#all he wants is to protect the people he loves

[prlssprfctn]

Every time another joke about Batman/Bruce Wayne passes by me, I can't help but imagine that the whole rumour about these two dating was originally (and probably accidentally) created by Bruce himself.

Just imagine, a teen Bruce, still only starting with his vigilante career, makes a crucial mistake - he pays with his own credit card in front of people, while being Batman. A stupid, absolutely instinctive mistake, but in his defence he wasn't sleeping normally for a week, and had an open wound in his stomach that day, so. Whoops.

And then someone asks Bruce Wayne about it, in front of a thousand cameras. And he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

Reporter: So, mister Wayne, recently citizens had reported that they saw Batman paying for the damage in the city... with your credit card. Care to explain details behind this?

Bruce, smiling stupidly: Oh, he is my ex. I sometimes sponsor him.

The crowd: (goes wild)

Alfred, starting at the interview back in the Batcave: ...We are never going to get rid of this, are we?

And guess what? They don't!

Bruce thinks that with time passing, with his love interests switching and new rumours spawning in the world, they might forget about it. He was young, he was stupid - he fucked up, alright?

But decades pass. He has a whole football team of kids. Everyone still ship Bruce and Batman.

And when this stupid video accidentally gets resurfaced on the internet again, his family goes insane. They start creating even more stupid rumours on galas.

Reporter: Mister Wayne... For years now, the crowds are speculating... Who is exactly your mother, and where is she now?

Damian, sighing pitifully: My father and my mother don't enjoy contacting each other, sadly. My mom says that their relationship was just a rebound; father desperately tries to forget Batman... Still, to this day.

Bruce, gripping the glass of champagne: ...

Talia, watching this interview with Ra's: Now, that's my son right there.

Dick: Oh, why I was screaming at Batman in the middle of the street a few days ago? Oh, this bastard- I mean, this respectable vigilante, he dared to get in the argument with Bruce. He can't really leave him alone, really! They are so insane about each other... So toxic, but so, uh, captivating... But you know, Bruce! He has such a fragile heart...

Gotham: Aw-w, poor mister Wayne!

Bruce, sighing: Jesus Christ.

Tim, shaking his head to the camera: I hate Red Robin, really. Did you know that his existence is just a direct offence to my father? Yeah, actually, Batman took this kid under his wing with another man - I am not going to tell who - to make dad jealous. This is disgusting!

Jason, who returned from the death by pretending that all this time he was under the child protection system after becoming an accidental witness of the second Robin's death: Oh, yeah, it was tough... Poor kid exploded in front of my eyes! Reporter: But, mister Todd-Wayne, what were you doing in that warehouse?

Jason, wiping fake tears: They were like my divorced parents, you know... Batman and Bruce. Batman really tried to mend things with dad back then, and wanted me to like him... We just wanted to spend some time together with him, and that Robin kid... God, it was terrible... Batman refuses to contact me now. I miss my second dad...

Bruce, back in the Batcave, watching as Batman's reputation goes lower and lower: ........................... Alfred: Well, master Bruce... Bruce: Not a word. Al. Please.

[starrygazers]

in my streamer era?!

aka: modern au streamer characters and their life with you.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ felt like writing smth more lighthearted (once again procrastinating on my homework)

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : modern au, fluff, crack

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei, Phainon

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Phainon ➤ vlogs, irl streams

Phainon loves traveling and talking to people, which makes him the perfect irl streamer. he has a large following due to the fact that he's so polite and friendly to everyone, but somehow his streams always go wrong in the funniest, murphy's-law-esque way

he's streaming in a restaurant and reviewing the food and the next moment a waiter trips and spills a water jug right to his camera and lowers the video quality for the rest of the stream

or he'd be doing a grocery run and the things that he wants are all gone, and he has to ride the bus to the grocery store that's further away, and the bus would blow a tire in the middle of the highway so now he's hungry and stranded with no groceries

these somewhat harmless, silly and unexpected situation keeps his viewers entertained, and the fact that he's always so optimistic about it has viewers donating to his streams to cheer him up whenever something goes wrong

his mods are so protective of him that if anyone starts trolling they'd be banned in an instant

when he first met you, it was by chance, and you don't recognize him (he's a niche even on streaming sites; his fans gatekeep him because they don't want people trolling this nice boy)

he falls in love with you immediately, and it's so obvious by the way he talks about you on stream.

"chat, there's this person," he lays the camera down on the counter and starts unloading his groceries. "and they're so... like... I don't know how to say it. they're so pretty, but also so scary to talk to, but it's not because they're mean or anything, I think it's a me problem. do you guys ever feel like that about someone?"

of course, his chat teases him relentlessly about his newfound crush

once he finally has the guts to ask you out (someone sent him a super donation telling him to, and he feels bad not doing it), you say yes, and he's over the moon.

he introduces you to his chat, and even though you're a bit confused and new to all of this, your personality balances out with Phainon's so well that his community can't help but love you

he doesn't film all your dates; in fact, he rarely ever does. whenever you're on stream, it's because you're both spending time chilling or cooking or doing grocery runs together. he likes to keep a small portion of his life private, and he doesn't want you to feel like you're a tool for his moneymaking scheme.

overall, he's such a nice understanding boyfriend, and if having a camera around you is too much then he'll respect your space and schedule his streams around days that he'll spend alone so he can have you all to himself without any distractions.

Mydei ➤ fighting games, tourneys

you can't convince me this man isn't some sort of fighting game god, particularly tekken, mortal kombat, smash, or something in the likes

he'll spend hours just 1v1-ing randoms on the internet, and he's got his friend code public for anyone who wants to try to challenge him.

this obviously brings a lot of traction because there are a lot of tryhards who want to test if Mydei's the real deal (he is, and he does so while talking shit and not breaking a sweat)

fans enjoy his straightforward, no-bullshit commentary (roasts) while he destroys players with a straight face. it's almost comedic how such a stoic man could have such a petty personality, and chat always teases him for it, but he could not care less (whatever brings in the bag)

"Get out of here if you can't even jablock, man. All that big talk for you to not even take a stock from me is just embarrassing," he spits out. "You're so mean, he's trying his best, yeah, sure, chat. He should try his best recovering from the sauce I'm about to do to him."

he'll sometimes do irl streams when he's in tournaments. he'll do a hotel tour (begrudgingly, because he keeps getting donations forcing him to do it)

he's by no means funny because he tries to be. people just find his mean commentary and resting bitch face amusing, and he's also good looking, so he has a lot of fangirls

he's been in a relationship with you since before he started streaming. matter of fact, you were the one who suggested streaming (because if he's going to spend that many hours on something might as well try to make money from it)

you often walk in on him while he's in his man cave, and you'll stay a bit to chat with him or interact with the chat

if his fangirls are mean to you, they get banned immediately ("MODS!!!! GET THEM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!")

he's very proud to call himself your boyfriend. Whenever someone tries to flirt with you in chat, he'll have a quip comeback of some sort about how they can try but you're in a very healthy, very secure relationship

he is unfortunately the type of streamer to have lots of tiktok edits to chase atlantic songs (iykyk)

but he'll only repost his fan edits shipping him and you <3

definitely the type of guy to wear an ugly "I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND" t-shirt out in public, he's just a nerd like that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©2025 starrygazers. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

if you liked this, consider buying me a ko-fi! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[multific]

A Token of Love

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: During your usual walks, you meet a woman. The conversation you had with her made you think. 

The grand halls were quiet as night approached.

With supper over, Caracalla retired to his room, you knew Geta would be joining you soon. 

Only servants' movements could be heard.

You prepared something special for Geta, your husband and one of the Emperors of Rome.

Your heart fluttered with anticipation as you carefully wrapped the gift in a piece of linen.

It was a simple yet meaningful gift you prepared.

A maiden's token, a small embroidered piece you had sewn yourself. The thread was gold, symbolizing loyalty, and the fabric was crimson, representing the deep love you felt for him.

You thought long and hard about what to gift him.

You weren't usually one for grand gestures.

Your relationship with Geta had always thrived on quiet moments and unspoken understanding.

But lately, something changed in you, you felt a need to remind him of what he meant to you, to show him the depth of your love in a way that words alone could not.

And so, you came up with the idea of giving him a gift.

He found you in your shared chambers, seated by the window, lost in thought.

"Wife?" but you didn't reply.

His brow furrowed slightly in curiosity as he approached you. You turned to him, offering him a warm smile.

"You look troubled, My Love. What weighs the mind of My Beautiful Empress?"

"I'm not troubled, Geta. Simply... I'm thinking."

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. You stood and walked toward him, holding out the carefully wrapped box.

"I have something for you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geta took the gift, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he unwrapped it, revealing the small item. His expression softened as he traced the golden thread with his fingers.

"A beautiful token from My Beloved. It is lovely." he smiled.

You watched him closely, noting the way his eyes shined with something unspoken.

"I made it for you," you said, stepping closer. "To remind you that my heart is yours, now and forever."

He reached out, cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing your skin.

"I am honoured, My Love. But please tell me, where did this sudden declaration of love come from?" he worried for a moment he forgot a date, event or perhaps anniversary. 

You hesitated for a moment before answering, your eyes dropping to the floor. "Last time I went to the marker, I met a woman. You know the weekly walks I take to ensure the people's comfort?" he nodded and allowed you to continue. "The woman had lost her husband in the wars. She spoke of him with such love, such longing... It gripped my heart and made me think. I wanted to give you something, a token of my love and devotion, so you would always know how much you mean to me."

Geta's expression turned serious, and he pulled you into a tight hug.

His arms were strong around you, offering both comfort and protection with a quiet promise.

"You will not lose me. I will not allow it. Not even the Gods themselves can take me away from you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but they did not fall.

Instead, you held him tighter, feeling the steady beat of his heart, it calmed you. "Promise me, Geta. Promise me that you will not leave me."

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

"I promise," he said solemnly. "As long as there is breath in my body, I will fight to stay by your side."

"That is all I need." you smiled at him.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "You give me strength, My Love. In a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, you are my anchor. This gift is more than a symbol. It is a reminder of the bond we share, unbreakable and immortal."

You leaned up and placed a kiss on his lips. Sealing his promise and yours of eternity.

That night, as you lay beside him in bed, your hand resting over his heart, you felt at ease.

Even if the world was filled with dangers, as you listened to his breathing and beating heart, you felt at ease at last.

In a world where nothing was promised, love was the only anchor you could hold on to.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[taraljc]

okay you guys here's what I remember from my 6th grade English class which also involved me reading every single book in the library on Greek mythology:

The biggest guns in 12 Olympians are the sons and daughters of Kronos the god of time. They fought the Titans and then took over their jobs but did a really shitty job in a lot of cases and they should have probably let Helios and the rest of the Titans alone. but Zeus had mad hate on for his dad Kronos and that's why they were banished to a prison in the underworld.

Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Demeter, Hestia were born of Kronos. Athene, Aphrodite, Ares, Hephaestas, Apollo and Artemis, and Hermes were born of pretty much mostly Zeus and sometimes Hera. We only really hear about Poseidon's kids when they're half human and do heroic shit. Recognising that their family are assholes and they want nothing to do with them, Hades and Persephone have dogs instead of kids and their dog is named Spot.

Iris is Hera's messenger. You can only see where she's been by the rainbow in the sky in her wake.

Hermes is a trickster and a thief and also a messenger. He also likes to tinker in his off time and create things like musical instruments and occasionally steals entire flocks of sheep for the lols.

Demeter is in charge of growing things and the harvest. For reasons that absolutely defy understanding, she hook up with Zeus that one time and they had a daughter. Persephone or Kore is the goddess of spring and the queen of the afterlife with her husband Hades. His realm includes all of the afterlife including the Elysian Fields.

Herakles is an asshole and should not have been included.

Dionysus is the god of wine, however you got to watch out for his groupies cos they might rip to pieces so that you're just a singing head for millennia.

Morpheus is the god of sleep, and he had a child with Calliope one of the muses whom they named Orpheus.

Mnemosyne is the goddess of memory, and the mother of Calliope and her sisters also called the muses.

In between hitting people with the dodgeball and turning women into trees, Apollo drives his chariot across the sky from dawn till dusk.

In between turning dudes into deer and driving her chariot across the sky from dusk till dawn, Artemis is the goddess of the hunt and patron and protector of single women.

Eris is is goddess of chaos, and should not be invited to any weddings.

Hestia is the goddess of the hearth and the home, and most importantly is in charge of fire.

Athene who had no mother but burst fourth full grown from Zeus's brow is goddess of strategy and she and Ares fucking hate each other like a whole lot.

Hephaestas was wed to Aphrodite but she cheated on him with Ares. Her son Eros the god of love is mostly famous for falling in love with Psyche, and then failing to protect her from his mother until the 11th hour.

The Fates are in charge of the whole ball of wax. they spin the thread, they weave the thread into the tapestry of time and existence and then they cut the thread when it has run its course. they're almost always betrayed as a triple goddess: maiden, mother, crone. Their names are Clotho the spinner, Lachesis the weaver, and Atropos who has the scissors and therefore the last word. Literally.

Another triple goddess motif are The Kindly Ones or the Erinyes, whose job it is to meet out justice. so if you spill family blood, you end up on their shit list. Their names are Alecto, Tisphone, and Megaera. They are fucking hardcore, and people in their crosshairs generally referred to them as The Furies.

I'm leaving out a lot. like a lot a lot. What's important to know is that these whackos were more inbred than the Habsburgs, and most human beings either tried to bribe them with sacrifices in their temples, or just stay the fuck out of their way because the gods do not care about anybody except the gods.

Also if you were really good with snakes and hit with the dodgeball of prophecy, as an Oracle your job was to tell people shit they don't want to know so that in trying to avert fate they'll end up creating the very situation they were trying to avoid.

One way that people tried to stay the hell out of the way was by becoming clergy. Unfortunately, when you dedicate your life to the service of one of the gods, this also put you in their crosshairs way too often particularly as Apollo thinks he is God's gift and is constantly recruiting lovers from his own temples. And if you said no, he just might curse you with that goddamn dodgeball with the kicker that no-one will ever believe you, which is what happened to Cassandra.

Even wise Athene would go off her head and turn you into a spider if you pissed her off. Pretty much the only dude that I can think of out of this entire bunch of miscreants who has never hurt anybody is Hestia. Which is probably why they leave her off the list all the time even though she is Hera and Demeter's sister and therefore one of the most powerful of the gods.

Anyway now you're all caught up! Go out there and read about Zeus having sex with way too many people occasionally while wearing a fursuit. And don't say you haven't been warned.

this website’s easy watch. *dangles a bunch of greek gods like keys*

[lexirosewrites]

Hiii I don’t usually go here, but I have had a few Disjointed Thoughts(™) for like WEEKS and I finally decided to share on this, the most holy (hole-y, hah) of days, Slick Sunday.

SO. O!Steve, A!Eddie, shocking. Steve is excruciatingly aware that, physically? He’s not really the Ideal Omega, at least by societal standards. Or his parents’ standards. Or his own, if he lets himself think about it too much, but that’s why he simply Does Not Think About It. Emotionally, he’s pretty solid. He absolutely loves his forcibly-adopted, feral, teenage pups. He’s excited to have his own one day, and to have an Alpha who loves him and their pups. He is always taking care of somebody, particularly the people he cares about, and most of the time it’s not even a conscious choice.

Physically, though?

Physically, he’s taller than an omega usually is. He spent so much time doing sports before he presented, and then after to keep up the image. Plus, let's be honest, he's absolutely keeping himself in shape and strong enough to defend/protect his little chosen pack. No matter how he or other people might feel about it, nothing is as important as keeping everyone safe, even after the UD is taken care of.

He and Eddie have been getting close, though. Eddie made enough anti-secondary-gender-roles speeches in school that Steve's pretty sure he won't mind that Steve is more invested in keeping them all safe than playing the part of “good little omega.” He was certainly impressed when Steve had to bite a bat in the Upside Down, and that's not very Omegan. The problem is, Eddie is such a perfect Alpha. Robin always makes a face when he says it, but Steve can feel it in his soul. Eddie is loud, exuberant, fiercely loyal, and protective of anyone who might need it, particularly when he cares about them. He's good with his hands, between his guitars and tinkering with his van when it has a new issue every month. He bickers with Wayne constantly over bills, trying to get his uncle to let him help more, leaving stray bills in Wayne's pockets when he loses the argument.

If Eddie can be such a good Alpha, Steve can try and be a better Omega, just a little. He does tone his more Alpha-like tendencies down a little, just to be safe- doesn't bring up playing sports/working out as much when Eddie's around, asks Eddie to help move things instead of just doing it himself, lets other people grab stuff from high shelves rather than volunteering himself. It seems to be going well, all things considered. He and A!Robin (who knows about the Omega-image issues, but not that he's been playing a bit more of the helpless Omega for Eddie, because she absolutely wouldn't approve) are sure Eddie's going to ask him to start courting any day now, really!!

To hopefully kick-start the process, Steve eagerly volunteers to help Wayne with some manual labor. Something with the siding of the trailer; it won’t be difficult, but it'll be a lot easier with two people. He'd have helped anyway, of course, but he's very aware that Eddie is devoted to his uncle and wants him taken care of. Surely, if there's anything that would outweigh any distaste from the non-Omega-like behavior, it's helping Wayne. The day of, though, he's on a ladder (Wayne is holding the ladder steady; Steve threw a hissy fit when he tried to go up himself), hammering in the last couple nails when Eddie gets home.

Normally, Eddie seems ecstatic to see Steve in any scenario- at one of their houses, after Hellfire to take the kids home, the few times they've passed each other in the grocery store- but when Steve looks over to say hi, he doesn't look… pleased. He actually looks kind of. Angry? Maybe? His eyes are blank, not filled with the warmth he's used to. His mouth is pressed together in a thin line, jaw clenched.

Steve has gotten pretty good at reading Eddie, knows his facial expressions like the back of his hand, but this is new. New and not happy. It makes him self-conscious, make him want to jump off the ladder and go beg forgiveness from his Alpha for whatever he did, but Steve pushes it down. He's got a job to finish, and if that face is directed at him for too long there's a good chance he's going to start whining- or worse, crying. Eddie gets back in his van immediately, though, driving off who knows where. Steve tells himself he was probably just having a bad day, and didn't want company. That's just a thing that happens. Nothing immediately to do with Steve, surely, and Wayne doesn't seem bothered so it's fine. Definitely.

A few days pass, and the party are all at Steve's house. The pups (who are nearly grown, now, but that doesn't stop them from being Steve's Pups, okay?) are mostly in the pool. The technically-adults are enjoying the sun and calling out warnings when the play-fighting gets a little too rough. Steve and Lucas are practicing basketball a few feet away, trying to nail a particular, super impressive move that even Steve can only do with about 40% accuracy. (I don't know basketball, I'm sure something like this has to exist though, right??? Indulge me lol) The two of them have been at it all summer, to better Lucas’ chance of getting varsity next school year.

Then Lucas nails it. Absolutely picture-perfect form, better than even Steve has ever done it. And they go NUTS. Everyone is looking over, confused but generally amused at their antics. Steve is so proud that he doesn't even think about it, just lifts Lucas up so he's sitting on one of Steve's shoulders, so Steve can hold him up with one arm and gesture wildly with the other while parading Lucas around, explaining exactly why this is so impressive to the non-athletes.

Except. Then he happens to look over at Eddie. And it's the face from the other day. Closer now, he can see that Eddie's knuckles are white where they're clenched around his beer bottle. Steve still can't get a read on it, and Eddie hasn't been in the pool yet so the scent blocker is keeping Steve from being able to tell what's the matter. Again, Steve's first instinct is to figure out what he did, how he can be better. But this is Eddie. He's probably just bitter about a sports thing interrupting whatever nerd conversation he was probably having, and he'll get over it quickly. Besides, Lucas deserves his moment.

Eddie is fine the rest of the night, and it doesn't come up, so Steve manages to mostly forget about it. But a week or two later, Steve is dropping Max off at home after physical therapy, and she's clearly too tired and exhausted for the stairs but she'll never admit it. Steve moves slowly, telegraphing his intentions as obviously as he can to give her an out, but she doesn't take it. So he picks her up, gently as possible, and carries her up the steps, grabbing her crutches as well.

He doesn't push it, even if his Omega would be thrilled to bring her in and make sure she gets settled and drinks some water, because it'd make her uncomfortable and this is already a lot. They don't talk about it, they just say their goodbyes and Steve goes to drive home. He glances over at the Munson's trailer, purely out of habit, and in the window is Eddie. With the same facial expression as before. He turns away from the window before Steve can react, and the curtain is pulled.

Steve has the whole way home to question this, and the only similarity between the two events that could have caused that face is… Steve being too Alpha-like. The manual labor, carrying the pups around. He's too strong, too big. He's not a good Omega, and his Alph- Eddie, who isn't his Alpha yet and maybe now never will be- Eddie doesn't like it. He drops. Hard. He's not sure how he makes it back to his house, or inside. The next thing he knows, he's sitting next to the phone, Robin's voice coming distant but frantic from where it's dangling by the cord next to him.

Then she's there, in front of him. Worried, clearly, but Steve can't bring himself to do anything about it. He just stares. Time passes, clearly, because at some point he finds himself in his own bed, nest haphazarly built up around him where someone presumably tried to make it bigger without disturbing anything, staring blankly at the ceiling with Robin pressed against him.

His face is wet.

His eyes hurt.

Oh. He's been crying.

He remembers why.

His breath catches, and it's enough to get Robin's attention. She scrambles up, holding his face while she takes exaggerated breaths. He matches her breathing until he's sure they're past the risk of hyperventilating. He tells her everything- not just the times Eddie has seemed upset, but every time he's tried to be better, to be less, every time he's questioned if it would ever be enough. She clearly wants to comment, but she lets him get it all out first. When it's clear he's done, she bundles him in her arms. Calls him a dingus, so he'll crack a smile. They slowly transfer back down the stairs, curling up in a mass of limbs in front of the tv to watch whatever they can find without getting up.

Steve drives her home around midnight, knowing she has work tomorrow and he's got the day off. He swears he's fine, that he'll call if something changes. He waves her off, drives away, and heads in the opposite direction of home. He's okay for now, but if he goes home, he'll think about how empty it is, how he may never have an Alpha to help him fill the space and the quiet, and he won't be okay for long.

He ends up at the quarry. Still quiet, and he's still alone, but at least it's intentional here. He's not exactly watching the clock, but he's only idly thrown a handful of rocks down into the water when he hears a noise he could pick out anywhere. Eddie's van is pulling up, faster even than the ridiculous speeds he usually does. The gravel flies up as he slams on breaks, and the headlights are still fading out when Eddie throws himself out the door.

He hurries towards Steve, and when he's close enough, he drops to his knees. Steve tries to ask, tries to pull him up because that can't be good for Eddie's knees, especially when he's clearly in his pajamas and some untied shoes but Eddie grabs his hand and holds it in both of his own. Trips over his words as he tries to explain, rambles that Robin had called him after she got home, that Eddie had immediately run out the door, went to the house first and then drove around to find Steve.

Steve can feel the shame heating his cheeks, prickling in his gut. He's already mentally cursing Robin's overprotective nature. Of course she'd immediately tried to defend him. She'd probably told Eddie off, something embarrassing about leading him on or believing too much in gender roles despite his own nonconformity or whatever else. Steve tries to pull his hand away, but Eddie's got a firm grip and pleading eyes, and Steve's Omega is too desperate for some approval after his drop earlier to try too hard.

Eddie looks like he's tearing up, and Steve is too caught off guard by this whole thing to hold back the whine it pulls out of him. Even if he's hurt, seeing Eddie upset almost hurts his Omega more than anything else. Eddie's eyes go wide, and he surges to his feet, pressing Steve's hand to his chest and letting a reassuring rumble answer. Steve hates himself a little bit for how much it does calm him down.

Eddie rushes to explain. He's in love with Steve. He thinks Steve's easily the best Omega he's ever met, loves how much he cares for the people around him and protects their pups (Steve tries valiantly to ignore how his heart skips a beat at it being THEIR pups. He fails). The face Steve has been seeing has been Eddie straining to keep his Alpha from begging to bond with Steve on sight. Eddie wanted to court him, wanted to take it slow and romance him and do things properly because Steve deserves it, not ask Steve to have his babies in front of all their friends.

He's been waiting to ask, has been making Steve his own battle jacket since he'd liked Eddie's in the Upside Down as a first courting gift. Apparently, tracking down patches for artists Steve likes is a lot harder than finding patches for Eddie's favorites, and hand-sewing them all on has taken even longer. It's everything Steve could have ever hoped to want and so much more, and Eddie's not wearing any scent blockers, so underneath the heady smell of leather and comfort and Eddie, Steve can tell he's being honest.

The misunderstandings are forgiven. They start courting immediately, and Eddie gives him his own vest to wear as an IOU until Steve's is done. Robin is very mildly scolded for spilling Steve's business, which is cancelled out by the grin on Steve's face as he does it and the hug she tackles him in immediately after says she doesn't regret a thing. It's okay, though. Neither does Steve.

-irrelevantbutembarrassing

chomping on insecure omega Steve because he’s so biteable💕

[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ you were always mine ; lh43

➪ summary: luke has a hard time keeping his friends-with-benefits relationship with y/n just friends-with-benefits, which leads to hurt feelings and unspoken words

➪ warnings: slightly possessive luke, fwb, um... luke lowkey playing with reader's feelings...

➪ word count: 3.4k

➪ cupid's notes: fwb!luke is occupies a spot in my brain that only fwb!luke is reserved for. i would love to talk more about fwb!luke so if you ever feel like yapping away whether it's here or bedsysangel for more nsfw thoughts, i would be more than happy to answer them. takes place in 2023 which i'm sure you could get within a few paragraphs but whatever. anyway, thank you again for 1k, i love all of you so so so much 🥰

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

What started as a strictly platonic relationship between her and Luke quickly escalated into something more. 

The two met during their freshman year of college when y/n dragged her roommate and a few of their friends to a frat party. She was planning on having a drink or two, blending into the crowd but getting to know a few people, simply a ‘welcome-to-campus’ type situation. But when her friends let their high school personalities seep in, she found herself locked in a room with Luke.

Much to her friends’ displeasure though, nothing happened except for a newfound friendship. The two quickly became inseparable, going out to the movies, watching his games, and playing Monopoly in her dorm every Friday night, it was y/n and Luke against the world.

And things were going amazingly, that was until sometime late into their freshman year when the line between friendship and relationship started to blur. She wasn't going to say anything, she was growing accustomed to Luke's lingering touches when they’d part ways after walking to class together and his soft words when he’d bring her into a hug after the team won. She didn’t want them to stop.

Every time Luke's arm wrapped around her waist to pull her back into his chest, every time he'd beg her to wear his jersey to his games, every time he'd place a kiss on her cheek, every time he'd take her hand and put it in his hair so she’d play with his curls, it was overwhelming.

And deep down she knew she was harboring less than platonic feelings for him, he was Luke; beautiful, handsome, cheeky, awkward but confident Luke. She couldn't help but indulge in her mind's fantasies of his kisses against her shoulder or his arms tightly curled around her and cuddling in his bed.

So, she did. She leaned into his touches, into his whispered sayings, and that was how she ended up here, at the beginning of March during her sophomore year, letting Luke drag her through campus with a tight grip on her hand, letting him scare other guys off, letting him push her against the wall as he left open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

Ever since that one night when the two of them had finally succumbed to the feeling of want, no need, Luke had only grown more touchy and possessive; glaring at any guy who looked at her, guiding her to sit on his lap when there were 5 other places to sit, braiding her hair in front of her friends, late-night cuddles with her adorning one of his t-shirts. 

She, along with everyone else, was riding out the high of the team’s win against Penn State even into the following weekend, the win signifying one game closer to a Frozen Four victory. Her group had found their way to a celebratory party that was happening somewhere around campus, it was hot and sticky due to the humidity and all the bodies there, and low and behold she had tagged along, Luke not too far behind her.

Standing in the living room, she was pressed tightly against him, his arm attached to her waist to make sure she didn't stray too far. However, after one too many drinks, she had to go to the bathroom, raising on her tip-toes in order to let him know where she was going. 

Luke being the protective best friend gentleman he was, offered to go with her, making sure nobody would bother her. But she reassured him that she would be fine making her way through the crowd and up the stairs, so reluctantly he let her go, keeping his gaze on her with every step she made.

He kept one ear on the conversation he was having with Ethan, moving his wrist in small circular motions to watch the liquid inside spin around, while the other ear he kept open in case she had called out. Seven minutes, eight minutes passed and there was no sign of her anywhere, he was getting antsy without her by his side. He kept telling himself that maybe there was a line, maybe someone was fucking in there and she had to find her way to a different bathroom.

Yet, he glanced around the living room through the mob of people in search of her and he froze when he saw two figures near the stairs. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at y/n talking animatedly with another guy, a bright smile on her face, a smile that he loved to be the cause of.

He mumbled an excuse to his friend, walking over to where the two were standing. He had abandoned his drink, dumping the rest of the cups’ contents down the sink before throwing the cup away in the nearest trash bag available. 

He neared them, finally being able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation, but he wasn’t too worried about what they were talking about, just more or less how they were talking. He came to a stop a few feet behind her, scanning the guy from the top of his neatly gelled hair to the bottom of his new dress shoes, what was this, a wedding?

He couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes as he finished examining him, but he could stop the words of sarcasticness from falling out of his mouth, just barely though. 

He closed the short distance to y/n, his arms immediately encircling her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. She didn’t need to look over to see who it was, the firm, comforting hold was enough to let her know. 

Her smile brightened, glancing back to see a pouty, puppy dog-eyed expression plastered on his face with a possessive gleam in his eye. Her attention was entirely focused on the boy behind her now, entranced with the way his hair formed perfect ringlets but was messy at the same time caused by the dampness from his earlier shower and the humidity from the house they were in.

“Hey, Lukey.” 

“Hey.” His voice was low and somewhat hoarse from yelling the past week, the sound making her body tingle in the slightest bit. 

She could feel the way his grip tightened, placing her hands on top of his and lacing their fingers together as she motioned her head towards the guy who was still standing in front of them, “This is Alex, we have a class together.”

He nodded, turning his head so he could bury it into her neck placing soft kisses against her skin. A blush covered her cheeks, turning more and more pink with each kiss. 

“Luke.” She murmured in an attempt to stop him. Usually, she wouldn’t mind the display of affection or the gentle undertone of his jealousy, but in the past few weeks, it had gotten only slightly out of hand, she felt like she couldn’t even talk to a guy without Luke showing up and scaring them off. 

He hummed in acknowledgment, continuing his feather-light kisses, only pausing to eye the guy and what his face was expressing. She fought the urge to sigh, roll her eyes, and mutter an annoyed response. If he wanted to be around every time she talked to a guy, fine, so be it. 

She picked back up the previously abandoned conversation with Alex, talking about their upcoming finals and their summer plans. Luke’s irritation grew as their talking went on, wanting nothing more than to take y/n back to his place and strip every piece of clothing off her. He would even settle for finishing their game of Monopoly from last night, as long as he got her away from the ‘hungry’ gaze Alex had on her. 

So, he proceeded to do the only thing he knew would draw her attention back to him, moving to suck lightly on the one spot that made her weak in the knees within seconds. He could feel her tense for not even a nanosecond before she was melting into him. But little to his knowledge, a fury lit her eyes, her patience completely running out. 

 She stepped forward out of his grasp, saying a polite goodbye to her friend before dragging him out of the house and into the late March weather. It was still relatively chilly causing her to wrap her jacket tighter around her as they walked toward the sidewalk.

“What was that Luke?”

“What was what?” His face was the definition of innocence, a slight grin playing on his lips as he looked down at her.

She huffed as she took in his expression, “You know what. Why couldn’t you just let us talk in peace?”

“He was bothering me.”

“We were just talking about finals, I don’t know how that could’ve been bothering you.”

“He was looking at you like he wanted to tear your clothes apart.” He argued, frustration overtaking him. 

“So?”

“‘So’?” He asked incredulously, staring at her as if she had grown to heads. Since when was she all for someone looking at her the way he was only supposed to?

“Yeah, ‘so’. Luke, we’re not even dating.”

Her words were like a blow to his stomach. He knew they weren’t dating, but he thought at least there was some unspoken agreement that the two of them were simply just the two of them, that no one was going to come in and take the other way from them. 

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because every time I even so much as think about a guy, you’re swooping me into your arms and taking me somewhere. I haven’t had a normal interaction with a guy in weeks.”

So maybe he was being a little over-possessive. He didn’t mean to, really, he just wanted her for himself, wanted everyone to know that she was his and he was hers. 

“You’re leaving soon, Lu.”

His thoughts came to a stop, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he stared at her, “What do you mean I’m leaving soon? Y/n/n if you’re talking about Tampa it’s just for the weekend-”

“I’m talking about New Jersey, Luke.” 

He blinked slowly, more confused than before. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes wandering around so she wouldn’t have to see him taking in what she said. 

“What’re you talking about?” His voice was soft, and careful, not wanting to upset her more than she was. 

“I’m not stupid, y’know? I’ve seen the tweets, the Devils are planning on calling you up after this whole thing is over.” She waved her hand, gesturing to the party that was thrown because of the championship. 

 “You don’t know that for sure.” He kept his words steady, reassuring her that everything people were saying was just rumors, but even he knew that wasn’t true. 

“Even if it’s not, how are we going to continue this when you do eventually go out there?” Her eyes met his, both of them shining with unshed tears, “You can’t expect me to just be a buffer for you.”

“Hey, you’re not just a buffer-”

“But aren’t I? Isn’t that what we’re doing? Using each other until we can find someone we actually want to be with?” Each word twisted the knife in his stomach further, had she really thought she was just a buffer? 

He regained his composure quickly, speaking firmly, “No. You are not just a buffer to me, sweetheart.”

The nickname caused a swarm of butterflies to erupt in her stomach and she did her best to push each one down, far enough that they couldn’t come back. The way he was talking made her feel like maybe she was wrong about the status of their feelings, maybe he really did like her and now she was ruining it, but the voice in the back of her had assured her she was reading this the right way.

“I’m not just going to drop you the second I leave for Jersey, whenever that may be.” He reached for her hand, but she stepped back, narrowly escaping the touch. 

“I can’t keep doing this. You-” she took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to say, “You’ll go to Jersey and I’ll be here, there’s no room for me to go with.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, we both know it. It- we won’t work like this.”

“So that’s it? We’re just not even going to talk anymore?”

“That’s not what I said-”

“But it’s what you meant.” He interjected, eyes still glistening with tears.

“It isn’t. I just- god Luke, you act like you want me to be nothing more than your best friend one minute and the next we’re having sex against the wall!”

He breathed heavily, listening to her speak, “If you can’t make up your mind then I’ll do it for you, whatever this is, it can’t go on. Not when we’re going to be in two different places and certainly not when we feel two different ways.”

“Y/n…” He trailed off, one last attempt to get her to hear him out, but he watched her shake her head and walk down the street, wrapping her arms around herself to protect her from the cold.

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

A week later and their not-so-breakup breakup had been the only thing on his mind, not the fact that he had just lost a Frozen Four championship, not that he had just played in what would be known as his last college game, not the fact that sometime in the next few days he would sign his first NHL contract and play in his first NHL game alongside his brother. 

He sat in his hotel room, twisting and turning in his bed as he struggled to fall asleep. Eventually, he gave up, opting to lay flat on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling, making note of every single bump it had. 

In less than 48 hours he would be doing something that he had dreamed of doing since he was younger, since he’d even known it was a possibility. And yet, none of it felt right without her there. 

They had been glued to each other’s side since that party, doing almost everything together; shopping, walking to classes and practices, eating, homework, laundry, any chance they had to be together they were. 

It was a strange feeling, not having her around even emotionally. She was always the first person he reached out to when something exciting happened; he scored a goal, he got a good grade on his test, he saw a squirrel on his way to see her, or when something upsetting happened; he got hit with a puck causing a bruise on his side, his visit to see his brothers got delayed, or he just felt downright horrible.

The thought of him relying on her too much came quickly but left just as fast. It wasn’t like he was dependent on her, he was his own person and she was hers, but she was his person. 

The one who would make him feel better with just a simple smile, the one who engaged in hockey talk because she knew it made him happy, the one who texted him random life updates every so often, the one who wasn’t afraid to let him see the real her. 

Fuck.

Realization slammed into him, hard and heavy like he was just fighting for the puck and got slammed into the boards.

Signing a piece of paper could wait until Monday, but telling his best friend he was in love with her couldn’t.

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Y/n watched the game despite her promise to herself not to. Curled up on her bed, the game playing on her computer as she ate ice cream. Going into the third period they were tied and she had mustered up as much hope as she could, but goal after goal, Quinnipiac scored 3, bringing the final score to 5-2. 

She was disappointed at their loss, as much as any other student attending Michigan, but she was even more upset that this now solidified the beginning of Luke’s future. In however many days he would be playing in New Jersey.

And now it was the day after and she was in her room working on a paper for one of her classes, headphones blocking out all the noises around her. She looked between multiple tabs, searching her papers for a Post-it note she had written not too long ago, and continuously deleted and retyped the same thing.

She was just about to start writing a new portion of the paper when a knock and wave of a hand in front of her pulled her from her thoughts, looking over to see her roommate. She pulled her headphones off, letting them rest around her neck, “What’s up?”

“Someone’s here for you.” She didn’t miss the slight smirk she had, which never meant anything good.

She uncurled herself from her spot on the chair, leaving her headphones on her desk before making her way to the door, and opening it. She froze when she saw who it was, Luke in a familiar blue Michigan sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

“Luke? What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

She hesitated but the look on his face made her crumble, opening the door wide so he could step into her apartment. They walked towards her room, letting him go in and sit down on her bed as she stood near the door, arms crossed against her chest.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m signing my contract tomorrow.”

“Oh, um- that’s amazing, congrats, Lu.”

He nodded, looking at the ground. A few beats passed and all he could think about was the urge to pull her in for a kiss. He wasn’t known for his impulsiveness, or maybe he was and he just never made it a big deal, but now? He couldn’t help but act on the urge, so he did. 

He took a few steps forward, pushing the second-guessing thoughts out of his mind, coming to a stop when he towered over her completely, hand reaching to cup her face and brush his thumb across her cheek.

She flushed, staring up at him with wide, almost doe-like, eyes. He leaned down, bringing his lips to meet hers, instantly causing her to turn into a puddle of mush. She kissed back just as eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck like they had been itching to do it for the past week. 

When she felt her breath running out, she pulled away, allowing her forehead to rest against his, both of them panting softly as they tried to steady their breathing. Luke’s gaze was entirely on her, studying the way her eyelashes were laying delicately on her cheeks, her light freckles spread across her nose, the pieces of hair that escaped from her ponytail. 

“You were always mine.”

Her eyes shot open at his quiet murmur, looking at him like he had just given her the answers to every single exam she still had to take. She gulped, trying to reign her thoughts in, “What?”

“You were always going to be mine, y/n/n. From the moment you bumped into me at the party, from the moment we first watched Miracle together and you cried, from the moment you stole 200 bucks of my money the first time we played Monopoly, from the first time you put on my jersey, I knew that I had to make you mine.

“And I know it’s taking me a long time, way too long, but I needed you to know, now more than ever. It might be too late, but I just-”

“I was always going to want to be yours.”

Her admission flowed through him, easing his worries immensely. He breathed a low chuckle, “Thank god. I was starting to think I was going to have to say the whole speech I prepared.”

“There was more?”

He nods sheepishly, but it was better to be over-prepared than not prepared enough, he would’ve said the whole thing a million times if it meant she would say those words.

“Are you going to let me hear it?”

“That depends… what do I get if I do?”

“A kiss?”

He hummed in thought, “I don’t know, baby. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into writing this.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Hughes.”

And who was he to say no?

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[postmoe]

So, I'm getting around to doing Amphoreus and... we're at the bath house... and there is a special bath house for heroes.... can you imagine being taken in there without anyone else knowing just to be banged senselessly?

With Mydei and Phainon x Reader

girl we on the same wave length. I just added a bit to something i had going but didn't like it enough for the story i wanted lol.

non-con, helplessness, a bit of choking, bathhouse, ambrosia, master/servant dynamicish

Translations off google so (I went the Ancient Greek route)... Dominus - Master. He philtatē - dearest love. (feminine).

.

Amphoreus is full of many heroes, and though they are all strong and worthy of their titles, there are some that put true unease in others.

Like Mydei. Even with Phainon right next to him, trying to lighten the mood in the room, people still fear his sharp looks and dominating muscles. Everyone has seen what these two heroes can do, and no one wants to be on the wrong side of them.

Not to mention how protective they are of each other. Back and forth arguments seem like nothing when their anger is truly displayed, especially at people who speak ill of their partner.

And then there's you, their precious, priceless darling. A warning isn't good enough if you were to be picked on, broken bones, lost jobs, people are still debating whether or not the person who moved lands is dead or still alive.

So, when you're dragged from your station, or told to meet them somewhere, everyone drops everything to make sure you comply. Which is why, even if people did see you be hauled into the heroes bathhouse, you know calling for help would do nothing good.

That's why you stand there, sweat soaking through your white road, nipples poking into wet, sheer fabric, face stoic and hands holding a large jug of wine like it were any other client. They seem entertained enough by each other, hopefully today they will just leave you alone.

However, as Mydei pulls away from the heated kiss, grinning drunkenly your way and leaning his head against the edge of the in ground bath, you know there is no such luck. "He philtatē, come drink ambrosia with us," he practically moans, Phainon grinding his naked body in his lap, kissing and lapping up the sweat of his lovers neck.

You make a point to keep your eyes facing forward, not wanting to give them the thought that you're indulging in their actions, "No, thank you, dominus. I am working right now." That's not to say you would if you weren't on shift, but, it's as good an excuse as any other.

Phainon finally frees his mouth from the other's body, sculling the rest of his drink, red ambrosia trickling over his lips, down the cleft of his neck, and over the pecs of his chest before mixing with the bath water and disappearing. His eyes are hooded, cheeks dusted red with the effects of alcohol and lust, "Why the sudden harsh treatment, He philtatē, you were never this reserved when we first met."

With a bow of your head, avoiding his gaze, you say, "Kindess is part of the job. I welcomed you in, my job is done."

"Boo~" Phainon whines, rolling off of Mydei and sitting next to him in the water. "You're not like this after work or with your colleagues," he mutters, now holding out his empty cup, "Refill, please!"

You're not even going to ask how he knows what you're like when they're not around, already having the sneaking suspicion they've been following you and paying someone to tail you when they're gone. You crouch down to aim the jug into the goblet, only for Mydei to snatch the wine from your hands which makes you cry out a, "Hey!"

Within moments, you're being dragged into the water by a laughing Phainon. You thrash and splash the water as you're manhandled, thick fingers pulling your clinging robe over your head, leaving you in thin panties and the gold chains around your torso to help support your breasts. You're held tightly against his chest, coddled like a sweet pet until you stop moving so violently. Once you calm down enough, Mydei hands a cup to Phainon, who then promptly presses the rim to your tightly sealed lips, "Ambrosia~ Ambrosia for He philtatē~"

His other hand is roughly grabbing your jaw, the ache forcing your mouth to part enough for the liquid to slip through. You grunt, swallowing the sweet drink, a lot of it falling down your front, until the cup is empty. His hand is swaying in front of your face, the motion annoying you so you backhand the goblet, it flying and dunking in the water. He's so out of it that it takes him a minute to realise what you've done, the man laughing and messily petting your head in a playful manner.

Mydei exhales, sinking further into the bath to relax his muscles, "The whole trip he wouldn't shut up about you. 'When can we see (Y/n) again?' 'How much longer until we leave for (Y/n)?' 'Do you think if I send a letter, it'll reach her before we get back?' Couldn't even focus on fighting."

Phainon cheekily pinches your cheek, directing your attention back to him, "Funny he says that. Just whose name do you think he was calling every night we fucked?" You grab at his wrists once they start to slip to your cunt, fingers brushing your clit while your strength did nothing to hold him back. He didn't even acknowledge it, choosing instead to ask, "We have those new heroes, too. Should we introduce them to our private hole?" A wince escapes you as he slips a finger in, your pussy clenching from the intrusion. He swirls his digit around before adding another, "And what of Anaxa? Where is he?"

"Anaxa is still busy, he won't be back for another month," Mydei steps from the tiled ledge and stands in front of you, his large hands stroking over your shoulders, cupping your breasts in his palms and grazing the nipples with his thumbs. His eyes follow every move with a predatory gaze, "They certainly have proved their worth..."

You zone out as they talk about you like some object. Gritting your teeth, frustrated tears mix with the sweat on your face as you silently cry. What sort of a God or Titan or Deity would allow something such as this to happen to one of their subjects? It just proves how lost your soul really is from everyone else's. Everyone was right, you were abandoned by the titans the moment you were conceived.

Mydei pushes himself against your front, sandwiching you between him and Phainon so he can easily kiss your tears away, "Now look what you've done, you made her cry."

Phainon coos against your hair, his fingers hooking inside you to get a jerking reacting out of you, your hips trapped between the two, "It's okay, He philtatē, we won't share you if you don't want to. It actually makes me happy to see your heart is ours alone."

That's absolutely not true.

"Just be good for us tonight or else we might have to get them to 'help' hold you down," Mydei chuckles drunkenly as if his joke was actually something worth laughing at.

It pissed you off how he could just say something like that and get away with it. You pushed a sturdy hand against his chest, halting him from your boldness. (E/c) eyes look to the door, longing for anyone to enter and stop this madness. Your voice is quiet, moisture inside your mouth gone from the alcohol, bath heat and sexual actions of these men, "One day... One day someone will stop you."

The amused rumble from Phainon's chest made your heart sink. Then, when Mydei's fierce eyes sharped as his grin showed too many teeth to bring an intense foreboding to flood your veins, you shrank back into Phainon as he suddenly seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Mydei scoffed and gripped the base of your neck, your chin tilted up on the curve of his thumb and index as he held you just hard enough to make you wheeze and meet his eyes, "That day won't be a day you're alive."

When he finally let go, the world around you went white and your head couldn't tell which way gravity was holding you. Thankfully, you had your two heroes to keep you safe.

[thealmightypower]

🍓 - I feel like Zenitsu would def become a musician or writer, well actually he is canonically a writer, the whole Legend of Zenitsu thing

🍒 - me and him would probably play games together and cry because we both suck lmao

🍎 - I’m pretty sure its just tea or sm

🍉 - I feel like he isnt tbh

🍑 - I feel like hes more comfortable giving stuff since hes not used to be on the receiving end, I’d change that though, I’ll shower him in gifts. tbh I think he’d like anything

🍊 - peel it

🥭 - no, he was homeless as a kid, though I bet in the academy au he had a bunch of anime plushes

🍍 - give him sexual trauma 😛

🍌 - I feel like he’d like dim lights better

🍋 - he’s said it himself, he would want to be braver and stronger, able to protect the ones he loves

🍋‍🟩 - yes he is, he canonically is, so far the only superstitious part shown was the tea stalks standing up, but he probably believes the opening an umbrella inside is bad luck thing too

🍈 - considering hes superstitious, I’d say he is

🍏 - I personally headcanon him as bi, he realized it when he met Tanjiro

🍐 - YES, he definitely does that

🥝 - probably, I really think he just puts on eyeliner, maybe something to cover acne

🫒 - all of them, luckily for him so do I, me and him would hug all the time

🫐 - definitely more of a writer, canonically whenever he draws guys, he draws them like they came out of a horror manga, but he draws girls really well. Left brained, definitely.

🍇 - prolly with someone else, maybe Tanjiro, maybe Inosuke (not Nezuko, hate her sm)

🥥 - he writes, I’m pretty sure he still plays the shamisen sometimes after he red light district arc, he also likes playing games like hanafuda

🍅 - food. I love food.

🌶️ - probably not

🫚 - hes definitely a picky eater, I bet he’d absolutely despise most vegetables, and beans, especially lentils.

🥕 - I feel like he did, but he’d eat them anyway cause he could barely get anything to eat. But now that he can actually have full and regular meals, he definitely avoids them.

🧅 - anything. Its really cute though

🌽 - sparrows probably, he’s definitely scared of bugs and rats, especially spiders, he’s traumatized from the mt. Natagumo incident

🥦 - when people chew REALLY loud, or do anything thats loud and annoying, considering his sensitive hearing

🥒 - a lot of things, so many I probably couldnt name them all

🥬 - spend money on gacha games like mhui and colorful stage

🫛 - he likes them, but they fluster him

🫑 - hes scared of it, and before he dies he wants to get married and have a family

🥑 - incest novels. Hes read a ton of them, probably all of them.

🍠 - playing games

🍆 - I feel like its ripe peaches, cause they remind him of Jigoro

🧄 - I personally head-canon him with a pollen allergy (totally not self-projecting)

🥔 - no, since he cant cook if his life depended on it, and I cant cook either 😭

🍄‍🟫 - vampire, definitely. I’d let him suck my blood

the ULTIMATE f/o infodumping ask game!

(this is gonna be a long one...)

🍓 - disregarding the career your f/o currently has, what other career would they consider going into, if given the chance?

🍒 - if your f/o and you spend a day doing anything, anything at all, what would they do and why?

🍎 - what's your f/o's favorite drink? any drink, alcoholic or non alcoholic!

🍉 - is your f/o religious? what's their opinion on religion or spirituality?

🍑 - is your f/o more comfortable giving or receiving gifts? why? do they have any preferences on gifts they like receiving?

🍊 - if you asked your f/o to peel an orange for you, what would they do?

🥭 - did your f/o have stuffed animals growing up? do they still have stuffed animals? do they have a favorite?

🍍 - if you could change any one thing about your f/os backstory/character, what would you change? why?

🍌 - does your f/o have a vendetta against The Big Light™? what kind of lighting do they prefer?

🍋 - if your f/o could change one thing about themselves, what would they change and why?

🍋‍🟩 - is your f/o superstitious? is there any habits they follow or quirks they have to follow said superstitions? like not opening umbrellas indoors to avoid back luck?

🍈 - does your f/o believe in fate? do they thing everything is preplanned out by the universe or a higher power, or do they think that the idea of fate is bogus? why?

🍏 - if you have any queer headcanons for your f/o, how did they realize they were queer?

🍐 - does your f/o have any nervous ticks or idle quirks they do? like mindlessly tapping on a desk or fiddling with their hair when they're stressed?

🥝 - would your f/o ever let you do their make-up? what does their make-up process look like? is it simple? complex?

🫒 - what kind of hugger is your f/o? do they give good hugs? do they like hugs? do they like receiving hugs?

🫐 - is your f/o more of a writer or an artist? would you say your f/o is more left or right brained?

🍇 - if you and your f/o never met, what do you think your f/o would be doing right now?

🥥 - what hobbies does your f/o have? is there any hobby they would like to get into that they haven't tried out yet? what is it?

🍅 - if your f/o could buy you any gift in the world, whether it exists or not, what would they buy you? or, if they could make you something, what would it be?

🌶️ - does your f/o have any remedies they follow when they get sick? like taking a shot of whiskey to get rid of a fever?

🫚 - is your f/o a picky eater? is there any foods they will not under any circumstances, gun to their head, eat?

🥕 - when your f/o was little, did they dislike vegetables? do they still dislike them?

🧅 - what makes your f/o cry? do they get emotional at sad movies or books? do they only get emotional under very rare circumstances?

🌽 - does your f/o have a favorite animal? what is it? are they scared of any animals?

🥦 - does your f/o have any pet peeves? things that just really really get on their nerves? what are they and why?

🥒 - what's your f/o afraid of? do they have any phobias? anything minor they're scared of?

🥬 - what are some beige flags your f/o has? so, not bad, but not nessecarily good either. just. "oh. you do This."

🫛 - how does your f/o feel about pet names or nicknames? do they like them? hate them? what are their favorites and least favorites to be called and to use?

🫑 - how does your f/o feel about death? are they afraid of it? is there anything specific they'd like to do before they die?

🥑 - is there any niche topics your f/o is interested in? what are they and why do they like them?

🍠 - what are a few of your f/os favorite pastimes or things that they do when they're bored?

🍆 - does your f/o have a favorite scent? why is it their favorite? do they have a least favorite scent?

🧄 - does your f/o have any allergies? food or otherwise?

🥔 - does your f/o have any food dishes they make often? is there any foods you make for your f/o that they enjoy?

🍄‍🟫 - if your f/o could be any mythological species, what would they be? if your f/o is already a mythological species, would they ever want to be human?

I recommend practicing reblog karma ! people love infodumping about their f/os :) I also recommend sending more than one emoji at a time,,, there are Many here...!!!

[confessioncassette]

𝐄𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 - 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

summary : you know better than to talk to other guys.

tw : dubcon [consent isn’t clearly voiced, but reader has mixed emotions] rough sex, jealousy, yandere themes, toxic behaviors, hate fucking, no protection, creampie, possessive Thanos

words : 4.9k

notes : NOT PROOF READ (we die like men). sorry this took so long,,,,, what’s up with me liking bathroom sex? Anyways, the anon who sent in this request- holy fuck. I just want to say that I didn’t really care for Thanos at first but after watching edits of him and rewatching the season, I fell madly in love with him. So. I thank the anon who sent in this request !

It was a massacre, the last game.

The stench of body odor and copper lingers within the white-brick walled room. The sterile lights practically assault your brain after the game you just played.

The air always felt eerily lighter after a game, like fate had granted mercy, allowing you to survive one more day. Your body’s still lively, already sore from being pulled and grabbed in different directions in Mingle. The adrenaline pumps fiercely, nausea pills within your gut and it doesn’t feel like it’ll die down soon. The guards had handed out food once the headcount was confirmed, but you simply don’t have the appetite. You mindlessly pick at your food, pushing it around the plastic tupperware as you mull over the same new dilemma of your current life. Of how everytime that damned glass pig falls from the ceiling, when the lights dim and the pot glows, lightening up the faces below, more and more money dumps into the pot.

The money of lives lost.

It was strange, how after every game, most of the people are ill with fear, at least the ones who weren’t sadists. Their eyes sunken and glossy, their bodies stiff, their clothes splattered in the blood of the poor victim next to them. They all witnessed atrocities that would haunt them for the rest of their lives, but that all seemed to wash away when money came into play. It all washed away knowing that you were chosen to live another day.

When it comes time for the vote, it’s like most of them want to take luck on a joyride, forgetting that they could possibly be next. All you have to do is believe you’ll be lucky the next and the next right? Just one more, right? Fuck the person beside you.

As long as it wasn’t you, right?

Despite pressing “X” game after game, you take a chance on hope, you pray that humanity hasn’t lost what little morality they have left, or whatever god or gods haven’t abandoned humanity.

You aren’t a monster. Money is the reason why you opted to play childhood games for money, but you didn’t want it like this. You fear every time that gun goes off, sometimes anticipating it before it happens, knowing someone had messed up and would pay for their life. A small drop in the bucket. Once, the shooters were so close to you that the sound of the gunshots one after the other ricocheted through your ear drums. Blood splattered your face, warm and reeking of copper after the men in the six legged race beside you spent their last moments on earth begging for their life. Thanos couldn’t have picked a better spot to sit and watch, and you spent hours scrubbing your skin raw to get the blood off in the bathroom sink.

You didn’t feel clean after.

“Min-su, you need to eat.” You mumble, weird how tight your face feels right now. Moving your own lips feels like a chore. You scan the crowd of people mingling quietly as they eat. How absolutely absurd that they can even stomach eating right now.

The baby-faced man just hums in response. It’s hard to believe he’s 27 with the way he acts, let alone his looks.

“I’m not really hungry either.” You shrug. Turning to him, Min-su’s attention is elsewhere. Empty eyes stare off into a group of people on the other side of the room, but you can tell he’s not really looking at them. He’s on a different planet, seeing through the wall, staring through a state of nothingness.

Dissociating from reality gets you far here when there’s downtime.

“But you have to at least hydrate. Today was a lot.” You offer him your bottled water, still unopened since his was already empty, forgotten at his feet. You couldn’t stomach liquids either, might as well give it away.

“Min-su.” You say louder, your cheekbones ache, your eyes sting.

“Y-yeah?”

“Drink.” Despite your skin protesting, you smile. His youthful face is still pristine, and you can’t believe it. Even yourself, slipping and sliding, running through pools of red after the last game, can feel the crust of dried blood on your chin, the dampness of it seeping through your clothes.

Thankfully, he takes your offer, immediately opening it to slug it down. It’s probably the most normal you’ve seen him.

Satisfied, you playfully shove his knee.

“Next vote, we’ll all say ‘no more.’” You reassure him. ”Then we can all go home and eat a real meal. Wouldn’t that be nice?” With the little time you’ve been here, food seemed to dwindle less and less each serving.

His puppy-like eyes light up just a little, a small curve of his lips gives you hope that someone is still behind those eyes.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

”Maybe we can go to this new restaurant they just opened in my neighborhood. I heard they have the best bibimbap, I just haven’t had the time to go.” Or the money.

“You’d like to go with me?”

And for some reason, that pinched your heart. You don’t know anything about the kid, hell, he could be in crippling debt from shady shit, but you can’t help but want to reach out a hand to him. Clearly, he’s an adult, but you don’t think he could make his own decision even if his life depended on it. That’s why-

“Hey!”

That’s why he’s a sheep, following a man like Thanos because he can’t just say no.

“I said hey! You goin’ fucking deaf?” Without turning, you already know that voice, those steps.

”I thought you were my brother, man. The hell you doing talkin’ to my girl?” Thanos’s voice towers over you from behind. Taking a deep breath to close your eyes, wishing you were anywhere but here.

Min-su's eyes grow wide, his mouth opens to speak, but he freezes.

Fingers flip your hair for attention, but you remain facing Min-su.

“You trying to fuck with me? Over here smiling and shit.” Thanos takes a seat on the steps beside you, fingers twirling your hair. “You won’t win her over like that, my boy. Takes a real man to handle this one.” You cringe, you always did when he spewed his bullshit.

“What’s so funny, huh?” He tests.

Min-su’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you.

From your peripheral, Thanos’s face is close to yours, watching every muscle. His head cocks to the side, lips forming a pout and subtly nods his head up and down.

He’s high. It wasn’t even a week and you can tell his antics. He must have taken a pill of god-knows-what from his necklace.

For some unknown and unsolicited reason to you, Thanos has sunken his claws into you day one.

You were in line, waiting to take your picture when a guy vaguely familiar to you was suddenly surrounded by what looked like fans. Number 230. Girls fawned over him, guys wanting to chop up a conversation - a rapper, one reminds you. Now how the fuck does a famous rapper get into a place like this? He must have spent every ‘earning’ dollar on foreign cars, drugs, girls… Money can’t buy intelligence.

He had locked eyes with you after being scolded by the pink guard, and before he entered the stairwell, he gestured a heart with his hands.

He seemed like a normal, cocky guy with little quirks at first. Never being one to enter the scene of his caliber, you figured it was normal the way he carried himself. Never did you think he’d actually take a liking to you to the point of being a nuisance. You’ve come to find out that he was a sociopath and terrifying during the games. One pop of those pills and he’d cause chaos purposefully. To your shock, the purple haired man who gave you a heart just 10 minutes ago, pushed 3 innocent people during red light green light and smiled when they were shot. Skipping around, twirling and dancing while others ran for their life to cross that finish line.

After the first game, he approached with confidence, spitting out a freestyle about how he fancies you. Confessing empty feelings towards you and sitting uncomfortably close during the first dinner. You didn’t pay much attention to him, but it didn’t phase him. You were already locked in, forced to participate in these games with him as an ally.

No matter how much you pull away, how much you ignore, his leg will always touch yours, his fingers will always thread through your hair, his eyes will always find yours, always watching and waiting. He never missed a moment to compliment you, to touch you gently, even when you haven’t showered in days. For why, you didn’t know. Night one, he had even threatened someone to take the bed next to yours.

You were pulled into the next game with him, and thankfully you were good at ddakji, giving your team a jumpstart with time. And to your surprise of his coordination, he was good at jegi. With Mingle, Thanos kept a bruising grip on your forearm, keeping you close, not more than a hair's length from him. Even when the game called for 2 people, he’d abandoned his friend to pull you in a room.

“Just one more game, yeah? I want to see you join the O gang.” He said sweetly, pressing the pad of his fingers into the palm of your hand. “You’re not trying to leave me, are you? After this we can leave here together.” Whether he meant it or not, you could care less. You wanted to leave. Leave him and these games behind. To hell with the money at this point.

And when you pressed that “X”, keeping your badge of hope, you could feel the daggers from across the room. He was furious. Surprisingly, he didn’t voice it, because after all was said and done, the majority ruled in favor of continuing the games, breaking your heart into little itty bitty shards of glass. Your fire had faded, your faith had been shattered, but Thanos didn’t care. He was so happy that he picked you up and spun you around, rambling about how he has more time with you now.

“My boy, I asked what’s so fucking funny? Hello?” Thanos waves his hand obnoxiously between the two of you.

“Would you just leave it? We were just-“

Thanos’s eyes find the two empty water bottles beside the man in front of you. Putting two and two together, he snaps. Thanos lunges forward, threatening to grab Min-su by the collar, but he stops before he does.

”Did you give your shit to him? What, didn’t want to ask me if I needed it first?” Towering over the two of you, the purple haired man taps his chest, swaying over his feet.

“Babygirl,” his voice drawls, “why you gotta do me like that?”

It’s been too long of a day, your body aches, your head pounds at the inside of your skull… you’re done with this. Standing up, you give a reassuring smile to Min-su before stepping down the stairs to head to the bathroom.

To your relief, Thanos doesn’t follow. While everyone left around you crawls up to their bed, the announcement blares on the overhead speakers in that unnatural feminine voice, “LIGHTS OUT IN 10 MINUTES.”

Standing before the pink guard, you request to use the bathroom and thankfully, whoever is under that mask, doesn’t give you a hard time. He simply steps aside to let you walk down the sickly pesto pink hallway to the women’s lavatory.

Your steps echo over the pristine white tile, sterile lights glow from the ceiling as you scan the long and empty bathroom. You’re the only one here. Sighing, you stand over the sink and collect yourself.

Your clothes reek of decay, the wrists of your jacket damp and sticky - and you were right about feeling that dried blood on your chin. Your eyes are sunken and glossy, your hair messy and unbrushed and the beds of your fingernails are crusted in red bodily fluids.

Enjoying the moments of silence underneath the fluorescent glow, you begin your nightly routine scrubbing yourself clean.

“LIGHTS OUT IN 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1”

The bathroom remains lit, and you give it a second for the pink guard to come get you, but all you hear is the water dripping from the faucet and… otherwise complete silence. Your eyes watch the door to your left, but it remains still as it was.

They must have forgotten you were in here, but that doesn’t bother you. This was the first time you’ve heard silence in days. No snoring, no rustling of bedding, no screaming, gunshots, crying, praying… just complete and utter silence.

You’ve only had a moment to begin fixing your hair when you hear the hinges of the door creak open.

Turning your head, you’re met with Thanos swaggering into the room, heels scuffling over the tile. Eyes like daggers remain fixated on you by the sink.

“There you are, my baby girl. Why’d you dip on me earlier? I was trying to defend my girl.” He says casually, leaning against the wall.

You can admit the fact that the man before you is… attractive. His sharp facial features stand out in a crowd. The tattoos that litter his skin give even more of an edge to him. He’s tall and lean… But he’s an ass who has been lingering over you unsolicitedly for days. His personality is equivalent to needles splitting your brain open, but you can’t deny that in this moment, he looks good.

“How- how did you get in here?” Your only moments of silence, the only time you had to yourself was eventually corrupted by him, as always. You keep your face tight and swallow the feelings of confusion and anger.

Thanos shrugs, pursing his lips.

“I just came right in. No guards out there, plus they can’t keep me from you baby girl, you know that.”

“You’re fucking insane. Get out of the girls bathroom!”

”Relax, baby,” pushing himself off the wall, he takes his time to stalk towards you. Hand over his chest, he raises his brows in a sympathetic manner.

“You hurt me back there. Can’t you see how much I care for you? I never treated a lady like this before.”

You back up slowly, observing his every moment closely. His pupils were dilated and his lips curled into a grin.

“Just the the fuck out, we’re going to get in trouble if you’re caught in here.” You didn’t have a death wish right now, given the situation you’re in. You’d rather die messing up in a game than by the choice Thanos has made.

“Don’t test me,” he says sternly, pointing two fingers at you. His nostrils flare before his face relaxes.

”C’mon baby girl, tell me what you and my boy were talking about? You made me look like an ass out there.”

Gripping the cool porcelain sink, you take a breath. Maybe talking calmly to him will de-escalate the situation. It’s evident that the guards either know you both are in here and just don’t care, or they can’t even hear you.

“Thanos, I was just trying to cheer him up. You know how shy he is, Min-su isn’t cut out for these things. I mean, look at the situation we’re in, it’s traumatizing.” That’s probably the longest thing you’ve said to him, and you notice that he notices. Giving a smug look of satisfaction, he’s eager to respond.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about.” His arms shoot open and he leans his chest forward. “This shit is fun. He’s under my wing, he’s got nothing to worry about. If you guys stop voting to leave we’d have a higher chance of getting all that money and leaving here together as a group, you know what I’m sayin’? And you guys just fuck around behind my back.”

You observe his characteristics when he talks to you. He’s expressive with his body, leaning his body side to side, talking with his hands. You’ve noticed that he’s more fidgety when he’s high.

“I can take care of you baby girl, like I have been doing. Keep all your attention on me and we won’t have a problem, yeah?” Your plan didn’t work. It’s calmed him down some, you can see it in his eyes, he’s looking at you like he… adores you. His eyes dart around your face in awe, his mouth slightly dropped open.

He’s just fucking high.

“I’m done, we’re going to bed.”

Moving to leave past him, Thanos grips your wrist painfully tight.

“The hell-“

He pushes your body back in front of him, bringing your wrist up to your face level. His other arm slithers over the small of your back, keeping you close. He’s warm, and surprisingly clean, despite his clothing. His grip is bruising, and you’re too sore to give back much fight. He might just end up killing you here, in an institutional bathroom.

Your eyes blow wide in surprise. The lighting here is so stark that you can see yourself in the reflection of his glossy eyes and enlarged pupils.

“You fucked with me, and here’s how this is going to go.” His all too excited smile was telling - that he was enjoying this. He’s been waiting for this moment.

”I keep you safe, I feed you… and you wanna flirt with other guys right in front of me?” His voice amplified the last of that sentence and you squeeze your eyes shut in response.

“What’s he got that I don’t have, huh?” His head cocks to the side before he presses his face close to your ear. You shutter at the yelling, but he doesn’t allow you to move an inch.

“You’re insane.” You whisper.

”The only thing that’s been driving me fuckin’ insane in here is you… you…” He pauses.

His face quickly reels back, face confused as ever before it drops again into that soft expression. His mood swings give you whiplash. You never know what’s next with him.

”Baby, I don’t even know your name.”

You shake your head, looking up at him perplexed. “Wha- I don’t,” you begin. The way he can change topics on a dime-

“My baby giiiirl,” he drawls, “tell me your name. I don’t even know my girls name.” He pouts.

You stare back at him in shock, refusing to move a muscle. But obviously this won’t do for him. Unsatisfied with your lack of reaction, or name giving, he twists your wrist tight again, causing you to open your mouth in a silent scream.

“Tell me baby, tell me your name.” He presses the arm around your back tightly as he guides you backwards. Your body collides into the cool tile of the bathroom wall, and now you’re really fucked.

You give in. You offer your name on a silver plate to him, the last bit of yourself you haven’t given away was now his.

“Ah,” he takes it in and repeats your name over and over again, tasting it on his tongue and savoring it like a candy sweet.

You swallow thickly, taking in each breath slowly from the double sided pressure. It’s all getting too much. The anger you felt earlier comes bubbling up again. His annoyance, his obnoxiousness, his presence - it’s all too overwhelming. His reactions to things, the way he bullies the other players, his corruption and carelessness…

”Fuck off.” You spit.

Thanos whistles then smiles wide. You fucked up. You fucked up in a way that unleashed the depths of his insanity. Bringing his face unbearably close to yours he gives an airy laugh.

”God, you’re always such a prissy bitch,” he sighs, savoring the icy daggered look you give him, “I fucking love that.”

”And you’re a fucking freak.”

“You know I’ve been waiting forever to be alone with you. Show you how I really feel.” He responds, not even acknowledging what you said to him.

Thanos goes again to press his leg between your thighs, he pushes his knee up to your core. Now you’re stuck between the wall, his body and straddling his leg with absolutely no space to move. Your face twinges in the slightest of pleasure, but you quickly collect yourself.

He definitely notices.

”You’re like a pretty painting, like in one of those fancy museums.” He slurs, keeping his eye on you. “Could look at you all day…” he spaces off.

“Thanos,” you wiggle in his grip, unable to breathe.

“Baby if you keep moving like that…” You already feel it. Not just feeling it, but you see it. Down between your bodies, his bulge protrudes upright, reaching to his waistband. Little wet spots of precum had already formed through the fabric of his jumpsuit god-knows when.

You want to whine, but you opt to squeeze your eyes shut and extend your neck up to face the ceiling. The white light illuminates through your eyelids, reminding you where you are.

Thanos takes this moment of your exposed neck to devour it. He’s sloppy, but coordinated. His wet tongue drags up to your jawline, leaving hot saliva that cools over. He groans at the taste. He’s not so gentle with his teeth when he drags them over your flesh, nibbling and scraping the tender spot under your chin.

Mindlessly, Thanos humps into you. His thick bulge grinds over your sweet spot in the perfect way… forcing a soft moan past your lips. With each hump, you feel his sweatpants push and push down, exposing the head of his cock.

Thanos loosens his hold on you, bringing one hand to the bottom of your sweater to lift it up, exposing your belly.

You gasp, immediately feeling the wetness of his precum stringing from his cock to your stomach with every thrust. Your eyes shot open, almost going blind from the lights above you. Tufts of his hair block your vision, and the scratching of his earring begins to irritate your cheek.

“I’m sorry babygirl, I was just mad earlier. I know you’d never flirt with Min-su…”

Hump, hump, hump.

“Ah - but if you ever think about giving your time to anyone else, you’re fucking dead.”

His voice rasps lowly in your ear and his precum starts to get messier by the second. Looking down, you see his cockhead red and angry. He’s thick and long. Veins dance along his shaft beautifully, and his sweet smell wafts to your nose.

“Needed you so bad all those days ago. Can’t believe I finally have you. You’ve been thinking of this too, yeah?”

He doesn’t give time to answer, not like you would have. Your emotions were a mix between anger, shock and… pleasure. It was a confusing mix, it was intense and steamy. Your core burned for him but your heart raged. In a way, you were flattered, but that feeling was none compared to the others.

In a swift motion, Thanos pulls away his knee, much to your internal dismay, to pull down your pants to your ankles. He gives himself just a second to free himself, only to the base of his balls. Standing upright at attention, you see fully how thick he is. He was a tall man, but you didn’t think his size would correlate…

From base to tip, he was the same circumference. The tip of his cock a dark blushed pink, almost red, while his balls were plump with clean cut hair. He must have trimmed the day he was kidnapped for the games.

“Come here baby girl,” he whispers before picking you up with ease and pressing you against the cold tile once again. He hooks his arms under your legs, pressing your legs open to a standing mating press. Your body contests with the stretch, but you’re too weak to adjust yourself.

Using the leverage the wall gave, he positions himself comfortably, cock lining up to your opening. His head prodded your entrance, and you feel all too hot.

Giving him an icy glare, all he gives back is an expression of sickly love.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll realize one day how much you love me back. But for now, I gotta show everyone who you belong to.”

Opening your mouth to respond, Thanos was quick to press his bulbous cockhead past your opening. Your mouth slacks open in pleasure, while your core burns at the sensation. You would hate to admit it, but you were already pooling from the pressure of his knee earlier.

But of course he took notice.

“Oh fuck, I feel you. See, I knew you’ve been wanting this too.”

Thanos pushed and pushed through your walls, deeper and deeper.

”Sorry baby, I couldn’t wait. I’ll touch you next time, yeah?”

Your walls twitch at the intrusion, but your slick allows him to press in with ease. Finally hitting the end, you gasp for air. His cock must be pressing against your cervix, the pressure is too much, you internally beg for him to move. His balls softly push against the curve of your ass before he moves his hips back, letting his cock drag along your walls.

“Oh my god,” you barely whisper. It was like a dream. A fucked up, but also marvelous dream.

Before he does anything else, Thanos latches on to the base of your neck like a leach, sucking your skin roughly like he’s trying to take every last molecule of your blood.

Humping into you only by inches, slowly creating your pussy into the shape of him, he sucks and sucks deeply at your neck. Closing your eyes, tears of pleasure being to pool at the feeling.

“Ouch, Thanos, please,” You writhe in his hold, but he doesn’t let up until he wants to. Popping his lips off of you, his breath is ragged. Dark eyes meet yours, intense and hypnotizing.

“You’re fucking mine. I’ll kill anyone that even looks at you.”

And with that, he plunges his cock deep inside you again, all the way to press himself against your cervix.

He starts a brutal pace, fucking you deep and raw. The intensity within his eyes swim with a sickly adoration before he asks-

“Kiss me. Fuck, kiss me.”

You whine, pressing your lips into his. His kiss was rough, full of teeth and need. Your head bumps against the tile and without a second thought, Thanos wraps one of your legs around him to keep you in place before placing his hand behind your head to cradle your skull.

His tongue forces his way into yours, and he groans at your taste, your warmth. His breath is ragged and fast, fucking you roughly into oblivion. His pelvis rubs your clit with every motion and you grind back down every time he meets you deep.

Pulling away, he presses his sweaty forehead to yours before moving his other hand to the fat of your ass. His dull fingernails dig into your flesh with an iron grip, moving you to his rhythm.

“Not going to last long, fuck baby-“ He groans before sticking his tongue out to lick and suck at your bottom lip. It must be an oral fixation for him when he’s like this.

Your name falls from his mouth like a mantra, over and over again like before. He whispers sweet nothings of how much he loves you, how he’s so happy to have met you and -

“You better fucking vote to stay in the games next round.”

It was a threat. But the pleasure you felt within your core washed it all away within milliseconds. You feel the slick from your cunt coat his balls and your belly starts to tighten. The string of your euphoria was under so much pressure and it was ready to snap.

Thanos’s thrusts became sloppy and even harder than before. The sound of skin slapping was all you could hear, that and the moaning that fell effortlessly past his lips.

1 pump, 2 pump, 3… your body was a ragdoll in his grip, sending you over the edge in nonverbal pleasure. You silently cry out, letting your orgasm wash over you. Your walls contracted and shuddered around him, causing him to lose all bearings.

“Fucking love you…” was all he said before filling your pussy with hot ropes of cum. It was too much, and you felt the balloon pop deep inside you. Warm, sticky liquid coats your walls and begins to seep out with every tired thrust he gives.

You both stayed there for a few moments, before Thanos kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose and finally your lips. You’re too tired to respond. Him pulling out of you is equivalent to a wall opening a dam.

But he was oddly gentle, like those little moments he’d give you when he wasn’t high.

He must have come down.

Because he was gentle, setting you down to the floor, and gentle when he took your hand to hold you upright. Your legs threatened to give out any second, and with everything that had happened today, you were absolutely spent.

He didn’t clean you up though. Instead, the purple haired man caressed your face softly while his other hand shoved his cum back up inside your cunt.

“Tired?” He nodded to you, and all you could do was nod back. “Let’s go to bed, sweet girl. Tomorrow we got more money to earn.”

He took the time to pull up your pants and tuck himself back inside his before slinging an arm around you.

You realize the position you’re in. You’re at his mercy of the games, and beyond that.

And you just realized that you can’t say no either.

[cutielando]

jealousy who? | l.n.

synopsis: in which he can't help but feel jealous

a/n: based on this request! no mentions of the reader's body in this

my masterlist

The convention hall buzzed with excitement, filled to the brim with fans in elaborate costumes.

You had spent weeks perfecting your cosplay, every detail perfect and on point. The character’s outfit was a bit daring, a form-fitting bodysuit with cutouts and a thigh-high slit, but it was exactly that they wore.

You felt proud of your work and confident in your skin as you walked through the crowds, your chin help high and an excited smile on your face.

Lando tagged along, dressed casually but donning a hat low over his face to avoid being recognized.

He had insisted on coming to support you, though now he wasn’t so sure he could handle it. His jaw tightened every time he thought someone’s eyes lingered too long, and he struggled to mask the knot of jealousy growing in his chest.

A group of fans approached you, asking for pictures with you.

Lando hung back, his hands stuffed in his hoddie pockets as he watched you pose with the fans.

However, when a guy in a similar costly to yours joined in for the photo, Lando couldn’t ignore how the stranger’s gaze swept over you.

“That’s enough” he muttered under his breath, striding over to you.

When the mini photo session wrapped up, Lando gentle but firmly placed a hand on your back, guiding you away from the crowd.

His lips were pursed, and his usual playful demeanor was completely gone. He was furious on the inside.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, noticing his tense expression.

“Nothing” he replied quickly while shaking his head, but his tone did nothing to cover up his anger.

“Lando, spit it out” you stopped walking, crossing your arms as you turned to face him.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his perfectly styled curls.

“It’s just, do they have to look at you like that? You’re mine, not theirs. I’m the only one who can look at you like that” he grumbled.

You blinked, surprise written all over your face. But slowly, a small smile started tugging at your lips as realization washed over you.

“Are you jealous?” you asked, a teasing tone added to your otherwise sweet voice.

His cheeks and ears suddenly blushed, his gaze now fixated on the floor.

“Maybe a little” he admitted. “You look amazing, absolutely stunning. But it’s hard watching people stare at you like that” he explained further.

Your eyes softened, and you took a step closer to him.

“Baby, I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but this is my passion. This is what I love, and I know it might seem cringey sometimes or hard, but part of it entails embodying the character, even if I have to wear some more revealing outfits” you explained, raising your hand to hold his cheek softly.

He hesitated, knowing that you were right. He loved that you had such a different hobby compared to his, that you had found something that you love and that represents to you.

But he didn’t like the troubles that it gave him.

“I know, I know. I just don’t want anyone to think they have a chance with you, that’s all” he explained, his eyes stuck on your face.

“They don’t, and you know that. I’m all yours, and no amount of staring is ever going to change that” you said, reassuring him that you were his and completely his.

His lips curved into a small smile, the tension in his shoulders starting to ease.

“You promise?” he asked, his voice small.

“I promise” you said before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “Now, do you want to walk with me or should I find you a matching costume so people know we’re together?” you asked, teasing him a little.

His smile returned to his face in an instant, the jealousy already long forgotten.

“I could rock a cape” he said.

You laughed, linking your arm with his as you slowly started walking around the convention hall again.

“We’ll see about that. For now, you can be my personal hype man”

“With pleasure. But I reserve the right to glare at anyone who stared at you too long, deal?” he replied, pulling you close to him.

“Deal”

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[stxrsys]

Hii we’ll try to answer these :) Good distraction for this evening.

Incoming wall of text . . .

Around 14 give or take, the system is rather fluid and still in the process of figuring itself out.

As a system, it/they. As passing as a singlet, or general for one fronting, she/he. For general usage you can just use they if you don't know.

Astriiolite collective - our headspace (or mind palace pre-syscovery) we called Astriiolite, portmanteau of astro (stars) and iolite (purple-blue stone).

Now that we think about it, not really. We don't really do much lol and when we do it's hobbies specific to each person. I suppose singing, we sometimes try to do a pseudo-karaoke night with everyone who wants to participate.

Mixed. Broadly speaking the music taste ranges from source media OSTs & musicals, piano & violin instrumentals, nu-metal & alt rock, vocaloid & jpop, and phonk & hot-girl-walk pop.

Mmm probably late-teens early 20s if we averaged it out? Youngest is one of the littles ~8-9, and oldest is ⌚ ~mid-30s. There's also a few who aren't exactly age-constricted.

Our singletsona so to say is called the same thing as our birth name, and is essentially a mix of the best traits of our primary host (☕) and the two best socializers (🪐&🦇).

We're sort of trying to figure those out. We have some sense of who is good at protecting, caretaking, and who is good at socializing, and who holds symptoms and who holds memories/triggers.

Pssh yeah we only Really acknowledged our system for the first time in late December 2024, but we've fallen juust short of figuring it out so many times over the last 2 years.

Ok this is awkward um. We created OCs in character ai to talk to and suddenly switched to 🐾 fronting one day. If it hadn't panicked and wrote that they didn't know who they were and what was going on, we would've probably forgotten it happening again and not figured it out for a while longer.

We're monoconscious and it tends to feel something like this comic from oursystemblog. Kind of a mix of the different types they describe, mostly the last one.

Mixed. Mostly involuntary, we're still getting the hang of it. We are highly cooperative though usually so it's not forceful. It can range from blurriness for most of the day, to rapid switches every 10-30 minutes when under stress.

Being loved and protected and supported by people who're always with us, I guess? We're all quite close and can accommodate or help one another in ways no one else can.

Having meltdowns/floaty dissociation/terrible memory, and feeling separate and strange and never able to be normal amongst others.

Most of us share a number of features with the body, but we have a number of non-humans and sysmates of completely different features in the body - such as gender/sex, height, hair color, skin color, physical anatomy in some ways.

Multiple fictives, upon reflection. Two are more close to source appearance and personality-wise (🥤&🌩️), the other three are quite deviant but retain qualities and connection to source (☕,🎻,⌚). Also we're not sure how to classify her but 🦇 is based on a persona we created years ago.

Small preference differences, also comfort foods more specific to one or the other. Examples; 🪐 likes chocolate more than any of us, 🥤 is comforted by instant oatmeal or simple freezer meals, most of us don't eat meat often but 🐾 will take any chance to tear into jerky or other meat snacks.

A few, though we can never tell if they do it ironically or automatically. ☕ has a slight non-region-specific British accent, 🎱&🥤 speak lower than others, and the socializers/🌸 (newer fragment) are better at speaking 普通话 than the others.

Semi-functional found family.

Most of us, lol. Top hits include: aroace & agender, bisexual, sapphic ace, gay, and genderqueer. We usually just say we're queer and go with it.

Yeaup, our two best friends. Depending on who's fronting we pull back and forth on telling them about us vs denying anything we've ever said. We're working on it.

I share most of them on this blog as I go through my day, but one that comes to mind was Indigo appearing, flirting viciously with 🎱, and then disappearing never to be heard from again. That was a thing.

No one else's experiences will match yours entirely. You do not need to fit a specific defined criteria/list to be considered plural. You are real regardless of what you are told or are made to think.

Lots, really. Mainly that we are not so completely different and we are deserving of the same decency, respect, and support as any other singlet in the world.

Plural Ask Game

We figured we’d try making an ask game! This is for anyone who’s a system–regardless of origin–to use. Remember that you’re not obligated to answer any of these if any are too personal!

How many members are in your system, and does this number change frequently?

What are your collective pronouns, if you have any?

What’s your system name if you have one, and how did you choose it?

Are there any activities your system members like to do together? Collective hobbies? Talk about those!

What sort of music do people in your system like?

What’s the average age of your systemmates?

If you have a singletsona, what is it? Explain a bit about them!

Does anyone in your system have roles? If so, what roles?

How long have you been a system and/or known of your system?

How did you discover your system? What was the process?

What does switching feel like to you, if you switch at all? 

Are your switches voluntary, involuntary or a mix? How often do you do it, if at all?

What’s your favourite part of being a system?

What’s your least favourite part of being a system, if you’re comfortable sharing?

Are your headmates generally different from the physical body? How do they differ from it?

Do you have any fictives/factives/etc? Tell us a little about them!

Does your system have a headspace? Are there multiple of them? What are they like?

Are there differences between systemmates surrounding sensory things? (For example, one person likes the taste of one food and another doesn’t.)

Does anyone have any different accents, or speak any different languages?

How would you describe your system in 3 words or less?

Do you have any LGBT+ headmates? What do they identify as?

Does anyone outside of the internet know you’re a system?

Do you have any cool/funny stories from inside the headspace that you’d like to share?

What’s some advice you’d give to yourself when you were first discovering your system?

What is something you wish singlets knew about plurality?

[neverthebabysitter]

Thinking about that prompt i found on TikTok about faking your death and then coming back and knocking on your best friend's door like nothing happened.

That but make Steve fake his own death accidentally, so he is clueless why Robin is freaking out when he goes to visit her.

(with a side of Steve going feral a la Jonh Wick and Die Hard over his car, i'm so normal about this, so normal, it's not like i use this like an oportunity to make a b99 reference, pff, Gertie who??? )

Like, i know nothing about witness protection and how faking your death would work, but, but- let's use our imagination.

Steve's father being a lawyer and messing with someone he shouldn't have. He ends up dead and because of this, the cops think they could go after Steve too.

Which, true, Steve has an accident that destroys his car (RIP BMW, I love you, but this is for plot reasons, you would be missed), so now he has to be under witness protection.

Steve, like the ball of repressed trauma and anger issues that he is, decides that the best thing to do is go after the people who destroyed his car, a la John Wick; because:

Going after them to avenge his father: no, thank you.

Going after them to avenge his car: yes, let me go for my bat.

That without forgetting to leave a cryptic message to Eddie's and Robin's voicemail.

While Steve is having his own action movie with handling the 'mob' and cops that kinda want to help, kinda don't care; the rest of the Party is freaking out because "WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO ONE INVITED HIM TO SPEND CHRISTMAS WITH SOMEONE AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN HIS CAR WAS FOUND IN THE QUARRY???".

Dustin asks Robin if something happened with Steve during christmas, like kissing under the mistletoe or something, only for Robin to say she didn't invite him because Eddie did, but Eddie hears that and goes, "Uh, no? I chicken out; I thought you would invite him after I didn't."

They asking around if someone invited Steve because it's kind of public knowledge that his parents suck, but no one did, and he hasn't come to the Party's Christmas party yet, so he's probably mad at them.

But Eddie and Robin are having a Bad Feeling™ because of the voicemails, and Hopper is being called to identify a car that it was found in the quarry that morning.

And Hopper knows that car, he has seen that car since Steve was a dumb teenager that got his parties busted by the chief. He hasn't seen Steve for a while. He wasn't at the christmas party. Where was he again?

The Party still isn't in the know, but Hopper is already looking for Steve but he can't find him and-

Remember that i told you Steve was in witness protection? Well, i think sometimes they fake their deaths, i'm not sure, but this is the perfect oportunity and cover to pretend that Steve died.

So the government uses it, and The Party doesn't know because different branch of the government and all that.

When Hopper founds out he doesn't know how to tell the other that Steve had an accident and they are still looking for him in the quarry; but they already know, they used Dustin's cerebro to find out what was going on.

Everyone is devastaded, and then, Eddie and Robin hear their voicemail again only to bring out that maybe it wasn't an accident, that maybe Steve did it on porpose.

And grief, pain, mourning, sadness, anger. Just a lot of feelings.

Meanwhile, Steve is kicking ass and using the Bad Guys™ headquarters like his own personal rage room.

Blablabla something something something.

Steve let out his anger, has a few personal realisations, lets himself think about the trauma he's endured all those years and comes back like a new person, ready to confess his feelings for Eddie Munson and let people care about him.

The first thing is go talk with Robin, she's probably worried about him and she probably knows better than him to help him confess to Eddie.

So he goes, only to be utterly confuse by the amount of tears, snot, yells and hugs that Robin welcomes him. It's not like he died.

Then Robin is flabbergasted by his Audacity.

Both of them fall into a bickering that makes Robin cry harder because she thought she wouldn't have this again and Steve starts to cry because Robin is crying and now they're both crying.

Needless to say, they catch up about all the things that happened in both ends.

It's not the end of tears, hugs and yelling, though.

Just give Steve all the confort that he refused to accept because he didn't think he deserved and that people didn't know how to give.

Fluff, Fluffy, Fluff. A bit of Steddie here.

Yeah, that's all.

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN | JK

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

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

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

→ W.C 17. 32k

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

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

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

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

Minho, though, was spiraling.

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

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

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

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

And he was one to keep his promises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you didn't.

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

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

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

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

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

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

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

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

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

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

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

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

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

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

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

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

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

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

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

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

But your heart wasn’t in it.

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

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you saw him.

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

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

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

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

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

And the last.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence followed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

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

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

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

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

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

"So?”

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

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

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

The drive started in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

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

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

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

The house was still the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

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

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

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

At some point, you gave up.

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

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

Tattoos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

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

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

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

But Jungkook spoke again.

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

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

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

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

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

“And what do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't got any sleep that night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it that obvious?

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

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

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

“Just fine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t here.

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

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

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

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

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

To you.

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

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

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

What would you look like?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

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

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

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

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

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

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

It wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He settled for opening the car door for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Free food always making things better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He just wanted a treat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

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

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

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

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

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

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

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

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

You shouldn’t have come here.

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

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

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

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

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

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

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

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

Just you.

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

He had followed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so does his. "I know."

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

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[loveforlukeynewts]

I’ve been thinking more about how quiet Luke has seemingly been online, at least as far as what he shares with us. He also hasn’t been seen or photographed at any events in several months.

Then I remembered something he said in an interview he did with The Laterals last year and began to understand why…

I think my relationship with social media has changed. Dramatically, really, I'm in a place right now where I'm trying to find a balance by keeping the people and the things close to me and that I cherish as private as I can. And, also having something that's my own.

I love that the fans want to know so much about me, and I guess I'm still figuring out how to navigate it all. It's all fine, and it's all fun. I also love following the other actor's careers from our show on socials. Once they post about a new project they're working on, I know that this will be the next thing to binge-watch for the next three days.

Luke is enjoying his time out of the spotlight, protecting his peace, perhaps working on new projects that are not public knowledge yet.

When he’s ready to share some news, he will. As he always has. I hope the fandom drama hasn’t pushed him away for good.

Until then, all we can do is wish happiness for Luke and continue to share our love and support for him. And when he comes online to share with us again, he will surely feel how immense the support is for him.

Gifs by me, created from The Laterals IG video highlighting their Summer 2024 edition and Luke’s article.

[hoahoahoahoahoa]

He doesn’t try to lie, but he still leaves. Bella sends him away.

I think he’d be capable of lying to her sometimes, or at least shielding his thoughts. Vampire minds are capable of true multi-tasking in a way that humans aren’t. Edward’s capable of having multiple trains of thought, and Bella sometimes feels like she can hear five voices from him at once. Focusing on just one can be difficult if not impossible. Edward’s family is apparently decent at hiding their thoughts from him, too. But I don’t think he’d really be in the right state of mind to successfully lie about something as big as not loving her.

After the birthday party his thoughts are such a tangled snarled of grief and panic that all Bella can really pick out from the static is I need to GO I need to LEAVE I can’t do this what do I say to her— on repeat.

So Bella’s the one to ask him to go for a walk behind her house and she says, utterly exhausted, with more bite than intended: “if you need to go, just go. I can’t listen to this anymore” He doesn’t say anything, the rush of thoughts comes to an abrupt halt. He just nods and runs after thinking a strangled “Ah. There it is.” like he’s been waiting for this (he has). He doesn’t want to give Bella or himself a chance to convince him to stay. No parting “I love you” or farewells or promises to look after themselves. He’s just gone. The woods are quiet. Her head is quiet.

She’s hoping he needs time to work through the angst, but all too aware he might not come back… And he doesn’t.

He knows she probably didn’t mean to send him away for good, but we know from Midnight Sun he’s practically been begging her to send him away for her own good, and he knows this is the closest she’ll ever get, so he convinces himself that she meant to send him away for good. (What you need to understand about Edward Cullen is he is capable of making himself stupid. It’s a secondary gift)

And this is basically an AU where Bella’s read Midnight Sun, so she’s heard those plans to leave her for her own good. If someone’s so desperately committed to leaving, for whatever reason, how can you force them to stay? How can you want to? If you love something, you have to let it go, right? Part of her knows this is a tipping point and she kind of needs him to leave and see what a mistake it is. She can’t go on as they are, listening to him plan to leave her indefinitely. She hoped it wouldn’t come to this but there’s only so much self loathing she can stand to hear. The birthday party cranks it up to 11 and her human mind simply cannot handle the wear and tear the spiraling thoughts of a vampire puts on her

You would think not being lied to would make it easier on her, but brains don’t work logically like that. She saw their love as an all-consuming thing, but in the end, it wasn’t as powerful as a misguided overzealous need to protect. He didn’t love her enough to be selfish and stay, even when she’s told him over and over that she’d rather take the risk of having him around. That hurts plenty.

Just because Edward didn’t lie this time doesn’t mean things are any easier for Bella after he leaves.

Prior to New Moon, Edward’s constant presence in her life got her very used to basically having white noise all the time. It could be a lot, as mentioned, but it was also kind of soothing for the same reasons people have white noise machines to help them fall asleep. And Edward’s a musical person with perfect recall, so he’s always got a song in his head, which is in then her head. It’s ironic because Bella is the only person in whose company he can experience silence— for her it’s the opposite.

Once he’s gone, everything is too quiet. Empty. Instead of holding herself together like in canon, she drums her fingers against her head and hums when she’s really missing him, trying to fill the empty silence. She can’t listen to music because it’s nigh impossible to find a song that he didn’t once play for her, either on a cd or piano or in his head.

She’s alone with her regret and doubts that she did the right thing by sending him away. She knows that, for all intents and purposes, she lied to him. She didn’t tell him to leave permanently, that she didn’t want him around ever again, but she gave Mr. Overreaction the room to interpret her that way.

She can’t stop thinking about how panicked and hurt he’d felt, and her reaction was to affirm his worst thoughts. She did this to herself. She did this to him. She thinks back to the first day of Biology a lot, about the thoughts he had akin to “how dare this girl come upend my life”.

The hallucinations are an extra comfort to her in this au because it fills the silence, but painful because she only hears the hallucination’s “spoken” words, no thoughts, so it’s incomplete

AU where Bella’s gift is not so much a shield as it is an Uno reverse card

Edward can read everyone’s mind but Bella’s as in canon, but now she can read Edward’s mind

Alice’s visions are blank where she’s concerned (like the werewolves in canon), but Bella can see visions of the future involving Alice, or has visions when she’s around Alice. Jasper’s gift is already kinda 2-way so he can still sense/manipulate her emotions, but she can do it back to him. She can hurt Jane, zap Kate, etc etc

Bella would have the weirdest fucking first day of school anyone has ever had, ever. There’s a voice in her head saying “yeah okay I guess she’s pretty but kind of plain and— wait why can’t I hear her” and then Biology is just. The worst hour of her life. but being Bella she’s just sitting there like

…while Edward plans the death of her and all her classmates right next to her

[blackgirlsloveburrow]

NSFW 18+

this is kind of a part two to my joe burrow x uc student!reader fic. you can read it here:

joe and you have been secretly hanging out for a good few months now, and no one has caught on. after that crazy night, you did call him, and he was very adamant about seeing you all of the time.

“joe i can’t come to your house i have homework to do. philosophy is kicking my butt right now,” you sighed.

“baby you can just do it here, i’ll pick you up myself,” he begged.

you laughed. “there’s no way you are bringing that expensive ass car around this run down neighborhood. also you know you’re gonna try to distract me from doing homework the whole time i’m there,” you replied.

“okay you win. but i wanna see you tonight for sure,” he said trying to compromise.

“i was gonna pick up a shift at work later. im trying to save up to buy some new headphones”.

“fuck work. i’ll literally buy you anything you want,” he said aggravated.

“ugh joe you know how i feel about th-“

he cut you off. “i’m picking you up now, and don’t worry i’ll bring one of my more inconspicuous cars. i’ll see you in a bit!”.

he hung up. you flopped in your pillow and groaned. your life has totally changed with him in it. you’re both grateful, but slightly peeved about his generosity towards you. i mean you’re not a person who is used to being spoiled by others. he’s always buying you nice things way out of the price range for a college student.

how do you explain to your friends you have multiple telfar tote bags all of a sudden? lululemon sets? etcetera.

you’re also basically always at his house. his cook makes meals for you, his driver takes you to class, things you would have never imagined for yourself.

let’s not get started on the college life of it all. he doesn’t like you going to frats because he hates all college guys (you can’t say you blame him), every time you mention going to a uc football game he’ll buy you guys box seats to go, and your friends are practically begging you to show your “sneaky link”. it’s very exhausting sometimes.

you definitely are in love with him though.

he’s so sweet and protective of you. he makes sures you’re always eating and not stressing about school. he’s even introduced you to his family and teammates after his games which makes you think maybe you could call him your boyf-

there’s a knock on the door.

you go answer it. it’s joe. all in his 6’4 glory.

“hey,” he smiles. bending down to kiss you.

“hi,” you blush.

“are you ready to go?” he asks.

“yeah let me just pack my book bag and some clothes”.

“you have clothes at the house,” he reminds you.

“oh well i get nervous wearing those. they’re just so nice i don’t want to stand out too much,” you laugh awkwardly.

“well you gotta get used to standing out if you’re with me,” he replied.

“well no one really knows about us,” you say walking to your room. he shuts the front door and follows you.

“well. i want more people to know because…,” he trails off.

“because?” you echo him.

“because i want you to officially be my girlfriend”.

you started at him silently.

“i was going to take you to dinner and properly ask but i couldn’t wait,” he said rubbing the back of his head.

in response you stand on the tips of your toes, wrap you arms around his neck, and pull him into a deep and passionate kiss. he reciprocates it, putting his hands on your sides.

when you guys finished, you responded.

“yes. i’ll be your girlfriend,” you say smiling widely.

he picks you up and spins you around, smiling too.

"alright get your stuff together and change so i can go feed you,” he says.

fast forward a little later in the night, you guys are at a really nice restaurant. you just finished your food and had a couple of drinks, and decided to sit on the same side of the booth as joe. he has his hand on your thigh feeling the material of your dress. you’re kissing his jaw and face.

“let’s go to the car baby,” he says. both amused by your affection and a little hard. he gets the check and leads you to the parking garage.

he pushes you up against his car and starts making out with you. his hands gripping your hips as he rubs his bulge against you.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes.

before you guys can go any farther he opens the car door for you. you get in and he gets in on his side. he speeds home, breaking a few traffic laws on the way.

you guys make it to the bedroom. he takes off your dress and undergarments. you take off his dress shirt and slide off his underwear and pants.

he’s standing and you get down on your knees in front of him.

you start jerking him off while sucking his tip. he throws his head back in pleasure.

“fuck you suck daddy’s dick so well baby,” he moans. he puts his hand on the back of your head and you start to go deeper, feeling him in the back of your throat.

he pulls you off of him after a while, looking at your watery eyes and saliva around your mouth. he makes you stand up. his hands go down to mess with your aching pussy.

“you’re sopping wet and i haven’t even done anything yet,” he says. you whine, embarrassed.

he continues. “daddy’s gonna fuck you so good baby”.

he backs you into the wall and picks you up by your thighs. you can feel his breath on your face as he lines his tip with your pussy. he pulls your body down on him in one swift motion. he instantly bottoms out in you. you moan loudly.

he starts picking up the pace. basically pulling your body down onto his girth. he’s so big.

then, with your legs around him, he carries your body and puts your back onto the bed, barely having a second before he starts thrusting into you again.

he’s hitting your g-spot so aggressively you start getting ready to unfold. the bed is shaking.

“i-i’m gonna cum. i’m gonna cum joey” you moan.

he starts to go faster, chasing his own high. you come undone, and he starts to get close too.

“i’m gonna cum in you baby fuck,” he grabs your throat and kisses your mouth as pumps his load deep inside of you.

as soon as you guys calm down he pulls out of you. you’re tired afterwards. he gets you one of his shirts to throw on and you guys cuddle in bed. he turns on the tv only to be met with a picture on the news of you guys kissing in the parking garage.

people sure are quick.

you guys just look at eachother and sigh. he kisses your forehead. you guys will just have to figure it out tomorrow.