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taegularities · 1 month

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you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance.

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair.

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But…

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause.

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex.

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too.

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right.

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

#yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #yoongi fics #myg smut

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months

Text

the wolff's mouse

torger "toto" wolff

cw: smut/pwp, wife!reader, nicknames, drinking/drunk!reader, daddy kink, size kink, ditzy!reader, age gap (20s/50s), missionary, dirty talk, pet names

bunny says: this is for the server, folks!

the liquor was smooth through your body as you walked along the edge of the pool. you were all giggles as you tried to keep your balance.

"maus." you heard toto's voice as you were moved away from the pool against his chest.

you held onto the front of his white shirt and giggled. you looked up and smiled, "wolf-y." you tried to get up on your tiptoes to kiss him. forgetting that reality that you were in the middle of a pool party.

someone had too many sangrias and was a ditzy little drunk mess by the pool. toto almost found it adorable, if you weren't so close to the pool. he didn't want his little mouse to hit her head.

he cupped the back of your head for a moment and pressed your face to his chest. you whined a little in his shirt as the rush of being drunk raced to your head. poor little mouse.

"what are you doing, maus?" he asked as he pulled you further away from the pool and towards the patio chairs. he set you down and crouched down beside you.

"i wanted to swim." you chirped and kicked out your feet a little. which only made you devolve into giggles. you were painfully adorable.

you were dressed for the occasion, in a pastel yellow and dark blue printed bikini that happily showed off your curves to the attendees at the party. you could catch any man's attention, but then they'd have to deal with the death glare from mercedes' team principal.

toto took your hands and looked at you, "i don't think that is the best idea right now." he rubbed your knuckles for a moment as he looked down at your hands, "don't stand too close to the edge, liebling. you could get hurt."

you looked at him and giggled, "toto, you worry too much!' and linked your fingers with him playfully, "i'm right as rain."

toto looked at you, you very clearly were not 'right as rain', you were drunker than a sailor and you still had more in your cup. thankfully he got it on a nearby side table before you downed the entire time. he kissed your hands lovingly and said, "how about we go inside for a little bit." his tone was tender.

"but the party."

toto leaned up to kiss you on the lips, "i know you're the life of the party." he leaned in a little more to your ear and said, "but papa wants you to not be hungover. verstehst du mich, liebling?"

you pouted for a moment before you nodded your head and let toto help you out of the chair. he kept close to you as he brought you inside. thankfully most were outside, enjoying the italian summer sun.

but toto's poor maus had too much liquor and too much sun. he worried that you'd get a sunburn as he brought you through the summer house and up to the bedroom you were sleeping in for the week.

toto stopped you by the foot of the bed before he undid the strings of your bikini and let it fall off your body was easy. nothing was keeping them held to your body.

his poor girl, the tan lines were going to be interesting in a few days. he placed his hands on your bare hips and looked into your eyes. they crinkled when he smiled, "good girl." he rubbed circles into your hips with his thumbs, "i know you wanted to party more, but papa has to take care of you."

you pouted, "i'm not even that drunk. i could prove it!" you chirped pathetically. you were his little drunk princess today.

"and how would you do that, maus?" he asked as he looked down at you. he lingered over you like a tall shadow, he was almost a foot taller than you.

"i could suck your dick!" you smiled at him.

he looked at you and smiled, "i think i've spoiled you, haven't i?" he asked as he held your chin to keep looking up at him. he chuckled, spoiled you rotten, you think you can get whatever you want if you suck my cock?" he shook his head.

he couldn't believe he let his baby girl become so spoiled, thinking she could get her way if she just got him off. he put you down on the bed and got on top of you. his belt was the first thing to come off.

he quickly worked the belt around your wrists, making sure his little angel would stay still. with your wrists bound, he looked at your naked body. his hands ran up your sides which made you squirm.

"this is why i didn't want you in that bikini." he said with a shake of his head, his eyes glued to your form, "everyone was going to stare at you. the most beautiful woman they had ever laid eyes on." he curled closer to you and kissed at your face with such affection, "i didn't want my little wife to get hurt. you had so much to drink, maus. you need to listen to papa or else you could get hurt."

his tenderness made you squirm, you could feel the stickiness between your thighs grow from his gentle yet strong words. he wasn't throwing his princess over his lap and smacking the cheeks till they bruised. he just thought you simply didn't know better, you weren't used to things being in such abundance.

you were toto's smaller, weaker, more innocent, painfully younger wife. toto felt a sense of protection over you as he captured your lips in his own and his fingers found their way into his hair. you moaned into the kiss and could feel your heat radiating off your body.

when he pulled away, you reached for his white shirt and started to undo the small buttons. you were growing impatient and like the brat you were, you dropped your hands back onto the bed and whined, "daddy!"

he chuckled, and leaned back upright to get the shirt off of his body. once he got it and the white undershirt off, your hands roamed his bare torso.

your core throbbed as you whimpered, "daddy, c'mon. i've been good!"

he smiled down at you and let the articles of clothing fall off the bed into a heap on the floor. his little sunshine goddess, his little maus. there weren't enough words in any of the languages were spoke that would accurately describe how he felt about you.

he got out of his pants without your help and your gaze lingered on the bulge in his briefs. his cock was painfully hard, which meant that you'd be feeling the length of him deep in your cunt.

he was a shower for sure. uncut and heavy. even after all this time of having sex with him, it still was a tight fit. he once said that it was like trying to fit into a tight parking spot. when you grimaced at his joke, he simply threw your knees to your ears and made you see stars.

"do you like what you see, schatz?" he asked curiously, he grabbed your bound hands and made you touch his cock through his underwear. its impressive size still made you gulp as you felt it up.

you weren't happy to admit this, but another time you were drunk at a pool party, you happily chatted with either lewis or george (you couldn't remember) that toto was in possession of the "nicest vienna sausage" then burst into giggles before you staggered off to find your husband. all you knew is that both drivers couldn't look their boss in the eye for about two months afterwards. the knowledge of it all was just too much for them.

you nodded, "i do, daddy. i think it's gotten bigger."

he chuckled as he pulled his underwear down under his cock, it bobbed and you swallowed at the sight of it. he said to you as he reached in to pet your soft cheek, "it's only to keep up with your insatiable appitite, schatz."

you pouted, the buzz in your head was strong as you said, "i'm not that greedy!"

he gave you a look, a stern one as he said, "maus, don't lie. you know what happens to liars." he said his eyebrows at you and watched your shift uncomfortably. he could tell you were getting hot all over.

"i'm sorry, daddy."

he got his underwear off and onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. it felt like the rest of the world turned off, he couldn't even focus on the sounds of the party outside. the music and chatter came through the open windows, but he was so enraptured by your naked beauty under him.

his hands grazed along your sides as he watched you giggle. you squirmed a little bit, such a ticklish little girl. he leaned in to kiss you, he was knelt between your legs and his hands were groping your breasts.

the kiss was sloppy and messy, it made you feel hot all over. having your handsome husband lingered over you, his tongue inside your mouth. his cock stood at full attention, eager to sink into you. he rubbed up against you, his hard cock pressed against your stomach.

the prodding made you heart race before he pulled away and you stared into those beautiful eyes. you shifted a little bit, the pleasure and alcohol made your thoughts murky. you seemed to be driven by the sole purpose of reaching orgasm.

he grabbed you by the thighs and lifted them, you held the position as he got an extra pillow under your hips for leverage. he licked his lips at the sight of you.

"beautiful, little maus." he laughed, "schatz." his tone was glazed with affection as he got fully between your legs and rubbed his cock up against your pussy lips.

you whined and tried to cover your face with your bound hands. but toto was not having any of that. he pinned down back down to the bed and loomed over you. his hard cock in his other hand, "don't hide from me." he said, his voice tinged with more lust, "i want to see my beautiful wife's face when i am fucking her." his words were filthy, "i want you to remember this face for when i am away and you get so needy. needy little girl."

you heart hammered as he rubbed his cock up against your pussy, almost sliding right in. you squirmed a little in anticipation but toto kept you down.

"no, no." he said, "you stay still."

"but wolf-y." you pouted.

he shook his head, "behave." it left an ache in you that was soon filled by his cock easing itself into you. he watched you wince and waited for a moment for you to adjust because he sank the rest of the way in.

his mind went blank for a moment before he snapped himself out of it to continue to push his entire length into you. he had your legs wrapped around his waist. he loved the feeling of your soft skin against his. you looked divine, flustered and drunk but yearning for him.

a carnal ache, the kind that left your head spinning. pleasure left you choked up as your moans were sweet noises to his ears. his lovely wife. how'd he get so lucky.

he kept you pinned to the bed by his hands on your wrist and started to thrust. he used his grasp on you as leverage. his cock was snug in your tight cunt, a proper fit. he thrusted in and out of you and it left you breathless. he heard you airy moans as he bullied his cock into you.

you were just so painfully sweet. his ditzy little maus, the little thing that had him around your fingers. he gazed at you lovingly, going in for searing kisses. he hips bumped against you as you back arched off the bed. you didn't have the strength to get out of his grasp.

even at his age, he still was able to pin you down and fuck the daylights out of you. make you see stars when the pleasure washed over you. a few moans got caught in your throat which on spurred him on to fucking you hard.

the iron rod bed frame hit against the white wall of the bedroom. the afternoon light came through the windows. you were a sight to behold in the glow of the day. his poor angel, you were a little sunburned.

but it was alright, papa would take care of it. just as he took care of you in every other way. his kisses were delicate across your cheeks and collarbones, as opposed to the pace he was fucking you in.

it was oppressive and strong, it made your stomach tie in knots as you felt the beating your heart in your ears. he held onto you and bounced you on his cock.

your squirming only fueled the fire in his gut as he pushed his cock in you to the root. he made sure that you firmly remembered the feeling of him inside of you. your expressions, from the bit of pain to the immense pleasure only made the older man more aroused by you.

his words were dirty as he rutted against you, "do you like when i fuck you? when it feels so good? you like when i have you pinned to the bed and fucking you like an animal. there are people outside that want to see and talk to you, but instead you are too busy taking your husband's cock like the good girl you are." he kissed at your draw, they were wet and made you hot all over, "beautiful, girl." he purred, "you know exactly how to make me feel good. it's not your fault that you got so drunk, you were just handed glass after glass. silly little thing" he chuckled lowly as he left a nice hickey on your neck.

you were on cloud nine, letting your husband fuck you. you felt the roll of pleasure in your gut the harder he thrusts. you were lost in a sea of lust as you felt your walls grip around his cock. two halves of a perfect hole.

you panted wildly and you tried to hold onto him, but he had you by the wrists. you were pinned under him, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusted into you.

his pace started to stagger and you felt the heat in your gut pool. you whimpered and squirmed as much as you could. and before you knew it, you felt the rush of climax consume you whole. your noises were cut off by them getting caught in your throat and your head was throbbing from the rush.

"maus." he purred.

"wolf-y." you replied, your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.

he pushed further inside of you, bending your back to drill his cock into you. you could taste the precum in the back of your throat. he fucked you with little abandon until he felt the heightened experience of orgasm.

he came in you, and you accepted it like the good wife you were. you whined his name as he slowed down. his poor girl was already so overstimulated. he wanted to go for a second round but you were fucked out. your hair was a mess, partially sun burnt with the alcohol still in your system.

"poor, maus." he cooed as he held his cock inside of you for a moment.

he then pulled out and rubbed his softening cock up against your pussy for one last feeling of your sex. you were blissed out, exhausted under him.

"my little mouse is done for the day?" he asked as he palmed your breasts, feeling the mass between his fingers.

you nodded slowly, "yes, daddy"

"well you rest now, maus. i'm going to see how our guests are doing. if you feel better, you may join us again. but no more alcohol, it's not good for a girl like you." he kissed the top of your head before he got out of bed to find his clothes.

you remained snuggled up naked with the blanket over your head, you peeked out from the blanket and got a good view of your husband's ass as he was bent over to pick up his briefs. you giggled to yourself before you kept an eye on him.

his little spoiled maus. <3

#bunny writes #formula one #f1 smut #f1 #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one smut #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #torger toto wolff #torger christian wolff #torger wolff #formula 1 #reader insert

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aphroditelovesu · 4 months

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Can I request yan!husband's Hashirama, Tobirama, Minato and Madara pretty please? ❤️❤️

❝ 🍥 — lady l: I guess you can say I have a crush on Minato after reading this, but can you blame me? 😟 Anyway, I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, slight mention of murder, jealousy and pure fluff.

❝🍥pairing: yandere!hashirama senju, yandere!tobirama senju, yandere!minato namikaze and yandere!madara uchiha x female!reader.

Hashirama Senju

Hashirama is a loyal husband and completely devoted to his wife. He sees you as a Queen, so to speak, and he will adore you completely, from head to toe. You are the reason for the things he does, for his goal of making Konoha a good place for you. Creating a new world so that you are happy and secure is his priority.

He wants you to be happy above all else, of course, with him by your side. Hashirama can't imagine a good future without you by his side and he doesn't even want to think about that possibility. You are everything to him and the thought of losing you fills him with despair.

Hashirama has his responsibilities as Hokage and takes them very seriously, so he can't always spend all his time by your side, even if he wants to. So to try to make up for the moments you spend apart, he likes to keep something of yours with him, a physical or emotional memory that helps him feel close to you, even when you are far apart.

In the moments you are together, Hashirama dedicates himself completely to you. He is attentive and always seeks to understand your needs and desires, doing everything he can to meet them. Whether he's preparing a special dinner, taking you on a peaceful walk through the woods, or simply listening intently to what you have to say, he strives to make you feel loved and valued.

Hashirama is also extremely protective. He makes sure you are safe and happy, using his skills and influence to create an environment where you can thrive. His eyes shine with pride and affection when he talks about you, and everyone around knows that you are the light of his life. Everyone knows that you are deeply loved by him and that they should respect you. Hashirama will not accept otherwise.

Despite his role as a leader, Hashirama never neglects his role as a husband. He prioritizes you, balancing his obligations with moments of tenderness and affection. He believes that his strength as Hokage comes from the love and support he receives from you, and he always acknowledges this publicly, praising its importance in his life. Hashirama is not possessive, he is just protective and he will protect you with everything in him.

Tobirama Senju

Tobirama is a complete worshiper of his wife. He loves you deeply, with everything in him, and he wants to be worth it for you and that's why he's so dedicated to being strong, to being the best he can be for you. He would be willing to abandon everything for you and build a new world where it would just be you. Tobirama wants to be the best version of himself for you, endlessly dedicating himself to being strong and competent so that he can love and care for you as you deserve.

Despite his outward confidence, Tobirama occasionally feels insecurity, although he does not easily admit it. He strives to be worthy of his wife, deeply wanting to believe that he is good enough for you. For Tobirama, nothing is more important than your happiness, because you are the center of his world and the reason for all his love and dedication.

When insecurities arise, he becomes more protective and affectionate, seeking to validate his love and worth. His wife is the center of his universe, and your happiness is Tobirama's top priority. He loves you very much and the idea of losing you hurts and he knows he won't let that happen under any circumstances.

Tobirama is somewhat jealous and possessive, although he tries not to reveal it. The jealousy he feels is a reflection of his deep passion and fear of losing what he holds most dear. Although he doesn't explode into jealous rages, his change in behavior is noticeable. He becomes more attentive and needs reassurances of his wife's love, wanting to ensure that his feelings are reciprocated and that he has no reason to fear the loss of his beloved.

He's not the traditional romantic type, but he shows his love through physical touch. Holding hands, exchanging glances, sweet smiles and hugs are Tobirama's favorite ways to show affection for you. He gives you lots of gifts too, carefully choosing items that he knows will please you or have special meaning for both of you. Although he prefers physical touch. He believes that actions speak louder than words, and his main way of showing affection is through physical touch.

Tobirama is a devoted and passionate husband, he will never let you doubt for a second that you are not loved by him. Sometimes he may seem cold and distant, but he loves you and shows it in everyday life. You are more important to him than anything else, than anyone else and he will make sure you know that for the rest of your lives.

Minato Namikaze

Minato is the very definition of a passionate husband dedicated entirely to his wife. He puts you above everything and everyone, you are always his priority in any situation. He puts you on a pedestal, does all your wishes and in return all he wants is your love and devotion. Minato treats you with deep respect and admiration, almost as if you were a Queen, and perhaps for him you are, always attending to your wishes and desires.

For Minato, love is an exchange of affection and devotion. He does everything for you without hesitation, often anticipating your needs before you even express them. One of the most special ways Minato shows his love is through cooking. He loves preparing your favorite meals, putting all his heart and skill into each dish. Cooking for you is more than a chore; it is an expression of his love and dedication.

Besides cooking for you, Minato is extremely affectionate. He likes to shower his wife with kisses and hugs, always looking for ways to physically show you how much you mean to him. Carefully chosen gifts that he knows you'll love are also part of his love routine. These gestures are a way for Minato to constantly reaffirm his commitment and devotion.

Minato is extremely overprotective of you. His protective instinct is intense and immediate, and he is always alert to any threat or situation that could put your safety or happiness at risk. This instinct is not just physical, but also emotional and mental. He does not tolerate anything that could cause any kind of harm to his wife. Any possible threat to you will be dealt with quickly and without regrets.

Minato is not typically jealous, but his deep devotion to you can occasionally spark a feeling of protectiveness that can be mistaken for jealousy. He completely trusts you and the love you share, but like any person in love, he may feel a twinge of insecurity in specific situations. He won't blame you, he knows it's not your fault that you're so perfect that you attract others.

If there's anyone you know you can count on for anything and everything, it's Minato. He loves you and protects you fiercely. You are the most important person in his life and he wants you to know that and he will make you know it every day of your life. He will make you happy forever.

Madara Uchiha

Madara Uchiha is a somewhat distant husband at first but there is no doubt that he loves you, after all, for him to get married, it is because you mean something to him. He is not conventionally passionate and devoted but you know that Madara loves you, that he cares about you through his actions.

He tends to be more distant and sometimes difficult to read due to the fact that he doesn't know how to express his feelings for you through words very well. Madara shows his love through gestures, such as giving you a gift he knows you will like or more subtle touches, such as holding your hand, kissing your cheek and being affectionate.

Madara, with his reserved and introspective nature, can be an enigma when it comes to expressing feelings. He is not the type of person who will make grand declarations of love or grand gestures. Instead, he prefers to show his affection in more subtle and meaningful ways that often go unnoticed by those who don't know him well.

An example of his love for you is that he can take time to listen to you attentively even when he is busy with his own plans and responsibilities. This act, although simple, is a clear sign that he values what you have to say and cares about your opinions and feelings. Additionally, Madara can show his love by ensuring you are happy and well taken care of, using his skills and resources to ward off any threats that may arise.

Madara is very possessive and this possessiveness, however, is accompanied by a deep sense of responsibility and care. Madara is not possessive out of insecurity or petty jealousy, but out of a protective instinct and a desire to keep what he loves safe. He firmly believes that his presence and protection are essential to the well-being of those he holds dear. You are his and no one should take away what belongs to him. If they try, Madara will be quick to eliminate them.

Madara Uchiha may seem like a distant husband at first, but his actions speak louder than words. He shows his love in a practical and thoughtful way, always looking for ways to make you feel valued and loved. Over time, you learn to read these silent displays of affection and understand the deep love he has for you, even if it's not always evident. Madara is reserved but he can become more open with you because he trusts you completely.

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definitelynotshouting · 9 months

Text

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now."

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

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runariya · 17 days

Text

Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 2

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: poor handling of sadness and fear, a lot of hurt, phone call with Namjoon, talk about bonding, tears, OC is rather dramatic, a little bit of fluff, JK calls OC "princess", showdown repeats itself, angst, hurt, sadness, a lot of tears, resignation, smut, oral (f.receiving), f!ngering, big d!ck JK, unprotected s€x (pls don't do it), doggy style, minor tentacle involvement, possessiveness, minor dirty talk, "good girl", hair gripping, lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.3k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • masterlist

In the days that follow, you find yourself lost in a fog, unable to fully grasp the transformation that has occurred between you and Jungkook, no matter how many times you turn it over in your mind. It is as though the foundation of your relationship, once solid and easy, has shifted imperceptibly beneath your feet, leaving you both fumbling for a balance neither of you anticipated needing. And yet, despite this unspoken gulf now separating you, Jungkook appears determined—fiercely so—to drown the cracks with a wave of affection, as if by loving you more intensely, he could somehow compensate for the void that can never be entirely bridged, no matter how much either of you wills it so.

But the weight of it all begins to smother you, it’s a constant undercurrent, tugging at your every breath, pulling you under until the smallest things set you off without warning. You retreat, bit by bit, as your emotions swell and break uncontrollably. Tears fall from your eyes in the most inconvenient moments, anger flares up for no tangible reason, lashing out at those around you even when you know deep down they have done nothing to warrant it. It’s as if the shock of everything has numbed you to rationality, and yet the pain remains unbearable, a needle against your tender heart, piercing at both you and Jungkook alike. You can see the toll it takes on him, the hurt swimming in his gaze when he looks at you, though he tries so hard not to let it show. But what can you do? The aftermath of this storm offers no remedy, no balm, only a bitter reminder of what cannot be undone.

Your days blend into each other, and more often than not, you fall asleep hunched over your laptop in your shop, exhaustion overtaking you after hours spent desperately scouring every corner of the internet for some hope, some solution to this cruel fate. Is there truly no way for a Seraphenti to bond with someone of another species? The information you find is dishearteningly sparse, frustrating in its lack of clarity. Only six cases known. Six. Six Seraphenti who managed to bond with partners outside their own kind—yet even then, the bond wasn’t what it should normally have been, not in the way it’s supposed to be, not in the way you hoped it to be. The Seraphenti in those cases had not bonded directly with their partners; no, biology saw to that. Instead, they had bonded with themselves, two of their tentacles intertwining in an act of resigned finality, signalling that their search was over—though their true connection, the one to another soul, remained forever out of reach.

You reach out to these apex Seraphenti, hoping against hope that one of them might hold the answer you’re so desperately seeking. But five immediately pushed you towards the last one—Namjoon. He speaks to you in a voice that carries both understanding and kindness, a voice that you can’t help but find calming despite the ache coursing in your chest. “I believe it has to do with the love I have for her,” he tells you, his words careful. “And, of course, a great deal of willpower. I spoke to the others, and the common thread between us all seems to be just that—love, an unshakable love for our partners, and a strength of will that perhaps goes beyond what is typical. There’s no doubt in our hearts, none at all.”

His words, though kind, do little to soothe the ache biting away at you, the ache that grows more aggressive with each passing hour. Jungkook is as stubborn as they come, more determined than anyone you’ve ever known, and his willpower is unmatched—he’s accomplished everything he’s ever set his mind to, so how could this, of all things, be different? How could this be the one thing that eludes him? And then, the thought worms its way into your mind, an unwelcome intruder that refuses to leave: perhaps it’s not a question of willpower at all. Perhaps, despite all his love for you, it simply doesn’t reach the level required for a true bond. Perhaps it’s his love, after all, that falls short.

You don’t say this aloud, of course, though Namjoon seems to hear the unspoken despair in your long, weary sigh. “I’m sorry,” he tries gently, the regret in his voice evident even through the line. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. But if there’s a way for him to bond with you—well, with himself, really—I think you don’t need to worry so much. I can tell how deeply you love him, and love… love is never wasted.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, the words barely a whisper. They hang in the air, heavy with resignation, as though you’re thanking him more out of habit than genuine belief that he might be right.

“No worries,” he replies, his tone warm. “If you have more questions, or if you ever want to meet up with me and the others, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’re here for you.”

“All right,” you whisper, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill over your red eyes. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

As you end the call, the silence that fills the room seems louder than it should be. You rub at your eyes, your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion that clings to you like a second skin. You want so desperately for things to work with Jungkook, for this cruel twist of fate to somehow resolve itself. But the fear is there too, circling in the back of your mind. What if it doesn’t? What if, no matter how much you want it, it simply can’t be? You’re not sure you could bear to stay in this place, to remain on this planet where every street corner, every familiar face, every stray memory would only remind you of what could have been but never was.

You had thought, for a fleeting moment, that you had found your home—not just here on this planet but with Jungkook. And now, it seems as though perhaps your destiny lies elsewhere, forever moving, drifting like a leaf caught on the wind. Maybe you’re not meant to belong anywhere, not to any one place, not to any one person, but only to yourself and your sewing machine, crafting a life from fragments as you pass through it. A quiet sob escapes your lips as you rise from your chair, gathering the scraps of fabric strewn about your workspace, though this time you don’t return them to their rightful places on the shelves. Instead, you fold them carefully, placing them in the moving boxes still scattered throughout your storeroom.

The act feels final, a quiet resignation, a silent acceptance of the hurt you know can’t be undone, no matter how much you might wish it could be. Perhaps this is the only option left to you—leaving it all behind, even Jungkook, so that he might find the happiness he deserves, even if it’s not with you.

And then, just as he does every evening, you hear his footsteps, soft yet unmistakable, on the old wooden floor of your shop. The sound sends a pang through your chest, knowing he’s come to take you home, to ensure you don’t walk alone in the dark all by yourself.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you softly, his voice warm yet tinged with the sadness you wish you didn’t have to see there, hurting you even more than it already does. Knowing that you are the cause of this, that his suffering stems from you when all you want is for him to be happy.

You don’t turn to face him, your hands still busy folding the last of the fabric, your gaze fixed on the boxes before you. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping closer, his hand resting gently on your back, its warmth both comforting and unbearable at once. His eyes, you know, are on the boxes.

“I’m packing,” you reply simply, your voice devoid of emotion, though the tears are already sliding silently down your cheeks.

“Why?” he whispers, and you hear the crack in his voice, the heartbreak so tangible it nearly breaks you too.

You can’t answer him, not really. All you can do is shrug, helpless against the tide of emotions threatening to pull you under, your gaze remaining fixed on the boxes that hold more than just fabric—they hold your resignation, your acceptance of what cannot be changed.

And then, without warning, Jungkook pulls you up into his arms, holding you tight against his chest as if he could somehow keep you from slipping away. His voice, broken, pleads softly against your skin, repeating over and over again, “Please don’t leave me.”

But there’s nothing else you can do but nod, eyes glazing over, lost in the space just behind his shoulder, seeing nothing but the shadows of a love slipping away.

The following morning, Jungkook convinces you to take a step back, to shut the door of your shop for just a day, to close yourself off from the world and let the noise, the tension, the suffocating weight of everything that has been gnawing at your heart, dissipate into something softer. And at first, it does—there’s a glimmer of peace in his words, a balm in the simple idea of spending the day with him, untethered from all that binds you both in knots. You agree, if only because it feels like the right thing to do—because, for once, it feels like you’re choosing something together, rather than trying to unravel the tangle that fate has made of your lives.

You sleep in, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the morning light filtering lazily through the curtains as if the universe itself has decided to take a pause, allowing the two of you to rest in this fragile pocket of serenity. You bathe in each other’s presence, letting the quiet intimacy between you unfold like something sacred, something tender. For the first time in a long while, it feels right—like the two of you are simply existing, not worrying, not striving, but just being, together.

Later, you venture out for a leisurely stroll through the nearby park, the air warm against your skin, leaves rustling in the trees above as you walk hand in hand. There’s a lightness to it, a sense that, perhaps, you can both breathe a little easier today. You can feel the tension within you, and within him, slowly beginning to ebb away, like a tide retreating from the shore, leaving behind only the faintest traces of its presence. The hurt that has wrapped itself so tightly around your hearts seems to loosen its grip, just a little, and you find yourself grateful for this fleeting respite from the storm that has raged between you for so long.

It's a tentative first step towards something resembling normalcy—a small, almost imperceptible shift in the air between you, a whisper of trust that just perhaps there’s a future where things might be all right again. You glance at him occasionally, his eyes softer, his smile less weighed down by the burdens of sadness and uncertainty. Even his tentacles, usually so motionless when you’re together, seem more at ease, their movements languid and unhurried, as though they’ve finally begun to acknowledge your presence in a way they hadn’t before. It’s as if they’ve come to sense you too—recognising, in some quiet way, that you’re not just passing through but are perhaps someone who will remain by Jungkook’s side for a long time yet.

The day feels effortless at first, a gentle rhythm of comfort and routine, until it comes time to venture to the grocery store. It’s a new one, not far from the park, and the unfamiliarity of it prickles at the back of your mind. There’s a moment of hesitation as you both step inside, but you push through, determined to hold onto the lightness that has graced your day so far. You and Jungkook move together through the aisles, your fingers entwined, his hand warm in yours, though you can feel the slight tension creeping back into his grip as the crowd around you thickens. The store is bustling with Seraphenti, more than you’re used to seeing, and the sight of so many of them stirs something uneasy in you, an undercurrent of anxiety that starts to gnaw at your calm. His hand begins to sweat slightly, the grip tightening, and though you don’t want to admit it, your heart begins to race just a little too.

You try to shake it off, to keep yourself grounded in the moment, reminding yourself that you can’t live in avoidance forever. You can’t hide from the world just because the risk of something going wrong exists. You tell yourself that this is just a regular day, just an ordinary task, something that you both should be able to handle together. But the unease remains, no matter how much you try to silence it, and you can sense the same tension rising in him as he steers you away from the busiest aisles, his eyes darting around in search of something—perhaps escape, perhaps reassurance.

It’s when you’re standing before the cooling section, the faint hum of the refrigeration units filling the space around you, that the nightmare you thought you’d left behind comes rushing back with terrifying clarity. You’re looking at the yoghurt options, trying to decide on something that will be addible for both you and him, when she appears—an ethereal Seraphenti, gliding through the aisle with an elegance that makes everyone elsestop in their tracks. She’s beautiful, in that otherworldly way that Seraphenti often are, and though she shares a vague resemblance to you, it’s clear she belongs to another realm entirely, one you can never hope to touch. Her presence seems to hold the entire store captive, every gaze drawn to her as she moves with effortless grace, matching Jungkook’s usual self.

She comes to a stop beside Jungkook, reaching for some yoghurt as well, and that’s when it happens.

Jungkook swallows dryly, skin paling in seconds, and the yoghurt he holds begins to tremble violently in his hands as he whispers frantic, broken “no’s” under his breath. His tentacles, which had been so calm mere moments ago, suddenly rise of their own accord again, twisting and writhing towards hers in a movement that feels almost inevitable. She notices it too, her own tentacles responding in kind, and when her eyes meet his, they soften with a hope that nearly brings you to your knees.

You stand frozen, the world tilting on its axis as your heart hammers painfully in your chest. Tears prick at your eyes, your hands trembling as you struggle to maintain even a semblance of composure. You reach out for the yoghurt in Jungkook’s hands, more out of instinct than anything, placing it back in the cooler before it slips from his grip and shatters on the floor. You don’t know what to do—how could you, when the very thing you feared most is unfolding right before your eyes—again?

You take a step back, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with a force that threatens to crush you entirely. Your mind races through the memories of all the moments you’ve shared with Jungkook—the laughter, the tenderness, the quiet pillow talks of the mornings spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You think of all the time you wasted, mired in hurt and sadness, wishing you could turn back the clock and hold onto those fleeting moments of joy. But now, standing here, watching as his tentacles dance with hers in a way that feels so natural, so effortless, you know that those moments are slipping through your fingers like sand, and never to be reclaimed.

And then, before you can retreat any further, Jungkook moves with a desperation that breaks your heart all over again. He grabs hold of you, pulling you against him, his body trembling with the force of his emotions as he wraps you in his arms. He’s crying, silently but violently, his shoulders shaking as he presses his face into your hair, his voice a broken whisper against your skin. “I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, the words tumbling from his lips again and again. “I never wanted this. I love you. I love you.”

You clutch at his shirt, your fingers gripping the fabric as though it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. You want to tell him that you love him too, that you always have, but the words lodge in your throat, stuck behind the tears that blur your vision. You can’t bring yourself to say it—not now, not when it would only serve to twist the knife deeper into your heart. Instead, you hold onto him, letting this be your last moment together, the last time you will feel the warmth of his embrace, the last time you will ever be this close to him. You shut your eyes tightly, blocking out the sight of their tentacles intertwining, blocking out the cheers of encouragement from the crowd around you. You try to drown it all out, but then comes Jungkook’s cry—a sound so raw, so full of anguish that it shatters the air around you.

And in the sudden, shocked silence that follows, all you can hear is the sound of your own sobs, mingling with his as the two of you hold each other, broken but unwilling to let go.

It takes every ounce of strength you have to pull away from him, to step back and release your grip on his shirt. His hands fall away from you too, without hesitation, as if he knows that this is the end. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes—you don’t want to see what comes next, don’t want your last image of him to be one of him finding happiness with someone else. But before you can turn and walk away, his hand catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn, slowly, your vision still blurred with tears, but as you force yourself to look at him, what you see is not at all what you expected. Jungkook stands before you, tears still streaming down his face, his nose red from crying, but there’s a peace in his expression that you’ve never seen before. He smiles at you—warm, genuine—and though it breaks your heart to see him like this, knowing that his happiness isn’t because of you, it also heals something deep within you. Because at least he’ll be happy. Even if it’s not with you.

“I love you,” he whispers, and this time, the words hit you square in the face and chest, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You blink, confused, and glance behind him, expecting to see the female Seraphenti, her tentacles still entwined with his. But instead, you see her standing there with tears in her eyes, clapping, her tentacles floating freely around her, untouched. The crowd around you erupts into applause too, their cheers ringing in your ears, but all you can do is stare at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your chest as you force him to step sideways, looking past him, to where his own tentacles have coiled around one another—bonded, not with hers, but with themselves.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, the words escaping you in a rush of disbelief and overwhelming relief. You collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face as sobs wrack your body—tears of joy, of disbelief, of a happiness you never thought you’d feel again. Jungkook falls to his knees before you, wrapping you in his arms as the two of you cry together, holding onto each other as though you might never let go.

How you manage to finish the grocery shopping and return home with Jungkook by your side remains a mystery, one you have no desire to unravel, as if the details of that journey are irrelevant now, lost in a haze of pure unreality. What truly matters, what holds your attention with fierce power, is the longing that pulses through you, a desire that takes shape in the form of Jungkook’s body—every inch of him calling to you like a siren’s song, tempting you towards the only thing you now wish to explore fully and consciously.

You find yourself pressed against the wall that leads to his bedroom, your back arching as Jungkook’s larger frame towers against you, his hands mapping the landscape of your body with an eager hunger, his touch both desperate and tender. Your fingers weave through his hair, pulling him closer with an intensity that suggests you may never let go, as though in this moment he is your lifeline, the very air you breathe, and somehow he truly is. He lifts you with ease, carrying you as though you weigh nothing more than air, laying you down on his bed with a gentleness that makes your heart race even more. There is something in his gaze, a reverence that leaves you awestruck, your heart fluttering as you marvel at the sight of him.

With one quick movement, he pulls his shirt over his head and discards it, revealing his bare chest to you, every inch of him chiseled and breathtaking. Your heart stutters as you drink in the sight of him, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint red marks on his neck where your fingernails had scratched moments before, his lips swollen and flushed from your kisses. The sight of him undoes you entirely, a pulse of heat spreading through your core, the ache between your legs becoming almost unbearable. And yet, despite the haze of lust that clouds your mind, it’s his tentacles that draw your gaze, now bonded with themselves in a way that makes your body react instinctively, a fresh wave of desire coursing through you at the sight, making you pussy cream and clench without restraint.

You waste no time in peeling off your clothes, your fingers trembling with impatience as you bare yourself to him, your lips bitten red in anticipation. Jungkook watches you with darkened eyes as he follows your movements, his lips parting slightly as his tongue sweeps across them, as if starving for days on end. He’s undressing now too, pulling off his remaining clothes with a slowness that only heightens the tension between you, and when he finally stands before you, fully naked, the sight of his Seraphenti dick makes your thighs press together instinctively, rubbing them together to feel a little bit of friction you desperately need. His length is enormous, veined with red and dripping steadily from the pointed head, the sheer size of it enough to make your breath catch in your throat and saliva collecting in your mouth. But even as a small thrill of apprehension flickers through you, there’s no denying the deeper, primal need that overrides everything else—you need him, desperately, more than anything.

With a strong grip on your ankles, Jungkook pulls you effortlessly towards the edge of his bed, your legs dangling over the side, your weeping pussy now hovering just out of his reach. The lust in his eyes is unmistakable as he kneels before you, his gaze locked onto your slickened folds with an intensity that nearly sends orgasms through your whole body. You force yourself up, sitting just enough so that you can reach out and grab him by the hair, making sure his eyes meet yours. For a moment, the lust in his expression softens into something deeper, more profound—a look of pure devotion that melts your heart even as your arousal surges to new heights, leaving you dripping with need.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion, your heart swelling with colours you’ve never known existed. His face splits into a radiant smile, teeth flashing, his front two slightly protruding in a way that only adds to his charm. That smile revives something within you, a sense of purpose you thought you lost, a promise you make to yourself—to keep that smile on his face for as long as you live, no matter what it takes.

“I love you too. With everything I am,” he murmurs, but even as the words leave his lips, his expression shifts into something far more dangerous, a smirk that promises both pleasure and adoration. Before you can react, he pushes you gently down onto the bed, his hands guiding you to lie flat as he positions himself between your legs.

There’s no hesitation in him as he kisses your slit, his tongue soon following, dragging slowly along your folds before he begins to devour you with a fervour that leaves you gasping. His mouth latches onto your clit, sucking and licking with a need that borders on desperation, the wet sounds of his tongue mixing with the obscene squelching of his finger as it plunges into your pussy. Your mind spins, the room tilting as pleasure surges through you in waves, your body trembling beneath him as his deep groans vibrate against your sensitive flesh. His muscles flex and ripple beneath his skin, his back arching with each movement of his head, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him—this beautiful, otherworldly being who worships your body with such raw intensity.

And then more of his fingers enter you—two at first, then three, stretching you in a way that makes your eyes water with a delicious burn, your walls tightening around him as your mind begins to cloud with the promise of an impending high. His fingers scissor inside you, spreading your slickness until it coats his entire hand, glistening in the light of the room. “You taste so fucking divine,” he moans against your clit, and it’s all you need to fall over the edge, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers as you come with a force that has you gushing all over his arm.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praises, his voice rough and low, sending a new wave of shivers down your entire body as he continues to suck on your clit, slurping up every drop of your release before it can add to the mess on his skin. When you finally come down from your high, your vision slowly clearing, you look up to see Jungkook hovering over you, his thick cock in hand, leaking with arousal as he licks the remnants of your cum from his fingers, sucking each one clean. The sight nearly makes you cum all over again, and you feel a fresh surge of creamy wetness between your legs, your body already eager for more.

But before he can move over you, you roll onto your stomach, pushing up onto your knees, your ass high in the air as you present yourself to him, your breasts spilling onto the mattress, back arched in the way you know he loves. You know his kind bonds sexually from behind, and you want him to claim you, to make you his in every possible way. Jungkook freezes for a moment, his breath catching as he stares at your ass, transfixed by the sight of you bent over for him.

“Make me yours, Jungkook,” you keen, your voice breathy and desperate as you shift your knees to find a more comfortable position, your ass now taunting him even more. His hands are on you in an instant, strong fingers kneading the flesh of it lovingly as he positions himself behind you. He leans down, kissing a slow trail along your back, his tentacles following the path of his lips, their cool touch making goosebumps appear across your skin until he reaches your ear, his breath warm against your cheek, his hand gripping your head to make you look at him.

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained with need.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel everything of you.”

“As you wish, princess,” he groans before pressing a kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a possessiveness that leaves your pussy gasping. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock massive against your hot folds, and with a slight movement of his hips, his tip slips into you, the stretch immediate and oh so good as he pushes deeper.

The moan that escapes your throat is swallowed by his kiss, his hands caressing your sides before they settle on your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust slowly into you. He rises to his full height, towering over you as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes, each one pushing you closer to the brink of insanity. His tentacles trail up your arms, brushing over your skin in soft, teasing strokes, while his fingers dig into your hips with a possessive strength that leaves you feeling utterly claimed. “You’re made for me,” he groans, his voice low and primal. “Fuck, princess, I love your little pussy so much.”

“Jungkook,” you cry out, his name the only coherent thought left in your mind as he pounds into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more frantic as he chases his release, his tentacles toying with your clit as your vision blurs with stars.

He leans over you again, his hand again gripping your hair as he forces your face to the side, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possession. “You hear that, princess? You’re mine.” His pace increases, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, and you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter until you’re nothing but a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him.

“Say it!” he demands, his voice a guttural snarl. “Fucking say it.”

“I’m yours, Jungkook!” you sob, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you, your walls clenching around his cock with a force that sends him over the edge. He lets out a low, primal moan as he spills into you, his cock twitching violently as his release floods your pussy, hot and thick.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his body trembling as he struggles to hold himself up on shaking arms, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But still, he peppers your shoulder with kisses, his lips soft and gentle against your skin, while his tentacles stroke your sides, legs and arms in soothing patterns. “I’ll never let you go,” he rasps between breathes.

“And I’ll never leave,” you whisper, your throat dry but your heart full.

As his tentacles come into view, glistening in your juices on the mattress beside you, you reach out to pat them gently, making both of you giggle, the sound light and full of love.

And so, after all that time, all the yarned threads of fate tugging you this way and that, pulling, twisting in their maddening ways, you find yourself where you always were meant to be. No more yearning, no more restless nights; only the serene, almost melodic understanding that every piece has fallen into place just as it was always meant to be. Always meant to be Jungkook.

1 • masterlist

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed this little two-shot👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! I physically couldn't keep up with the analogies like I did in part 1—sryyyy

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for eventual bonuses 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @dumbheadblog, @darkeneddiary, @jksusawife, @justjkkkkk, @fluttershy-vanilla, @nikidream24, @ericawantstoescape

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mapiforpresident · 2 months

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Can you please do Patri Guijarro with prompt 19?

Dare

Patri Guijarro x reader

Summary: You and Patri reveal you are together through a game of truth or dare at Mapi and Ingrid's apartment during team bonding night.

~~~

"Let's go we ... are going to be late," you said as you tried to shove Patri off as she kissed down your neck with you pinned against the kitchen doorway. You let out a soft groan as she took your hand and pinned it above your head as she kissed the sensitive spot right under your ear. "Patri... we really... have to go," you said in between slight pants. You knew if you didn't stop her now, you would never end up going.

After one more peck on your lips she released your hand. "How about we stay here instead amor, if we go I don't know if I will be able to keep my hands off of you. This dress looks so good."

"Gracias, but we have to go we are bringing the dessert and you know Pina and Bruna will bust our door in if we don't bring the dessert."

"Ugh, fine but I will have my way with you as soon as we get back."

"Of course amor, you can have your way with me all night," you whispered in her ear as you trailed your finger down her shirt before quickly pulling away and walking towards the door. "Don't forget the dessert, I'll be in the car."

"I hate everything" Patri whispered to herself as she grabbed the dessert and her keys before following you out the door.

~~~

You still had not told your teammates that you were dating because they all knew you had been pinning after each other since the youth teams and would tease you relentlessly if you revealed your relationship to them. You also had been enjoying the secrecy and the sneaking around so far. All that your teammates knew was that the two of you were roommates and friends.

"Desserts arrived," you shouted as you opened Alexia's door and paraded into the room plopping on your best friend Ona's lap.

"Ay, that hurt, get your bony ass off me and give me a cupcake," Ona said grabbing the container after shoving you off.

"No, no, no and no," Alexia said grabbing the container and bringing it into the kitchen. "No dessert until after everyone has eaten a balanced dinner. Even though its a cheat day everyone still needs to eat a normal dinner first."

"Ugh, way to kill all the fun," you said as you got up and sat where Alexia had been seated.

You talked and laughed with Ona and Salma until Alexia called everyone for dinner which was eaten quickly in a rush to move on to dessert which was rare in the middle of the season. Mapi and Ingrid had gone all out with the decorations, turning their apartment into a cozy, festive space perfect for team bonding.

"Alright, everyone," Mapi announced, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "Let's get this night started. Who's up for a game of truth or dare?"

A chorus of enthusiastic responses, besides Alexia who sent a slight glare towards Mapi, filled the room, and the circle quickly formed. The game began with lighthearted dares and harmless truths, laughter echoing with each turn. Then, it was Patri's turn.

"Truth or dare?" Jana asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Dare," Patri replied confidently.

"Alright, I dare you to... kiss the person you're most attracted to in this room."

The room fell silent, all eyes on Patri. You felt your cheeks flush as she stood up, a determined look on her face. She walked over to you, her eyes never leaving yours. At that moment you were the only two in the room and you completely forgot that your teammates were surrounding you.

Patri leaned down, cupping your face in her hands, and pressed her lips to yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The room erupted in cheers and whistles, and you could hear someone—probably Bruna—shouting, "Finally!"

When the kiss ended, Patri sat down next to you, her hand finding yours. "Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag," she said with a smile, eyes lingering on you.

Alexia leaned forward, grinning. "So, how long has this been going on?"

You exchanged a glance with Patri before answering. "A few months. We wanted to keep it private for a while, but I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you all."

Ona smirked, nudging you playfully. "I knew there was something going on. You two were way too close to just be roommates."

"Yeah, we kind of figured it out," Mapi added. "But we wanted you to tell us in your own time."

Although your teammates definitely teased you and Patri, they were also very happy to see you both so happy. And they teased you even more when you showed up with a few marks on your neck to practice the next day.

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #fc barcelona femeni #woso imagine #patri guijarro #patri guijarro x reader #mapi leon #alexia putellas #claudia pina #ingrid engen #ona batlle

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paranorahjones · 3 months

Text

Love and Attraction in My Adventures with Superman

As someone who has never been particularly drawn by superhero media, I wasn't really sure what to expect when I first started watching My Adventures with Superman about a week ago. I had seen a few posts here on Tumblr that had piqued my interest, but all I really knew about it was that it was well-loved and had an art style that I knew I liked.

I absolutely did not expect to fall head over heels for the show entirely, or to be moved to tears multiple times by the wildly sweet, revolutionary relationship between this adaptation's Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

I say "revolutionary" because this romance touches on a lot of things that I feel are lacking in most modern portrayals of romance, and it handles them masterfully.

Most of what I reference/talk about in this post will focus on the first four episodes of season one (with a particular focus on the fourth episode, Let's Go to Ivo Tower, You Say) , because they are my favorite episodes and I think I can communicate what I want to by pulling mainly from those episodes. But I will be pulling bits and pieces from the whole series so consider yourself spoiler-warned.

The main point is this: I absolutely adore the way that physical attraction and emotional attraction are balanced between Clark and Lois.

The fact that this is possible comes from how well-crafted the dynamic is between the two of them; Lois' raw passion and energy inspires confidence and a mutual passion in Clark, and Clark's gentleness and kind heart inspire a tenderness in Lois that she was never given an outlet to show or receive. From this dynamic, a wealth of physical and emotional intimacy is naturally born. But never in the series do the two aspects of attraction feel out of balance; rather, they play off each other effortlessly. When one is brought into focus, the other quickly follows.

From the first episode and onward, it's obvious that Clark and Lois are awed by each other's physical appearance. Lois outright describes Clark as "beautiful" (which, if you saw one of my earlier posts from not too long ago, is something that makes me so incredibly happy to see in mainstream media).

To be fair, she doesn't say that to his face and says it in a moment of extreme frustration. But I still count it.

Anyways.

Upon seeing Lois for the first time, Clark is practically frozen in wonder for a good few seconds.

Lois, too, experiences this initial moment of attraction and almost immediately makes contact, with a playful punch to Clark's chest as he holds the door open for her.

This is a detail I really love, because first of all wow, I aspire to have her level of confidence. But also, it becomes clear early on in the series that Lois expresses herself very physically. She has no qualms regarding physical affection. Clark, on the other hand, is much more reserved and, at first, generally only initiates contact after an invitation from Lois, or after enough time has passed in their friendship for him to know that Lois is very physical and wouldn't have a problem with it.

There is also an immediate emphasis on Clark's concern for Lois' physical well-being. Take a sip of water every time Clark asks Lois if she's okay just in the first episode alone and you will be well hydrated.

Later on in this first episode, while trying to infiltrate a warehouse, Lois confidently asks Clark to boost her up to a window so she can get inside the building. Clark is immediately flustered, showing how much he feels out of his depth even with physical contact that, on the surface, would have no romantic connotations. (But to be fair, Lois is asking him to put his hands around her waist and lift her up when they literally just met like maybe six hours ago. I would be flustered too.)

And when Lois loses her balance and Clark effortlessly catches her, his first response (after blushing, of course) is to ask her:

Even in moments where the romantic tension is thick enough to cut with a knife and Clark clearly knows it, his first priority is to make sure she's okay.

And thus begins one of the strongest underlying themes throughout the whole building-up of their relationship, which is trust.

I'm gonna jump ahead now to the scene that inspired this whole post: the stairwell scene in episode four.

A basic rundown: Clark, Lois, and Jimmy are given an assignment to attend a tech unveiling for the city's top investors at Amazotech headquarters. Lois, naturally, ignores the parameters of the assignment and tries to use it as an opportunity to expose corruption in the city and get her stop-the-presses story. Clark very reluctantly follows her lead, believing that she will get herself into trouble . . . until Dr. Ivo, head of Amazotech, makes a few rude comments about Lois' appearance (Lois doesn't hear these, only Clark). This deeply irritates Clark and prompts him into revealing how much he knows about Dr. Ivo's corrupt business dealings, in an attempt to intimidate the truth out of Dr. Ivo, who responds by having Clark thrown out of the building and into a pile of garbage in an adjacent alleyway. Lois comes to find Clark (who is unhurt) and teases him about whether or not she should let him back in the building, since he didn't follow the assignment. Clark jokes that he doesn't even meet the dress code anymore, revealing that his suit jacket was torn as he was tossed out of the building.

Lois then reveals that she came prepared for this, and tells Clark to "take it off."

Clark immediately becomes flustered again and begins stammering as Lois pulls him back into the building by his jacket, continuing to tease him.

It's in these moments, as you can see, that the lighting of the scene changes. As soon as Lois says "take it off", everything is bathed in a rosy light. This happens frequently between these two; often, when we the audience are seeing one of these characters through the perspective of the other, the lighting takes on a very dreamy quality. This will come up again momentarily.

As Lois and Clark ascend the stairs, Lois removes her jacket and pulls a sewing kit from her pocket, admitting that she carries one on her because she herself has torn a lot of her clothing on her escapades.

The two then sit down on the stairs, and Clark removes his jacket. The lighting changes again, and we see Clark from Lois' eyes. It's clear by the dreamy lighting and the way that Lois blushes and involuntarily chokes out a "Wow . . ." that she is once again awed by him and deeply attracted to him on a physical level.

And this scene represents so much about their growing dynamic. It honestly has me floored.

But before I explain fully, I have to go on a tangent about my beloved Clark.

Throughout the beginning of the series, I believe Clark shows several signs that indicate that he is insecure about his physical appearance. Which you wouldn't expect, right? I mean, look at him. He's objectively a dreamboat. He was designed to be that way.

But at this stage of knowing so little about where he really came from or who he is, I think Clark struggles with not having a way to explain his physique. He admits that he wasn't an athlete in school; he was in the chess club. He doesn't work out as an adult. And yet he has the muscles of a bodybuilder. But, like so many other aspects of himself, he doesn't have a way to explain it. This causes a disconnect in how he sees himself physically; he likely feels as though he doesn't deserve his naturally impressive physique. And you could argue that he even does his best to hide it. As a civilian, he generally wears bulky, layered clothing like sweatshirts and sweaters. He slouches and carries himself in a very inward direction; his shoulders are often forward and his arms close to his sides, as if he is habitually attempting to make himself smaller.

This is one thing that brought me to tears when I saw it. The idea that a person can feel insecure about having physical attributes that would normally be seen as positive (and that they can't explain and/or feel that they don't deserve) is not very well-explored in media, but it is experienced by quite a few people, myself being one of them. But often in the real world when someone attempts to express this kind of insecurity, they are shut down and mocked and told to "be grateful" for what they have because others would envy them. Which I can say from personal experience is unbelievably damaging to a person's self image. So seeing this possibly be represented in Clark Kent himself was incredibly moving to me.

But back to the scene itself.

In the most recent gif above, this is the most vulnerable Lois has seen Clark thus far. What I think is so beautiful is the way that she invites him into this vulnerability by making herself vulnerable first.

Rewind a bit. Outside the building, Lois tells Clark to take his jacket off. Not a big deal, right? It's not like he's not wearing an undershirt. But Clark becomes flustered, not outright expressing that he's uncomfortable with this, but certainly indicating that he's not exactly at ease with it either.

Next we see them climbing up the stairs, and as they do so, Lois removes her own jacket and reveals her bare back to Clark in the process.

I believe this was incredibly intentional. This scene would have carried a very different tone if Lois' outfit was revealing in any other way. But the fact that her back is exposed symbolizes that she trusts him, in a physical and emotional sense. It's like when my cat Penny rolls on her back and exposes her fluffy tummy. Lois revealing this part of herself was her saying "I trust you, I feel safe with you, and I'll be vulnerable with you if you'll be vulnerable with me."

And only after that does Clark remove his jacket.

Because there is the factor of attraction at play, there is a lot of blushing and stammering going on in the beginning of this scene. These are two incredibly attractive people who are incredibly attracted to each other, after all. But immediately after the initial romantic tension, there is emotional vulnerability as well. Lois confides in Clark about her relationship with her dad, and the crippling self-doubt that she has kept very close to her chest. Clark jumps to reassure her in earnest, telling her that she has "changed his life for the better, in every possible way."

And that is what I meant at the beginning of the post when I mentioned balance.

Every moment of physical attraction in this series is followed by or harmonized with a moment of emotional vulnerability. Clark and Lois both invite each other deeper into each aspect of connection, and thus their relationship builds in an incredibly natural and beautiful way.

At this point, I think this post is about five miles long as the crow scrolls and I should probably stop now before all my thoughts run away with me. I could go on forever about the impact that this series and these characters have had on me, though. I will forever be grateful to the creators for giving us such an incredible series, and such a beautiful romance.

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the-monkeies-girl · 4 months

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How would Noa react to human reader on her period? I’m currently on mine and got this thought!

It's like you and i are the same person bc im on mine too ( The first time in like three years, im SUFFERING, ) Let's get self-indulgent. YOLO.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. READ THE PROMPT ABOVE AND MAKE THE CHOICE IF YOU ARE OKAY WITH THIS CONTENT, OTHERWISE, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Ty ty.

Due to the environment and stress of living in the society you were placed in, your period was admittedly not regular though you tried your best to keep track of it. It got lost from time to time and you were left unsure when it would rear its ugly head back in. Sometimes, it was remarkably early by a few weeks, sometimes, it was at least a month late.

Your first period while with the Clan? You had nothing prepared. Nothing to ease your bleeding, nothing to ease yourself into some semblance of comfort. You quite frankly go into a small panic. You don’t know who to talk to - there’s no humans here, and Apes don’t bleed and have symptoms like Humans do.

Oh my god avoiding Noa for the few days out of embarrassment - How do you even begin to explain to him?

Don’t think for a moment that Noa doesn’t know something is going on. The boy has an acute sense of smell. The roll of your pheromones, how they hit him and stuck around like a fog around his head, how they adjusted ever so slightly a few days before you began ignoring him? Noted. You’re more hungry than usual - going for seconds at the evening meal. Nothing savory though - you stocked up on fruits and berries and just explained to him that the sweetness was more up your alley. He’d mention that maybe you should have some meat to balance but the absolute daggers you gave him caused him to never bring it up again. Noted. The pull to your emotions, like you were swinging from a branch, back and forth not able to teether yourself to one? You began crying one day with him next to you while watching the Baby Apes play with each other. The next moment, you were snapping at him for even looking at you. Noted. The subtle shift in your body? Becoming a bit more reserved , you often kept your hands in front of your chest, blocking him from looking at you fully? Maybe, he even notices when your arms grazed your chest that you flinched - Tender breasts. Noted. Heightened mating the last few days? Oh, absolutely noted. Not as tired as you though - Noa noticed you getting more tired during the middle of the day, asking him a few days before your period actually hit if you could go take a nap while he went with Soona and Anaya to fish. Noted.

You go to Soona and Dar in hopes that maybe you can talk to them about it and actually have them understand. You’re too embarrassed to bring this up to Noa and you doubted that he’d understand at all. Noa does show up mid-conversation though- You had been talking to Soona and Dar about something from his perspective. He doesn’t take much time to notice that, letting his green eyes rest on you for a moment longer but the tone of the voice you’re using with his Mother and Soona? Quite, hushed, like you had a secret. Noa has to admit that he’s a tiny bit intrigued and he lingers, trying to pick apart the conversation despite his brain telling him not to, that it was obviously a private matter. But… The other side of him bargained and he wondered what secret you could have that you wouldn’t want him to know about. After all, you had been avoiding him for a few days and he needed to know why if that’s what you were talking to Dar and Soona about. Admittedly, as you explained to them what was happening ( Soona and Dar ) they were more confused than you initially wanted them to be with your vague words, having to go into more detail and explain - Which was not on your bingo-card at all. You were unsure of what words/phrases they were going to understand so you had to transverse carefully around the subject. You felt like you were going to cry from embarrassment before a look of understanding flashed from Dar. ~*So, from listening to the conversation he was not supposed to be a part of, Noa gathered only a few things: you were going through something that affected females? Hence, why you went to Soona and Dar. You were embarrassed to talk to Noa about it, it must have been pretty contentious. And went through this consistently, albeit not regularly? It was a sign of Echo maturity, your body coming into its own. On a consistent basis? Noa was confused. How does your body do that?

Oh my god Noa asking you about it. The blood rushing to your face as he mentions that he had heard you talking to his Mother and Soona. Your first instinct is to get defensive. You cross your arms in front of your chest, pretty adamant in telling him that there was nothing going on. Noa retaliates in defense of himself and says, “I… just want to know why… you… Are ignoring me.” The spacing of his words gives away that he was being careful to choose what he told you. Irrational anger bubbled to surface and you just snapped, “I’m on my period! Okay? I already talked to Dar and Soona about it and now you’re at my throat? Period! Is that a good enough answer for you!? It’s not always about you Noa!” You storm off, leaving the Ape bewildered. You eventually do return an hour or so later, this time, incredibly apologetic with tears in your eyes as you’re muttering to him through a flood of tears, telling him all about what was happening and how you were feeling. Your cramps, the headache that wouldn’t go away, your insatiable need to eat everything insight, the pure driven desire you had to be both angry and sad at the same time. You even went as far as to tell him that you were indeed bleeding -Something Noa didn't have the heart to tell you that he was aware of. Remember that acute sense of smell? He noticed it. He noticed it the last few days, figuring you would bring it up when you were ready. Noa pulls you into him, lightly pressing his forehead against yours. He’s still not 100% on the details but… He hated to see you cry. Hated to see you angry as well. He tells you that it’s okay, to calm down and that it’ll all be okay. Those swinging emotions he recalled from a few days before your period? Yeah, they happen during as well and you flew off the handle. “I am calm! What makes you think I’m not?” You groaned, pulling away from him, “I’m going to lay down.” He just watches wordlessly as you walk away; wondering what he said that was so offensive.

He definitely begins to track it with fever though; just another thing for him to notice about you, and he really did his best to be accommodating despite not fully understanding the reason why you went through it. He would tell you when he knew it was coming, something that you actually came to gratefully accept because the mutiny that was your body made it hard to track yourself.

Uhm hello? Noa bringing you an herbal drink that the Elders swore by to help with mild pain in the body. Usually, it was Apes that had joint problems from age, or some from injury, but the drink did help ease your headache and cramps to a semi-bearable state.

He scours the dinner for the most sweet berries and fruits. Noa is able to tell from look and feel which ones would be more welcomed by you and he’s always so diligent to bring you two bowls. One for now, one for later.

OHHhhh my god Noa resting his hands on your stomach when you’re tangled in the nest together. He can sense the discomfort you’re in. You had tossed and turned almost the entire night, keeping the two of you awake. Now that it was dusk, you felt more at ease as he placed a hand on the lower part of your abdomen and groaned at the pleasure of feeling his heated skin. ~*Definitely becomes more of a coping action that Noa works around. If Noa senses you’re feeling either nauseated or in pain, he’s rather quick to pull you into him and ease it the best he can. Favorite position? You’re laying on your side and he is spooning you from behind. Hands on your lower stomach, lightly at first but more intense if you’re craving more pressure and heat from him. He’s noticed you like to fall asleep like that. And he’s more than willing to oblige.

Ah god the forehead touches when you have a headache? Someone sedate me. ~* He really gets into it and will wrap his hands around your head, his fingers almost meeting at the back of your neck. The heat from his hands feels absolutely euphoric against your temples as he pulls you towards him. You fall lax against him and ultimately let Noa pull you into his lap. Hands run from the back of your neck down to your lower back. He’ll place tender touches there too, knowing that lower back pain was also common.

#noa #noa x reader #listen this is so sloppy im so sorry #cryin #pota #planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #TW: period #kotpota #kingdom of the planet of the apes

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oozedninjas · 10 months

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Heyyyy I was wondering if you could do how the boys realize they're in love with you and how they react to said realization? Maybe even how long they'd take to confess??

Sorry if that's too much in one go or if you've already done it, ily and I love your writing <3

These are technically two requests so I'll just stick to "How they realize they're in love" if that's okay :)

MDNI / Turtle guys are mid to late twenties

BAYVERSE GUYS REALIZING THEY'RE IN LOVE

---

Leonardo:

Once he notices, Leo would carefully consider the implications that come with romantic emotions and reflect upon whether or not he's willing to go through what it entails to give himself to someone.

He would make sure this isn't just a fleeting thing before making any decisions on acting upon those feelings. Once he does, he'll drop little hints that surpass obviousness.

Don't get me wrong, it isn't that he is not brave enough to make the moves; it's just that he assumes that what he has to offer is little and prefers to give you all the signs. This way, if you want a relationship with him, you have the necessary tools to let him see that you do want to be courted.

Donatello:

Donnie's sharp enough to recognize what he's feeling the moment he discerns those exquisite tingles in his chest as something beyond just excitement. Yet, like the reserved creature that he is, digesting such emotions and coming to terms with them is… another thing entirely.

I think he would tough it out for the most part. Often bombarded by intrusive thoughts of a negative reaction on your side if you were to find out. His mind plays tricks on him, making him daydream about delightful dates with you, followed by the voice of mockery asserting that could never come to happen.

He has to be realistic. It isn't logical that someone as beautiful and brilliant as you are would risk being with a non-human creature who's not even biologically compatible with you. No, he's better off as your friend.

Raphael:

He knows what he feels for you; however, he refuses to accept it in his heart (or in front of anyone else, for that matter) because it would be too painful not to be reciprocated. Nevertheless, as his feelings for you grow, so do the desires to protect you and keep you safe and secure. This makes it difficult for him to conceal his true feelings to a sharp, tenacious eye as your own.

If he comes to confess his feelings, Raphael would strive to balance his rough exterior with moments of tenderness, as he recognizes the importance of displaying his softer side to achieve more deepening emotional connections.

Mikey

Mikey's excitement and eagerness to be around you would give him away in the blink of an eye. It's cute because he holds this "We should totally date! Haha, joking, joking... UNLESS!" attitude all the time.

I think he would express his feelings in a joyful, creative form. You can expect an outpouring of artistic expressions: drawings, poems, or spontaneous acts of affection.

I think Mike's the one with a higher rate of emotional intelligence; many lessons he's learned across his journey, and in his adult years, it's easier for him to establish his limits and boundaries. With this in mind, I think he would ponder if it's worth potentially ruining his friendship with you. If the answer is yes, he goes with everything he's got.

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estellan0vella · 3 months

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Little Oracle ❀ Sukuna Masterlist

The morning sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled light on the garden. You're sitting on a stone bench, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth of the day. A delicate breeze rustles the flowers, carrying the sweet scent of blossoms. Before you, your crystal ball rests on its ornate stand, catching the light and refracting it into a myriad of colors.

Lost in the depths of the crystal, you trace your fingers over the smooth surface, your mind drifting through visions of what is, what was, and what could be. The future dances before you in fragmented images, a kaleidoscope of possibilities. Sometimes it feels like a beautiful, intricate tapestry; other times, it's an overwhelming storm of information.

You're so absorbed in your trance-like state that you don't notice the figure approaching. Sukuna's presence is a commanding one, but even he can't always pierce through the veil of your concentration. He stands a few paces away, watching you with an intensity that would make others tremble, but which you find comforting.

"My little oracle," he says, his voice a deep rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. "Lost in your visions again?"

You blink, coming back to the present. Your eyes meet his, and you smile, a dreamy, slightly distracted smile. "Sukuna," you murmur, the name filled with affection and reverence. "I was just... there was something important. Something about... oh, it's gone now."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "You need to be more careful, my queen. One of these days, you'll fall into that crystal ball and never come out."

You giggle at the absurdity, but there's a hint of truth in his words. Sometimes you do get too lost in your visions. But you know he would always find you, no matter where you wandered.

Standing, you gather your skirts and the crystal ball, carefully placing it in the basket you always carry. As you do, you lose your balance slightly, your clumsiness making itself known. Sukuna's hand is instantly at your elbow, steadying you with ease.

"My little dove," he says softly, looking at you with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "What would you do without me?"

You smile up at him, eyes twinkling. "I'd probably end up in a ditch somewhere," you admit with a laugh. "Or stuck in a hedge, trying to read the future in the patterns of the leaves."

His grip on your elbow tightens for a moment before he lets go, and you both start walking through the garden. It's a meandering path, your steps light and slightly aimless, Sukuna's sure and purposeful. He doesn't mind your wandering, though. In fact, he seems to enjoy it, like you're some rare, enchanting creature that he's fascinated by.

As you walk, you pull out your tarot cards, shuffling them with practiced ease despite your usual clumsiness. You spread them out on a nearby table, your fingers gliding over the worn edges. Sukuna watches, his eyes never leaving you. There's a soft smile playing on his lips, a rare sight that only you ever get to see.

You draw a card, the image of The Lovers coming into view. You glance up at Sukuna, who raises an eyebrow in amusement.

"Does that mean we're fated to be together?" he teases.

You tilt your head, considering the card. "It means we are two parts of a whole," you say thoughtfully. "Two halves that complete each other."

He leans down, his face close to yours. "I could have told you that without the cards," he murmurs, and then his lips brush yours in a tender kiss.

It's moments like these that you cherish the most. Despite his fearsome reputation and his often harsh demeanor, with you, he's gentle and caring. He treats you like you're the most precious thing in the world, and you can't help but love him all the more for it.

Later, you find yourself in the tea room, your teacup in hand as you stare intently at the leaves. The future swirls before you in the patterns they create, but your focus is broken when you hear Sukuna's laughter. He's standing in the doorway, watching you with that same affectionate smile.

"Lost again, my little oracle?" he asks, coming to sit beside you.

You nod, setting the teacup down. "The leaves were trying to tell me something, but it was all jumbled."

He takes your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "Maybe it's not the leaves you should be listening to," he says softly. "Maybe you should just trust in us, in what we have."

You look at him, your heart swelling with love. "You're right," you whisper. "I don't need to see the future to know that we're meant to be together."

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close. "My queen, my seer," he murmurs into your hair. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what the future holds."

As the days go by, your routine remains much the same. You spend your mornings in the garden, your afternoons with your tarot cards and tea leaves, and your evenings with Sukuna. He's a constant presence in your life, grounding you when you get too lost in your own head.

One day, as you're wandering through the estate, you find yourself hopelessly lost. The corridors all look the same, and your mind is still half occupied with a vision you had earlier. You turn a corner and find yourself in an unfamiliar hallway.

Just as you're about to despair, you hear his voice. "There you are, my little oracle."

You turn to see Sukuna striding towards you, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. "I told you not to wander off without me," he chides gently, taking your hand.

"I got lost," you admit sheepishly. "I was thinking about the vision, and..."

He sighs, but there's no real annoyance in his eyes. "What am I going to do with you?" he mutters, pulling you close.

"Love me forever?" you suggest, looking up at him with a hopeful smile.

He laughs, the sound echoing through the hallway. "Yes, my queen," he says, kissing your forehead. "I'll love you forever. And I'll always find you, no matter where you wander."

With his hand firmly in yours, he leads you back to familiar territory. You walk in comfortable silence, the bond between you unspoken but ever-present. You know that with him by your side, you can face anything. And as you look up at him, your heart full of love, you know that the future, no matter how uncertain, is something you can look forward to.

I'm a slut for soft Sukuna. Sue me

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna imagine #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna fluff

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soldiersareyourprotectors · 4 months

Text

Evan adjusted his tie in the mirror, feeling the slight tremor of nerves in his fingertips.

Tonight marked one year with Daniel, a year filled with laughter, support, and a love stronger than he had ever imagined possible. He still marveled at how fate had brought them together in the most unexpected of circumstances.

Evan, a successful businessman, had moved to the city to escape a harrowing past. His ex-boyfriend, Liam, had become increasingly aggressive and abusive, culminating in a terrifying night when Liam broke into Evan's apartment, demanding they leave together. The ordeal had ended with Liam's arrest and a restraining order. Seeking a fresh start, Evan changed his name and moved, hoping to leave the fear and chaos behind.

It was a few months later when he met Daniel. Tall, with an athletic build and a smile that made Evan's heart race, Daniel was everything he had never thought he needed.

Daniel was a police officer, dedicated to his job and fiercely protective of those he loved. They had met when Daniel was off duty, at a charity event organized by Evan's company. A spilled drink, an apology, and a shared laugh had turned into a first date, and now, one year later, Evan could hardly believe how much his life had changed for the better.

The doorbell rang, pulling Evan from his thoughts. He hurried to answer, opening the door to find Daniel standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in his uniform.

Daniel's eyes lit up when he saw Evan.

"Happy anniversary, babe," Daniel said, stepping inside and pulling Evan into a warm embrace.

"Happy anniversary," Evan replied, his voice muffled against Daniel's shoulder. He felt the familiar surge of comfort and safety that Daniel always brought with him.

They had planned a quiet evening at Evan's apartment, a place that had become their shared sanctuary. Daniel had insisted on bringing dinner, and Evan could smell the delicious aroma of Italian food as Daniel set down the takeout bags on the kitchen counter.

"How was work?" Evan asked, leaning against the counter and watching Daniel unpack the food.

"Busy, but nothing too crazy," Daniel replied with a grin. "Just the usual stuff. I'm all yours now."

Evan's heart swelled with affection. He knew Daniel's job was demanding and often stressful, but Daniel always made time for him, never letting work get in the way of their relationship.

They settled on the couch, plates balanced on their knees as they shared stories about their day. Evan couldn't help but feel a pang of gratitude for the peaceful normalcy they had built together. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and fear he had known before, a testament to the healing power of love and stability.

After dinner, Daniel surprised Evan with a small, wrapped box. Evan's eyes widened as he opened it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, engraved with their initials and the date they had first met.

"It's beautiful," Evan whispered, touched by the thoughtful gift. "Thank you, Daniel."

Daniel took Evan's hand, his expression serious. "Evan, I know this past year hasn't always been easy. You've been through so much, and yet you've opened your heart to me. I promise I'll always be here for you, to protect you and to love you. You're my everything."

Tears welled in Evan's eyes as he leaned in to kiss Daniel, pouring all his gratitude and love into that one tender moment. "I love you, Daniel. You've given me a life I never thought I'd have. Thank you for being my rock."

They spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other's arms, until Evan's eyes widened with shock as a sharp pain suddenly stabbed through his abdomen. He dropped the bracelet, clutching his stomach as he doubled over, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Evan? What's wrong?" Daniel's voice was filled with concern as he rushed to Evan's side, his strong hands steadying him. But Evan couldn't respond; the pain was too intense, and his vision started to blur.

"Hang on, I'm going to get you to the bedroom," Daniel said, his voice calm but urgent. He scooped Evan into his arms with ease, heading down the hallway.

Just as they reached the bedroom door, a figure emerged from the shadows, and before Daniel could react, a heavy metal pole came crashing down on his head. The impact was swift and brutal, and Daniel crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Evan, barely holding on to consciousness, looked up through a haze of pain to see the one face he had hoped to never see again. Liam stood over them, a malicious sneer twisting his features.

"Well, well, well," Liam drawled, tossing the pole aside with a clatter. "Is this what you replaced me with, Evan? Some pathetic cop?"

Evan's mind raced, panic flooding his system despite the pain. How had Liam found him? He had taken every precaution, every measure to stay hidden. Yet here he was, the nightmare of his past come to life once more.

Liam crouched down next to Daniel's unconscious body, roughly lifting his upper torso and invading his mouth with a forceful, possessive kiss. "Look at him," Liam sneered, breaking away and letting Daniel's head drop back to the floor with a thud. "This is who you thought could protect you?"

Then, with a sickening sense of delight, Liam pushed his hand inside Daniel's pants, groping his unconscious body. "Look at you, helpless," he whispered, his breath hot and rancid against Daniel's neck. "Do you really think this man can protect you, Evan?" His words sounding like a threat.

Evan's stomach churned, and not just from the pain. Seeing Daniel violated in such a way, even unconscious, filled him with a desperate fury. He tried to move, to do something, but his body wouldn't respond.

Liam's eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as he began to strip Daniel of his uniform, piece by piece. His sneer faltered slightly as he revealed Daniel's naked, athletic, muscular body, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and jealousy. "Well, isn't this a surprise," Liam muttered, his voice tinged with begrudging admiration. "Guess the cop isn't so pathetic after all."

"Please, Liam," Evan managed to gasp out. "Just let us go. We can talk about this."

Liam's voice raised painfully, his eyes flashing with anger. "Talk? You want to talk now? After everything you put me through?" He laughed bitterly. "No, Evan. I'm done talking."

Liam then proceeded to strip himself, his movements deliberate and menacing. Piece by piece, he removed his clothing, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watched Evan's pained expression. When he was finally naked, he positioned himself over Daniel, who lay completely exposed and vulnerable on the floor.

Evan's vision began to darken further, the pain and fear overwhelming him. He had to stay awake, had to fight for both their lives. But as Liam's voice faded into the background, Evan's world went black, the last thing he saw being Liam sitting down onto the fully stripped Daniel.

Evan's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself strapped onto a gurney in front of their house. The cool night air brushed against his skin, and he shivered slightly. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances cast an eerie glow over the scene.

"Evan," a familiar voice called out, filled with a mix of relief and determination. He turned his head as much as he could and saw Daniel standing beside him, his police uniform back in place. A few scratches marred Daniel's face, a silent testament to the possible struggle that had ensued after Evan had fallen unconscious.

"Daniel," Evan croaked, his voice hoarse and weak.

Daniel's eyes softened, and he reached out to gently touch Evan's hand. "You're safe now, Evan. It's over. No maniac like Liam could ever bring us apart."

Evan felt a wave of relief wash over him. Despite the lingering fear and the pain, Daniel's presence and his words filled him with a sense of security. He squeezed Daniel's hand as tightly as he could, drawing strength from the contact.

Just then, two police officers emerged from the house, dragging a visibly dazed Liam between them. His clothes were disheveled, and his eyes darted around wildly.

As they approached the police car, Liam started shouting, his voice frantic and desperate.

"No, you don't understand!" Liam cried out. "I'm Daniel! He stole my body! That maniac stole my body! I'm Daniel, not him!"

One of the officers shook his head, his expression a mix of irritation and pity. "Yeah, sure you are," he muttered. "Another crazy story from a madman."

Liam struggled against their grip, his pleas growing more incoherent and desperate.

"You have to believe me! Please, I'm telling the truth!"

The officers ignored his protests, preparing to push him into the back of the police car. As they moved closer, Daniel's lips curled into an evil smile, a stark contrast to the tender expression he had shown Evan just moments ago. His eyes locked onto Liam's, and a silent message passed between them—a promise of vengeance and torment.

Meanwhile, Liam continued to plead desperately at Evan, his voice filled with desperation and urgency. "You have to realize, Evan! It's me, Daniel! Liam somehow swapped our bodies! You have to believe me!"

But Evan's mind was clouded with confusion and exhaustion, unable to comprehend the gravity of Liam's words.

The officers continued to ignore his protests, pushing him into the back of the police car and slamming the door shut. The muffled sound of Liam's continued shouting faded as the car drove away, leaving Evan and Daniel in the relative quiet of the aftermath.

Daniel leaned closer to Evan, his expression softening even more. "It's really over now, Evan. Liam's gone, and he won't hurt us anymore."

Evan nodded, tears of relief welling in his eyes. "I was so scared, Daniel."

"I know," Daniel whispered, brushing a tear from Evan's cheek. "But we made it through. Together."

"Daniel," Evan murmured, relief flooding through him at the familiar embrace. He buried his face in Daniel's chest, seeking solace in the warmth of his embrace.

But as Evan nestled closer, he failed to notice the subtle shift in Daniel's demeanor.

Hidden from view, Daniel's face twisted into an evil grin, a chilling contrast to the tender moment they shared. In that moment, Daniel's eyes gleamed with a sinister satisfaction, knowing that the real Daniel, now trapped in Liam's body, wouldn't be able to bother them again. With Evan safely in his arms, Liam's plan of becoming Daniel to be with Evan forever had worked. He relished in the feeling of his new, more muscular body, the uniform hugging it snugly, and having Evan all for himself.

#body swap #male body swap #male transformation #muscular men #stolen body #stolen clothes #stolen life #stolen uniform

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star-eyed-angels · 8 months

Text

Stray Kids Reaction | FLUFF | Soft Moments With Your Child

Times you watch them bond with their child

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Sorry for the longer wait on this one, hope you like it 💛

Warnings: none, just some tooth rotting fluff

________

CHAN

When you walk into your home, you expect to find your daughter and husband lounging about. Their favorite pastime of being live in couch potatoes as they watch movies and snack all day.

Instead you’re greeted by music and the sound of giggles

“Channie? Chunhee?,” you call out as you make your way down the hallway. Neither responds to your calls.

You follow the soft music playing into the living room, you feel your heart swell when you walk in to see your husband swaying around the room, your daughter standing on his toes.

You stop in the doorway, neither one having noticed you yet. Your husband sings along, staring down at her. Your daughter giggles, hugging your husband tighter. He smiles leaning down to kiss her head.

She lets go of his hands reaching up to him.

“Daddy will you carry me?” She asks.

He lifts her up without question, continuing his dancing. He continues to sing to her, as she lays against his chest.

You smile as you notice her eyes start to droop closed.

Chan must notice the change as he stays in place, swaying slowly in his spot. And his singing becomes a light whisper. You walk into the room quietly, Chan hears and turns around slowly. Smiling at you shyly. His ears pink up as you give him a knowing look.

“You played her our song?” you whisper, mindful of your sleeping girl.

“Yeah… she wanted me to teach her to dance and I thought I could show it to her,” he whispers back.

“Something for her to have from us.”

His hand continues to soothe down your daughter’s hair softly. A dimpled smile takes over as he looks down at her fondly. Your heart swells at the sight.

“Christopher, if we weren’t already married, I would be down on one knee proposing to you again,” you say, your own grin creeping its way on your face.

He giggles, shyly looking away, the tops of his ears, and back of his neck turning pink once again.

“Shut it you big sap,” he says with nothing but affection coating his words.

Your grin only grows as you lean forward, planting a kiss against his ever-reddening cheeks.

MINHO

Relief fills you as you walk into your home. The house is fairly quiet, except for the sounds of the stove and gentle voices. You make your way towards the sound, throwing your belongings to the side. Your heart warms at the sight in your kitchen, Minho stands in front of the stove, steam steadily rising as he slowly stirs what’s in the pot in front of him. Next to him is your son, Hyunwoo, who’s standing on a chair in front of the counter. He’s quiet as he peers over the counter, head just barely poking over the top.

“We have to stir this for ten minutes to make sure it tastes yummy,” Minho explains softly.

Your son nods, staring between his dad and the pot before him.

“Then we can eat dinner with Eomma?,” he asks excitedly.

Minho hums, using his free hand to ruffle Hyunwoo’s hair.

“Yes buddy, once she gets home we’ll all eat together, okay?”

Okay!”

You softly knock on the doorway, to the kitchen. Minho turns, a smile gracing his face as he looks at you. Hyunwoo turns, teetering as he tries to balance himself on the chair.

“Eomma! You’re home! Look what me and appa are making!” He says, excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet.

You smile, easily gliding over to stand behind his chair.

“Smells amazing my loves. Did you help daddy make this?” your voice soft, as you run your hand over his hair affectionately.

“Uh huh! Helped him wash the vegetables and put them in the pot!”

He beams up at you, his smile reminding you of Minho’s baby pictures. You smile, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head.

“Well, it looks delicious. Tell you what, why don’t you go wash up and we can set the table together, okay?”

He’s all but scrambling off the chair. You steady him as he climbs off, watching him fondly as he dashes down the hallway.

You feel Minho’s arm snake its way around your waist, tugging you to him. You go willingly, wrapping your own arm around him.

“Where’s my kiss? Gave Woo all the attention, what am I chopped liver?” He teases, nudging your head softly.

“Big baby,” you mutter. You still tilt your head, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Glad you’re home,” he says, pecking your lips once more. You press closer to him, relaxing in his hold.

“Me too.”

CHANGBIN

You’re laying against Changbin, a random movie playing on the tv. Your head against his shoulder as his arm rubs up and down the side of your arm. It’s well past the time you should both be asleep, but you’re more than happy to sit here doing nothing with your husband.

The sound of a door slowly creaking open pulls you out of the sleepy haze. You sit up as you hear small footsteps pad their way into the living room. You and Binnie turn just as your son, Junmyeon, stops in the hallway.

In one hand he clutches a small blue blanket, a gift from Changbin, frowning as he sniffles lightly. His small cheeks puffing up like his father’s as he stares back at you.

“Hey baby, what are you doing up sweetheart?” You ask softly.

He rubs his eyes with his fist, his exhaustion clear as he sways slightly.

“Can’t sleep,” he pouts, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Hey it’s okay bubba, come here baby,” you coo, motioning for him to come into the room. He toddles over to where you and Binnie sit on the couch. You open your arms ready to pick him up when he turns towards your husband. Changbin, who’s been quiet this entire time, looks down at him.

“Daddy will you hold me?” Your son asks quietly.

Your husband sits shocked, used to Junmyeon wanting your affection. He is a mama’s boy just like his father. When Changbin still stares in shock, you nudge him quickly.

“Of course bub, come here,” he says, opening his arms. Your son falls into his arms easily. He practically goes limp as Changbin lifts him into his chest. He tucks his face against your husband’s neck. You smile as you watch Binnie lean back on the couch, putting the blanket around Junmyeon’s shoulders. He begins rubbing his hand up and down your son’s back carefully. In less than five minutes you hear the soft snores come from your son.You smile, sneaking a look at Changbin who wears a big goofy grin.

“He asked me to hold him,” your husband whispers, glancing back at your son.

“He did,” you nod, your hand coming up to massage the back of his neck.

“He’s never done that,” he says, mostly to himself. You hum, watching the loving look he gives your sleeping son.

“You okay Binnie?”

“Couldn’t be better. Now come here. Let me hold both of my babies,” His free arm reaches out to pull you against him. You shake your head, but fall back against his side. You smile as your arms curl around his middle, hugging him closer as you get comfortable.

“Never mind, this is much better,” he says, kissing the sides of both your heads.

HYUNJIN

It’s a quiet Sunday in the Hwang household. You’re quietly fixing up snacks in kitchen, Hyunjin sits at the dining table, painting to his heart’s content, and Hwayoung sits in the living room, quietly watching a movie. Or at least she was, until Hyunjin began to paint. From your place in the kitchen you can see her peak over the couch, staring intently at her dad painting.

You don’t think Hyunjin’s ever noticed the way she watches, so encapsulated by the art he creates. That’s where she gets it after all. He gets so engrossed in what he creates that the world turns a little quieter around him. And for her, she gets so engrossed in what he’s doing she can’t find the chance to look away. Her eyes always curious, identical to her dad’s as she watches him bring his art to life.

But you do take notice. Since the day she could sit up, she’s always eyed his work, whether it be his dancing, his singing, or even his painting. Everything he does makes her little eyes sparkle in wonder. Her quiet nature made it hard for her to express the curiosity that sits on the top of her tongue. You never had the heart to push her to ask, only soft whispers of encouragement to ask to join her father. She’d always decline, content to sit and watch from a distance.

Tonight seems different, as she eyes him, her small fingers twitching where they grip the couch cushion. You glance up, seeing her in the same spot. You look down at the snacks you prepare, then glance up to see Hwayoung gone. A few seconds passes before you see her emerge from behind the couch, tentatively walking towards your husband. You hold your breath as she stops a few paces away from him. You can see the way she takes a deep breath before she calls out to him softly.

“Daddy?”

His eyes and towards her immediately, offering her a gentle smile as he sets his paintbrush down, “Hey petal, do you need something?”

“Can I paint with you?” She asks quietly.

There’s a brief pause as you see Hyunjin freeze, like he’s processing what she’s just asked. You smile as you watch him grin, suppressing his urge to shout in excitement.

“Of course you can, my little muse,” he says, voice a little shaky.

Hyunjin lifts Hwayoung with ease, placing her into his lap. He pulls the hairband from his own head, pulling her hair up into a tiny ponytail.

“What do you want to paint, petal?” He asks, eyes already scanning the table.

“Can you teach me to make a flower? I wanna draw them as good as you do,” her voice shy.

Hyunjin nods, already sifting for a good size brush for her.

You’re quiet as you watch them from your spot in the kitchen. You smile as you watch Hyunjin tremble from excitement. You pull your phone out from your pocket, quietly snapping a few pictures, knowing Hyunjin will want this moment engraved forever.

He turns to look at you when the camera clicks, giving you the biggest grin as he looks between your daughter and you. Your smile mirrors his as you walk out with the snacks you’ve prepared, taking your place across the table from them. Ready to watch them paint to their heart's content.

JISUNG

Late night strolls in the park are practically built into your family routine at this point. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that Byeol is a night owl. Her father is a thousand percent to blame due to his own sleep patterns. You don’t mind though, it’s much easier to avoid unwanted reporters and paparazzi hovering to snap photos of you, Jisung and your daughter during the night like this. During the night you practically get the park to yourselves.

The three of you walk along the river, towards the playground you’re all too familiar with. Byeol and Jisung skip ahead in front of you, swinging their arms as they dance around to a made up song from your husband. Their silly antics make you smile, content to watch them good around with each other.

Your daughter giggles, running off ahead, her arms outstretched like an airplane as she sees the playground come closer.

“Look dad, I'm like an airplane!” She shouts, making little whooshing noises as she spins and sways.

Your husband laughs, jogging up to catch her. When he’s close enough, he bends down, grabbing her carefully. Your daughter squeals as jisung lifts her onto his shoulders. He keeps his hand locked around her waist, ensuring she won’t fall off.

“Hold on, okay precious?” He says, waiting for her to let him know she’s ready.

“Okay daddy!” She says, holding his arms in her small hands.

You shake your head, as jisung takes off, making loud airplane noises as he weaves around the park with ease. Your daughter’s laughter floats through the air, her bright smile a carbon copy of your husband’s.

Your heart couldn’t be more full as you pause to watch them. You're quick to take out your phone, recording the two as they zip around the park. Your own laughter bubbles out as you watch the pair get to the playground. Jisung carefully sets your daughter down, making her giggle as he acts like a flight attendant, wishing her safe travels. You see him say something briefly to Byeol before they both take off quickly. You’re two night owls screaming as they race each other to the swing set.

FELIX

You wake up slowly, lulled into consciousness by the sound of cooking and soft music. The blanket falls to your side as you sit up, stretching your arms above your head.

You make your way out of the room being quiet as you get to your daughter’s room. You open the door carefully, expecting her to be asleep, only to find her bed already made. You peek into the room, seeing no signs of your daughter, just then the smell of food floods your senses, your stomach growling at the scent.

The smell of pancakes and fresh coffee only get stronger when you reach the bottom of the stairs. You walk towards the kitchen, following the scent. As you get closer you hear the sound of your husband singing.

You’re greeted by the sight The island covered in fresh food, carefully arranged on their own little platters. Your heart warms at the sight of your husband, cooking breakfast carefully. Your daughter, Myeong, is carefully balanced on Felix’s hip as he cooks. She hums along as he sings, still a little too sleepy to offer much help. She glances back towards the door, noticing you come in.

“Morning mommy!” Her head popping up slightly.

“Good morning, what are my sunshines up to?,” Your voice still rough from sleep.

Felix turns around, smiling brightly when he sees you.

“Good morning pretty, Myeong and I were just making you breakfast,” he says casually flipping another pancake.

You hum, leaning over to kiss your daughter’s head, before placing a soft kiss near your husband’s lips.

“Such a perfect thing to wake up to. Thought I was dreaming for a second when I walked in,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He laughs, nudging you slightly with his hip.

“Are you telling me I’m not dreamy enough for you on a normal day?,” he teases quietly. With his attention turned to you, he fully neglects the pancake still in the pan, unknowing letting it burn.

“I don’t know, dreamy guys don’t burn their pancakes like you’re doing right now..” you quip back.

He whips around, muttering light curses as he hurriedly flips the pancake before it can burn anymore. You snicker as you hear him haphazardly censor his swears. Your daughter laughs, a small smile on her face as she watches you both bicker. Felix pouts as he adds the pancake to the stack he has so far. The sad pancake is clearly a different shade from the others. You laugh, leaning up to place another kiss to your husband's cheek.

“It’s okay Lixie, you’re still dreamy, even if your pancakes are a little burnt,” you say sweetly. He huffs out a laugh, giving you a loving glare.

SEUNGMIN

You mentally prepare yourself as you hear the mischievous giggles drawing closer. When you feel someone standing behind you, you don’t bother looking up. The laptop in front of you taking all your attention. That is until you feel small fingers tugging on your sweater, and bigger hands ghosting against the back of your neck. The tickling sensation makes you shiver, but you continue typing away on your laptop.

“Kim seungmin, kim seojun.” you say in warning.

Your son giggles louder as your husband snickers, hand continuing to ghost over your sensitive neckœ.

“Babies let me concentrate on my work,” you beg, doing your best not to squirm.

“We’re not doing anything momma!” your son says, though you already feel the light tugs at your sweater starting up again.

“Seungmin,”

“Seojun’s right, I’m not even touching you baby,” seungmin says, even as his fingers graze closer to your neck.

You send a glare behind you as you pause your typing.

“Menace,” you grumble under your breath.

“Menace? What does that mean daddy?” your son, ever the listener, repeats immediately.

‘It means your momma loves me, right honey?”

You roll your eyes, glaring back at him.

“Right, I love him so much I wanna squeeze him to death,” you deadpan.

Your son giggles oblivious to your words. Your husband on the other hand, reaches down pinching your cheek.

“Right back at you baby,” he says sweetly.

You huff, fake biting Seungmin’s hand. He squawks at you, Seojun bursting into another fit of giggles at your antics.

“I have to finish this report for work, give me a little more time, okay?” you say turning to look at them.

“Come on baby, you’ve been sitting here all night, don’t you think you should take a break?” Seungmin says, ruffling your hair.

You sigh, getting ready to reject when Seojun cuts in.

“Please please take a break! Papa and I really wanna watch a movie with you!,” he begs. Part of you curses Seungmin for giving him his goddamn, big brown, puppy eyes. The other part of you melts at the sight of Seungmin’s mini-him with his signature little pout on full display. Seungmin has taught him far too well in getting whatever he wants with that look. You cast one last glance at your laptop, before sighing.

“Alright, my lovely menaces, we can watch a movie, but only one, deal?”

Seojun is yelling in excitement before you can finish the rest of your sentence.

“You know, you really are raising a mini menace,” you say, saving your progress to your laptop. Seungmin hums, resting his chin on top of your head. He rests his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze.

“Maybe, but he’s our little menace,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your head. You can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

JEONGIN

“Yah! Get back here you little gremlin!”

“Jeongin, don't call our son a gremlin!” you call out.

“Well he’s acting like one!” he fires back, beginning to chase your son.

Your son, Minjun, merely giggles, continuing to weave between the furniture as your husband chases after him. This has been going on for the past half hour, after the pair decided to play a card game. It took five rounds of Jeongin losing before he realized his son was hustling him. Now they’ve been running across the house, your husband ‘seeking his vengeance’.

In reality you know he isn’t mad, in fact he’s delighted to be able to spend time with his son. Touring and constant comebacks make it hard for quality time like this. In fact, if Jeongin were to try hard enough, he could catch Minjun in half a step. Instead he’s perfectly content to chase him around, grin threatening to break through the frown on his face. Minjun squeals as Jeongin finally catches up to him,

“Gotcha!” He says, tossing your son over his shoulder.

You smile as you watch them from your spot on the couch, quietly shaking your head at their antics.

“Mom, save me! Your son cries out as your husband begins swinging him from side to side.

“Your mom can't save you!” Jeongin, says using a fake evil laugh. Your son shrieks through his giggles, gripping onto his dad’s shirt.

“Okay dad! I'm sorry for cheating, put me down, please!” your son tries to surrender.

“Nope! The price for your release just went up.”

Your son squeals as Jeongin begins tickling the backs of his legs and feet.

“Okay! Okay! I'll do anything!” your son cries out.

“Admit that I’m your favorite and that you love me more,” Jeongin says, briefly pausing his tickling attack.

“Hey! That's not fair!” you say, “ you can't bribe our son like that.” You’re mostly joking, but you still shoot a glare towards your Jeongin.

“Sorry baby, that’s my payment,” he shrugs, only sparing you a quick glance, “so what’s it gonna be kid? Admission or life in captivity?”

“You can’t keep me here forever!” Minjun tries, attempting to wiggle free.

“I don’t know… you’re pretty light, I can probably live everyday like this. I think I can dance with you on my back too,” Jeongin says, beginning to dance to his latest choreo. Your son giggles, shaking his head in defeat.

“Okay! You win! You’re my favorite and I love you more!” Minjun shouts.

“Thank you!” Jeongin grins, finally setting your son down. He holds him by his shoulder, giving him a serious look.

“Seriously though, you can’t be doing this with your schoolmates and friends okay? It’s not okay to cheat, even if it may seem fun,” he says firmly.

“I won’t, I promise dad,” your son nods. Jeongin smiles, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Good. Now teach me how you did it so I can use it against your uncle Changbin.”

#stray kids reactions #stray kids fluff #skz reactions #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fluff #fluff #stray kids #writing #✍🏼

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