beard and hair drip onto your neck, giving you goosies. He’s splashed his face and washed his hands, probably so he can distract you without your scolding.

“Me or the food, old man?” You ask with a smile, continuing to knead the dough.

“‘Mm, both.” He hums, rubbing his facial hair against your neck like a cat. You suspect he might start purring soon. It’s not unlike him, even though he ignores you when you tell him that he basically purrs while snuggling against your chest as you read whatever novel you two have picked aloud to him in the evenings.

“Cinnamon rolls, bread’s in the often.” You hum, tilting your head to the side so he can keep giving you his beard scratches. He starts nibbling too now. You sway your hips slightly to the music, and the way his hands fall to your hips tells you all you need to know.

“Cinnamon rolls.” He repeats amused, smiling against your skin, nibbling again to make you tut at him, grinning when you do.

“Ellie and Dina are comin’ over later.” You say as you grab the jar of cinnamon on the shelf, leaving Joel to step back and watch.

“They bringin’ JJ?” Joel asks, voice loosing his husky tiredness and instead replaced with a lighter sound.

“Yes baby, they’re bringing JJ.” You say with a soft smile, looking back at him only to find he’s disappeared once more. That man is silent as a mouse usually - a habit you suppose. Although, whenever he walks into the house, he does three stomps of his boots - just to make sure you know it’s him. He may have gone soft, but there are some things time will never strip away entirely. His knack for safety is one of them.

Just as you’re finished adding all the wet ingredients to your dry ones, you hear Joel in the living room lowering a box, a few things spilling out. An obnoxious squeak of a toy - you think it’s banjo’s plastic chicken that Joel hid away after the noise drove Joel so insane he accidentally beheaded a cowboy carving he was working on for a month. You catch Banjo’s head shoot up as if he got a sense that his long-lost soulmate is near. Joel hides the chicken away again quickly.

He’s brought out the small bundle of toys you two own - JJ’s toy box - Joel calls it, even made one of those shape sorters and toy soldiers for the little boy to play with, and asked you to paint them when he was done, as he does most of his carvings.

This is the one thing Joel doesn’t try to hide his excitement about. Whenever he sees JJ, or ‘potato’ as Ellie calls him, they might as well be the only people in the world. You think it’s the sweetest thing, makes you want to beg him to have a potato of your own, your body going into overdrive imagining how he’d look at your child while putting them to sleep, how he’d kiss their forehead softly.

Joel begins to organize the toys, placing the few dinosaurs, soldiers, and stuffed animals in a battle scene. The soldiers are apparently no match for the fluffy bear, as he’s flung them around in defeat.

Never did you think you’d see the day that Joel Miller would organize a battle scene between stuffed animals and wooden soldiers, just to see JJ’s face light up in excitement - like the little boy's face doesn’t already do that when he just sees Joel as the front door opens.

You manage to pull your eyes away and start folding your dough. Smiling to yourself at your sweet sweet man. Your stomach swoops the more you think, kneading the dough mindlessly as you’re painfully reminded how badly you want it. How badly you want him to pump you full, make you swell. You don’t even notice how your eyes have gone hazy, kneading the dough harder and harder until you jump at Joel’s big hands cupping your wrists from behind, pulling them upwards slightly to relax them. His beard tickles the fly always at the back of your neck as he kisses the soft skin there.

“What’s got my lady all worked up, hm?” He murmurs against your neck, kissing down the side and inhaling, almost like he wants to brand himself with you.

“You.” You whisper shakily, squeezing the dough slightly like an anchor. You feel his cheeky, boyish smile against your skin, only for a moment before he replaces that smirk with a nibble.

“Me?” He asked softly, planting his chin over your shoulder to watch as you ‘work’, definitely not to watch the way his calloused hands cup over your tits. The dough between your palms is the only thing keeping you stable right now.

“Yes, you.” It’s a breathy whisper, and although he doesn’t see it - Joel already knows your eyes are drooping when you tip your head back slightly, able to breathe in that perfect scent of him after he’s spent the day working in the sun. The musk that is uniquely Joel, that screams man man man.

“Don’t know what you mean, honey bee.” He hums, his mouth ghosting over your earlobe just as his thumbs circle over where your nipples are unfortunately hidden away from him. He knows exactly what you mean.

“Why don’t you head South and find out then, cowboy?” You tease, expecting a playful slap and pinch of your ass before he wanders off to the shower, but instead, you find his hands, then his whole self sliding down down down until his knees plant themselves on the floor.

“Gonna let me spoil my desert?” He hums, his hands sliding slowly up from your ankles, bringing your skirt with them, until he can see the little cotton-lace panties that are hidden underneath. He bites the soft swell of your right asscheek that the cotton doesn’t cover.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip softly as you arch your back slightly, leaning your weight on the dough, squeezing harder as the soft caress of your thighs leaves you dripping - more so than before.

“You know I’d let you do anything.” You whisper to him, and it’s all he needs before you feel his calloused fingers on your lower back, sinking into your underwear before dragging them down, burying his head under your skirt.

He throws your panties somewhere, with a proper flick of his wrist. You can see them land somewhere in your periphery, the white lace discarded, very Joel-like in the most crude matter possible.

“Joel!-“ you begin to exclaim before his warm tongue parts your slick folds with an obscene sound. Slurping up the wetness he’s found as his calloused hands grip the front of your thighs. Squeezing tightly like it’ll let him get his tongue deeper into your pussy.

You almost want to laugh at what it must look like: his head buried under your long white skirt, like a ghost he probably dressed up as for Halloween. But fortunately for him, you can’t laugh when his mouth has sealed around the hood of your clit, when it’s hot hot hot and wet.

“Oh, Joel-” you moan in a breathless gasp, your head falling back and then forward as his tongue licks the underside of your clit, making you squeeze the poor dough for it’s life.

He groans into your pussy, tongue leaving your clit to lick side to side, sliding down your cunt until it’s breaching your drenched hole. His hands grip your ass-cheeks tightly, eating at you like it’s his last meal.

He pushes two of those thick fingers inside you, instantly curling forward so deliciously you think you might die. You lose your voice, moaning hoarsely as you clench around the intrusion. He starts moving his hand faster, paired with the suckling of his hot mouth on your clit, you’re not going to last much longer.

“Give it t’me baby- let me have it.” He whispers against you, and it’s his words that do it, as well as that final crook of his fingers that hit you right where you need him. You’re cumming with an intensity only he can give you. He slurps up all the wetness he can until you’re whining at him that it's ‘too much, too much’ and he stands. Gripping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before kissing you deeply. Guiding his tongue into your mouth just as he had done your pussy.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, and your chest blooms, blinking up at him as he looks into your eyes with a calm tenderness like you’re exactly what he always dreamed of - like he lay awake at night as a little boy getting giddy at the thought that one day you might be real, and now you are, more importantly: you’re his, and he’s yours.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, kissing him once more before he’s once again lifting your hands from the dough, which now looks positively mixed from your absent-minded squeezing.

“‘M gonna go shower, baby.” He says softly, stepping back from you just as you turn to look at him.

“You’re gonna deny a woman her fun?” You ask with a raise of your eyebrow, looking down as he re-adjusts his jeans. His hands glancing at your ass before smirking at something you don’t see yet.

“You’ll get your fun later, baby.” He says with an amused smile, before he’s turning and heading upstairs. You sigh and look around the kitchen, laughing brightly as you see your panties dangling on the hook by the back door, how he flung them so far, you’ll never know.

There’s a knock at the door at 5pm sharp, and Joel bounds down the stairs before walking to the door, the creak of it sweet before the sounds of ‘hello!’ and ‘how’s it going, old man?’ ring through the house. You move away from the kitchen to great Dina and Ellie as they walk in, JJ already cooing excitedly in Joel’s arms as he hugs Dina, then Ellie from the side. Smiling widely at the little boy.

“Hey Els, Dina.” You say softly as Ellie gives you a tight squeeze, her mullet brushed neatly, most likely done by Dina. The Ellie you know would let her hair stick in every direction like the wild child she is and always will be.

“Smells good.” Ellie says softly, a hand on the small of Dina’s back before she’s walking to the kitchen to inspect what you’ve made. You see Ollie - JJ’s favorite toy elephant that Ellie won in the Jackson Fair at 19 - hanging out of her back pocket. You smile at the similarities between Joel and Ellie, clear that he raised her in subtle ways. The most obvious being her recent taking for boots, jeans and flannels. She goes over to Joel and JJ after that, crouching behind Joel who’s sat on the carpet by his battle scene, giving him a bear hug from behind.

The afternoon is spent chatting away with Dina, Ellie occasionally chiming in, yet all three of you mainly watch Joel and JJ playing on the living room rug. Your home is filled with the delighted laughter of a child. Ellie joins in soon too, taking on the role of the toy dinosaurs which makes JJ shriek with laughter as they attack Joel’s stuffed bear, then Joel himself.

Everything is warm.

You all eat together. Roasted Venison with salad and bread, cinnamon rolls later that JJ tries to devour whole while sitting on Joel’s lap - similarly to Ellie who sneaks an extra two with Joel in the kitchen when they think their respective partners aren’t looking.

They stay in the small cottage outside which Joel made sure was perfect before their arrival. JJ and Dina fast asleep as you, Ellie and Joel find place on the couch watching some cheesy action movie that Ellie picked. Just like old times when she was a young teenager. She still leans against Joel’s shoulder all the same. Both of his girls in his arms as lights flash across the screen. You glance up at his face once, and smile when seeing he looks as happy as can be.

He deserves this, he deserves to be happy. Even if he might not believe it, you do, and you’ll let hell freeze over before you stop trying to make him happy.

Ellie bids you goodnight before going to curl up in bed with Dina and JJ. Similarly to the way Joel follows up the stairs behind you as you make your way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Smirking at the twinkle in his eye you see as you pull out his favorite night dress of yours

You’ve just finished up in the bathroom when you walk back into your shared bedroom. Joel shucking off his shirt, leaving him in his boxers. You admire his broad back in the low light of the bedroom. The shadows dusting along his muscles like rivers.

You float up behind him this time, your nose pressed to the line down his back, hands wrapped around his stomach.

“I want one.” You whisper into the quiet night, and it feels like you’re the only two people in the world. He turns to face you - you rest your chin on his chest and look up at him.

“Want what, darlin’?” He whispers softly, his thumb running over the apple of your cheek as he breaths softly. You can hear his heart beating, in sync with yours.

“A baby.” You whisper, and it’s so silent, so quiet. His eyes glimmer and brighten, his breath bated as he looks down at you.

“You want that with me, sweet girl?” He whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse and thick.

“More than anything.”

He kisses you deeply, his hand burying at the hair on the back of your head. Cupping the bowl of your skull so tenderly you can feel his love for you pulse through your veins. Your arms wrap rest on his broad shoulders.

“Me too, baby. Me too.” He whispers, and emotion wraps around your throat, as you can tell it does his when you see the shine in his sweet eyes.

You fall to the bed together, his boxers discarded as he makes quick work of your night gown. Kissing along your breasts until you’re driven so positively crazy you need him to soothe it with his mouth.

Your hand wraps around his shaft and you gaze into his eyes as they flutter slightly at the sensation of your fingers, his own meet you there, guiding him inside you until you both gasp softly at the sensation. He lets his hips push in all the way moments after. Your walls grip around him, the thick, hot - length of him, pushing its way through you until he fits into the space he’s made for himself within you. The noise of your wetness clenching around his girth as he holds himself over you on his strong forearms is nothing short of one of Joel’s favorite erotic sound.

“I love you, I love you so damn much.” He whispers, his large - paw like hand cupping your skull as he grinds his pelvis against your pulsing clit, listening to the soft shk shk shk as his cock twitches inside you, pushing up against that spot inside you that turns you stupid.

“I love you too.” You whimper, barely able to think past the way your eyes are rolling. He hasn’t even thrusted yet. You don’t catch the way he’s gazing down at you, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like you own every part of his heart and soul, like you might as well be living and breathing within his ribcage : as if you’re the sole thing causing that glow he seems to have.

He starts moving, slow, deep slaps of his hips against yours. Holding you against him as you arch your back slightly, making sure he digs against that spot that drives you wild.

Your fingers dig red lines down his broad back. His head falling forward as he groans so deep and roughly you think you might die from being overly aroused. This man does things to you that you can’t even explain with words, your cries of pleasure seem to communicate it well enough though. Everything is hot and wet and sticky as he whispers into your ear.

“You’re gon’ be such a good mama- fuck darlin’ - take it, yeah-“ he groans into your ear, and your whole body shivers. You clench tighter around him, making him gasp slightly as his hand finds your clit. “Got me achin’ f’you all day baby-“ he whines - whines - into your ear, the soft skin of his balls drags against the curve of your ass, just like his tip dragging through your walls, taking you higher and higher until you can’t even hear the noises you’re making.

He rubs your clit harder, round and round on that pulsing nub until you open your eyes and see his disheveled face. Skin flushed, hair a mess, and his gaze fluttering as he moves his hips against you- his big strong body shining with sweat.

You’re done for.

You dig your heel into the soft flesh of his ass, pulling him closer and locking your legs around him, trapping him deep inside of you.

“Please cum inside me-“ you whimper, gazing into his eyes as he fights with all his might to make sure you cum first, his hand doesn’t let up on your clit, and you clench. “Please let me have it-“

His groan breaks into a soft whine as he drops onto his forearms, face right in front of yours, his nose bumping into your own. You can feel his harsh breaths against your swollen lips.

When you feel him start to fill you up on a slamming thrust, you cum with him, clenching tighter every time you feel one of his thick, sticky ropes shoot inside you while his cock twitches wildly inside you - his moans even sweeter than the sensation.

“Oh god, I love you-“ he whimpers, his moan cracking as you push him impossibly closer with your heel, his hands gripping the sheets next to your head for dear life. He kisses you messily, tiredly as you both lie there - sweaty and catching your breaths.

“I love you.” You whisper back to him, your hand running through his messy hair as you litter kisses along his damp forehead. He nuzzles into you like a big bear still inside you as he softens.

“You need somethin’?” He asks once he’s found his thoughts again, sitting up slightly before you pull him back down with an ‘oof ’.

“Just you.” You whisper back sleepily, your eyes closing shut as you bask in the feeling and love he gives you. You feel a soft kiss to your jaw. His hand splaying over your tummy.

“You got me, baby. Always.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading ! ♡ please lmk if you enjoyed it and reblog if you did ◡̈

[quarterlifekitty]

I just read the baby trapping HC’s… what if it was the reverse? reader baby trapping THEM

I think that depends entirely upon how cleverly you went about it! I’m gonna answer this with the assumption that they match your freak on the matter lmao

cw: dubcon, baby trapping

And as a preamble: it’s literally so easy for you. For any of them. Because quite honestly if they’re hard, and you say you’re on birth control, they’re gonna believe you. And really, most of them probably would’ve just assumed you were if you let them hit it raw. But we’re gonna say you lied about being on the pill for this ask.

Gaz is such a sweet guy. He’s literally just like “I’m happy if you’re happy, love” when you tell him the news. These things happen, and he has no reason not to believe you, right? What does it matter as long as you’re both happy?

Soap has his suspicions about it. But again, it’s not like he was really pressing you for reassurance that it was safe when he came inside you— when he gets like that, the dog in him takes over and there’s no stopping him. And maybe he’s not sure initially, to be honest, but then he thinks about a little bundle that has the same eyes as you, and he just can’t bring himself to be upset. Even if you are a liar.

Ghost, regardless of how he feels on the news, is going to investigate. He can’t help himself. Fucker is nosy. And you would’ve known this! So you’ve got it all set up for him to find. Water glass on your nightstand, the drawer just slightly ajar— not even enough to see inside, but enough to make him curious. He opens, sees the round of pills, and the timing all checks out. All taken right up until recently— when you tested positive. And you’re not careless to leave them in the trash. They were flushed. And from before that— you have drawer in the kitchen where you often shove the stray contents of your handbag. And there are receipts. A few months worth, from the pharmacy, with exactly what you bought. If you have a menstrual/symptom calendar app on your phone, it’s all logged. There are notifications in your reminder app telling you to refill your prescription. A number in your contacts that matches up with the doctor listed on the prescription. It’s the fact that it’s too neat that tips him off. Every piece of evidence he could’ve ever asked for is there, and that’s how he knows it isn’t natural. And it makes him smile. It’s touching— how much care you put into securing him in your life forever. Kid’ll be a terror, with the two of you as the parents. Too capable.

Price had a feeling in his gut when you told him you were on the pill. He thought about pulling out just to see how far you’d take things. In the end, finishing inside of you was like calling your bluff to him. He’d be fine with waiting a month or two to see if he was right. In the meantime, he’ll be looking at paint swatches for the nursery.

König is not looking a gift horse in the mouth. But if he does find out, he’s actually grateful. Saved him the trouble of asking you to have his baby, which was just one of a few questions wracking his nerves when it came to you. And this provides him the perfect opportunity to ask you to marry him! Doesn’t have to torture himself with sussing out your ring size, the kind you’d want, waiting for just the right moment. He asks you when you tell him you’re pregnant— it’s like everything is coming together. It’s a fairy tale ending for him!

Nikolai confronts you when you tell him that you’re pregnant. There’s a sly smile on his face. He teases a bit. Isn’t that just so strange? That you’d be unlucky enough for that tiny little chance of it failing was enough. And he has a way of making you squirm, of prodding you until you tell him what he wants. You can’t help but smile when he smiles, feeling a little giddy. He makes it seem all light and cute— so you do spill the truth. And he’ll pick you up and spin you as he laughs. His malyshka is so naughty, isn’t she? Lying to him like that, like he wouldn’t find out. Like wouldn’t give her a baby just as soon as she asked. Like he wasn’t planning on pulling a similar move in the near future.