#and like. I guess you can reach out just to ask if they want to reconnect + discuss what happened

[bratbarzal]

you said i could send multiple requests and you wouldn’t block me

could you do roommate (or neighbour) nico with ³⁾ “i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

“i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.” with neighbour!nico!!!!! bc of course neighbour nico joins your boozy galentines, wears pink fluffy cowboy hats and sings horrific karaoke duets with you. why wouldn't he? not to toot my own horn (again) but beep beep this is a dream that I have had since lunch and I am not giving up on it now.

“I’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything I need to know about how your date went.”

You're locking up your apartment when Nico emerges from the elevator down the hall, shoulders slumped and face downcast as he trudges over to his door.

You'd seen him when you got home from work, earlier - dressed in a dinner jacket, hair all styled, shirt tucked neat - and he had told you he had a date. On Valentines Day.

And yeah, your heart had pretty much plummeted to the very core of the earth, but at the very least, you got to see him looking so good - a vision to store in your memory bank for a rainy day, when you're thinking too hard about how close he is, just across the hall, but so far away, only being your neighbour, and all.

And that was only an hour ago. Just enough time to get ready, yourself. Hair curled all nice, makeup done - the sexiest outfit you could possibly throw together, because it's girls night, and you deserve to feel your best.

A good date doesn't last an hour. Doesn't end up with a guy slumping home, hair all mussed from running his hands through it, jacket slung over his arm and his heart crushed into pieces.

"Got stood up," he huffs, reaching into his pocket for his keys, "Said she didn't realise I was a hockey player, and didn't think I had the brain cells to hold a serious, thoughtful conversation for a few hours."

"Ouch," you frown, feeling anger more than pity - because, wow, what a bitch!

"You look nice, though," he throws out the compliment almost as an aside, but you can tell by the way his eyes linger that he means it - fixated on the spot where your skirt ends and meets bare thigh. You're probably gonna freeze, but you're going to get some great pictures for your Hinge profile, so does it really matter? "Didn't realise you had plans."

"Going out with the girls," you tell him, "Galentines, 'cause we're all single this year."

He nods, his gaze trailing back up your body until your eyes meet, torturously slow, only enhanced by the darkened colour of his irises. "Have a good night."

"You should come," you tell him without thinking better of it - hypnotised by the low, sexy tone of his voice. It goes straight through you - almost takes control of you like a puppet on a string.

"I'm not a gal," he frowns, although he makes no move to go into his apartment.

"You're single, though," you shrug, "I don't think they'll be too fussy on the criteria once we get a few drinks in."

"Are you sure your friends won't mind?" he asks, eyebrow wiggling and head tilting in the adorable way it so often does.

You press your lips together as if you're rethinking it, casting your eyes slowly down his figure - broad shoulders, big arms practically bulging through his shirt, slacks clinging to his thick thighs for dear life. Your friends will have the time of their lives with this.

"Considering a night out only won the vote for what to do by fine margins, I think they'll be okay with it." You smile, knowingly, nodding toward the elevator, "C'mon, we don't want to be late."

"I don't get what that means, what came second?"

"Magic Mike." You smirk as you walk backwards, reaching to press the button and laughing when his jaw drops. "You take your shirt off later and we'll be golden."

The poor guy has no idea what he's in for.

--

Your girlfriends don't mind when you and Nico meet them at the bar, not once you've introduced him - his name not ringing a bell until you mention he's from the apartment next door, and you see the flash of recognition wash through them almost like cascading dominoes, knocking each other over one by one.

They don't know him as Nico, he's much more fondly referred to in your group chat as sexy neighbour, after all.

You've only been telling them about him for the past 18 months you've lived across the hall - regaling them with stories of bulging muscles carrying grocery bags for you, compression shirts sticking to him when he comes back from the gym, and the one time the fire alarm went off in summer, and he hadn't thought to put a shirt on when you met out the back of the building.

Yeah, sexy neighbour is pretty much a celebrity in your friend group.

They welcome him with open arms, and the night evolves, as they so often do in your friend group, in highly chaotic fashion.

It starts with a round of shots, because of course it does. The bar is rowdy, the music loud, and those tiny little glasses of you-don't-even-want-to-know-what loosen lips all around. Nico picks up on the dynamic of your group pretty quickly, shifting the shyness he had walked into the establishment with and charming them all with that same dimpled smile he got you hooked on the day you met.

Shots turn into drinking games - chugging cocktails, taking on dares, spilling secrets, and you learn so much about Nico that you would never have known otherwise, so much that you would never have had the guts to ask.

Drinking turns to dancing, which starts in a crowd on the floor, bodies all smushed together, and ends up on tables, Nico by your side the whole time, hooking an arm around your waist so that you don't fall.

You end up bar-hopping to an extent, the second place you go being a little quieter, and you're all way too drunk to stay, so you end up at the karaoke joint further down the street.

Your friends all pick the girls night classics, Man I Feel Like A Woman, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and there's even a full dance intermission for three of your friends to perform Single Ladies.

You all end up adorning fluffy pink cowgirl hats from god knows where, fluffy feather boas slung from your shoulders, and Nico is suddenly grabbing your hand, dragging you on stage, and handing you a mic before you're fully aware what's going on.

But by then you're too drunk to care, belting What Makes You Beautiful at the top of your lungs with him, still conscious enough to blush when he directs the lyrics towards you - as out of key and awful as they may sound.

And you don't know what happens between that and ending up at the club, bass thumping in your ears, blood pumping, skin sweating, and your back is pressed against his chest. You can still see flashes of feathers in your peripheral, your friends close by, but you can't really focus on anything else.

Anything other than the heat of Mr Sexy Neighbour, himself, flush against you, one of his hands holding yours to keep you steady, the other in the dip of your waist, and his breath warm on your bare neck. You lean into him more than you probably should - more than the sober you of tomorrow will be comfortable with, when you're bumping into him again and unable to look into those pretty eyes - and he leans in right back, nose at the junction where your jaw and ear meets, lips flush against your skin, where you hear him mutter, "I should get you home."

You nod, because what are you supposed to do, speak? With him looking at you like that?

Fat chance of that happening.

And he takes your hand in a firm, clammy grip, doing the rounds between those friends that still remain - the ones he hasn't had a chance to personally see off into a cab - telling them to text him if they need help getting home, and to text you when they eventually make it there.

He guides you practically the whole way home - helps bundle you into the back of a cab, buckling you in for safety and sitting in the middle, where you can lean on him with a heavy head, and your hand in his the whole way.

He throws an arm around you to help you stumble your way through the lobby of your apartment building, holding you up in the elevator and pressing the button for your shared floor. And then he props you up beside your front door, taking your keys from your purse and unlocking the door for you as you watch him with a tired but focused gaze.

God, you want him.

Is the world really so cruel that he would never want you back?

When he finally tries the right key and pushes the door open, he looks over at you, a heated gaze assessing if you're fit enough to send in on your own, and you imagine it's the way you blink slowly at him that tells him you're not.

You were just admiring him, really - your buzz wearing off, and the stumbles added for dramatic effect so that he wouldn't stop touching you - but he doesn't need to know that.

He makes a come here motion with grabby hands, and you practically launch yourself back into his arms, him accepting you with an amused smile as he walks you into your apartment, throwing your purse onto your counter and leaving your keys on the side.

You tug a little to steer him down the hall - in the direction of your bedroom, because if he's gonna play white knight, he may as well go the whole way.

"I had fun tonight," you tell him once he's dropped you off onto the safety of your bed, the bouncing motion only making you slightly dizzy again as you watch him stand before you, hands on his hips. "I don't want to say I'm glad you got stood up, but-,"

"I had fun, too." He tells you, dark eyes landing straight on yours as he slowly lowers, dropping to his knees in front of you and reaching for your leg. He starts unzipping your boots for you, and you watch him with what you can only assume are hearts in your eyes, a slow, dreamy sigh wracking through you.

"Wish I got to see you with your shirt off."

He laughs, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners and his shoulders shake - genuine amusement flooding through him as he looks back up at you, the angle straight up sinful and sobering.

He holds your other leg behind the knee, large hand warm against your bare skin, and slides your other boot teasingly slow - your gazes locked for the whole manoeuvre - his hand following down your leg until he discards both boots to the side.

He stays down there, kneeling in front of you, staring up at you with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen - a flush to his cheeks and a million thoughts racing through his brain.

You lean forward before you can think, and he meets you half-way in a kiss that's slow - sensual and pressured, firm and assuring - the taste of tequila on his tongue as it swipes against yours, which no doubt tastes the same.

He's the first to pull back, but it isn't all the way - just until your lips smack apart, his nose still pressed to yours as he avoids your chasing with a big grin.

"You're drunk."

"Don't care, wanna kiss you." You just about manage to catch him before he pulls back again.

"Not like this."

And then the touch of him is gone, the bump of his nose and the press of his forehead to yours disappearing in a way that makes you pout.

The way he kisses you again is quick - too quick to react, really - before he retreats again.

"You know where to knock when you're sober."

You let out a groan as you watch him leave, unashamedly watching his ass as he goes, eyes still lingering when he stops at your door and catches you with a knowing smirk.

"Happy Valentines Day, sexy neighbour."

[linoxpudding]

First Kisses

summary: first kisses with your boyfriend - capturing those sweet, nervous, and heart-fluttering moments of the start of a new relationship

pairing: skz x reader

genre: fluff

a/n: this was requested, after all the angst of ot8 here's a little sweet treat from me ♡

*all gif credit goes to respective owners*

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan – Home

After your third date, Chan insists on walking you home, his warm hand wrapped around yours. The night air is crisp, but his presence makes everything feel cozy. As you reach your doorstep, there's a moment of silence, a soft chuckle escaping him as he scratches the back of his neck.

"I had a great time tonight," he murmurs, eyes twinkling under the porch light.

"Me too," you whisper, heart pounding.

And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Chan freezes for a second before melting into it, his hands finding your waist. His kiss feels like home—warm, safe, and like something you could return to forever.

Lee Know - Playful and Teasing

"You should open a restaurant," you hum, taking another bite of the delicious meal Minho prepared for you.

He smirks, leaning against the counter. "Oh? Finally acknowledging my chef level cooking skills?"

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudge him. "I’ve always acknowledged them. I just don’t want your ego to get too big."

Mimho chuckles, stepping closer, his eyes filled with mischief. "Too late for that," he murmurs. Before you can fire back another remark, he tilts your chin up and kisses you—soft at first, then playfully nipping at your bottom lip.

You giggle against his mouth, swatting at his chest. "Tease."

He grins, pulling back just enough to whisper, "Get used to it." His kisses are light, playful, and always leave you breathless, like he enjoys making you flustered just as much as he enjoys cooking for you.

Seo Changbin - Sweet

"You sure you can lift that?" Changbin teases, watching you struggle with a set of weights.

Glaring at him, you huff. "Yes. Stop looking so amused."

He chuckles but steps behind you, gently guiding your arms. His body is warm, close, and your heart beats faster than it should.

"Relax," he murmurs near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

When you finally finish the set, he grins. "See? Told you—"

You cut him off by pressing a quick, shy kiss to his lips, catching him completely off guard. His eyes widen before a huge smile spreads across his face.

"Was that a reward?" he asks, clearly flustered but trying to act cool.

You smirk. "Maybe."

He leans in, kissing you properly this time—firm yet sweet, like he’s holding back a million emotions all at once. "I’m definitely working out with you more often."

Hwang Hyunjin - Passionate

The rain starts pouring unexpectedly as you and Hyunjin rush for cover under a small shop awning. You’re both laughing, drenched from head to toe. He shakes his head like a puppy, making you squeal as water splashes onto you.

"Hyunjin!" you whine, swatting at him.

He only grins. "You love me anyway."

Your heart skips at his words, and he seems to realize what he just said, his cheeks turning pink.

"Uh—"

Before he can overthink it, you step closer, cupping his face and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He inhales sharply, then melts into you, his arms wrapping around your waist. His kiss is slow and full of wonder, like he's memorising every second.

When you pull back, he stares at you in awe. "That was… wow."

You giggle. "Yeah?"

He nods, smiling. "Yeah."

Han Jisung - Butterflies

Cuddled up on the couch, you and Han are watching a movie, but his focus keeps shifting to you. You catch him staring, and he quickly looks away, stuffing popcorn into his mouth.

"Are you even watching?" you tease.

"Of course!" he insists, but his face is red.

Smirking, you pause the movie. "Then what just happened?"

"Uh… explosions?" he guesses.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Liar."

Before he can protest, you lean in and kiss him—soft, quick, but enough to make him freeze. When you pull back, his eyes are wide, mouth slightly open.

"You—you just—" He stammers, flustered beyond words.

"You’re cute when you’re nervous," you tease.

He groans, covering his face. "I can’t believe our first kiss was during a fake explosion scene."

"You loved it," you whisper.

Peeking through his fingers, he grins. "Yeah… I really did."

Lee Felix - Sweet Like Sugar

Felix insisted on baking cookies together, but somehow, there’s more flour on you two than in the dough. You giggle as he wipes a smudge from your nose, his touch lingering.

"You have some here too," you say, tapping his cheek.

Before he can react, you lean in and kiss him. His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you back, warm and sweet—like melted chocolate. When you pull away, his freckles are dusted pink.

"That was sweeter than the cookies," he murmurs, grinning.

Kim Seungmin - Quiet Devotion

You’re both walking in the park after grabbing coffee, the evening air crisp and cool. Seungmin holds your hand, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your skin. It’s something he does often—small, quiet gestures that make your heart flutter.

"You’re awfully quiet today," you tease, bumping his shoulder.

He glances at you, lips twitching into a small smirk. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

He exhales softly, stopping in his tracks. You turn to him, confused, but before you can ask again, he lifts a hand to cup your cheek. His fingers are slightly cold from his iced coffee, but his touch is gentle.

"About this," he murmurs before leaning in.

The kiss is slow, deliberate—like he’s savoring the moment, like he wants to make sure you understand just how much you mean to him. It’s not rushed or playful, but deep in its own quiet way, full of unspoken emotions.

When he pulls back, his eyes search yours. "Was that okay?"

You smile, your heart feeling impossibly full. "More than okay."

His smirk softens into something more genuine. "Good. Because I’ve been wanting to do that for a while."

With your fingers still intertwined, you keep walking—Seungmin’s grip a little tighter, his smile lingering a little longer.

Yang Jeongin - Puppy Love

You and Jeongin are sitting on a park bench, finishing up your ice cream after a lovely date. The conversation flows easily, full of laughter and playful bickering. He’s always been easy to be around—his presence comforting, like a warm breeze on a spring day.

"You’ve got ice cream on your lip," he points out, grinning as he watches you struggle to wipe it off.

"Where?" You swipe at your mouth blindly.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Here, let me." Before you can react, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours ever so gently. It’s brief, soft, and so incredibly sweet that your heart stutters.

When he pulls back, his face is flushed. "Uh… I—was that okay?"

You blink, still processing the warmth lingering on your lips, then nod shyly. "More than okay."

Jeongin’s grin widens, his dimples deepening. "Good, because I kinda want to do it again."

And this time, he kisses you properly—soft, a little nervous, but filled with happiness that makes your heart feel light.

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

04 | nothing // series m.list

note: very slight angst ,, jungkook is a dick </3 this is yn's like ... 2nd day lol ,, the vibe is ! messy !

//

when you wake up the next morning, there’s a lightness in your chest. a quiet kind of excitement that makes everything feel softer, sweeter.

the sun spills golden through the palace windows, stretching over your sheets in delicate ribbons, and the air smells faintly of jasmine from the gardens below.

you take your time getting ready, combing through the strands of your hair with slow, careful fingers. as you move about your room, your phone vibrates against the wooden vanity—yoongi and jimin. a small smile tugs at your lips. their dorms are the closest ones to yours, but even then, they aren’t close.

your room—your dorm—isn’t even in the same building as the others. instead, your grandparents had you placed in the west wing’s tower, a space that overlooks the lake and stretches over the endless fields of the garden.

it’s beautiful, perfect, yours.

but it’s far.

and the guards stationed outside your door don’t help with the loneliness either.

for the most part, they’re kind. they don’t speak unless spoken to, but they listen well and step aside when needed. still, you can tell they’ve been given strict rules. one of them being that no one is allowed in your dorm—not even your soulmate.

jungkook.

the thought of last night creeps in before you can help it.

the memory of him standing in the gardens, hood pulled over his messy dark curls, hands shoved deep in his pockets. it had been chilly, and he’d had an extra layer on. he didn’t even hesitate before draping it over your shoulders, eyes flickering away when your fingers brushed.

it was sweet, in a way... how careful he was. how he never moved too close, never reached for you despite the invisible pull between you both. three feet apart, always. like if he got too close, the universe might punish him for it. he didn't talk much—in fact, he barely uttered a word.

but he was there and his aura was warm.

you’d grown up hearing about soulmates all your life. the way your parents spoke about it, the way the elders made it sound like a gift, a sacred thread tying two people together through time and space. they told you everything—how you’d feel it in your chest, how you’d sense their emotions like your own. how you’d know when they were nervous or when their heart started to race. it all made sense now.

but the part they never mentioned?

the heartbreak.

because soulmates only meet once.

there’s no second chance.

no reincarnation, no finding your way back in another life. just one time, one person, one story. and in this lifetime, your story is jungkook.

yoongi and jimin are already waiting for you when you step outside, lingering near the pathway that leads out of the west wing. they both seem out of place against the pristine marble and grandiose pillars, eyes flitting around, taking it all in.

"is this your first time in the west wing?" you ask, amusement tugging at your tone.

jimin tilts his head, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. "kind of. never been inside. they definitely prepared for you though—what’s with all the flowers? the garden’s right there—”

"i love flowers," you admit with a small laugh, glancing at the carefully arranged blooms lining the walkway. soft petals in shades of cream and lilac, the faintest scent of roses lingering in the crisp morning air. "used to pick them all the time when i was younger. guess my grandparents thought it’d be a nice touch."

jimin nods in understanding before reaching for your bag, a silent offer. you shake your head, holding it tighter.

"i can carry my own bag, jimin. thank you, though."

he snorts. "right, of course. princess."

"have you seen your grandparents since you got back?" yoongi asks, voice even.

you shake your head. "not yet. i think next week? they want me to adjust before we—" you pause, scrunching your nose, "—discuss divinity things. my parents are already requesting tuesdays for themselves. i think they’re struggling more with me being gone than i am."

yoongi hums. "you and your parents close?"

you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"yeah. i love them a lot. it’s hard being away, but i get it."

"get what?"

"this." you gesture vaguely at the palace, at the towering buildings and sprawling courtyards. "the divinity thing. i need to focus, right? the fate of the world and the divine being in my hands and what not."

"excited?"

"oh, if you only knew," you force a laugh.

out of nowhere, jimin groans and drags a hand down his face.

"right… you truly are a princess."

you roll your eyes, stepping past them with a huff.

"i’m not a princess."

as you step into the main hall, walking in sync with jimin and yoongi, there’s a lightness in your chest you can’t quite shake. sleep came easy last night, and for the first time since arriving, you woke up feeling—at peace. the world feels a little softer, the air a little sweeter, like something inside you has finally settled. by now, they’ve caught on.

"sooo," jimin drawls, a knowing grin playing at his lips. "how’s it feel?"

"how’s what feel?"

jimin exchanges a glance with yoongi before snickering. “do you not get who your soulmate is? i can’t believe he actually came out to see you. it usually takes us five business days to even receive a text back from him. no offence, but something feels off.”

yoongi smirks, shoving his hands in his pockets. "soulmate bond is real as hell."

"or he’s just obsessed with ___ already," jimin teases, wiggling his brows.

“it’s not like that,” you insist. “he came, but he was also barely there, to be honest. is he usually like that—”

your words trail off as you push open the lecture hall doors and see him immediately.

time slows.

there’s a distinct pull in your chest, a quiet hum that makes your pulse stutter. the scent of him lingers faintly in the air—something warm, something deep, something that makes your breath catch. everything around you blurs, just for a second. the sound of shuffling books, murmured conversations—all of it fades.

jungkook is asleep at his desk.

his head rests on one arm, dark lashes fanned across his cheek. above him, his pencil floats lazily in midair, spinning in slow, controlled circles. he looks peaceful like this. not cold. not unreadable. just… quiet.

just before you take another step, his nose scrunches slightly.

your chest tightens. in reaction, his fingers twitch.

and then the world snaps back into place.

you blink, shaking yourself free from whatever that was, and make your way forward. the moment you pull out the chair beside his, the room erupts.

"oooohhhh!"

"awwww!"

you scoff, ignoring the teasing as you sit down, but the noise stirs him awake. lashes flutter. dark eyes blink open, slow and hazy. his gaze lands on you.

just for a second.

then he exhales, stretching his arms over his head before rolling his shoulders back, sighing as he cracks his neck.

and that’s it.

no look.

no words.

nothing.

just a blink and then—silence. like you’re air.

still, you try.

“hi. good morning,” you say, soft but warm, trying to meet him halfway. “thanks for last night. i felt a lot better—”

jungkook stretches again, cutting you off, his pencil still hovering in the air before he catches it effortlessly between two fingers. he twirls it, eyes lidded, mouth tilting into something unreadable.

"mm."

your smile falters. "...mm?"

his expression doesn’t shift.

“do you have to sit here?” he asks, voice smooth, indifferent, “is it a soulmate thing?”

his tone is flat, detached. and the way he says soulmate—like something foreign, something forced—knocks something loose inside you.

your fingers curl against your sleeve.

“d-do you want me to move?”

jungkook doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you, gaze unreadable, before exhaling through his nose.

the silence stretches.

then, without another word, he shifts in his seat and settles back into his arms, prepared to go back to sleep.

that’s his answer.

the air in the room shifts. whispers start. you feel their stares prickle at your skin, the weight of their curiosity pressing down on you.

but you don’t move.

you sit there, silent, heartbeat steady in your chest. you wonder if he can feel it. you wonder if he can feel anything at all.

you pack up in silence.

the scrape of chairs against the marble floor, the low murmur of conversation—it all fades into the background. jin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, and yoongi are beside you, their voices blending together as they debate lunch plans. someone wants ramen, someone else suggests dumplings, and normally, you’d chime in, say something about your own cravings.

but you’re not really listening.

not when jungkook is sitting right there, inches away, stretching the sleep out of his limbs. he’s spent most of class like this—half-awake, head dipping forward, only to jolt upright every now and then. it’s kind of funny, kind of endearing.

but the way he’s ignoring you isn’t.

you watch, waiting for his gaze.

it never comes.

he shifts, fingers running through his hair, eyes scanning the room like you’re not even there. like last night didn’t happen. like he didn’t drape his jacket over your shoulders with the softest touch, like he didn’t stand so close you could hear the quiet catch of his breath. you swore something changed between you two. you went to bed thinking about it, feeling it, the bond settling into your bones like something inevitable.

but now, he won’t even look at you.

it’s confusing. frustrating.

you barely know him, but isn't that the point? you’re supposed to be bound to each other. isn’t he supposed to feel this too?

still, you try again.

“lunch?”

jungkook barely spares you a glance. instead, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers before slipping it between his lips. he pats his pockets, searching for a lighter.

“i’ll be there in a bit,” he mutters, voice flat.

something cold trickles down your spine. you nod, pressing your lips together to swallow the odd weight in your chest.

maybe he just needs a second.

maybe this is normal.

maybe it’s just you expecting too much, too soon.

without another word, you stand, following the others out. the conversation continues, light and easy, but it all feels distant. your stomach aches—not from hunger, but from something else entirely.

as you glance back, you see taehyung lingering, settling into the seat beside jungkook. they say something to each other, something that makes jungkook huff a quiet chuckle before handing taehyung a cigarette too.

you turn away before you can watch him light it.

midway through lunch, you realize you left your phone back in the classroom. it’s been twenty minutes, maybe more, and neither jungkook nor taehyung have shown up yet. you push your chair back, excusing yourself to grab your phone and check up on the two.

when you step back inside the classroom, the air is different.

it’s dimmer without the overhead lights on, gray daylight filtering in through the large windows. faintly, you smell smoke. you follow it. past the empty desks, past the heavy silence.

then, you hear them.

jungkook and taehyung, leaning against the windowsill, their silhouettes hazy against the afternoon light, the curl of cigarette smoke between them.

"i don't get you, man," taehyung exhales. his voice is easy, but there’s a weight to it. he places a hand on jungkook’s shoulder, gives him a small shake. "___’s pretty, and she’s your soulmate. she actually wants to be around you. you let her be around you. and didn’t you go to hers last night? did you completely miss the way she looked at you today?"

jungkook exhales, slow and measured, before answering.

"it’s just a bond. doesn’t mean anything."

it hits you low, sharp. like an invisible thread snapping between your ribs.

taehyung scoffs. “bullshit. you can feel it, can’t you?"

jungkook laughs, short and quiet.

dismissive.

"i’d feel it more if she wasn’t so fucking boring."

your breath stills in your throat.

"what?" taehyung frowns.

jungkook exhales again, tapping the ash off his cigarette. "bro, come on. she’s a princess—the princess. what the fuck am i supposed to do with her? whatever she wants or needs; i'm sure i'm not it."

"have you no faith in yourself?" taehyung teases. "you're a douche but you have your moments."

jungkook rolls his eyes. "i met up with her at the garden because she said she felt sick. what was i supposed to do? ignore her, let her get sick, and then get punished by the council? fuck, every breath i take is already being watched by them. why the fuck did i have to be their precious princess ___’s soulmate too? i’m never going to like a bitch that cages me up more than this fucking palace."

your lungs squeeze tight. you feel the edges of yourself folding inward, as if to protect something soft and aching inside you.

taehyung scoffs, but it sounds tired. "hey, dumbass… have you forgotten you’re basically a prince here?"

jungkook chuckles, shaking his head.

"not by choice."

"and what? you think it’s ___’s?"

jungkook doesn’t even hesitate. he nods.

"nothing about this is her choice, jungkook," taehyung mutters. "you could be more gracious about this—"

"i just have to play nice," jungkook cuts him off. he flicks the cigarette between his fingers. the ember glows, then dims. "besides, she doesn’t actually care about me. it’s the fucking bond that messes with us."

your fingers clench tight.

"so after everything—you still don’t believe in fate?"

"nope."

"you mean to say that when you two touched and time stopped, and the world glowed in gold—that wasn’t real to you? you didn’t feel anything—"

"it meant nothing," jungkook hisses. his voice is quiet, but sharp. final. like the snap of a thread. "a glitch, maybe? who fucking knows."

and then, softer—softer, but somehow worse—"taehyung, she’s never going to mean shit to me. even if she does; who fucking cares. i’ll be ashes by then."

"don’t say shit like that—"

"fuck, man." jungkook groans. "fuck soulmates. fuck the invisible string. fuck my aura. i just… there’s so much shit wrapped around being a part of the divinity. why the fuck is my soulmate the divine?"

silence.

or not? you can’t tell.

something inside you is making it hard to hear. maybe it’s the rushing of your own blood in your ears, maybe it’s the way your thoughts are tumbling over themselves, trying to process what you just heard.

something tightens in your throat.

you think about stepping out, about making it known that you heard everything. you want to confront him, demand answers—ask him what he means about turning into ashes, ask him why he’s so angry at the divinity, at you…

but you don’t.

you take a step back.

then another.

and another.

until you’re outside the classroom again, pressing your palms into the cool stone wall. your fingers tremble. your chest feels too tight, your skin too warm.

outside, the afternoon sun is bright. the world keeps moving, unaware of the way yours has shifted.

by the time jungkook and taehyung get to lunch, no one’s eating anymore. trays are half-empty, cups sweating against the table, conversation trickling into an easy lull. taehyung drops his food onto the table and sits without a second thought, but jungkook hesitates, eyes scanning the room.

it takes him a second to realize what he’s looking for. who he’s looking for.

you’re not here.

his stomach twists.

“where’s ___?” jimin asks, watching jungkook’s head turn toward the entrance.

“what do you mean?” taehyung mutters around a mouthful of food, glancing up. “she came with you guys, didn’t she?”

yoongi and hobi exchange looks. “yeah, but she went back to class to grab her phone,” yoongi says slowly. “she said she was checking on you guys too.”

the air shifts.

taehyung stops chewing.

jungkook stops breathing.

they look at each other.

“shit,” taehyung mutters under his breath.

jungkook’s jaw tightens.

his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands up. he’s already moving, pushing his food away, rubbing his fingers against the crease between his brows as he heads back toward the classroom.

all he can think is—

fuck.

when he reaches the door, he finds you standing by the window.

you don’t notice him at first. you’re busy, fanning the air, trying to get rid of the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. jungkook watches as you rise onto your toes, stretching to slide the window shut, but the lock sticks. you struggle with it, brows furrowing, fingertips slipping against the glass.

he moves before he can think.

steps in behind you, reaches over your head, and pushes it closed with ease.

your body stiffens.

you rock back on your heels and exhale through your nose. then, without a word, you move to step past him.

jungkook catches your wrist.

his grip is firm, not tight. just enough to hold, just enough to say something. but the moment his fingers close around you, you go still in his grasp, and suddenly, there’s too much weight between you.

his throat dries up.

he doesn’t know what to say.

you don’t wait for him to figure it out.

you yank your wrist out of his grip, fingers curling tightly around your phone. your shoulders are stiff, your lips pressed together, but your eyes—when they flick up to meet his—are unreadable. guarded in a way he doesn’t think he’s seen before.

he opens his mouth again, but you’re already turning away.

already leaving.

the doors shut behind you.

jungkook stays where he is, staring at the space you left behind, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

[kitchen-spoon]

It was a Rainy day in April when the ER doors flew open and Eddie was called over to an ambulance that just pulled in. A gurney was being guided out the back and on it lay the most beautiful man Eddie had ever seen. Tan, and muscular in a basketball jersey covered in mud. Somehow even soaking wet and dirty the mans hair was immaculate. His head was thrown back in pain, eyes squeezed shut as he gripped at his swollen very dislocated knee.

Normally being a head orthopaedic surgeon he wouldn’t be down in the pit but, chicago Easts E.R lost power due to the storm and has started referring everything over to them. It was all hands on deck right now.

“Put him in trauma room 2, I’ll take care of it, it’s a simple dislocation.” Eddie ordered. He followed them inside and helped transfer the man over onto the bed. “Someone tell me who this guy is.” He called out exasperated.

“Steve Harrington.” The man - Steve pipped up.

“Thank you.” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. He took Steve’s chart away and shooed everyone else from the room.

He approached the bed again, gloved hands settling on Steve swollen purpling knee. Steve hissed at the slightest touch of the area. His kneecap was raised and twisted to the left.

“Your knee is dislocated Steve, its swollen but once its re-located the swelling will go down with some elevation and icing. Also, You should wrap your knee for the next month if your going to be playing sports again.”

“All that without any X-rays or tests?” Steve chuckled. One of his eyes was squinted open and he was smirking at Eddie, his eyebrow raised.

Eddie wasn’t one to brag but, he also wasn’t one to waste a chance to peacock a little in the name of flirting with a tan, hairy, muscular man with perfect hair.

“I’m the head orthopaedic surgeon in this hospital. I deal with much more complicated circumstances than this everyday.” Eddie shrugged, smirking back.

“Why do I get the best of the best then if i’m just a simple dislocation?” Steve’s body didn’t tense up this time when Eddie touched him, too distracted to notice yet. “Did you get in trouble or something?” He giggled.

“No.” Eddie looked up at him, smiling proudly as he spoke. “I’m head of my my department Sweetheart, and I’m good at what I do. Best of the best like you said.”

Steve finally winced, looking down as Eddie lined his hands up, he didn’t apply any pressure yet. “The Chicago East ER is shut down so we are taking the over flow from the storm.” Eddie continued on, he watched Steve face as he gripped his knee.

“Guess I just got lucky then.” Steve laughed tightly.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can Stevie.” Eddie said as he locked eyes with Steve’s wide hazel doe eyes. He looked like a baby deer it made Eddie’s heart squeeze. “On the count of 3 Stevie, you got this.”

Steve nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. He counted out, “one…two..”

Eddie braced his feet on the floor and bent his knees on one. And on two he forced Steve’s leg straight and pushed his kneecap back over.

“Mother fucker.” Steve grit through his clenched jaw. His hand reached out and landed on Eddie’s forearm gripping tight.

Once his knee was in place Eddie let go and held Steve’s hand instead. “Good job sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” Steve replied automatically, then blushed when he caught himself.

“I’ll wrap your knee, remember to ice it.” Eddie got up and grabbed the stretch bandages from the cart.

He wrapped Steve’s knee methodically, occasionally looking up to check on Steve. Every time he did Steve was laying there with his eyes closed a smile on his face.

“All done.” Eddie said quietly as he finished, he didn’t want to startle Steve. Instead he slid a hand up Steve’s outer thigh.

Steve laid there for another 10 seconds then opened his eyes and looked to Eddie, silently reaching a hand up to ask for help.

Eddie complied of course, he slid his hands into Steve’s and gently pulled the man up. Once he was sitting up Steve didn’t let go of Eddies hands. “Are you single Eddie the head orthopaedic surgeon?”

Eddie smiled, “I am. But how old are you.” Eddie was hopeful but he still wanted to ask. He wasn’t going to date a college student at 35.

“I’m 29.” Steve sounded hopeful.

“I’m 35,” Eddie squeezed his hands.

“Take my number?” Steve bit his lip.

It was Eddie’s turn to blush as he nodded, grabbing the note pad off the supply cart.

Steve wrote his number in big swoopy strokes and singed his name off with a heart. He handed it to Eddie then got up off the chair. “Call me.” He whispered in Eddie’s ear as he passed by, placing a hand on his shoulder. The fingers on his free hand rested on Eddie’s chin turning it towards him, he leaned in slowly, eyes watching Eddie closely until their lips finding touch and they slipped closed. He ended the kiss off biting Eddie’s lip, dragging it between his teeth has he pulled away.

“Bye Eddie.” He whispered, then turned away walking out of the trauma room.

Eddie watched him go, and when he couldn’t see him any longer he looked down at the paper with Steve’s number and bit his own lip.

The moment didn’t last long, a nurse crashing through the door and calling him over to a trauma bay. He put Steve’s number in his pocket and tied his hair up, heading over to his next patient.

[capricornlevi]

Gojo with his s/o who went missing for MONTHS, but comes backs somehow?

(Bonus: he thought that s/o was dead ;-;)

ten years previously

"Promise me you won't be too mad when I die."

Satoru furrows his brow when he hears you, tilting his head to the side to look at you funny.

You're both sprawled out on the grass, lying flat on your backs and gazing at the blue skies shining over Jujutsu Tech. Outside the school grounds, mountains line the perimeter like battlements, but you don't feel locked away. You feel at peace with everything: your choices, your circumstances, the company you've kept. The warm summer air wraps around you like an embrace.

What once seemed so alien to you, so frightening, is now your reality. It doesn't scare you as much anymore.

You're shoulder-to-shoulder with Satoru, laying about on the soft grass, not caring if your uniform gets wrinkled as you roll over to your side, propping your head against your elbow and meeting his gaze.

You've both ditched Yaga's class to hang out in the training field, and the sounds of the second-years laughing from the nearby dorms are the only noises you can hear apart from the distant chirping of birds.

That is, until Satoru objects indignantly:

"What are you talking about?"

You smile, not wanting to spoil the otherwise peaceful day. You hadn't brought it up to be negative, but it had to be said; if you don't do it now, you'll never get the courage to do so.

"You know what I mean. You are my best friend in the entire world, and you know that I am not going to last as long out there as you will -- on missions, fighting."

Somewhat irritated, Satoru reaches a hand up to flick you on the nose. You swat him away, laughing, which makes him crack a smile.

"Our last day before graduation, and you want to focus on this morbid shit?" he asks, his tone light and jokey but with an undertone of seriousness that only you ever recognise.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning on giving up," you elaborate, distractedly picking a nearby daisy. You don't touch the petals, twirling it by its stem so that it spins in your fingers. "I'll give it my all for as long as I can, but I'm just saying ... don't expect me to be fighting by your side when you're one of the ninety-year-old elders."

"If I turn out like them, then I'll need you around so you can shoot me."

You make a sound that's half-scoff, half-laugh. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," he says, eyes fixed on yours. "Completely serious. You've excelled at every test. We couldn't have won the goodwill event without you. You've completed dozens of missions by now, missions that even I found tricky. What's bringing this on now?"

You shrug, still peering down at the flower in between your thumb and index finger. "Just a feeling, I guess."

"A feeling?"

You hum in the affirmative, and Satoru sighs.

"Want to know my reply, then?" he retorts, still quite serious.

Your head snaps back up at that.

Satoru sits up, cross-legged, scanning your face as though he's committing it to memory. Then, he carefully plucks the daisy from your hand and tucks it behind your ear.

"If you die, I'll be well and truly pissed."

---

The only part of that mission that Satoru really, truly recollects, the only crystal-clear memory in an otherwise blurry mess, was the feeling of Yaga's hand on his shoulder when he arrived at the gates of Jujutsu Tech.

Alone. He arrived back alone, for the first time ever. Three years after graduation and he'd never even had a close call, much less return in this state, and without you.

The whole experience felt so strange, for lack of better word. It felt like it was happening to someone else.

He had explained what had happened, the words leaving his mouth without much thought on his part. His voice sounded cold, detached, unrecognisable.

"And it took her," is how he finished speaking, he's pretty sure. Again, the details are hazy. He doesn't think that he bothered telling Yaga that he tried everything he could out there. That he pushed himself until he nearly broke. That he tried, at the end, to put himself in the curse's reach, to step into harm's way if it meant you got even five minutes more in this world.

Yaga already knows all that.

Thankfully, his former teacher doesn't waste time with empty words of condolence. He just rests a hand on Satoru's shoulder, the gesture doing more than any speech could.

It's not enough, though. Nothing ever would be.

---

Satoru prides himself on compartmentalisation. He has to do it to survive, he'll drown otherwise, and luckily, he's quite good at it. When Yuji asks him if he's ever lost someone to a curse, eyes wide with concern, he's able to wave off the boy's worries. He says yes, sadly, he's lost people, but that it's part of life, and that the only way to deal with it is to get stronger.

He doesn't sugarcoat it, but Yuji wasn't expecting him to. The boy just nods and continues his training. Satoru, meanwhile, resumes his meandering around the classroom, whistling along to some song that's been stuck in his head.

The only person you can control is yourself. Everything else just ... happens.

That's the closest thing he has to a personal philosophy, and it's a pretty foolproof one, having gotten him through some of the bleakest, emptiest years of his life.

He's done well for himself, considering. He's not as brash and impulsive as he was when he was younger. He's dedicated his life to preparing young sorcerers for the world out there, trying to keep them safe as long as he can. He lives a comfortable life and keeps himself entertained but focused, constantly motivated to keep moving forward.

Truthfully, the only time his worldview comes close to being threatened is when he sees a patch of daisies growing in the grass.

Whether out walking through the school grounds, or on a mission in the countryside, or on a faculty trip to the botanic gardens in the city, he's struck by them every so often. He tries to avert his eyes when he glimpses the tell-tale flash of yellow and white petals, but it's no use.

He doesn't break down. He doesn't even cry, not since that first night. He just feels the sensation creep up his chest, gripping his throat like a vice. It burns, sometimes, like someone's actually there choking him. When he breathes, it's more like a gasp for air.

That's why he's built that philosophy, see, because those moments, those flashes of emotion, are more painful than anything he's felt in his life. If that's even one percent of what the feeling must be like in its entirety, then it's best kept buried. To unleash it is to unravel, to be at the mercy of the world.

And the only thing he can control is himself.

---

This is the final night of a five-day-long exchange trip to Kyoto, and the students have earned some rest time. Satoru doesn't object to the girl's request, letting her leave to explore the souvenir store while Yuji and Megumi pick up their crepes from some touristy café down the street.

present day

"Gojo-sensei, can I pick up something from that store before we head back?" Nobara asks, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "I won't be long."

Satoru hangs around as people mill past, hands in his pockets. The air is thick with heat and the smell of baked goods from nearby bakeries. Though it's well into the evening hours, the sun shows no sign of setting.

With nothing better to do, he resigns himself to people-watching. The fact that he's a head or so taller than most passers-by means he sees everything.

He spots an ageing businessman scolding his teenage son, gesturing furiously at a folded piece of paper -- a school report, maybe -- as the boy looks down at his feet while walking alongside him.

An elderly couple walking hand-in-hand.

Two friends bickering over summer holiday plans.

A group of ten or so tourists, trailing hopelessly behind their guide who is striding along the thoroughfare without looking back.

But then, suddenly, all the faces in the crowd blur into obscurity.

Noises cut off instantaneously.

He hears nothing, feels nothing.

For a moment, Satoru swears that time pauses, everyone suspended in freeze-frame while his brain tries to catch up with what he's seeing.

Who he's seeing.

You.

You're wearing sunglasses. You're dressed differently. You're a few years older than the last time he saw you, which only adds to his hope.

Even with these changes, he knows it's you. He'd know it was you even if he were surrounded by a million other faces.

His legs move before he can process anything else.

It doesn't take him long to catch up to you. As he reaches out to touch your shoulder, understandably, you jolt with surprise at the unexpected contact. Turning around to face him, you remove your headphones and relax a little when you realise that he's not a salesperson or pickpocket.

You push your sunglasses up to rest on your forehead, smiling politely.

Satoru waits. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for that sign of recognition, that epiphany to hit you when you realise that he's finally found you.

Nothing comes.

"Can I help you?" you ask, your tone amiable, if a little confused.

Satoru blinks slowly.

"What's your name?" he asks in response, though he knows it.

You respond with that same name he's had at the tip of his tongue all these years, but never let himself speak it aloud.

He doesn't give his own, suddenly unable to say that, either.

"Where did you go to school?" he queries finally, almost pleadingly.

Even more puzzled, you still try to maintain that aura of politeness. "In Tokyo. Why?" You hesitate, and he's just about to let himself breathe again before you exclaim;

"Oh! Did we have a class together?"

Satoru feels a crushing weight settle over him. Cold, unyielding dread floods his veins.

Panic.

He isn't dead, is he?

No. This can't be the afterlife, this can't be your reunion, because he can't imagine that a supposed paradise would be so cruel as to make you a stranger to him.

You, on the other hand, interpret his silence as answering your question.

"I'm so sorry, that's so rude of me!" you apologise, grimacing with embarrassment. "I really don't remember much from back then, I promise. I'm terrible with names. I'm sure you were lovely!"

Only then does Satoru notice something else: the change to your cursed energy, the way it barely registers as anything at all. It hangs over you like a rainy mist, grey and lifeless, completely different to the bright effervescence that used to follow you everywhere.

He realises a thousand things at once.

That curse, that creature that took you, didn't kill you. He's heard of this only a few times before, but what you encountered was a parasitic spirit, one that sustains its pathetic existence through the cursed energy of powerful sorcerers. They do this because of the potency of a sorcerer's energy, like an untapped well, particularly from someone as high-ranking as you were.

To achieve this, it has placed some amnesiac over you to stifle your abilities to fight back.

That ... thing, that spirit, that parasite, likely returns every so often to feed, and with it goes all memories of your life beforehand.

Satoru's first feeling upon this realisation is guilt. A strange feeling, but one he can't deny, because even though he understands what happened to you, you're none the wiser.

You're still standing there, groceries in hand, as the warm summer breeze washes over you both.

You're waiting for him to speak.

He doesn't. He can't.

"Well, it was lovely meeting you again!" you pipe up cordially, pushing your sunglasses back into place with a flick of your finger. You turn around and call out over your shoulder, "I'm sure I'll see you around!"

Satoru stays there, frozen, and makes a decision there and then.

A new philosophy. A new promise.

He is going to do whatever he can to give you back your life.

You can do whatever you want with it -- maybe you won't forgive him for not saving you, maybe you'll carry on with this existence in Kyoto, maybe you'll go back to sorcery and pretend this never happened.

But it's your choice. The least he can do is ensure you get the chance the make it.

---

"You know it doesn't always work out the way you want it to," Shoko says with more sympathy than he's ever heard from her before. She stands with her back to the stone wall, looking at him sadly. The school buildings loom behind them both, everyone inside asleep. It's so quiet out here that it feels almost unnatural, foreboding.

Satoru has spent months working on this mission, forsaking all other tasks in preparation to exorcise this curse that's robbed you of so much. Tonight, with hours before he leaves for Kyoto, he is asking Shoko his only remaining question.

He's already worked out when the spirit is likely to return to feed. He's figured out a plan to kill it. He is even certain that he can do all of this while keeping you out of further harm's way.

There's really only one question that he has left for his friend, and that is what might happen afterwards.

She's never seen something like this before, she warned him, only ever heard about it from others. It's all word of mouth, no medical texts or written histories. And it's most definitely not a given that all of your memories will return. You'll be lucky if you regain any of the cursed energy you've lost.

That's enough, he figures, to give you a fighting chance. If he was in this position, he'd want the same to be done for him.

"I know," he finally answers Shoko, watching as she exhales from her cigarette into the dark night air. "But it's not just about what I want."

"You can live with it?" she asks with a quiet concern. "With being a stranger, maybe forever?"

He doesn't have to think over his reply.

"I can live with it."

Shoko nods. She puts out her cigarette against the wall, flicks it away, and they head back inside.

---

As strong as he knows he is, Satoru is surprised yet again by the strength of that spirit, how desperately it wants to keep draining life from others.

It's a messy fight. The creature recognises him, almost gleeful at his arrival. It glances up at your apartment overhead, with you sleeping inside, completely unaware of their presence on the street below. Then, the curse looks back at Satoru with a grin that fills him with a fury that burns a hole in his chest.

He is filled with a sensation that feels alien to him, completely unfamiliar, an all-encompassing feeling that he can't attempt to put into words.

As he strikes the curse over and over and over, watching as the hits land, watching it get gravely wounded, none of it does anything to alleviate that feeling.

He kills it, eventually. It dies somewhat pitifully in a puddle of its own cursed energy, spitting out angry hisses until it grows quiet.

Nothing changes then. Satoru feels no shift in the air, no disturbance. He's shielded from civilians so he expected a degree of quietness, but he hears nothing, absolutely nothing, not even the rain falling around him.

Everything else is still.

He feels exhausted in every way. Physically, emotionally, he's spent, having unleashed not only his rage on that spirit, but every iota of pain and fear he's been slowly amassing since their first encounter, since it tore you away and left him untethered.

That feeling is not gone, though. He's not sure it ever will be. But he's identified it, and somehow, that does something to soothe him.

Then, the quietness is interrupted by the sound of a window opening a few floors above.

He glances up in time to see you shout down at him.

"Satoru!"

He closes his eyes. The sound of his own name pours down on him like sunlight.

He feels it all; the recognition in your voice, the relief.

By the time he opens his eyes again, you're down on the street in your pyjamas and slippers, throwing yourself into his arms.

He wraps them around you as tight as he can without causing you any pain, lifting you up and keeping you so close to his chest that you can hear his heart beating.

He can feel your tears seep into the fabric of his shirt and rests a hand on the back of your head, desperate to carry out any gesture to bring you comfort.

You kiss him, then. You kiss his lips, his face, his neck, you cup his face in your hands and feel him lean into the touch.

Eventually, after a perfect eternity in this embrace, you pull apart.

"Were you pissed?" you ask, laughing as you say the words, tear lines still streaking your face but your eyes bright and full of life. "Back then, you said you would be."

"Yes, but not at you," he answers with a smile, and that makes you cry again, good tears, proud tears.

It will take a while for things to get back to normal, he knows that. There's still a lot he can't control. But if he hadn't tried, if he had given up and surrendered to circumstance, you wouldn't be here in front of him, smiling, glowing, looking up at him with beautiful recognition.

That's enough for a new philosophy.

[h4nj1sunggg]

₃. 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 - ( h. jisung. )

pairing: rockstar bf!Han Jisung x groupie fem!reader.

genre: domestic smut, fluff

words: 2.6k

summary: after the picture for DAZED Korea, y/n wants jisung.

ᯓᡣ𐭩　  ( masterlist )  . playlist. part one. part two.

warnings: nipple playing, oral (both), p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly!), breeding, soft dom jisung.

The moment Han Jisung steps through the door, you’re already waiting for him, curled up on the couch with your phone in hand. You had seen the pictures. Of course, you had seen them. The internet was on fire, and your group chats were practically exploding with messages.

The red crop top, the teasing glimpse of his tattoo, the way he looked so effortlessly confident yet soft all at once—it had done things to you. And now, seeing him in person, his hair still slightly tousled from the shoot, his makeup smudged just the tiniest bit at the corners of his eyes, the effect is even worse.

He drops his bag by the door, stretching with a groan before his gaze lands on you. The way you’re staring at him doesn’t go unnoticed. A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “You saw the pictures.”

You exhale a laugh, tossing your phone onto the couch. “Oh, I saw them. The entire world saw them.”

Jisung chuckles, moving toward you. He plants a knee on the couch beside you, caging you in slightly. “And? What did you think?”

Your fingers instinctively reach out, ghosting over the hem of his hoodie. “I think you should’ve come home in that outfit.”

His laughter is soft, warm, and teasing as he leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “Would’ve been a little bold, don’t you think?”

Your fingers trail up his side, resting just where you know the ink is hidden beneath the fabric. “I think I’d like a better look at that tattoo, you know, sciences purposes.”

His breath hitches for just a second before he tilts his head, eyes glinting with something unreadable yet thrilling. “Well,” he murmurs, fingers toying with the edge of his hoodie. “Since you asked so nicely…”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

You let out a soft laugh, threading your fingers through his hair. “You’re one to talk. Do you have any idea what those pictures did to me?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his smirk making your stomach twist in the best way. “Oh, I have an idea.” His fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing lazy circles against your skin. “And if I remember correctly… you wanted a better look at my tattoo?”

Your breath stutters as he lifts his hoodie, revealing the inked design you’ve been dying to see up close. It’s even more mesmerizing in person, the sharp contrast of black against his skin, the way it curves perfectly with the lines of his body.

You reach out, fingertips grazing over the tattoo, marveling at the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “It’s beautiful,” you murmur, more to yourself than him.

Jisung watches you with hooded eyes, his lips parting slightly at the sensation of your fingers tracing over him. “You’re beautiful,” he counters, voice thick with something deeper.

The weight of his words sends a flush of warmth through you, and before you can think, you lean in, pressing a kiss just beside the ink. His reaction is instant—a sharp inhale, fingers tightening against your hips.

"You're really not playing fair tonight," he mutters, but there's no protest in his tone, only raw need.

You smile against his skin, letting your lips linger before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Neither are you.”

Jisung huffs a laugh, eyes dark with mischief. “Guess that makes us even, then.” And with that, he pulls you fully into his lap, his lips capturing yours once more, leaving no room for anything else but the heat between you.

He pulls back, panting slightly, his eyes roaming over your face with a hunger that makes your heart race. "You know," you says, his voice low and husky, "I've been thinking about this all day. About you. About us." His hands slide up your sides, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake. "I can't stop thinking about the way you looked in those pictures. Like you wanted to be devour it whole."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "And now, having you here, in my lap, touching me... it's driving me crazy."

His fingers hook into the hem of your shirt, tugging at it gently. "Can I?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for permission.

You nod, lifting your arms to help him remove the garment. As soon as your shirt is gone, his hands are back on you, exploring the newly exposed skin with reverent touches.

His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine as he maps out every curve and contour of your body. He leans in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his teeth grazing gently against your skin.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmurs against you, his hands sliding around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the hard length of him pressing against your core, and it makes your head spin with desire, the clothes create the perfect friction between you too.

He lifts you effortlessly, laying you back on the couch and settling between your legs. The tattoo you admired earlier stretches across his rib, the ink contrasting beautifully with his honey skin.

His bare chest presses against yours, the heat of his skin searing you in the most delicious way. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a sensual dance that leaves you breathless.

His hips grind against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck and chest until he reaches the swell of your breasts. He looks up at you through hooded eyes, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he slowly unhooks the front clasp of your bra. The lace falls away, revealing your hardened nipples to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "You're absolutely stunning." He leans down, taking one peaked bud into his mouth and sucking gently. His hand kneads your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers until you're arching off the couch, desperate for more.

His mouth is relentless, switching between your breasts with a fervor that drives you wild. He bites down gently on your nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your core. His hand slides down your stomach, popping the button of your jeans and slowly lowering the zipper.

He slips his hand inside, his fingers brushing against your soaked panties. "So wet already," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and teasing.

He presses his palm against your clit, rubbing slow circles that make your hips buck involuntarily. "You're desperate for me, aren't you?" he asks, his voice a low, husky tone.

"Tell me what you want, baby. I want to hear you say it." His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your response. The anticipation is killing you, your body aching with need.

"Yes," you gasp, your voice trembling with desperation. "I want you, Jisung. I need you inside me. Please."

Your words seem to ignite something within him. With a hum, he pushes down your panties off completely, tossing them aside. He sits back on his heels, his eyes raking over your naked body like a starving man presented with a feast.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart. He leans down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your center. You cry out at the contact, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He chuckles against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your system. "I'm going to make you feel so good, baby. You're so cute." He dives back in, his tongue parting your folds and delving deep inside you.

His tongue moves with expert precision, flicking against your clit before plunging deep into your core. He laps at you hungrily, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place as he devours you.

The wet sounds of his mouth against your most intimate parts fill the apartment, mingling with your moans and gasps. He brings a hand up, slipping two fingers inside you alongside his tongue. He curls them just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur.

"Jisung!" you cry out, your back arching off the couch. He doubles his efforts, his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue swirling around your clit. The pressure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you're right on the edge. "Come for me, baby," he murmurs against you, his voice vibrating through you. "Let me taste you."

His words push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamping down around his fingers as you scream his name. He doesn't let up, continuing to lick and suck at your sensitive flesh, drawing out your pleasure until you're a trembling, boneless mess beneath him.

Only then does he slowly pull away, his chin glistening with your release. He crawls back up your body, his eyes dark with satisfaction and unbridled lust.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he says, his voice rough. He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You can feel his hard length pressing against your thigh, and the knowledge that you did that to him, that you drove him to this point, sends a fresh surge of desire through you.

"I need to be inside you," he growls against your lips, his hands fumbling with his belt. "Now."

"Wait."

He pauses, his belt halfway undone, and looks at you with surprise and curiosity. "What do you mean?" he asks, his brow furrowing slightly. You sit up, gently pushing him back onto the couch.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you sink to your knees between his legs. "I want to return the favour," you say, your hands sliding up his thighs.

"You've been driving me crazy all day, those photos.. and I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel." Your fingers hook into his waistband, tugging his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. His erection springs free, long and thick and perfect.

You wrap your hand around the base, giving him a slow squeeze. "You deserve this," you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip. You take him into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth as you start to suck.

His reaction is immediate and intense. His hips jerk forward, a strangled groan escaping his lips as you take him deeper.

"Fuck," he hisses, his fingers threading through your hair, gripping tightly. You can feel him trembling, his body coiled tight with pleasure. You relax your throat, taking him as far as you can, your tongue swirling around his length.

"Baby, your mouth... it's so fucking good," he pants, his head falling back against the couch. His grip on your hair tightens, guiding your movements as you bob up and down.

The sounds of his pleasure fill the room - ragged breaths, muttered curses, and your own wet noises as you work him over. He's close, you can tell. His thighs tense beneath your hands, his abdomen clenched. "I'm going to..." he starts, but you don't pull away.

He comes with a shout, his hips lifting off the couch as he spills himself into your mouth. You swallow every drop, your eyes watering slightly as you take him deep. He collapses back, panting heavily, his chest heaving.

"Holy shit," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. He gently pulls you off him, his hands cupping your face as he looks at you with a mix of awe and adoration.

"That was... incredible." He leans down, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. When he pulls back, his eyes are soft, filled with a warmth that makes your heart flutter.

"Come here," he says, pulling you up onto the couch and into his lap. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he buries his face in your neck.

Even as he holds you, his body is responding to yours, his desire reigniting. You can feel him hardening against your thigh, his breath quickening as he nuzzles into your neck.

"I'm not done with you yet," he whispers, his voice low and husky. His hands start to roam your body, caressing your curves possessively. He lifts you effortlessly, laying you back on the couch and settling between your legs.

"I want to take my time with you," he murmurs, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

"I want to worship every inch of you." His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips as he grinds against you, his hardness pressing against your still-sensitive core. "Tell me what you want, baby. I'll give you anything." His eyes meet yours, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that makes your stomach flip.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel more of him. "I want you," you breathe, your voice trembling with desire.

"I want to feel you inside me. I want you to make love to me."

His eyes darken at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "As you wish," he murmurs, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a condom. He sheaths himself quickly, his hands shaking slightly with anticipation.

He positions himself at your entrance, pausing to look into your eyes. "I love you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. And then he's pushing inside you, filling you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way. You gasp at the sensation, your nails digging into his back. He starts to move, slow and deep, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that's both gentle and passionate.

"You feel amazing." he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours.His pace gradually picks up, his thrusts becoming more urgent as the pleasure builds between you.

The couch creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and the slap of skin against skin. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual rhythm that mirrors his movements below.

One of his hands slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and circling it in time with his thrusts. "Come with me," he pants against your lips, his voice strained with impending release. His voice it's breathy, "I want to feel you come apart around me." His words, combined with the relentless pressure on your most sensitive spot, push you closer to the edge.

Your inner walls start to flutter, your body tensing as the orgasm builds. "Jisung!" you cry out, your back arching as the pleasure crashes over you.

Your climax triggers his own, and with a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he finds his release.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions, his face buried in your neck. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both catch your breath.

"That was... incredible," he murmurs after a moment, lifting his head to look at you with a lazy, satisfied smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before carefully pulling out. He settles back beside you, pulling you into his arms and tucking you against his chest.

"Oh god I should thank Dazed Korea," he says again, his voice soft and sleepy. A giggles filling your lungs, "you definitely should." You nod, snuggling closer, already feeling yourself drifting off to sleep in the warmth and safety of his embrace.

[moody-alcoholic]

Sub Ala Angeli

part 2 - As Above, So Below

Summary: Ghoap x fallen angel!reader, mini fic. Sub ala angeli - Under the wing of an angel.

CW: Hurt/comfort, angst, descriptions of wound, mentions of blood, suicidal ideation, religious stuff, mentions of homophobia.

Previous

Enjoy <3

Before you get to your feet properly Simon comes over with a blanket. You remember you’re naked, you feel another emotion; embarrassment. You feel your face getting warm as you let Johnny help you to your feet. You wobble, flexing your wing to balance yourself. Johnny’s hand wraps round your waist steadying you. 

He takes the blanket in the other hand and holds it up for you. You take it bringing it up to your chest. You still feel exposed. Johnny helps you walk through the house into another room. The place is beautiful, old fashioned and spacious with a big dining table. The sun is flooding through the windows making the whole place look warm and inviting. 

Simon pulls a chair out and you sit down gripping the blanket and pull it up over your chest. Johnny goes into the kitchen and you watch Simon as he sits down. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you don’t know what to say or what to do. 

“Here.” Johnny says as he puts down a glass of water and a plate of something. It smells good, but you’re not sure what it is. You’ve never eaten human food before.  

“Thank you.” You say Johnny smiles at you, he has a nice smile, he has such a warming presence about him.

“So, what happened to your wing?” He asks after a few seconds. 

“Exile.” You say, you’re not sure how much detail you want to go into. 

“From heaven?” He asks. You nod, your back hurts, you can feel it now the pain were your wing used to be. It’s a dull throbbing pain, you miss it, you miss heaven. You feel tears fall down your face, you reach up to touch them. 

“Does it hurt?” Johnny asks you. You swallow, you don’t want to be a burden, you don’t want to be a problem. You nod anyway. He stands up and goes back into the kitchen behind you. You look back up at the other man Simon, he doesn’t say much, his eyes are always watching you though. He has brown eyes, dark eyes. 

“It’s all we have but it might help.” He says putting 2 little white things down on the table, you look up at him confused. He smiles at you and moves the glass of water over. 

“Paracetamol, pain relief, just swallow them with some water.” You pick them up looking at them in the palm of your hand. 

“There’s no pain in heaven.” You say, you put them in your mouth and take a few sips of water. You’re not sure if you're doing it right but you feel them slide down your throat. You look at the plate of food, brown triangles with something on top of them. It smells nice and it makes your mouth water. 

“Toast.” Johnny says, you look back up at him. “You don’t have to eat it.” 

“I’ve never had food before.” You say. 

“I guess there’s not really that much in heaven.” Simon says. It’s the first time you’ve really heard him speak, his voice is different from Johnnys. 

“There shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Simon shifts as Johnny talks. You smile at him, the words are familiar, like a comfort to your ears. 

“You don’t have to eat the toast.” Simon repeats. You nod, swallowing the lump that's formed in your throat. You don’t think you could eat anything anyway. The rumbling in your stomach feels weird, you’re not sure it’s hunger now. 

“How about a shower and some more rest. You look like you could use it.” You grip the blanket, a shiver runs up your body. You look over at your wing, it’s dirty, blood and mud splattered all over it, you feel stiff. 

“Okay,” you say looking back at them. 

“C’mon, I’ll show you how to use the shower.” You get up following him out back towards the bedroom but he leads you into another room. He goes over pulling the blinds down, you look round the room, there’s a large mirror over the sink. He moves over to start the shower, you hear it run as you turn to look at your back in the mirror. 

When you see the bandage your heart sinks, you can’t stop the feeling, more tears run down your cheek. The bandages are almost as white as your wings. It feels wrong, you’ve lost a limb, more than a limb, your wing. The thing that makes you an angel. You reach round to feel the bandage bracing yourself on the sink. 

“Let me help.” Johnny says coming over to you, he looks sad, but his expression is soft, his hands stretched out. You nod and he moves over to start taking your bandages off. You don’t think you will be able to look at it, face the wound on your skin. As the layers of bandages get removed it makes you feel something new, worse than sadness, worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. 

You don’t care about getting back into heaven, you don’t care about anything you don’t want to be here. As the wound is revealed you feel sick, a sob leaves your throat and you look away. It’s still bright red, nothing left but a stump where your wing used to be and the jagged mark of the Hellhounds teeth. 

You look back again, more tears come and you drop the blanket. Johnny’s hand lands on your shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. Why is he saying that he doesn’t have to be sorry. It’s not his fault, it’s your fault. Maybe if he knew what you did he might never want to see you again. Your hand grips the sink, your knuckles turning white, you let out another sob, falling to your knees and putting your face in your hands. 

You can’t stop the crying now, you feel arms come around you. Johnny bends on the floor next to you, you hear the door close behind and look up. A warm hand lands on the top of your back. You hear Simon kneel down behind you.

Johnny's thumb comes to brush tears away, you continue to cry, sniffling as your nose gets stuffy. 

“H-how. How d-do I-I make it s-stop.” You stutter through the sobs. 

“Breathe.” He says. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.” He takes a deep breath to show you. You try to follow, you have to do it a few times before you finally feel a little better. The sobbing turning into little sniffles.

“That's it, good girl.” He smiles his, the whole time Simon has been behind you rubbing your back. His touch is gentle, soft, he’s careful to avoid your wing.

“Let's turn this shower into a bath.” Johnny says, you reach out for him as he moves.

“Stay.” You say, he turns back and smiles at you.

“Not going anywhere.” 

“Lean back,” Simon says gently, his hands moving, gripping your shoulders. You turn in his arms, one hand wraps round your lower back, the other reaching round to pull your shoulder against him. Your palms land flat on his chest, you try to pull your wing against you as tight as you can but it hurts. 

A groan leaves your throat and you relent letting it go limp completely. It falls to the floor reaching all the way over to Johnny. You sob, you can't even control your good wing. You drop your head against his chest.

“Just relax.” He says rubbing the small of your back. The room starts to heat up as steam builds. It clears your nose and it makes you feel sleepy. You think you had the wrong impression of Simon. He's shy, not like his bubbly companion. His embrace is warm though, his touch is nice. 

You hear the tap turn off, Johnny's hand lands on the top of your back. You’re too exhausted to move, everything hurts too much. They should just leave you here, or throw you back out into the forest. 

You’re no use to anyone anymore. 

They don't leave though. Instead Simon picks you up in his arms. Johnny helps move your wing and you’re lowered down into the warm water. You let out an audible moan leaning forward. Johnny puts your wing in the bath too. It's almost too big, you turn to look at them over your wing. 

“Why did you help me?” You ask, your throat feels raw, the words leaving your mouth are quiet. 

“What were we going to do?” Johnny says. “Leave you out in the woods to die?” You hang your head, your cheeks feel raw with tears. 

“Can I?” Johnny asks, you turn to look at him holding a cloth in his hand. You nod. You didn’t expect them to help, you didn’t expect them to stay even though you asked. He squirts something onto the cloth, it smells nice, fresh and floral. 

He starts with your arm, then kneels up to move down to your chest. He moves slowly, always looking at you, checking with you for permission. There are wounds on your chest, cuts, scrapes and bruises. People might look at you and think you were dragged through the forest not dropped from the sky. 

When he reaches your shoulders he passes the cloth to Simon. He’s even more gentle, his other hand lays on your back guiding the cloth so you always know where he’s going to touch next. They avoid your good wing like it’s something fragile, like if they touch it they could break it. You reach over to the top picking out a speck of dirt from the feathers. 

“It's not a clean sever.” Simon says, his hand stopped on your back. It makes you feel sick, bile rises in your throat and you swallow it down. 

“No.” It's all you manage to say. His hand starts to move again. You pick your wing up out of the bath letting the water drip off it. Your wings always reminded you of swans, you remember seeing them once or twice, the way the water drips off your wing reminds you of them. You move it out of the bath, Johnny moves back to give you room as you let it fall to the floor. 

“Can I?” He asks, reaching out slightly. You nod. He hesitates for a second then his hand brushes over the top. 

“So soft.” He says, you flex the muscle for him so he can feel it. It sends shooting pains down your back. His hand moves to your feathers, lacing his fingers through the layers, as he follows them down to the largest ones.

“Beautiful.” He breathes, your eyes follow his hands, you watch his face light up in awe as he continues to feel round the layers. Simon’s hands pick up your hair, cleaning your shoulders and the back of your neck. You tip your head forward letting his hand brush over the sensitive spots. 

A new feeling pools in your stomach, deep down. It’s something you’ve never experienced before. You don’t know how to describe it. Johnny’s hands come off your wing and he reaches for the cloth out of Simon’s hands. 

“How did they do it?” Simon asks, letting your hair fall back round your neck. 

“Hellhound.” You swallow, images of the creature flash into your mind. The dark black fur, the red eyes, the teeth. The teeth that sliced through your flesh and bones like butter. 

“Hellhound?” Johnny asks. Panic pusles through you, your wound hurts, throbbing like it did when your wing was stolen from your body. You reach out gripping the side of the bath forcing out a breath. 

Simon’s warm hand lands on your shoulder.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” He says. You don’t want to talk about it, it just makes things worse. You look over at Johnny who smiles at you washing the blood out of your feathers. He takes his time, his fingers brushing over the gaps where you’ve lost some. They’ll grow back eventually, the thought of your wing not growing back makes a lump form in your throat. 

Eventually the bath gets cold and a shiver runs through your body. Simon says it’s time to get out, into a warm bed for some rest. They help you out of the bath handing you a towel, you use to dry yourself. Simon leaves to go find you some clothes while Johnny stays with you. He rebandages your wound with fresh ones, it hurts, even the most gentle touches send shooting pains through your back.

“Thank you.” You say, you turn to him holding the towel up against your chest. He smiles at you and it warms your heart. Simon comes back with some clothes.

“I think they might be too big.” He says, you smile at him anyway, taking them out his hand. They leave the room for you to change. You’re not sure why, they’ve seen you naked more than covered at this point. 

He was right, the clothes are too big, but you don’t mind, they're clean and warm. By the looks of things he’s ripped a hole in the back of the top, you’re not sure how to put it on. You open the door with it in your hand. They’re both standing there waiting. 

Johnny smiles, taking the shirt out of your hand and helps you get it on. You squeeze your wing through the hole in the back, the shirt is massive on you falling all the way down to your knees. 

“What do you wear in heaven?” Johnny asks. 

“Nothing. Sometimes robes.” You say as they lead you to the bedroom you woke in. 

“I guess there's no embarrassment in heaven.” Johnny chuckles. You sigh, as soon as you see the bed you feel tired, like your limbs are suddenly made of lead. You walk round to the side of the bed to see the glass you broke has already been cleaned up. 

“If there’s anything you need, you just have to ask.” Simon says from the end of the bed. 

“Stay.” You say looking up at him, then back to Johnny standing in front of you. You don’t know what you want but you know you don’t want to be alone. Suddenly you feel guilt, you’re not sure why, you look down at your feet. 

Johnny’s hand comes up to your chin pulling your head up to look at him. 

“We’ll stay, let Simon lock up the house and we’ll stay.” He says, smiling at you, it makes the guilt wash away, you don’t know how he does it. He encourages you to get into bed. You have to lie on your good side or your stomach. Both options are not great. 

You somehow manage to settle for somewhere in between. Johnny gets under the covers with you, but he keeps his distance. You look over at the end of the bed to see Simon is already gone. 

“Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He says. You turn to him and smile, relaxing your head down on the pillow. You yawn, that's a new feeling, it makes your body feel all sleepy. Johnny reaches down pulling the duvet up to your armpits. You let your wing rest outside of the covers. 

“Thank you Johnny. You don’t have to be so kind.” You say, your eyes feeling heavy. 

“Shh, just sleep.” He says, lowering his voice as your eyes close. 

…

He hears Simon come into the room and swings out of the bed going to meet him in the doorway. You fell asleep quickly, your body relaxing into the pillows, your mouth tipped open and you started to drool. 

“What did you tell Price?” He asks, trying to keep his voice low. 

“Family emergency.” Simon replies. 

“And he bought that?” Johnny says, raising an eyebrow.

“No Johnny, then I told him an angel had landed in our back yard and he said ‘hey, take as much time off as you need.’” Simon says his voice laced with sarcasm. Johnny tuts wrapping his arm round Simon’s waist. 

“What do you think we should do?” Johnny asks, looking over at you. 

“I don’t know.” Simon replies. “Isn’t there anything in that book of yours?”

“Oh yeah, the bible has a whole section on what to do when a fallen angel lands in your yard. There’s a Q and A page and everything.” He says matching Simon’s sarcasm. Simon sighs, shaking his head but wraps his arm round Johnny’s back. 

“Maybe we could find a way to send her back?” Simon asks.

“She said she was exiled. I don’t think they want her back.” Johnny says, sighing. They both stand there watching you, your wing rising and falling with each breath. 

“What if she finds out about us?” Simon asks eventually. 

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, frowning and looking up at him. 

“You know.” He sighs like he’s trying to avoid saying it. “Last I heard the bible wasn’t big on being gay.” 

Johnny tuts sighing again. “It’s not like that. I’ve tried telling you.” 

“Yeah well up until 48 hours ago I didn’t believe anything even existed.” Simon shrugs. Johnny sighs, reaching up to pull his face to look at him. He smiles seeing Simon’s golden eyes twinkle in the evening sun pouring through the windows. 

“I love you, Simon Riley. No angel or god is going to change that.” Johnny says. Simon raises an eyebrow. Johnny reaches up to kiss him, turning in his arm and running his hands to the back of his neck. 

Simon moans in his mouth and they both hear you move in bed. They break from the kiss, looking over at you, you’re still sleeping. 

“Go get some sleep, I can stay with her.” Johnny says. Simon sighs, his thumb coming up to brush Johnny’s cheek. 

“No falling in love with the fallen angel.” He says kissing his forehead. 

“Right back at you sweetheart.” Johnny says, squeezing his ass. Simon tuts shaking his head and turns back down the hall. Johnny moves back over to the bed. The old bed creaks as he moves to lay down. He watches you for a moment, you don’t stair, he turns on his side so he’s face to face with you. 

You are very beautiful, which hasn’t been helped by you being naked most of the time. He knows Simon’s been looking too, he’s not as subtle as he likes to think. He has so many questions, he doesn’t even know where to start. Right now they just need to help you recover. Hope you can recover. 

Maybe he should pray, or maybe not, maybe you did something horrible and they’ve just taken a murderer under their roof. You don’t look like a murderer. He reaches out to touch your wing, it’s so soft, the feathers feel so light, he can’t imagine how you could fly with something that looks so delicate. 

It twitches, he sees the muscles on the top of the wing tense and it stretches out landing over him like a blanket. It’s warm, there’s heat radiating off it, he looks back over at you still sleeping. He smiles and reaches over to brush the hair fallen on your face. 

‘No falling in love with the fallen angel.’ Simon’s voice rings in his head. Too late.

Banners by plum98

[ashen-char]

life makes love look hard

ship: anora x reader (gender neutral)

summary: reader has a tough day. anora comforts you.

word count: 1700+

notes: requested here and ani x reader won the poll soooo here ya go!

The apartment is a new development in the young couple's lives. Anora had just pawned off the ring, tired of clinging onto the horrific 48 hours it represents. She's moving on with you now. Selling it represented that. Suddenly able to afford a deposit, the two of you had scouted a cozy studio in Manhattan. Closer to HQ so Ani didn't have to take the subway so often, closer to your work too. It made sense.

It's barely decorated. You two haven't had the time to unpack much, just the essentials. Her clothes are in the closet, both of your products lining the vanity and bathroom counters. The rest are still in boxes. No shelves to put them onto yet, just bare white walls that are starting to make you feel claustrophobic. The apartment feels heavier than usual, like the walls are pressing in just a little too much. The air is stale, thick with the kind of silence that makes everything worse instead of better. And your brain is screaming at you - bored but too overwhelmed to do anything. You’ve been sitting in the same spot on the couch for who knows how long, staring at nothing, the day’s weight heavy on your shoulders.

Anora notices you on the couch, staring into space. "Bad day?" Anora asks. She keeps her voice casual. Not meaning to press but she’s already dropping onto the couch next to you, slinging an arm over the backrest like she’s settling in for a long night.

"Yeah. Been... rough," is all you can offer.

You don’t elaborate right away. You know Ani's waiting for more, and that you should get over the hard part and put words to how absolutely sucky this whole day has been, but even the thought of saying more exhausts you. Instead, you stare at the same spot on the floor you’ve been glaring at for the past fifteen minutes. Hoping maybe it’ll swallow you whole. 

Anora lets the silence stretch. She’s good at that - knowing when to push and when to let you breathe. When to tease and make light of things, or when to be serious. But eventually, she exhales, reaches over, and flicks your knee.

"Alright, I'm officially calling it," she announces, "you’re going through it. Bad."

"That obvious?"

She grins. "Yeah, what can I say? I just know you that well, babe." Then she shifts closer, resting her elbow on her knee, eyes locking onto yours with that sharp, focused expression she gets when she’s getting serious. "So, ya gonna tell me what happened, or do I have to fuckin' guess?" Ani jokes.

You hesitate. Which sucks. You take pride in the fact that you two communicate, hell, even over communicate sometimes. Part of you wants to brush it off, to tell her it’s nothing. Don't waste your mental energy on things you can't change, it'll just upset you more. But the words get stuck in your throat. You don't want to brush this off. Don't want to say it's nothing, because that would mean accepting it. That this is the way the world works.

Anora notices. Of course she does. She reaches out, tugs at the sleeve of your sweatshirt - not hard, just enough to ground you. "Hey," she says, softer now. "It's me. I'm here, yeah? No judgement."

She turns her body to face you, one hand cupping your cheek to tilt your head towards her. Her big brown eyes search yours, filled with warmth and worry. Sometimes it's like Anora can sense your distress from a mile away, like it makes her own heart ache. You know that she wants nothing more than to take it away, to fix whatever has you so clearly suffering.

"I know I ain't no therapist, but you don't gotta go through this alone. I'm your girl, remember?" She gives you a little smile, trying to coax one out of you in return, even stroking your cheek. "Seriously. Lay it on me."

So you do. "When I was making breakfast, one of the eggs was rotten so I ruined three eggs - you know how I do that thing where I put crack 'em all into one bowl so I can scramble and salt it evenly. And eggs are so expensive these days," you tell her. The words get easier when you're looking in Ani's eyes. She's just nodding and humming but you feel your shoulders get lighter. Sharing the burden that you were holding alone. "Didn't have time to cook any other breakfast, so I went to work hungry. Stomach rumbled during my presentation today, that was fucking humiliating."

Groaning, you lean forward and hide your face in Ani's neck. She smells like vanilla and that cherry blossom mist deodorant she likes to wear, plus something light and fruity. "No one said anything, but they probably thought I was unprofessional. Bad at time management, at least." With a deep inhale, you try to let the nagging thoughts go.

Saying it out loud makes it sound so insignificant now, and it's kinda embarrassing that you were getting so worked up about it. Logically you know that it's the culmination of all the small things, the feeling that nothing was going right all day, that finally drove you to this brink of turning your brain off. "I sound stupid. Whiny," you whine.

"Hey, hey... don't you dare feel stupid," she chastises lightly. "You're human. Life's a fucking rollercoaster sometimes, yeah? The little things, they can take a real toll. Doesn't make shit less hard if they're small, or silly. They matter to me because you matter to me."

Ani holds you like this for a long moment, letting you hide away from the world in the warmth and softness of her embrace. Her fingers thread through your messy hair, stroking through the strands so you can focus on something else. Her presence has always done wonders for you.

"Okay," she says. "So do you want the ‘life is unfair but you’ll get through it’ pep talk? Or do you want me to threaten someone for you? Because I’ve got some pretty creative ideas."

You snort, and she grins like that was her plan all along. "Seriously," she continues, nudging your foot with hers. "Whatever you need, I got you. Distraction? Done. Validation? Also done. Want me to say something so ridiculous you forget why you’re even upset? Babe, that’s my fuckin' specialtyyy," she drags out.

You shake your head, but the weight in your chest feels a little lighter. "You’re an idiot," you mumble.

"Yeah," she shrugs, "but I’m your idiot." 

She tips your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze and stop hiding against her chest. After what feels like a minute, Anora leans in, resting her forehead against yours. Her breath is warm on your face as she whispers, "I hate seeing you like this. I hate that you had a shitty day, and I hate that I couldn't be there to make it better." She pulls back a bit to cup your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "But you'll always have me.

Anora shifts, getting more comfortable, but she doesn’t let go of you. Instead, she leans in a little, her voice dropping to something lower, almost conspiratorial. Letting go of that serious shit for a second to let her lovable personality shine through again.

"You know," she says, tapping her fingers against your arm like she’s idly counting down to something, "I was gonna drag you out tonight. Thought about taking you to that 24-hour diner, ordering a pile of fries so obscene the staff would probably talk shit about us in the kitchen. And getting them to top up our coffee over and over of course." She tilts her head. "But you seem more like a ‘stay here and rot’ kind of sad tonight. Am I right?"

You let out a laugh. You do love getting that shitty diner, but staying in sounds best. At least for your mental state. "Yeah." Ani knows you get like this sometimes, and she's never handled it with anything but playful acceptance. You get so tired. Not just physically, but deep in your soul. 

"Cool. Then I’ll rot with you."

She kicks off her boots and you complain about her wearing her shoes inside again. As she placates your huffs, she pulls a blanket over the both of you. Then - because she’s Anora - she grabs the remote and starts flipping through streaming services without even asking what you want to watch.

"Let’s see," she muses, scrolling with the kind of lazy confidence that you love in her. There's never back and forth about what you two want to eat, never any indecision. "Do we go with something so bad it’s good, or something so good it makes you forget life sucks? Oh, or maybe one where other people's lives are so bad it makes you feel grateful for your own life's brand of shittiness?"

You shrug against her. "Don’t care."

"Bold of you to let me decide." She smirks. "I could make you watch some artsy foreign film with no subtitles, just to mess with you."

"You wouldn’t," you say with a glare.

She raises an perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Wouldn’t I?"

You roll your eyes, but you don’t stop her when she finally settles on some home makeover show - one of those absurd ones with a host who never runs out of quips, gaudy design choices, and way in-depth explanations of what they're going to change. It’s exactly the kind of thing that requires zero emotional investment but sucks you in for a binge, which is perfect.

The opening scene plays, bright flashes of the house's 'before shots' lighting up the dim room, but Anora’s attention is half on you, like she’s checking to see if this is working. If you’re still too lost in your own head.

She nudges you again, softer this time. "Hey."

You glance over, and she looks at you with that same mix of teasing and something steadier, something real.

"I’m serious, you know," she says. "You don’t have to deal with anything alone."

The words settle in, warm and steady, sinking past the exhaustion and the heaviness of the day. You don’t know what to say back, so you don’t say anything at all. You just lean against her, let the show play, let the world outside feel far away for a little while.

Eventually, you muster a "thank you."

Anora doesn’t push for more. She tugs the blanket higher over the both of you, and mutters, "like I said. I gotcha. Whatever you need."

[wendichester]

Hey, first of all I just wanted to say your work is absolutely amazing and I'm so glad I found your blog ❤️

I was just wondering if I could request a Sam x reader drabble where the reader is very quiet amongst the boys and kinda keeps to herself. But despite that has really bonded with Sam and enjoys the night's where they can just enjoy each other's company, even if they're just doing their own thing.

There's absolutely no pressure if you're already filled up in requests 🥰

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ silent comfort,

summary. just you and sam, soft and comfortable.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 445

notes. thank you so much for requesting love 🩷

The motel room is quiet except for the occasional scratch of Sam’s pen against paper. He’s hunched over his journal, deep in thought, while you curl up on the other bed, flipping through a worn paperback. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows across the walls, bathing the room in a kind of peaceful stillness you rarely get with the Winchesters.

Dean left hours ago—some dive bar, no doubt—leaving you and Sam alone. Not that you mind. You like Dean, of course, but you’ve always felt more at ease with Sam. He doesn’t expect you to fill silences or entertain him. He just lets you be.

You shift slightly, turning a page, and from the corner of your eye, you catch Sam glancing at you. It’s subtle, like he’s making sure you’re still comfortable, still content. He does that a lot.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “What?” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

Sam blinks, as if caught, then shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… nice, isn’t it?”

Your smile deepens. “Yeah. It is.”

That’s the thing about nights like this. You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to perform or prove anything. Sam gets it—gets you.

A while passes before Sam stretches, rolling out the tension in his shoulders. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, and you hesitate before setting your book down. “Headache?” you ask softly.

He nods, offering a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Too much reading, I guess.”

You reach for the bottle of aspirin on the nightstand, shaking out two pills before handing them to him. He takes them with a grateful smile, his fingers brushing against yours. Warm. Steady.

“Thanks,” he murmurs before washing them down with a sip of water.

You nod, picking up your book again, but before you can sink back into the pages, Sam shifts on the bed. “You ever wonder how we ended up here?”

You glance at him. “Here as in… this motel? Or this life?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Both, I guess.”

You let the question hang in the air for a moment, considering it. Then, with a small shrug, you say, “I don’t think it really matters. We’re here. And… I don’t mind it.”

Sam watches you, something unreadable in his gaze. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Me neither.”

A comfortable silence settles between you again, but this time, there’s something different about it. A quiet understanding. A mutual appreciation.

You turn your focus back to your book, and Sam returns to his journal, but now, your legs are stretched out just a little closer to his, almost touching. And neither of you move away.

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[teal-fiend]

You didn’t mean to stare. You really didn’t.

But it’s different in person.

Photos, blurry video, never captured what it was like in reap life—the way the stomach juts out from their frame, how it moves not like fat or fullness, but from something inside, struggling.

You can hear it, too, a distant gurgling, and that alone makes your skin prickle.

And it’s them, of all people. Not a stranger, not a distant predator in a video, but your friend.

Or, well—not your close friend, but someone you know.

Someone you've had casual conversations with, who you've eaten lunch beside.

Someone who, right now, is heavier than they should be, belly taut and unmistakably full.

It's weird seeing them like this. Their midsection distorted, and they look spent. Sleepy.

You didnt fully realise what it meant when you heard they were a predator.

And the two of you were alone. You didn't know when your mutual friend would return to the house.

It was just you, this other person, and this very full belly they had.

"Okay, what?" Their voice cuts through your daze, irritated but not hostile.

They huff, crossing their arms, and the motion sends another movement through their gut.

The roundness of it is impossible to ignore, pushing against their frame like an overstuffed sack.

It must be so heavy for them.

You snap your gaze up, feeling your face burn.

"Nothing."

They raise an eyebrow. "Sure. You just zoned out, staring at my stomach for, what, a full minute?"

Your mouth is dry. You should say something, anything, but your thoughts are too tangled—shame, fascination, confusion all coiled together.

They exhale sharply.

"Look, if you're gonna freak out, do it somewhere else."

"I'm not freaking out," you say quickly, though you're not sure if it's true.

They roll their eyes, annoyed. Their belly groans, a slow, digestive churn, and your breath catches.

"Jesus," they mutter.

Their face twists slightly—annoyance, maybe a flicker of. Uncertainty? Self consciousness?

You realise, with a jolt, that they think you’re disgusted. That your staring is judgment, not—

You don’t even know what this is.

Some words come to mind however.

Facination.

Curiosity.

Attraction. Desire.

You want.

You want to see more.

Up close. You want to... hold it.

You want to know more.

But you don't know this person all that well to be doing all that. Your hands are clammy, your pulse in your throat. There’s a pain in your chest and it demands action before it crushes you completely.

You swallow hard.

"Can I—"

You falter, then force yourself to go through with it.

"Can I touch it?"

Their expression falters. First, disbelief—then skepticism.

Their arms are still crossed, shoulders tense, there's a flicker of hesitation. Doubt in your intentions.

"You—"

They stop, exhale, eyes narrowing.

"You serious?"

You nod, quickly, too quickly.

For a moment, they don’t move. Their posture is stiff, like they’re considering saying no. They don’t quite know what to do with this.

Then, with an irritated sigh, they uncross their arms and lean back, exposing the swell of their gut.

"Fine. If it shuts you up."

You step forward and reach out before you can second-guess yourself.

The bare skin. The warmth hits you, the sheer aliveness of it.

Then the firmness, stretched tight over something solid and disturbingly mobile.

Beneath your fingertips, the person inside moves. Your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale.

Your fingers press in, just slightly, and the mass beneath them stirs in response. Your friend stiffens.

"Don't push too hard," they mutter.

You barely hear them. Your pulse roars in your ears. Seeing, feeling the prey under your friends skin. Hearing the tummy growl, knowing what that means.

It does something to you.

You look up, and they're watching you now.

Cautious. Suspicious.

"...What?" they ask.

Your fingers are still resting on their belly, the warmth sinking into your palms.

The way it moves—alive and working—sends another strange shudder through you.

You murmur without thinking, almost to yourself, "It's really gurgly…"

They scoff.

"Yeah?"

You swallow.

There's a lump in your throat, and your hands feel weirdly heavy--they don't want to pull away.

Your mind is buzzing— You hesitate, then force the words out before you lose your nerve.

"Can I… um." Your voice is smaller than you expected, your pulse hammering.

"Can I put my ear to it?"

Silence.

Your friend's brows knit together, their face screwing up in open confusion.

"What?"

Your stomach knots, embarrassment creeping up your spine.

"I just— I wanna hear it."

They stare at you like you've said something completely incomprehensible.

Then they glance down at their gut, like they're only now aware of its existence.

Their expression flickers—bewilderment, mild incredulity, maybe a bit of wariness.

"...i dont know"

"Oh, okay. Yeah that's fine"

You pull back.

Your ears burn. You should backpedal, say it was a joke, something to laugh off this entire conversation.

"Wait," your friend says, "youre just like, curious, right?"

you just nod, small and hesitant.

They exhale sharply, looking at you like they don’t know what to make of you.

After a long pause, they roll their eyes.

"Fine. Just—don’t be weird about it." Your breath catches.

You don’t even wait for them to change their mind—you just lean in, pressing your ear against the taut warmth of their belly.

It’s loud.

Wet, deep gurgles churn beneath their skin, layered with slow, rhythmic groans.

Something shifts, a sluggish movement beneath the surface, your breath escapes in a shudder.

There's so much noise, it's like you can hear what it's like to be inside their stomach.

And you know what the noise is for; it's the sound of them digesting the person inside.

Your friend stiffens.

"Okay."

Their voice is edged with—awkwardness? Mild alarm?

"That’s enough, I think."

You pull back reluctantly, eyes wide. Your heart is still hammering, desperation curling inside your chest.

You meet their gaze, and they just shake their head, baffled.

"Dude," they mutter.

Your face is burning. Your can still feel the warmth of their stomach against your ear. The deep, organic noises that you’d never heard so clearly before, they echo in your head.

You pull back, scrambling for words, but everything feels tangled and heavy on your tongue.

"I—" Your voice wavers, and you swallow hard.

"I’m just curious."

They raise an eyebrow.

You keep going, half-babbling, as if saying it out loud will make it make sense.

"It’s just— I’ve never seen someone this full before. Like, in real life."

You glance down at their belly, still round and impossibly taut.

"It’s… big. Way bigger than I thought a stomach could get."

Their arms crossed over their chest, but they’re listening.

"And you can see—"

Your voice drops slightly, hushed, reverent.

"You can see the shape. Like, you can tell it’s… someone. Someone is in there, curled up, I can see them."

They glance down at themselves, then back at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yeah. I ate them."

"But doesn’t it—"

You hesitate, then press forward, unable to stop yourself.

"Doesn’t it. Um. How does it feel?"

Their expression flickers, uneasiness crossing their face.

"Uh… I mean…?"

They frown, adjusting their posture.

"I feel full."

Your eyes drop to their gut again, to the way it still moves, slow and sluggish, a body settling deeper inside.

"It just—"

You inhale sharply.

"It just seems like it’d be really satisfying. Being that full. Knowing, feeling them in there, just… just digesting."

Your friend stiffens completely.

"Okay." They hold up a hand. "What the hell."

You freeze.

"Are you, like…" They exhale sharply, shaking their head. "What are you trying to do here."

Your stomach twists, heat prickling in your cheeks.

"I’m not—"

"You're not what"

You shrink back, heart racing.

"I—"

You don’t know what to say.

"Sorry."

They stare at you for another second, then shake their head, rubbing their temple, this whole conversation has given them a headache.

"Jesus." They sigh. "I need a nap."

They huff, then push themselves up with a grunt. The motion makes their gut sway—heavy, packed, undeniably full.

You watch, transfixed, as it settles against their frame, the weight of it affecting how they stand, how they move.

They adjust their posture, rolling their shoulders, stretching, shaking off the discomfort of this interaction.

"I’m gonna go lie down," they mutter, already turning away.

The sight of them walking—belly swaying, subtly bouncing with every step... It’s mesmerising.

"Wait—" The word slips out before you can stop it.

"I’ll—I’ll go instead."

They pause, glancing over their shoulder.

"Yeah?"

You hesitate. You don’t want to go. But you should.

"I mean—" Your voice is small. "I didn’t mean to upset you."

Their expression flickers. You lower your gaze, heat crawling up your neck.

"I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be weird. I just… Im sorry for making it weird."

There’s a beat of silence.

Then they exhale, rubbing a hand over their gut, thinking about what you said.

"It’s whatever," they mumble, sounding tired more than anything.

"I’ve just never had someone this into it before. Thought you were freaked out at first, but nah. You’re just—" They shake their head. "I dunno. Enthusiastic."

You peek up at them, heart hammering. "Is that… bad?"

They look at you like they're trying to see through you.

"I dont know."

Another pause.

Then they shift their weight, their belly swaying with the motion, and groaning slightly.

"Ugh. I need to lie down. If you’re staying, don’t be annoying."

You nod quickly, still processing the fact that they’re not kicking you out.

"Yeah. Of course."

They sigh and plop down on the couch, stomach sloshing with the impact. Causing the prey to wriggle in a flurry as it reorients itself inside. You swallow hard.

They stretch out on the couch, adjusting until their gut is resting comfortably against their side.

A slow yawn overtakes them, their jaw stretching wide, and then—

"Urrrhhhp—"

The belch rolls out of them, deep and heavy, tired. Their gut visibly tenses with it before settling again, a lazy gurgle following in its wake.

Your heart flutters. The noise shouldn’t do anything to you.

But.

You open your mouth, maybe to say something—maybe to apologise again, maybe just to acknowledge the moment—but before you can, The pred catches you.

they crack one eye open and grumble, "Don’t say anything."

You snap your mouth shut.

They roll onto their other side, rubbing a slow hand over their belly, sighing as they relax.

"Just let me sleep."

You nod quickly, even though they can’t see it.

"Okay."

Your eyes linger on them, watching the steady rise and fall of their breath, the belly, you mostly watch the belly.

You make tea for yourself.

You stay.

You watch.

Despite it all, your friend quite quickly falls asleep, as you hear them snoring softly.

You watch their prey wriggle as they sleep, you hear a muffled voice under the stomach noises.

You're excited to see what that belly will look like in a few hours. You imagine it rounded out, getting smoother, going still.

You are happy enough with the prospect of sitting in the room with your friend as they digest their prey.

[mocchii-writes]

Hello! I love all of your writing so much so I thought I’d come over here and request something ☺️ Could I request a thanos x reader where the reader is part of their group and gets separated during mingle? Thanos, who’s absolutely head over heels for the reader thinks he saw her get eliminated when the doors closed and is crashing out about it, but turns out it wasn’t her and she’s fine. Cue the reunion and maybe he clings to her for the rest of the day too haha

Young as I want to know, I will never let you go

Paring: Choi Su-bong (Thanos) x reader

Summary: Thanos thinks the world of you and can hardly fathom when his world is destroyed. Okay, maybe he's being a bit dramatic.

Warnings: kinda angst? idk he's just melodramatic, hehe

A/n: Help this is such an old req I'm so sorry guys ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

~🍡🍡

"Four"

The cheerful voice rings in the ears of every excuse of a person on this stupid bright spinning platform.

I guess it's not spinning anymore. The lights change and flicker as people scramble everywhere, the panic in the room thick like a fog of anxiety. The round hasn't even ended, and there's somebody screaming. You whip your head to the boy next to you, Thanos. You never thought you'd trust him like you did, but I guess we learn something new every day, right?

You have to get out of your head. There's 5 of you in the group you find yourself in, and 20 seconds left. Thanos grabs your arm firmly but carefully and discusses with Nam-gyu about who to choose. You're glad to be one of his no-brainer choices, even if you send a look of sympathy to the people who aren't.

Suddenly, you're running. Thanos is ahead of you, pulling you quickly behind him as he runs to a blue door. You try to keep up, but your feet soon lose their grip, and you tumble to the floor. Your wrist is broken free from his grasp just as he reaches the door, and you see him turn to look behind him, his face full of what looks like concern, maybe fear, but his face is soon blocked from your view as somebody pushes Thanos into the room and closes the door.

You finally shake the fog in your brain and stand up. You're not going to die like this. In this pathetic game, surrounded by pathetic people. You scan the room, searching for some trio that seems desperate enough. It doesn't take you long before you lock eyes with a short girl. She's with 2 other boys, and as you sprint to her, she shakes the shoulders of the men next to her, beckoning towards you. As you reach them, they pull you into a room just as you hear a faint click and a ringing noise. That might just be your ears, actually. You're too exhausted to tell, though. You huff a sigh of relief and drag your back down the wall as you sit on the floor, eyes shut tight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanos didn't even realise it had happened until it was too late. He was grounding himself with your soft skin, holding you like he needed you to live. He would say he did, if you asked. He hears the thump of your hands on the blood-stained floor and turns to grab you again. He calls your name, but you don't seem to hear him, even though you're looking straight at him.

He doesn't think twice about running back to grab you, but he's caught off guard when a man shoves him back into the bright blue room, shutting the door behind him and blocking it. The man turns and faces the people in the room, deadpanned.

Everyone else knows what's happening, and they wait for Thanos to snap, calling the man an idiot or shoving past him. Instead, Thanos just scoffs at him.

"Move." He says, glancing at Nam-gyu and back to him. The guy is clearly scared, but he doesn't move. "Are you deaf? I said move!" He raises his voice, stepping towards him and grabbing his shirt.

"You won't make it back." The man whispers, shaking. "You're lucky I helped." And that?

Well that was the wrong thing to say.

Thanos looks rageful. His eye twitches, and he throws the man out of the way, launching him into the side of the small room with a gasp. He grabs the door and swings it open, except it doesn't open. He hears the chiming of a bell and his eyes widen with realization.

He looks through the slit in the door, and his eyes land on you. You're still on the floor, dancing away from him. He screams your name, but again, you don't hear him. He shouts again, anyway. The guard aims his gun to your abdomen, and he turns back to the inside of the room before he hears the loud bang.

His eyes go to Nam-gyu, who looks as shocked as he does calm. His body language is almost encouraging Thanos to snap the guy's neck and Thanos feels too many things right now to think otherwise. He presses him against the wall and starts yelling at him again. He doesn't even know what he's saying at this point, but apparently, the guy in front of him does. He's shaking and agreeing with him. Thanos lands a punch square to his jaw, and another to his gut.

"I should kill you. It would make us even, right?" He growls at the man, winding his fist back again.

"What if the next number is more than 3? You need me." He says, his voice betraying his confident words.

"We'll just find another piece of trash like you. Who will tell the difference?" He says, landing another punch before throwing him to the ground.

"Game over." The overhead speakers say, unlocking the door as Thanos flings it open, your body long gone.

He doesn't say anything to anybody. Everyone can tell he's upset, and most people can also tell why when they don't see the girl, who seemed to see the other side of Thanos, walking next to him.

Thanos can't even think. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He'd never cared for someone like he did you. He feels so stupid, so empty, and so alone. He feels the absence of you like a tidal wave, and he's drowning in it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He trudges back into the main room, lost in his thoughts before he feels a tap on his back.

He sighs and turns around, expecting to see someone he's going to curse out, but it's you.

You.

You smile at him softly, whispering a "hi" as he stares at you. His expression is hard to read, and all he's doing is looking at you. Then, once he's conscious again, you feel his hands snake around your waist gently, and he pulls you towards him. You let out a small gasp, not expecting the gentle affection, but you wrap your arms around him as he rests his head onto your shoulder, face in your neck.

You stay like that for a while, just in eachothers warmth. Eventually, he pulls away. Not far, though. He holds your face with his hand, and he looks at you. He looks at your eyes and your face and your lips, committing everything to his memory.

"I thought you were dead." He whispers, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours. You close your eyes in return and sigh, comfortable in his arms.

"Me too," you smile, grabbing his hand that's on your face and resting yours on top, "but I'm not."

Eventually, you two separate, but not for long.

You stand in line for dinner, not expecting much from these walking glowsticks, and you feel familiar hands snake around your waist behind you.

"Hello again." You smile, laughing more when he hums into your neck. You step forward in line, and he awkwardly shuffles behind you. You chuckle again. "Am I going to have to deal with this all day, now?" You tease, looking to your side as you step forward again.

All you can get from him is a muffled "Mhm," but that's enough for you to smile and put your arms over his.

IM BACK!! I think? Idk don't bring it up, or I'll disappear again, hehe 😶‍🌫️

going through my requests and they should re-open soon~~

~🍡🍡

[i-dared-myself]

Protect and Attack

Minho x reader

Requested by @strawberryscentedd :Can you maybe do a cute oneshot about minho or chan teaching his gf self defense tips and practicing w her bc she's going on a trip soon and he's like i must teach you to protecc

I chose Minho, cuz he’s my bias (For today). Sue me.

Disclaimer: I am Canadian 

“Excuse me?” you ask as Minho as he shuts your front door behind him. You had opened it only for him to immediately march inside. 

“You’re going to Canada?” Minho demands. “Without me?”

You blink at him. “What? Well you’re on tour at the time so I figured it would be a great chance for me to travel too.”

Minho huffs and crosses his arms. “What if something happens and I’m not there?”

“What would ever happen?” You cross your arms across your chest and level him with a glare. “And I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”

Minho scoffs. “Have you met a Canadian? They’re all axe-wielding maniacs.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, that’s a stereotype. And they’re also really nice. Like, painfully nice.”

Minho raises a single eyebrow. “Look who’s playing into stereotypes now.”

“I’ll be fine!” You turn away from him and return to stuffing things into your suitcase. “Jeez…”

Minho’s voice softens as he speaks next. “You know I think that, I just- I don’t like it when I’m not around. I hate leaving you when I go on tour, and you’re going to an entirely different continent.”

You grab yet another pair of socks, not wanting to be cold on your trip. “I know. And I’ll be fine.”

“Still,” Minho says, causing you to sigh heavily, “you should at least know what to do in an emergency.”

“Like what?” You glance over your shoulder to look at him. “What kind of emergency could there possibly be?”

“You get mugged. Or kidnapped.” Minho tugs at his hair, quickly spiraling into insane assumptions. “They sell you to the devil! They force you to pick a new bias!”

“Woah.” You place a hand on his arm to calm him, gently pulling his hands away from his hair. “It’s okay. No one is kidnapping me, and no one is going to make me pick a new bias. Why would they even want that?”

Minho takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “I guess you’re right. There’s no way you would pick a bias other than me.”

You smile softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll be fine. I’m only gone for a week.”

Minho slouches. “Fine. But I better get photos.”

You grin and pat his cheek patronizingly. “Sure, Ho.”

“Excuse me?” Minho arches an eyebrow. “What did you just call me?”

“It’s a nickname!” You dart away before he can grab you. You barely dodge his outstretched arms. “Because your name is Minho so-“

“You’re not calling me that!” He tries again to capture you and bring you to justice, but you evade him once again. “Get back here you little-“

You shriek as his arms wrap around your torso, clutching you tightly. “Please! Have mercy!”

Minho chuckles darkly and drags you to the bed, throwing you across it. He comes up from behind and presses his knee into the small of your back. “If you can get free, I’ll let you go with no consequences. This is your chance to show me you’ll be safe in Canada, the godless land of Bigfoots.”

“Bigfeet,” you correct with a breathless giggle.

His knee’s pressure increases. “What?”

“Bigfeet,” you repeat, squirming away. “It’s not foots, it’s feet.”

“Unless there’s only one Bigfoot,” Minho thoughtfully says. “It would be a singular noun then.”

“If Bigfoot is even real.” You try and swing a leg out at him, but don’t have enough leverage. It just makes him laugh a little.

“You’re not leaving me very confident in your ability to escape danger,” Minho dryly says. “Come on, try harder. Don’t be afraid to hurt me; I can take it.”

You reach up blindly with your hands behind you, scrambling for anything you can grab. Nothing brushes your fingers, so you hit them on the sheets in frustration.

“Whats going on here?” Chan asks, voice dripping with disapproval. “Minho! Get off of her!”

Minho leaps back, eyes wide. “It’s not what it looks like! And what are you even doing here?”

Felix pops up from behind him. “We were coming over for dinner, remember? A goodbye dinner before the tour and the Canada trip?”

“You knew about the trip and didn’t tell me?” Minho demands. 

“What were you doing to her?” Hyunjin questions instead of answering. 

“Trying to get her to prove that she’ll be fine on her own,” Minho spits out. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Ho,” you say, leaning your head on Minho’s shoulder. “They’re just concerned. I know you’re mad I didn’t tell you about the trip earlier, but take that out on me and not them.”

Seungmin scowls. “Am I not getting dinner tonight? Because I cancelled with my other friends for this.”

“Other friends?” Jeongin asks, lower lip sticking out with hurt. “Why haven’t I heard of them?”

“I have a life, you know,” Seungmin tiredly says. 

“You’re right,” Minho carefully says to you. “I should take it out on you, and not them.”

“That sounds weirdly sexual,” Jisung chimes in.

Minho suddenly puts you in a headlock, ruffling your hair. “Ha! Try and get out of this!”

“Step on his foot!” Changbin cheers. “Throw him over your shoulder!”

You kick the inside of Minho’s foot. When he winces and adjusts his stance, you lunge to the side and break out of his hold.

“Yass! Slay!” Jisung whoops.

“Ew.” Jeongin grimaces. “Never say that again.”

Hyunjin tosses imaginary hair over his shoulder. “I’m the only one here who slays.”

Chan rubs at his face. “This is gonna be a thing now, isn’t it?”

“Tackle him!” Felix shouts at you. “Get him before it’s too late!”

You hesitantly throw yourself at Minho, knocking him to the floor. He produces an Oof sound that makes you feel slightly guilty, but you push it aside.

Bigfoot wouldn’t show weakness, so neither can you.

“Finish him!” Jisung screams wildly.

Changbin shuffles awkwardly. “Okay, maybe don’t finish him. We do need him.”

Minho sits up and rubs his chest. “Okay. You’ll survive in Canada.”

You pump your fists in victory. “Yes!”

“But,” Minho continues, “I want constant updates. Photos, texts, etcetera.”

“Deal.” You stick out a hand for him to shake. 

“And I want a souvenir,” he adds. 

“Give me some money?” You bat your eyes at him, holding out a hand.

He sighs and forks over a spare credit card.

“But nothing weird. Or expensive.”

“Buy him a whole polar bear,” Seungmin mutters as he leaves, presumably to hang out with his other friends.

You grin at Minho, who immediately shakes his head, ruining all of your hopes and dreams.

“You’re the worst, Ho,” you grumble, tucking the credit card into your pocket.

Minho jumps at you again, wrestling you to the floor. “I dare you to call me that again!”

Felix sighs and heads out the door, holding it open for the others. “Let’s just go find takeout.”

You watch as they all exit, leaving you alone with Minho. He’s currently trying to wrangle your hands behind your back, and you squirm.

“Ho!” you taunt as you stand up, rushing to the door. “My little Ho!”

Minho chases after you angrily, a lethal glint to his eyes. But you’re not worried. You know he won’t actually hurt you.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche

[darlingdreadwrites]

Hi!! Can u make a hurt/comfort fluffy but ig also angsty eyeless jack and/or ticcy toby(separate) x gn reader who feels ignored/like people dont care to listen to them? Itd be a nice comfort fic! Its okay if not tyy💗💗

YES IM ALIVE AND THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!! i’ve never done something in this format before

pairing: Eyeless Jack x GN!Reader

contains: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 998

masterlist

a.n: remember to take care of yourself <3

@uhnanix

You want to ignore this feeling – no matter how much you tell yourself you’re overreacting. These were your friends, of course they care about what you have to say. But you can’t help but notice how they brush off your input or ignore it altogether. You were used to it. The way your words seem to dissolve before they reach anyone’s ears. They would nod, hum, pretend to listen, but their minds have already moved on. You can feel the heavy lump in your throat as Jeff talks over you once again, and you decide that you’ve had enough. You would just blink back your tears and stay silent, hoping someone would notice.

But, of course, they didn’t. Not even your boyfriend, it seemed. He is usually this quiet and withdrawn – why would he care? So, you figuratively take a step back, biting at the inside of your cheek and holding yourself back despite wanting to speak up so badly.

You don’t bother getting out of bed today, not when you know you’d basically be a ghost. That slow, insidious shadow of insecurity has won you over. Whoever you talk to, they’ll only lose interest the second you open your mouth. The slightest shift of their gaze to something else would certainly send you down a spiral. It was exhausting. You only want to save yourself from that disappointment, you tell yourself. It’s so cloudy in your mind that you don’t even notice the soft click of your door opening.

As you stare at the wall, the hollow ache in your chest tightens, Jack lingers in the doorway for a long moment.

“Feeling tired today?” he asks, the air shifting around him. His voice is low, with an unnatural smooth stillness to it. There’s curiosity laced between his words, he’s making sure there’s no demand for you to spill what you’ve been bottling up. You swallow, debating whether to answer at all or pretend to be asleep instead. What was the point?

“I guess,” you mutter, turning your face into your pillow.

Jack doesn’t move, weighing his options. Then, soundlessly, he steps inside and closes the door behind him. The room feels significantly smaller with him in it, but not in a suffocating way. You’re hit with the urge to tell him everything, but you’re not sure he’ll understand.

He doesn’t push or pry – instead, he sits beside you on the bed. You can feel the weight of him near you, and you slowly turn to lay on your back. For a while, the only sound in the room is the quiet hum of your own breath.

You sigh, rubbing at your tired eyes.

“I just… I feel like no one actually… listens,” you admit. His silent patience working to make you spill your words before you can stop them. “Like… I could disappear and no one would notice.”

The silence that follows is different from before, and you swear you saw him flinch. Jack doesn’t react immediately, but you feel the tension in him. His fingers twitch where they rest on his knee.

“I would notice,” he says in the same steady, deliberate tone.

Your breath hitches.

Jack isn’t one for unnecessary words. He never speaks just to fill space; never said things he didn’t mean. And now, as his voice settles and soothes you, you know with certainty that it is the truth.

He shifts slightly, his head tilting as he continues. “I hear you. Even when you don’t speak.”

You turn your head toward him, searching for something in the expressionless mask he always wears. The dark voids where his eyes should be give away nothing, but his voice holds a quiet sincerity that makes your vision blur.

“I listen,” he says, softer now. “Because you listen to me.”

Your voice cracks. “Jack—”

“I know I don’t always say things out loud,” he interrupts, as if anticipating your doubt. “But I notice everything. I notice you.”

You swallow the lump formed in your throat, the tears streaming down the sides of your face. No one had ever said that to you before – not like this.

“You don’t have to be loud for me to hear you.”

Something in you finished cracking at that, the exhaustion pressing against your ribs suddenly lifting. Jack’s presence has always been quiet, but now you realize that his silence isn’t indifferent. He existed in the background like you did, unnoticed by most, but never by you. You shut your eyes tight, letting out a shaky exhale.

Slowly, cautiously, his gloved hand moves over to your face. The rough texture of his thumb glides over your warm cheek to wipe your tears. Jack isn’t one for physical affection, but this silent reassurance moved you beyond words.

You swallow hard, then shift to lift the edge of your blanket.

Jack hesitates, then, without a word, he slides under the covers beside you. His body – steady and solid against you – runs cooler than yours, but you find the contrast comforting. You cuddle up to him, and he inclines his head to press it against yours.

A small giggle bubbles up while you finish wiping at your tears as you feel the smooth, cool material of his mask pressing against your cheek.

Jack tenses slightly at the sound. “What?”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Nothing. Just… your mask.”

He lets out a low exhale, something close to a chuckle. You hesitate for only a moment before lifting your head, pressing a gentle kiss to the surface of the mask. It isn’t much – just a light brush of your lips against the material – but it is enough to make Jack go completely still beside you. He leans his mask closer to you, as if deepening the kiss, earning another soft laugh from you. Hie hand tightens ever so slightly around yours, and neither of you speak after that. There is no need. For the first time in a long time, you feel heard.

pairing: Ticci Toby x GN!Reader

contains: angst (but not a lot i dont think), hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 834

The silence in the cabin presses against your ears, making you hyperaware of every creak in the floorboards. You had tried – again and again – to interject into conversations with the others, but each time, someone else spoke over you. It was a familiar feeling by now, one you are used to. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You had joked about it before, played it off like it didn’t bother you. “Guess I’m just too easy to talk over,” you laughed once, expecting nothing from it. But Toby had tilted his head at you and said, “If you-you really had s-s… something important to suh-say, you’d just say it louder.”

You hadn’t said anything, but what he said stung. It solidified all your fears and insecurities because it had come from your boyfriend, of all people. He hadn’t meant to hurt you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t echo in your mind every now and then. It would sit heavily in your chest even now, as you sit there, arms wrapped around yourself in the dim cabin light.

Toby seemed oblivious. He was busy fidgeting, his foot bouncing where he sat on the worn-out couch beside you. He was always talking, always moving. It’s easy to assume he doesn’t really pay attention to the details of things – especially not you.

Then came the final straw. You had finally worked up the nerve to say something, to try again. You had barely gotten the first few words out before Toby, not even realizing, barreled over your sentence with his own tangent. And that was it. You shut down.

Your shoulders slump, and you press your lips into a thin line. You stop trying – looking at the floor instead. Toby doesn’t notice at first, and he keeps talking like nothing happened. But something must have clicked. The way your face went black, the way you had been trying all night and now you weren’t saying anything at all.

Toby tilts his head at you, squinting. “Hey-hey, you’re doing that sad thing. Stop… that.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “It’s nothing.”

Toby goes still.

For anyone else, that wouldn’t mean much – but Toby was never still. The jittery, twitchy energy that hums under his skin suddenly settles, his dark eyes staying locked on your face. “Bullshit.”

You try to wave him off, but he grabs your wrist.

“C’mon,” he presses, his voice just a little softer. “Wuh-what’s wrong?”

You pause. Maybe it’s the way his usual chaotic energy had faded, or maybe it is the way he sounds like he cares – really cares.

You test him, letting the silence drag out. To your surprise, he doesn’t press, sensing that you are truly upset.

“I just... feel like no one listens to me,” you reveal, finally looking at him.

He’s still silent, waiting for you to continue. But years of keeping to yourself have constricted your throat, and all you want to do is cry instead. You quickly regret saying anything, your mind scrambling for any way you could turn this into a joke. But then, his mouth pulls into a frown.

“That’s stupid – of course, I listen to you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Do you?”

His frown deepens. “Yeah, I… do. I mean… maybe I s-s-suck at showin’ it, but I do.”

His hands twitch against his thighs before he leans forward, eyes bright with something fierce.

“You always com-complain about wanting to p-…pick out something new when we go out to-to eat, but you never do. You act-act like you will, but you… you don’t. You hum when you’re ner-nervous. And-and that dumb joke you…made about elephants the other day? I stuh-still think about it. It was funny.”

You blink. “…What?”

His knee starts bouncing again, his neck twitching to the side for a moment.

“You think I… don’t hear you juh-just ‘cause I talk a lot? I hear everything.” His voice lowers to a more serious tone. “I hate being-being ignored. Hate it. And you—” His breath hitches, and he swallows before continuing. “You shuh-shouldn’t have to feel l-like that.”

The sincerity in his voice creates a warmth that spreads through your chest. Tears well up for a moment because of how seen you felt.

Toby watches you for a moment before launching himself across the couch. You barely have time to react before you’re tackled into a bone-crushing hug. He wraps his arms around you so tightly that it steals your breath. He peppers your face in loud, dramatic kisses as he rocks you back and forth.

“You’re s-so-so dumb,” he mutters into your shoulder, his words muffled. “Thinkin’ no one…listens to yuh-you. I listen. And if any-anyone else ever ignores you, I-I’ll cut their tongue o-off. No one ignores… my person.”

You let out a half-exasperated, startled laugh. “Toby.”

“Not jokin’.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, a grin tugging at his lips.

You lean forward, giving him a loud, dramatic kiss of your own.

[alittlegiraffe]

Five Times You Went to Marshall in the Middle of the Night + One Time He Came to You

1. The first time, you don’t even think about it.

You wake up to the weight of the silence pressing against your chest, the emptiness of the bed swallowing you whole. It’s too much. Too cold. Too quiet.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you’re pushing the covers off and padding down the hall, heart hammering. His door is barely shut, the soft glow of the bedside lamp seeping through the crack.

He doesn’t stir when you slip inside, but his breathing hitches as you ease onto the mattress beside him. He doesn’t say a word when you curl against him, pressing your forehead to his shoulder.

And when his arm wraps around you, holding you close, you know he needed this just as much as you did.

2. The second time, you hesitate.

You tell yourself you should stay in your own bed, that you shouldn’t need him this much. But sleep won’t come, not without the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his presence.

You find him awake when you step into his room, sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “No.”

You don’t ask before climbing into bed, pulling him down beside you. He doesn’t fight it. Just exhales slowly and lets you hold him, lets himself need you, even if he won’t say it.

3. The third time, he’s the one waiting.

You barely make it to the door before it opens, revealing him standing there, jaw tight, eyes heavy with something unreadable.

“I knew you’d come,” he murmurs.

You swallow, heart twisting at the admission. “Did you want me to?”

Instead of answering, he steps aside, letting you in, letting you into the space he’s been too afraid to share.

And when you settle into his bed, he follows without hesitation, his arms circling you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

4. The fourth time, you find him shaking.

You don’t knock, don’t hesitate. You slip into his room and find him curled up, shoulders tense, fists clenched in the sheets. A nightmare.

“Marshall,” you whisper, placing a hand on his arm.

He jerks awake, breath ragged, eyes wild with something that makes your chest ache.

Without a word, you pull him into your arms, running your fingers through his hair, whispering reassurances against his temple. His grip on you is desperate, like he’s afraid to let go.

You hold him until his breathing evens out, until the storm inside him quiets.

5. The fifth time, he tries to stop you.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he says, standing in the doorway, blocking your path.

Your stomach twists, but you hold his gaze. “I don’t care if I should or shouldn’t. I need you, Marshall.”

His jaw tightens, conflict flickering in his eyes. “And what if I need you too much?”

You step forward, placing your hand over his heart. “Then let me be here.”

After a long moment, he exhales, stepping aside.

And when you climb into bed that night, he holds onto you a little tighter.

+1. The one time he comes to you, it feels different.

You wake up to the sound of your door creaking open, the mattress shifting under his weight.

“Marshall?” you murmur, blinking up at him.

He doesn’t speak, just slides under the covers, reaching for you in the dark. His hands are warm as they find your waist, his breath unsteady as he buries his face against your neck.

“I needed you,” he admits, voice raw, stripped of all the defenses he usually hides behind.

Your heart swells, and you hold him close, letting him know without words that he never has to need you alone.

And for the first time, he lets himself believe it.

[beatrixst0nehill]

Alice rubbed her belly, flaunting her pregnant form eagerly. "Soooo, this is very exciting. H-Hey guys, surprise! I'm pregnant.... My parents basically gave me an ultimatum. Either detransition or start pumping out kids. Like.... I was thinking of just detransing, like what trans girl doesn't pump her cock thinking of that??? But I chickened out and said I wanted to start breeding! Granted, I was bringing home a new guy or three.... or five.... basically every night. And my parents had to listen to me giggle and moan and get my fat, girly ass pounded for hours, all the while having to deal with the walls shaking and hearing their spoiled princess get spanked and smacked around. I think they really regret talking me into transitioning but it's too late now!

I actually received an already-pregnant womb. Allegedly I'm six months along but I've only had this womb for three months. The hospital got it out of some ditzy college girl who was testing experimental fuck machines. A student cranked it up when she was testing it on her ass and it scrambled her guts. Soooo, lucky me? Is this big for six months? I feel like it is. My doctors assured me everything is normal and it's becoming very common for trans girls to become breeders!

There is one teeny tiny problem. So, they gave me a choice when daddy brought me in to get my womb. Either they don't do anything and my belly just gets bigger and bigger with no birth canal until the hospital scoops me off the street to give me a C-section, or they give me a birth canal. I thought the first answer sounded a bit scary. Apparently it's pretty popular and really exciting for the girls to see how long they can last without getting dragged to the ER and having their kids scooped out. I asked for a birth canal. Ummm, let me just show you."

Alice removed her baggy skirt, lifting her cock with great heft, hanging down to her knees. She slapped it onto the table in front of her camera. It was even thicker than her upper arms, totally swollen, with a gorgeous head the size of her fist and the color of her lips, its urethra drooling precum. "Look at this!" Alice stroked her cock, reaching forward, slipping four fingers into it with ease. "Oh fuck, it feels so good! Look, I can fist my cock! I may or may not be encouraging guys to fuck it, too....... My balls are gigantic, too. How am I supposed to stay a girl with balls the size of grapefruits??? Ugh, I swear I must cum a gallon a day at least, it's unbearable how bad my erections get after only an hour or two without sex or masturbating. I'm told it's a similar level of horniness to most cis pregnant girls. Hurray, I guess?

I am also on very high doses of estrogen to keep my hormones in check, but still! My cock used to be like five inches, and my balls were like marbles. My doctor says they're almost finished growing but I'm not sure I believe him. Either way us trans girls with wombs are apparently kept pregnant by the state. I thought I'd have to go out and get fucked but nope! I have no choice. I'll be kept pregnant forever now, forced to push as many kids as possible out of my 'birthing shaft' as they call it. Since technically it's too big to actually fuck girls with. Doesn't stop them from trying. I get soooo many pregnant girls who excitedly approach me, feeling my belly, asking how far along I am, or to see how swollen my pussy looks, only to lift my dress or skirt and they gasp..... Then these girls take it as a challenge, trying to suck it, stroking it, bending over and begging me to 'try my hardest to ram it in their holes'. It's kinda fun getting so much attention from girls all of a sudden but it's exhausting, too. And I'm only six months? How do girls walk with such giant bellies???

Oh well, another four months or so until the big day. I'll definitely be filming it. Hopefully my cock can withstand pushing out so many kids. I can't wait to try! I feel like even at this side my poor cock might burst trying to do this but I promise to put on a good show either way! I love being pregnant, and hopefully this is the first of many more! ❤️"

[lilgarbitch]

The Voice of an Angel - Two

Pairing: Matt Dierkes x PornBlog!Reader

CW: nothing much, stress with tour, sugar daddy!Matt

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: Sorry this took a minute to come out and isn’t longer. I don’t want to jump around time too much or add any unnecessary scenes and overwhelm myself. The next part will be more fun, I promise🖤

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @badomensgoodomens @enemiestolovershoe @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

Part One

Y/N | Sunday 10:32 AM

I wake myself up with a snore, groaning and rolling over. I grimace when I feel droll on my cheek, quickly lifting my head and wiping it away. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and stretch out my legs before I realize something. My eyes shoot open and stare out my window, seeing that the sun was high in the sky. 

“Fuck,” I quickly reach for my phone, repeatedly hitting the button as I try to turn it on. I never put it on the goddamn charger last night. 

I reach over the side of my bed and almost fall over as I swipe at the charger, finally grabbing it and plugging my phone in before stumbling out of bed. Running to the kitchen, I see the time on the stove and huff as I grab a glass, fill it up and chug it, needing to fix the dryness in my mouth before getting ready. 

After rushing through a shower and throwing on whatever semi- matching clothes I could find, I grab my keys, phone, and bag before high-tailing it out of my apartment, almost forgetting shoes. 

I burst through the library’s doors, giving a patron who just happened to be standing nearby an apologetic look for startling them, before speed walking to the back room. Surprisingly, the library was quite empty for a Sunday morning. Not that there was ever a rush, but weekends were usually when people had time to come in to get what they needed, usually needing assistance, and when there’s only one person in, it can get overwhelming. 

I was pinning my name tag to my shirt when I felt a presence behind me, making me hunch as I slowly turned towards them, ready to get an earful for being late to a morning weekend shift, but as my eyes reached Alex’s face, I don’t think I’ve ever let out a bigger sigh of relief.

”Where have you been?” She asked, hands on her hips like scourning mother. I gave her an apologetic pout, trying to gain sympathy. 

“My phone died so my alarms never went off. I’m so sorry. I hope it hasn’t been busy,” I explain. She gives me a deadpan look.

”Stay up late reading again?” She asks with a smirk, already knowing my obsession with fanfiction.

”Surprisingly, no. I’ve just been so exhausted lately from not getting enough sleep that I guess my body recovered by making me sleep almost 12 hours.” I answer, shocked by my own body. 

“Well, thankfully it’s been a slow morning, and I already put away most of the returns, so if you want to do the rest, I can take any customers and you can take it slow today. But you owe me.” I pout and walk over, reaching to give her a hug, that she continuously tries to dodge.

”You’re the best. And don’t worry. I have just the thing to pay you back, but it’s a surprise.”

”Uh huh, sure you do. Well, get your ass out there, because I’ve been on my feet all morning and being able to sit down is all the payment I’ll take right now.” She says as we make our way out of the back room and she heads towards the front desk, sighing as she sits down behind it. 

I hold back a laugh as I make my way to the cart full of books and start scanning the rest of them. I wasn’t going to tell her that the reason the exhaustion took over so bad was because I came so hard last night that I could barely edit and post the audio before completely crashing. 

After scanning and putting away the rest of the books, I checked with Alex to make sure there wasn't anything else I had to do before sitting down at a nearby empty table and pulling out my phone, still needing to check the responses from my other job. 

Without checking my notifications, I scrolled through the comments of everyone, liking a few sweet ones. I had to hide the smile on my face when I saw that ThotxPleaser had actually left one, helping my consistent racing thoughts the past week. I was about to tell myself that I was worrying over nothing when I finally checked my Cashapp. 

I gasped so fast that Alex sent me a wild look after I choked on my own spit. I did my best to wave her off and catch my breath as I read his message. 

ThotxPleaser- $1,000

All I want is to hear your voice more. Talk about your day, how the weather is treating you, or rant about a TV show you’re watching. I’d listen to you forever. All I ask is if you’d be willing to send me voice memos here and there to get me through my days. Name your price, sunshine. 

So I was right. He has been using my audios as some type of escape. And just sent me a thousand fucking dollars to get private ones. And from the sounds of it, he didn’t even want them to be erotic, he just wanted to hear me talk. This couldn’t be that easy, right? My mind was racing as I took this all in. 

I loved the library, and it was a job that truly made me happy, but it wasn’t great pay, especially for a girl who liked to spoil herself from time to time, so I’ve been using my donations for most of my living expenses, most coming from ThotxPleaser. Having this big of a donation, with the promise of more, meant that a weight had just been lifted off my shoulder. 

Ever since it was announced, I’ve been saving up small chunks of the donations to hopefully get a good set of tickets for Alex and I to see Bad Omens. It was one of the things we had bonded over when she started working here, and she has saved my ass so many times that I had been planning on surprising her for a while now. And now, I can actually make it happen. 

Without even responding, I immediately head to the ticket page, praying that there were any left for the date they were playing in our city. Praise the fucking gods above, there were. And there were even meet and greet passes that I added on without care, knowing I was about to make more money that I even knew what to do with. 

I sneakily slip past Alex as I made my way towards the back room again, heading straight for my bag. I pull out my wallet and input all the necessary details before clicking buy. The second that the ‘You’re Going!’ message popped up, I almost squealed as I jumped up and down with excitement. 

I hurriedly put all my things back into my bag before heading back out towards the front desk. Seeing that there were only a few patrons in the library, none near the desk, I might as well use this chance to tell her.

I slip behind her and bend down as she stares at her phone, spooking her as I gave a small “psst.”

“What?!” she asks as she turns to me with an almost angry startled look, making me bite back laughter. 

“Would you like to know your surprise?” I ask in a sing-songy voice. She raises an eyebrow, acting unimpressed already.

“You were serious about that? I thought you were just going to show up with coffee and donuts tomorrow or something.”

“Pfft. I’d never do that…” I trail off, completely lying as I have done exactly that before, which she reminds me with the look on her face, “No, I have something I think you’ll enjoy a little more than coffee and donuts.”

As she stares at me expectantly, still seeming unimpressed, I turn my phone around and show her the screen. It takes a few seconds for the image to process in her brain, but once it does, a silent shock takes over her as she repeatedly glances back and forth between my cocky smile and the proof of purchase in my hands. 

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did. And…” I trail off, bringing my phone back to me to zoom in on the extra special part of said purchase before turning the phone back to her, “I got us meet and greet passes.”

She had to cover her mouth with her hands to keep quiet as she started kicking her feet, spinning the desk chair in the process, making me laugh. We instantly start discussing our plans for making sure we take off work that day and the day after, and obsessing over the boys and how insane it was that we were actually doing this.

Y/N | Sunday 5:03 PM

As I head towards my car, still riding the high of knowing I’m going to meet the boys of my favorite band in less than 3 weeks from now, I remember why all of this was even possible. Sliding into the driver's seat, I pull my phone out of my bag and look over the donation again. 

I mean, I could send him a message, discussing the details, or I could send him a recording, giving him something worth the money he already sent. Pulling up my recording app, I turn on the car and set my phone in my lap, pressing record before pulling out of the parking spot.

“I know you said that you’d listen to me talk about whatever, so I figured the best way to start these off would be talking about how you want this to go. I’ve honestly never done anything like this, so I have no clue if I should charge per minute or something, or just- Oh, fuck you!… Oops sorry. I’m driving home from work and some asshole just cut me off. Anywho, maybe we can discuss this over DM or something. I’ve honestly never talked to a follower privately so I’m not even sure how to do that. Shit, do I just send this to your DMs? I don’t know how any of this shit works.”

I pause, and sigh. I’m definitely making a complete fool of myself already, but men have bought used panties, so I doubt he’s going to care if I send him an audio of me sounding like a complete idiot. 

“I think I’ll just send this to you through DMs and then research a more formal way of doing this later, especially once we discuss more about how you’d like me to make these. Oh fuck, I can literally send these over Patreon. No, I’ll just stick to DMs for now. God, this is gonna take some getting used to. I also have no idea how to charge you for listening to me ramble, so truthfully, I trust you to just send me whatever you feel fits, since you spoil me so nicely already.”

I look down real quick and see I’ve only been talking for a little over a minute, and with $1,000, I feel he deserves a little more yapping, so I continue.

“What else? Uhhh I guess I could talk about my day. Kinda started off shit, to be honest. I crashed so hard last night after posting that audio that I never plugged in my phone, resulting in it dying and none of my alarms going off. Thankfully, my best friend was the one working with me today, so I didn’t get my ass chewed out for being late. And I did use your money to spoil the both of us to a concert as an apology gift. I would tell you who, but you’re a complete stranger and could try showing up to every show, searching for me. So let’s just say they’re a band of really hot guys who make really good music and I’m so fucking excited to see them.”

I turn down the road that leads to my apartment building, so I decide that I should probably wrap this up.

“I do want to mention that I’m extremely thankful for your support. Like, more than you think. Especially with a request like this. I always expected my first request being some freak begging me to say some weird shit or talk in a yoda voice as I play with myself. And you know what? This was actually really nice just talking about my day out loud. I don’t have anyone to do that with, so the fact you’re letting me, and paying me, is honestly a fucking wish I didn’t even know I had, come true. I’m gonna enjoy yapping to you, mysterious Thot Pleaser. Anywho, I gotta go. Message me back when you get the chance and hopefully I didn’t annoy you just yet. Byeee.”

I stop the recording as I turn off the car, instantly hoping my shitty car wasn’t making too much noise in the background of the audio, before grabbing my things and heading up towards my apartment. 

Once inside, I beeline towards my bedroom and flop down on my bed before pulling up Twitter and clicking on ThotxPleaser’s account. I click on the little message icon then send the audio file with ‘- Angel💋’ 

Matt | Monday 7:34 PM 

I’m fucking stressed. Folio lost his ID and Noah spent all day freaking out because we put his mask on the bus with his other shit and no matter how many times we told him it was there, he just kept saying ‘What if it’s not?’ or asking people, mid packing, if they would ride with him to the depot to check, despite us all seeing it there. I’ve been routinely checking over our equipment time and time again, making sure we have everything because last time, Jolly didn’t tell us he messed with it and we didn’t realize until the first show, having to borrow another band’s guitar last second because he just needed to test out his one last time. And I knew he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, but with everyone running around like headless chickens, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the guys moved something, thinking they were helping.

And to top it all off, Angel sent me a fucking recording that I haven’t been able to look at. My stomach absolutely dropped to my ass when I saw the notification and I feel like shit leaving her waiting for a response but the timing couldn’t have been worse. I could easily listen as we finish getting everything together, but I didn’t know how I was going to react to it and I didn’t have the mental capacity to handle the emotions listening to her would bring me. And I knew I couldn’t listen tonight because the second I get off my feet, I’m going to crash, and we’re going to have to leave early in the morning so the last thing I need is to stay up replaying it on repeat. 

But I truly needed nothing more than to hear her right now. I knew her voice could ease most of the stress and overwhelming thoughts. I just couldn’t handle a single distraction at the moment.

Matt | Tuesday 6:47 AM

I draped an arm over my eyes as I felt the bus shake beneath me as I sprawled out on the couch. I managed to get maybe four hours of sleep last night, and I was fucking exhausted, but I couldn’t fall back asleep, even though everyone else passed out within 30 minutes of the bus hitting the road.

We weren’t getting to the first venue until around 3, and I definitely had the time for a small nap, but my nerves felt like they were on fire. The beginning of tour always felt like this, especially with how fast moving it had to be, so I knew the anxiety could calm down within the next week, but right now, my mind wasn’t going to let me feel a single moment of peace. 

As I scrolled on my phone, switching between apps to occupy my time, I realized this was the perfect time to finally listen to Angel’s audio. I glance around at the closed curtains of the boy’s bunks before switching over to my alternative account on twitter and opening my DMs. I really hope she got the memo of me not needing anything sexual. I just wanted to hear her voice. 

I hit play and instantly it fills my ears like a beautiful melody. I have to hide my chuckle as I hear her stressing over rambling too much. She sounded so adorable. And something about how…domestic…this felt was just melting my brain. If I ignored the fact that she was talking about payment and how to get this to work, the sound of her car driving over suburban roads and the way she’d get distracted by the things around her almost felt like I was on a call with her as she told me about her day.

I let the audio replay one more time, actually taking in her words instead of just listening to her voice, before typing out a reply. 

ThotxPleaser - Sorry it took me so long to respond. I’m fine with whatever you want to do. I promise I’ll spoil you no matter what you decide to send. And I’m happy that you can use this as a way to talk about your day. I’ll always be here to listen to you ramble about whatever you need to get off your chest. And I’m glad you’re spoiling yourself, you deserve it. I hope when the concert comes, you’ll tell me about how much fun you had. 

ThotxPleaser - Oh that reminds me

I switch over to my Cash App and send off a little gift for her with a smirk on my face.

ThotxPleaser - $1,500

Use this to buy yourself a nice outfit and for you and your friend to get yourselves some merch and food at your show

I want to send more, the need to have a conversation with her overwhelming me, but I don't want to push too far. With a content smile, I finally relax in my seat, sleep taking over almost instantly as my mind plays on how happy I was to come to this agreement with her and how much it’s going to help me, especially knowing it’s going to make her happy.

TO BE CONTINUED