#anyways the inbox is once more empty

[incorrectvtuberquotes]

Iroha:

[hoseoksluna]

ROSÉ | jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut

word count: 5.7k

summary: on your first dinner date, your boyfriend brings you a small gift—too bad you're too horny to appreciate it.

pinterest board: wine

warnings: a bit of drunkenness, a mention of inner child healing, oc teases jungkook and oc is horny as fuck, dom/sub dynamics, wine!jk, provider jk..., daddy issues, punishment, spanking, food used during intercourse, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, a mention of a sex toy & a mention of a plushie in a sexual context, raw sex, brattiness, jk and oc smoke together

note: OH GOD—IT'S FINALLY HERE. SLFJSLDFJS. A REQUESTED DRABBLE about wine!oc and jungkook. this was so fucking fun to write and i was so hot and bothered from this that i had to take a break............ yeah uhm anyways, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. ENJOY READING AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ANONYMOUSLY IN MY INBOX. I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS. PLS AND THANK YOU. ₊˚⊹♡

side note: jk in the first pic made me fucking die. and other things....

The rosy pink nectar has, undeniably, gone to your head. 

Your empty wine glass is illuminated by the setting sunlight spilling past your shoulder, reaching its yellow, warm fingers to the tips of your boyfriend’s that rest lazily on the white cloth of the table. You’re woozy, in a lighthearted mood—so much that even the world has lost its heft and all you can sense is the sluggish process of your absorption. You’re engrossed in the way the spring coalesces with the beginning of summer—in the warm evening wind ruffling your curls, tickling your bare shoulders, in the darkening hues of the sky, pinks and violets, in the gray smoke of Jungkook’s cigarette interlacing with the slightly sultry air. You can see it in his eyes, the unfolding of it all. And perhaps you’re tipsy or perhaps you’re just brazenly and foolishly falling in love, because you’re aware that if the man weren’t sitting in front of you, none of these things wouldn’t have caught your attention in such a devastatingly profound way. 

He has made you feel so safe. By simply and beautifully laying his feelings bare. To you and for you. Created a haven for you to dwell in, for you to grow in and explore all the dark and light corners of you that have merely seldom seen the face of the sun. How could you not indulge in a little bit of alcohol, when you’re protected in that place of security? Let your girlishness swim a little, refresh herself, enjoy herself?

You’re glowing. You always had been, but your shimmers have gained a new intensity to their twinkles, keeping Jungkook’s liquid stars warm and taken care of inside of you. Their blunt points have carved you into someone else entirely, too. Joyous, cool-headed and absolutely and irrevocably self-assured. Fearless. And his hands have reached deep within and caressed the head of your inner child, healing her and washing her clean, giving her everything she ever lacked. Love, attention, care and validation. Whenever you remember that you never wanted him to get a glimpse of your soul, bile rises in your throat and your stomach hurts.

He saved you. Healed you. Through and through. Gave you his control.

It stirs your never-ending awe that he has managed to do this in a month, and you want to celebrate it. You think now is quite the perfect occasion for it as it’s your first dinner date since you’ve become exclusive. Having spent most of your time at each other’s places fucking, partying and fucking some more, it’s nice to be out, alone with him, that is—and it’s nice as fuck to be out with your boyfriend. The sex has become so different with the label and the rawness of his feelings. And the thing about Jungkook that gets you the most, that strengthens the realm he invented for you, is that once his emotions overflow, the stream of its wine doesn’t stop pouring. The moment he confessed his love for you, ever since then you sense it expressed in everything he does—in the way he greets you in the day, in his tight, burning embrace, in the tenderness with which he holds your hand or kisses it, the relentless, great thought and consideration he puts in the choices he makes for you on the daily. Whether it’s the fatuous things he buys you that mean the world to you, the way he never neglects bunny and incorporates her in everything you do together or… the sex. 

Fuck, the sex alone has taken over your life so vividly and drastically that it consumes your brain. There, in that environment, is where the wine of his emotions is the raciest. He’s not ashamed to cry, letting those liquid pearls trickle down your collarbones, quenching the thirst of his liquid stars as he fucks you dumb and enjoys every second of it. He’s not afraid to be loud either. To talk you through your orgasm with even more care and detail than you were accustomed to in the past. 

He’s become boundless. And it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen in your life. 

God, you’d be crazy not to let yourself fall for him—

“I got you dessert,” Jungkook husks, digging his fingers into the pocket of his pants while his other digits draw close to his mouth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, crinkling his eyes so the smoke wouldn’t get into them and you beam at him with a fire that’s more scorching than the sun’s ever been in centuries, heart doing somersaults at the thought of him thinking of you and spending money on you again. And, also, at how hot he looks while he smokes.

Your love language must be gift-giving. You don’t know what else to connect it to, the joy that envelops your entire being whenever he gives you something. It doesn’t even have to be expensive, nor does he have to pay for it at all. Drawings have become your favorite keepsakes—drawings of his Miffy bunny, drawings of flowers, of you. You’ve hidden them away in a box along with everything he’s ever brought you, except the white bunny ring because you wear it daily and one small, particular drawing that you’ve put inside your glittery phone case. 

A cutesy marker sketch of him and you. His arm around your shoulders. Bunny sitting on your laps in the middle, as if she were your own child. Cheeks big and bubbly, pink and twinkling. Your curls the way you wear them; his mullet. A perfect depiction of the pair of you. You gaze at it every single day—prefer to now put your phone face down because of it. 

You’re tracing it now with the pad of your finger as you wait for him to reveal your mystery gift to you. The bulby heads, the cheeks, Miffy’s ears. Jungkook puts out his cigarette, puffing out the smoke, away from you, and once he’s done, he taps the back of your hand. Turns it over and spreads out your fingers, inserting, at a snail's pace, something round but slender at the same time, smiling adoringly at you. 

What a sight to behold. It steals, fleetingly, your attention away from his hand. 

Slicked back mullet, twinkles taking laps in his soft eyes, blushed cheekbones and stretched, pouty mouth, shiny with his liquid love. Long neck that you’d like to devour now, the broadness of his shoulders and chest that could come second as a plain, dark beige shirt accentuates his hard work at the gym. 

Oh, fuck. Your nipples pebble against your carmine tube top. 

Jungkook withdraws his hand and with blurry eyes, you look at the thing he placed in your palm. 

Chupa Chups. Strawberry and cream. 

Your mouth parts and it’s a concoction of a gasp and a sound of endearment when the realization that he got you a lollipop sinks in. Your heart flips and does a head stand. Lips round into a pout, drunk eyes softening, its twinkles growing in size and light. It’s like he gave you something golden, when in fact it costs a few wons, but to you it’s exactly that. Something so precious. 

You give him an air kiss, bouncing in your seat in joy, fingers already destroying the wrapper. “Thank you so…”

Your brows furrow as the wrapper remains intact. You do a bad, bad job of picking at the tape around the slender stick, your long manicured hands absolutely useless—and the cause of your frustration. You puff out an angry gust of breath, trying harder to get to the sweet delight and it’s at that moment that your boyfriend takes it from your hands with a deep chuckle. 

“You silly boo, this is how you do it.” Jungkook pinches the wrapper around the stick and he merely, in a few swift motions, twists the ball until it lets go. He scrunches it in his fists and throws it away in the ashtray. Smirks smugly, leans his elbows on the table, draws close to you. You mirror his position, get to him almost nose to nose, and his smirk deepens, tongue darting out to lick across his lips. You do the same, eyeing the round pinkness in his hand, the sexual attraction and its tension soaring high between you.

Without your hands, you could put it in your mouth, mimic the way you do it on his own tip and make him lose his mind a little bit. It’s right here, an inch away and you dip your head towards it, a magnetic pulling drawing you naturally to it. Sense his gaze on you, sense his delight, sense the flashback glimmering across the wholeness of him. But before you could wrap your lips around it, he moves it out of your reach. 

“No,” Jungkook murmurs, breath slightly ragged, holds it up in front of your face, watches as you go cross-eyed a little bit. Hums at the sight, quietly enough for only you to hear. “If you want it, ask for it nicely.” 

His puffy lips being so close to you, you desire to kiss him—cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, his oh-so-loved dominance fucking with your drunkenness and your brain, body altogether. You tip your head to the side, flutter your lashes, make your eyes big and smile at him as sweetly as you can. 

He coos, validating you, and it is a force that makes you feel safe enough to submit to him like a small animal to its father. Safe enough to want to get under the table and make him feel really, really good, too. 

“Can I have the lollipop, please?” 

He groans, still quietly, and your panties drench immediately. You widen your eyes at him, feeling your slick, pursing your lips to scold him silently. He just laughs, amused by it all, and the sound of his joy fills you with elation.

One that darkens, when he asks, “Where?” 

You lick your lips, taking in the question, struck by it. Letting your mind wander, the places where you want it, except your mouth, is on your nipples and your clit. Nicely sweet and sticky—for him to clean up, for him to enjoy. Your dewiness soaks the material of your panties and your body begins to yearn for any kind of friction. You’re not sure whether you’re able to stick around in your chair, acting as if nothing’s wrong—acting as if you’re not stupendously horny. 

“In my mouth.” 

Jungkook makes a noise of appreciation and you’re so frustrated by all those sounds he makes that you want to dig your nails in his arms and make him pay for it. Even more so, when he plunges the lollipop into his mouth and his lips pucker around it, inciting the butterflies in your tummy to go absolutely fucking berserk. You place your hand on his bicep, nails ready to attack, but then he pulls out the treat with a pop, angling it at your mouth. 

“Open.” 

You thought he stole it from you, but he did no such thing. He wetted it for you, like a father for its child. You’re stupefied to the point that you don't even realize that you’re leaving a mark on the linen material of your seat. 

You do open your mouth for him, however. 

He twists the ball on your tongue, expecting you to close your mouth around the stick, but you don’t. No, you swirl that muscle around the candy, deepening your gaze, smirking. Jungkook stills, clenches his strong jaw. Darkness flicks across his eyes and he narrows them. First warning. 

You pretend you don’t see it. 

Closing your mouth and encasing your hand around his, you move the lollipop to the side of your cheek, acting as if it were his dick. And when you bob your head once, Jungkook tugs on the stick, wanting to pull it out, but you don’t let him, keeping it caged between your teeth. It only drives you to bob your head again.  

“Stop,” he says, voice calm, deep and serious—terribly deadly. Withdraws his hand and leans back, watching you with a predatory gaze, one that makes you even wetter. “Or we’re going home.” 

That’s exactly what you want. Instructions clear. 

You open your mouth and do a show of swirling your tongue around the ball, only this time you flick the muscle against it. Jungkook grips the table, knuckles white, and you laugh, which you soon realize was a grave mistake. 

“You think it’s funny?” he questions you, staring you down with a look that should frighten you, but it merely turns you on. You suck on the lollipop, the dulciness of strawberries suffusing your senses. “I’ll bend you over this fucking table, lift up that slutty little skirt and spank you in front of everyone.” 

You pull out the candy with an exaggerated pop. Scowl at him. As though his words didn’t affect you the way that they did—as though you’re not squeezing your thighs together, trying to gain that friction you so desperately need. “Why are you so angry?” 

He looks away for a moment, laughing silently. Nods his head at your wine glass. “You finished with your wine, baby?” 

It’s this pleasantness that you hear in this voice that spreads goosebumps across your skin. Feigned sugariness—the sunlight right before the clouds come in and thunder strikes; the calm before the storm. 

Good thing you’re dressed for the rain and ready to sing in it. 

You nod your head and Jungkook clicks his tongue, grabs you by your hand whilst he pulls out his wallet. You accompany him as he walks over to the bar, black card ready between his fingers. Waits to be noticed. Gives you a look over and fixes your skirt, pulling the hem down. 

Pays for you. Smiles down at you as he pockets his wallet. 

And then, he drags you to his car. 

Perhaps it’s the fresh air, perhaps it’s the briskness in his walk and the tight hold around your hand, but all intoxication evaporates from your body, leaving only your stained elation and neediness. You can’t help your smile. Think it must be sewn in at this point. By his own diligent fingers. 

A wind blows in, pulling your hair to your front and Jungkook pins you against his car. Tits squished against the passenger side, elbows pressed together. Eyes wide, you check your surroundings and find no one in sight. Only swaying trees, buildings of apartments, lamps illuminating the dark street. You relax right away, trusting Jungkook that he’s on the lookout and knows what he’s doing. 

He grinds his hips against your backside and you moan at the feeling of his hard length. With his free hand, he brushes your hair to one side and begins to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck, nuzzling his face in. Hovers his lips above your ear when he says, “You feel how hard you made me with your little show?” You nod, quickly, wanting more of him, wanting him inside of you. Push your hips back; twirl them in slow circles. Jungkook hisses. “I guess you really do want that spanking. Where’s your lollipop?” You show him your hand, where your treat remains uneaten and dry. He takes it from you and you turn your head in time to see him sink it into his mouth, placing it on the side of his mouth like you did. “Get inside the car.” 

Jungkook opens the door for you and forces you in, closing it with a harsh thud. As he rounds the vehicle, he makes eye contact with you and your tummy flips in response. 

Fuck. 

Nothing happens in a millisecond once he’s seated, but then he grabs your cheeks, squishing them in the way he likes, and kisses you hard, lollipop in hand. Moving his mouth against yours, his tongue only briefly greets you before he pulls away. “Naughty fucking girl. You’re lucky that I love you because otherwise…” He doesn’t finish his sentence with words, but with another kiss, breathing against you, grunting when it’s you this time that slips the tongue inside, playing with him the same way you played with the dessert he got you. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me. I’m gonna put you in your fucking place, make you remember how to behave in public. You’ve forgotten, haven't you?” 

You don’t have time to react, you merely bite your lip so hard that it aches. Jungkook pushes you back and yanks your leg between his, lifting your skirt. Then, he hovers his palm above your ass, the other forearm resting on the top of the seat, lollipop dangling near your head. He hides his smirk behind his effort to flatten his lips. 

And when he spanks you, you don’t roll your eyes back and rasp like your body naturally wants you to. No, you hold the eye contact and you take the pain, letting it course through your body, reveling in it. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps going, alternating between slapping your now reddened cheeks and the back of your thigh. Doesn’t even stroke the skin to alleviate the burn. He solely bores his gaze into yours, his cock rock hard against your leg. Another set of words are exchanged, silently, deeply, teaching you your lesson in tandem with the hits, burying it to a great depth inside you. 

And then he finishes with a nasty kiss, but his hand resumes causing you pain. You’ve lost count of how many spanks you’ve taken. 

It’s like you’ve woken up from a trance. It reverberates throughout your entire body and it’s now that you allow your body to vocally react. You whine, rounding your mouth in a pout, so different from the one on the dinner date. And you remember your manners—perceive how wrong it was to tease him, even though a good half of you still takes delight in it. 

“It hurts,” you whisper, nudging your lips against him and he gives you your last spank—the hardest of them all. The infliction makes you flutter your eyes shut and Jungkook brings them back to him by caressing his knuckles down your flushed cheek. 

“Good, you remember how to behave now?” he asks, halting his movement, such piercing intensity in his irises that drive you to nod your head. “That’s my good little girl.” Taps the side of your thigh. “Let Daddy make it better now.” 

You open your legs for him and Jungkook pushes your soaked panties to the side, revealing your little bedewed seashell. He hums at the sight of her, pops the lollipop back inside his mouth. Collects your arousal by swirling the pads of his middle and ring finger around your hole, eyes flicking from your pussy to your own, groaning when he comes into contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles. You whimper, bucking your hips, needing him to go faster, needing to come. 

Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. “You take what I give you or I’ll stop.” Lifts his hand to express the gravity of his threat and you help, wrapping both hands around his and putting it back on your bundle of nerves. He chuckles at your desperation, giving you the same circles, though now firmer. 

Waves the lollipop near your lips. You open your mouth, instinctively, and he plunges it into your mouth for a mere second before he pulls away, growling at the sound that comes out. He does it again, fucking you with it in a way, just to hear that pop and he’s so pleased with it that he sinks those two fingers inside your heat, fully, in one ego. Keeps them there. Teases you. Hovers the lollipop out of your reach and you decide to fuck with him back. Darting out your tongue, you whirl it around the flat side and he swears, moaning, giving to you at last. 

He latches his mouth onto your neck, starting the drill of his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” 

He picks up the speed so rapidly that you scream, squeezing your eyes shut, the pleasure permeating your body so vastly that you quiver all over. Grab a hold of his hair, pulling on it and then—

Then, he withdraws his fingers. Ruins your orgasm. 

You pant, trying to catch your breath. “Please, Jungkook, please—”

He nudges his nose against yours. “What, baby?” 

“I need to come, please.” 

Jungkook tuts, kissing you once. “I thought we could play.” Plunges the lollipop into your mouth to wet it. Shows it to you, just to see you go cross-eyed again. Moans. “Where do you want it, hm?” 

Ever the angel that makes your fantasies come to life. You wrap your fingers around his hand, butterflies swarming in your tummy. Lead him towards your still clothed breasts. “Here.” Take him to your drooling pussy. “And here.” 

Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Descends his fingers a little lower, to your other hole, circles it. “What about here?” 

You giggle, but you shake your head. The idea may be intoxicating, however reality is much different. There’s a risk to putting any sweetened food inside, one you don’t want to deal with. 

Jungkook smiles at you, pushes your seat back and slides it in the same direction. Crawls over you and you feel so feminine, so sexy underneath him. Nipples perked under your top, breasts full and spilling. You arch your back towards him and Jungkook drags his thumb from your bottom lip, to your chin, neck, the dip of your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your Tom and he tugs it down so harshly that you can’t contain your very own concoction of a gasp and moan. 

Lollipop in mouth, one hand propped by your head, the other squeezes your breast hard, nearing it, fingers pinching your nipple. Makes the flesh as red as your ass. You can tell he likes the view by the way he coos, but then he wipes all your thoughts away, when he sucks hard on the candy and swirls it around your stiffened nub, gaze flicked to yours to watch your reaction. 

The pleasure is so vivid, so dizzying—and for him, you let it paint your face in all its colors. Brows scrunched, bedroom eyes, mouth parted, puffing out desperate breaths. Jungkook sucks it again and smears his saliva around your other nipple, taking his time, slapping the ball once against it, making you hiss. 

“It feels so good,” you murmur, sinking your fingers into the longer length on the back of his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. You kiss him with a verve that causes him to groan. You swallow that sound, satisfied. 

He grins at you. “I bet.” 

Dips his head and envelops that sugar-coated nub with his warm lips, sucking it hard. His groan spreads there, deepens there and you arch your back even more, pulling his head to your other nipple so he can do the same thing. Join your other hand to his hair and do whatever you please—turn his head side to side, from one nub to the other—and he lets you, giving you, momentarily, his control. You feel your essence soaking the seat beneath you and you thank the heavens that the fabric is one of leather. You lift his head and try to push it down, but he won’t budge. Stares you down instead, lustfully. 

“Where do you want me?” he asks, a wrinkle between brows. “Be a good girl and tell me.” Pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

You sigh, kissing him once on the side of his neck, using your tongue. Make sure you’re looking at him as you reply, “On my clit.” 

He moans, eyes woozy, finger on the stick as he sucks the candy, clefts of dimples on either side of his cheeks. You palm his length, your own digits rounding across his tight balls and he whisks his irises back, grinding into your hand. “You want a lickie?” 

“Yes, so bad, please.” 

He hums and kneels before you, kissing your clit once in greeting. Then, he flattens his tongue and licks a fat stripe across your whole femininity—from your slit, to your swollenness. Hands on your hips, index curled around the lollipop, he holds you steady, prevents you from meeting him, as he stimulates you like this. Up and down, tongue rolling, eyes fixed on you, devouring you. And when he stops to suck your clit, he taps your mouth once with the ball of the lollipop. The act of sucking on something while you’re getting pleasured like this almost throws you over the edge, your body coated in a layer of sweat, but Jungkook withdraws in time. Presses the delight in the middle and rubs small circles, just to prepare you for the big thing. You become so whiny, so loud that his eyes grow in size, watching you in awe. 

To reward you for such beauty, he rapidly strums it from side to side, causing you to nearly levitate, but he pins you down. Wetting it and placing it back down, grunting at the aftertaste of you mixed with the sweetness. 

And he can’t resist. Can’t hold back. The wrinkle between his brows deepens when he tastes you, licking you all over, tongue stopping occasionally its feast to flick at your clit before he swallows you whole. Grunts, sucks, licks. Eyes closed to savor the taste. The pressure in your core heightens, even more so when he lifts your legs, greedy for the side dish in the form of your other hole. You’re so close that you might burst. 

“You taste so fucking good, baby. So sweet. Come on my tongue, please, I want more of you.” 

He wants more of your taste. 

You come so hard that your orgasm takes you to an open sea, your body floating on calm waves, to and fro, eyes rolled to the sky—to the sunroof—seeing nothing but the elegance of the twinkling stars and deep purple clouds. 

“That’s it, baby, so good. That’s my little girl.” He slaps the side of your thigh, bringing you back to him. “Listening so well, learning her lesson, coming so hard. I’m proud.” 

His words alone could make you come again, but you’re distracted.

Jungkook unbuttons his pants and pulls out his manhood. Stroking himself, he lines his tip at your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open up—you do it yourself. Holding it at the base, he stuffs your throat right away, a guttural chuckle emitting out of his mouth when you gag. He pulls out to where you’re comfortable having him and you begin to bob your head, like you did with the lollipop. 

“Yes, suck it like that, my love. Daddy loves it when you do that.” 

His precum on your tongue, the way he’s holding himself, the position and his words—you moan around him, so out of your mind, so fucked out. And when he fucks your mouth, it turns you on so much that you go cross-eyed. 

Jungkook pulls out quickly, as if the sight of it alone was about to make him come. A string of your saliva from his tip drips onto your chest and he slides into your mouth again just to poke your cheek, just to mimic what you did with the lollipop. You whine, liking it so much, to the point that he drills this tender place of yours until he can’t take it enough. 

“Turn around.” You try to, but your legs are jelly. He manhandles you to the position he wants—on your knees, tits against the leather, arms around the headrest, the formerly abused cheek against it. “Hold onto it. Too bad we left bunny at home, huh?” 

Jungkook runs his cock across your pussy and you grind against it, needing the friction after the way he used you. You whimper for him. “She’s probably wondering where we are right now and why we’re taking so long.” 

“I’ll make it up to her.” He presses his length against your clit, encouraging you to use him back. “Rub your pussy like that on me, fuck.” He moves so it’s his tip that stimulates you. You ride him harder, moaning loudly against the leather. “You can make it up to her, too. Can ride her like I know you can. With a vibrator between your legs and hers, hm? How you like the sound of that?” 

You’re so close you could come in a second, but you don’t want it like this. You need him inside of you. “Shut up, I’m literally gonna come like this. Fuck me.” 

He fists your hair. Pain shoots up your scalp and he ruts into your heat. Fully. Until his pelvis collides with your ass. You scream. 

Lips by your ear. “Is this how you talk to your Daddy?” He begins to pump into your little tight hole. Mercilessly. The leather squeaks, a horrible, rapid sound that you can only faintly hear because all that your senses can focus on is his cock. “Your Daddy that loves you so much?” 

You come, pathetically. Sea and waves, palm trees that sway. Your legs tremble, but he keeps going, mouthing the shape of your ear. 

He tsks. “I’m gonna tell bunny on you. Maybe I’ll be the one who gets to fuck her while you watch.” He gives you a hard stroke, one that is followed by rapid thrusts that scramble your brain. “She’ll be so disappointed to hear how bad you’ve been, but I’ll make sure to tell her how hard I fucked it out of you.” 

Lifting you from the leather, he kneads your breasts, placing the lollipop in between and holding it up by squishing them. 

“Come on, get your lollipop.” He bounces your tits in his hands, signalizing you that he wants you to do it with your mouth. 

But you can’t do it. You come, majestically, your senses leaving you and wafting in the stuffed air of the car. Boneless, you sag in his arms. 

Jungkook coos. “You come so well around me that I’ll be good to you. You’re just a cockslut, aren’t you, baby? You just can’t help it, hm?” He puts the lollipop inside your mouth, chasing his so-needed release. 

It doesn’t take long for him to find the footsteps into that bliss that you left in your wake. He holds you like this, against him, tits spilling over his forearms as he jackhammers into you so hard that your whole body bounces, shakes and reacts to each grunt, to each whimper, to each kiss he presses onto your skin. 

With the little of the brain you have left, you decide to talk him through it—because he fucks you so good. 

“Come for me, Daddy, yes, please, fuck. Fill me up with your cum. I want it so bad, I want to feel you—” His cock twitches in you, but he continues, sloppily. “Yes, so good. That’s it. Come for your little girl, Jungkook.” A loud groan. A tight hold. A spurt of his cum inside your walls. You whimper and he fucks it deeper into you, giving you more of his liquid stars. “Jungkook, oh fuck, Jungkook, oh yes.” 

And it’s that never-ending litany of his name that helps him chase his high to the fullest. He kisses your neck hard in gratitude for helping him come, marking you, marking this memory. 

You stay like this for a little while. Sweaty, sticky, spent, breathing hard—lungs synced. 

A warm announcement sneaks to your heart, one that screams it into the drowsy skies once Jungkook pulls out of you, turns you around and, stealing your candy, kisses you. 

An announcement that you’re deeply and irrevocably in love with him. 

“You sounded just like me.” He finishes your lollipop for you, chewing the small bulby head as he dresses you and his cum spills onto your panties. 

Your smile is dopey, satisfied and you’re ready for sleep to take you, but Jungkook gets out of the car for a smoke. You think you need one, too, after what you’ve experienced together, and so you follow him out into the night on wobbly legs. 

He leans against his car, a cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupping the fire as he flicks his lighter to life. You wait until he puffs out the smoke into the air before you fold into the side of his body, stealing his cigarette and inhaling it, giving it back to him. 

Jungkook pats your head, rubbing your scalp, chin propped on it. “I didn’t mean what I said. You were perfect. I’m not telling shit to bunny, I promise.” 

You smile, fondly. Didn’t take his words seriously, not at all, but you’re grateful for the reassurement regardless. It’s just role-play, nothing else. 

“I know, baby,” you say, softly, massaging his stomach, going as far as under his shirt to feel his bare skin—ever so innocently. 

“I wanted to fuck you the moment you sat down. You’re just my little helper and because of that I’m glad we’re going home with my cum in your panties,” he whispers, placing the cigarette on your lips, so you can take a drag. “You deserve every drop.” 

You feel that familiar ache rooting in your core again, but you don’t think you can take another round. Jungkook lifts your chin, making you look at him. Twinkles, bigger than the ones of the stars up above, living in his soft eyes. That cute nose. Those pouty lips. His silky, dreamy heart that looks out for you and puts you first. 

The three words that you’ve never told him before rise up your body and you think now is the perfect occasion to say them. 

“I love you.” 

Wetness coats his eyes and the twinkles broaden, saturating them with an unfathomable, fulging light. He flicks his cigarette away, presses you closer to him and with his now free hand, he cups your face. Kisses you. For a long, long time. 

“I love you.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[hyukascampfire]

(🏐) SALT & FOAM .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝘁𝘆 , 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇'𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗈𝖻 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

lifeguard태현 ⊹ fem r 8OO smut non idol . . . public sex unprotected sex perv/cocky tyun

⠀ɑ︭ : @luvsicktyun put this in my inbox. that's my taehyun brainrot buddy >.< LIFEGUARD TYUN? yum yum yum. this is literally my first hard thought so i'm still learning the ropes, but hopefully this one works! i keep wanting to write in-scene but idk if that works as well for hard thoughts. oh well! here we go hehe

The sun is no joke, beating down on Taehyun with a vengeance. He might as well just begin melting over his big red seat; something like ice cream down a cone. It’s already hard enough to watch the foamy shorelines for beachgoers—he’s been out there for hours.

But you? You had to go and make his job harder, didn’t you?

You came here with your little squabble of girlfriends, all tan lines and sea salt in your hair. He can’t even see the rest of them past your rosy, sunkissed cheeks and the sanguine air radiating off you.

Well, you see, you are exactly his type. His absolute dream girl, and how fair is it that you’ve decided to come taunt him on the clock? You, and your cruel little tropical bathing suit? He hangs on to the way it clings to your soft edges like a total perv. He watches you sunbathe, tossing and turning to catch more amber rays, shamelessly. He shifts when he catches a glimpse of the sand dusting your ass as you turn over onto your belly. 

Taehyun is a man of boundless confidence. His job was  made just for somebody like him: sitting up on his tower, sun-bronzed arms on display for anybody to watch. And they do watch, and nobody loves the attention more than Taehyun. Let them watch, let them drool. Let them want him and never have him. 

Right now, though, he feels like a loser. Watching you—his shorts getting tighter. Pathetic. So when your girlfriends push themselves up from their beach towels to go god knows where, his brash and brawn wills him to abandon his post. Because only Taehyun would have the confidence to approach walk up to a woman like you and know for a fact that he’s got you.

Three miles down the beach, where he usually would be on watch, Taehyun wouldn’t have dared pulling something like this. That’s where people tend to go anyway; the beach is empty aside from you and your friends down here. But today he was placed here for whatever divine reason, and you just so happened to set your towels up by his post, so he couldn’t care less. He wouldn’t miss a chance like this for anything in the world, his job be damned.

Spewing some curses under his breath, he slips down from his perch and approaches you. Taehyun can’t help the wolffish pull to his mouth at the way the look in your eyes changes when you see him. He knows that look well. Knows that interest sparkling in your pretty eyes, because he knows one thing only: how could anybody not want him? 

Taehyun’s got a smooth mouth. It only takes a few moments for you to be giggling at whatever stupid shit he says, shoving at his shoulders as you twirl your hair. And the moment you start getting touchier, your cheeks glowing, he knows he’s got you.

Maybe it’s public indecency, and maybe anybody that decided to take a walk down this stretch of beach would see you, and maybe he should be making sure nobody drowns or some shit, but Taehyun doesn’t have it in him to care once his mouth is walking a path of smoldering nips down the column of your neck. You, a maneater in your own right, have deconstructed the confident man into somebody stupid enough to not even care.

Just how Taehyun had been fantasizing, he tugs the strings of your top loose with one easy tug, saying something about, “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You just laugh because you do. You sent your friends for drinks for a reason. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, hard as hell up there. “C’mon. You think you’re all that, but I know men like you. Horny losers.” To rub salt in the wound, you add, “In fact, you strike me as a ten pumps kinda guy.”

Well, Taehyun just won’t have that. With a scoff on his lips, he presses you into the sand, his hands all over your toasted skin. You taste like saltwater and smell like some exotic fruit body butter you probably lathered yourself in, and you feel so good wrapped around him that he worries he might actually last ten pumps. But that would be losing, and Taehyun doesn’t lose.

So he bends you clean in half until you’re mush beneath him, palms muffling your sounds and your nails down the warm skin of his back as if that’ll help you. Taehyun loves making pretty girls fall apart, but he especially loves making smart girls dumb. And you, limbs shaking and sand in your tangle of hair when he’s done with you, have become fully dumb. 

“Ten pumps?” Taehyun says, an insufferable slant to his mouth as he fixes your bikini bottoms, pulling them back just to let it go and snap to your skin.

With shaking thighs and not enough breaths to say something snarky, all you can do is glare. Taehyun had fucked your brains out, and you couldn’t even be mad about it. He leaves you as a mess when he returns to his seat as if nothing had ever happened, watching as your friends return and you have to make yourself presentable.

With your taste still in his mouth, lifeguard duty isn’t so bad.

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @filmnings , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[lonely-moons]

♡୭something good | sam winchester x reader, pt. 2

title: something good, pt. 2 (read pt. 1 here)

pairing: stanford!sam winchester x socially anxious!reader

warnings: once again a hell of a lot of overthinking, social anxiety, reader is yet again an (i say this with affection) awkward loser, sam winchester being a sweetheart, more m&ms (when do i get sponsored)

summary: you begin to remember your plans to just go at it alone, but it seems as though sam winchester is hellbent on ruining that

wc: 2,943

masterlist

over the next two days, the weekend, where you have no excuse to run into sam, your inflated sense of joy wears down. you wake up and wonder what's gone wrong, how a couple hours with the guy had managed to chip away your self-promise that you would just make it through college without caring about the social aspect. with choosing not to form any connections, so that it didn't hurt as much when no one would want them with you anyway.

you spend an embarrassing half an hour working this through in your head before getting out of bed on saturday. you know there's nothing wrong with being civil - it's not your aim to be an unwarranted bitch, after all - but growing attached? that's a mistake you've made time and time again. you know better now.

even though you and sam had exchanged numbers, neither of you appear in the other's phone over the weekend. not that you're actively checking. you illuminate the screen for the time, for the date, for the temperature before you head out to grab some dinner. it barely even crosses your mind that your inbox is empty.

and when you get a spam call on sunday afternoon, you most certainly do not almost fall off your bed in your haste to grab it.

when monday rolls around, you're the first to arrive in class. you always are. it's a tactical move that you can never quite give up, something that lessens the anxiety that's ceaselessly churning in your gut. you want first choice of a seat so that you don't end up too close to the front or back, where the students usually get picked on. the middle is your comfort zone, where you can blend in with everyone else. you're typically good at that, after all.

when someone slides into the empty seat beside yours, you don't even look up, assuming it's someone you don't know, given that that's pretty much everyone. only when there comes a light "hey" do you flinch slightly and stop digging around in your backpack.

"8 a.m. classes are just the best, aren't they?" sam rubs slightly at his eyes, and despite the exhaustion in his tone, the words come out through a small smile. not for the classes - for you.

"what?" you ask. it's the only thought in your head right now, and it comes out as majestically as it sounds bouncing around in your brain.

"think these should be illegal." he looks at where your hand is still stuffed elbow-deep into the backpack perched on your knees. "you get lost in there?"

you blink, shaking away your surprise even though most of it manages to stay latched on. "um..." your fingers move around, finally finding what you're looking for, and you extract your arm then unceremoniously dump the bag to the ground. it lands on your foot but you act like it doesn't. thankfully there are no 600-page hardback textbooks in there right now. "just... need a pen." you smile clumsily, waving it between your fingers. "got one."

now it's sam's turn to be taken aback. you're about to wonder why he looks like he's never seen a pen before, but then you realise which one you've taken out: the one designed to look like a syringe. you had found it in a joke store one day after going out for a walk in the local town. you didn't like leaving without buying anything - and you had thought it was pretty cool.

"oh, it's - it's not real," you say, pressing the nib to your arm and clicking the top. "see?" you internally roll your eyes at yourself - no kidding.

he looks amused, the beginning of his dimples starting to peek through. you try not to look at them. "well, if it was, i think i'd have to tell you you're in the wrong class."

the sharpness of your own awkwardness manages to deflate you. you had started off on edge with sam on friday, as you do with everyone, but by the end of the evening had felt comfortable. it's only been three days, yet you seem to be back at square one. you look around, frowning slightly now, thinking that at least it can't get much worse. "i don't know, half the people here look like they'd want to be put out of their misery." you're sure you'd make the top of the list but don't mention that part.

"they'd probably prefer something more effective than a syringe."

you click it again, offering sam a brief glance. "anything can be effective if you've got the spirit."

his eyes switch between you and the pen, that amused sort of light dancing in his eyes. "i don't know if i should be inspired or terrified."

"both?"

his dimples finally tip into full-blown as he agrees, "both."

for some reason it eases your tension, and you continue talking until your professor arrives, which ends up being much sooner than you'd have liked. it's much sooner than you'd like every day, because it now seems to be some kind of unspoken routine that sam comes to sit beside you in classes. there's been nine so far. not that you're counting.

you also aren't counting that you handed in your project four classes ago, which means that there's no obligation forcing him to be here. at least not of the scholarly kind. you can't stop yourself from wondering if he feels bad for you. if he realises you have no friends, and this has turned into some sort of pity thing - god, you really hope it's not a pity thing.

but he doesn't act like it's a chore. doesn't seem to be regretting his decision as he asks you about the newest book you're reading, doesn't mind when you start a silent game of hangman during a boring class after finishing the tic-tac-toe he'd initiated. doesn't mind that you sometimes need to pause in the middle of a sentence because your words are becoming too fast, too thick for your mouth to keep up with.

you try not to read into anything too much, which unsurprisingly doesn't work. it's just like you to get annoyingly caught up in anyone being kind, your usual clinginess always threatening to rear its head.

the next day, you're sitting in class wearing a top that never usually makes it out from the bottom of your closet. it's nice, nicer than something you usually wear while not being too over-the-top for a college morning. and you tell yourself it has nothing to do with seeing sam, that you just want to get your money's worth out of buying this thing on a whim. you certainly aren't wondering if he'll notice, if he'll like it, because it wouldn't make a difference to you either way.

you don't care.

that thought repeats in your brain like a mantra, bouncing around so strong that it keeps turning your head in the direction of the door. it's beginning to get ridiculous, which the antsy tapping of your foot so kindly reminds you of. you grab your notebook from your bag and begin to add to some of your notes, just to have something to do.

when your professor arrives a few minutes later, the seat beside you is still empty. you try not to feel disappointed - sam could be late, or maybe he's sick today. or, you think, when you spot him a few rows away from the front and talking to two guys, maybe that clingy nature of yours has made its appearance after all.

you wish you could say you imagined the sinking feeling in your chest, the wheel turning in your head that reminds you of why you don't usually bother with people in the first place. why you made your promise. you know it's irrational, that sam doesn't owe you anything, and certainly doesn't have to always sit beside you.

that doesn't mean you hadn't hoped he would.

when the class is over, you leave on your own. usually you and sam would linger for a few moments outside, talking until he really does have to rush off for his next class. you usually head back to your place, enjoying the walk through the campus. even before you can plug in your earphones, the chirping of the birds keeps your mind happy as you run over your interactions with sam.

now your earphones come out tangled and a crow squawks obnoxiously loudly in your ear. you huff, then it seems the world really does hate you as you feel a small stone in your shoe. the walk home is more of an angry march, your mouth set into a hard line and jaw clenched. your top's thin fabric makes it so that the wind raises relentless goosebumps on your skin. maybe you'll just go to sleep, ditch your class later and mark today off as not having existed.

you collapse into your bed immediately, not bothering to move the blankets. about five hours are lost after you've woken up some time in the late afternoon. the rest of the day is a bust, with you just half-heartedly getting some work done but mostly watching movies that aren't holding your attention either. you know you're overreacting, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care.

the next day, you don't have a class with sam until the early afternoon. you arrive late - by your standards - to class, after having snoozed your alarm one too many times, which drags your mood down even further. you pulled on the same outfit from yesterday, still piled on the ground, and hoped your deodorant would get you through until you could take a shower tonight. now you settle unhappily into a seat at the back, desperately trying not to watch the back of sam's head. you once again leave right after the class, heading back to your room but only making it twenty minutes before your stomach loudly complains.

you head to the closest place on campus where you know you like the food. it's a relatively busy fast food place, but not many people venture up to the second floor, so you're usually able to find a quiet corner to reside in. but you're here later than you usually would be, which means it's rowdier, and as you make your way to the queue, you decide you'll just bring it back to your place where you can continue the show you had started last night.

"y/n?"

you turn in alarm towards the separated queue that's designated for anyone only ordering coffee. sam is standing there, hands in his pockets, that usual smile on his face even despite the bags under his eyes.

you blink for a moment, wondering if you're still half-asleep. you somehow hadn't noticed him, despite his height, but you had been mostly sighing under your breath and watching your shoes. it's weird, though, how you're suddenly seeing him in here, when it's not a backdrop you're used to seeing behind him. but the light streams through the high windows, hitting his eyes in a certain way that draws your attention. they look expectant, a little amused, and you nearly debate running when you realise you haven't responded yet.

"oh." you shake your head, stumbling a little as some old guy in a hurry jostles past you. "hi sam."

"hey. you getting some lunch?"

you nod, still feeling a little bleary from your lack of sleep last night. "coffee?"

"yeah..." he seems to think for a moment, thoughts whirring about behind his eyes as he pauses. "hey, are you busy?"

"busy?" you ask, like you don't understand the word. "um... no?"

he shifts on his feet. "mind if i join you for lunch? my treat."

now you're really sure you're not following the conversation. this doesn't seem like the request of someone who's trying to shake you. sam easily could've pretended to not have seen you, or at least just said a polite hello. now he's offering to buy you lunch?

"you don't have to -"

"i want to."

you think about your promise to yourself, about just making it through college without giving much thought to friends or socialising. maybe you know that deep down you're being dramatic, or maybe it's the fact that the queue moves so that now it's your turn and you have to make a split-second decision. but you nod.

"okay."

sam's shoulders loosen and he steps over from his own queue to yours as you both go up and order. a few minutes later you're sitting at a booth. on the bottom floor, which you're not too thrilled about, but you did at least manage to get a corner. sam's got a salad, but you're starving, and looking forward to digging into your pizza and fries.

"i didn't see you during class," he says. "is everything okay?"

"oh, just... um... had a paper to finish." you take a bite of the pizza, wincing at how hot it is, but you know you'll just start running your mouth if it's free.

"ah." he nods, like it was the answer he'd been looking for. "i was wondering why you looked so busy in class yesterday. i didn't wanna disturb you."

you stuff another bite of pizza into your mouth, feeling horrible. you had practically spent the last twenty-four hours thinking he was another person who would just throw you away like something discardable. you know you overthink things all the time, but recognising that only seems simple in hindsight. and then whatever negative emotion it generates only dissolves into guilt, which hits you in full-force now.

"you know me," you smile, though it feels all wrong, "just... busy." busy mind, you guess, always managing to come up with ways to destroy you.

"i've noticed." it's lighthearted, which might make you feel worse. "you get it finished?"

"yeah. all done."

"well, good, i'll need you there tomorrow. i had to actually listen today."

your mind only just manages to push that first part aside so that you don't begin making a fool of yourself.

you know he always listens anyway. somehow manages to play the silly paper games with you and still take perfect notes. but you widen your eyes. "oh, the horror. maybe you should be laying down right now."

"should i get my vitals checked? maybe i need a shot - you've got that covered, right?"

the jab at your pen isn't lost on you. "yeah, sure, where do you want it?"

his laugh is abrupt, like it snuck up on him. you like it, you think, knowing that it's genuine. that you get to hear it before he can decide which way he wants it to be heard.

the conversation sinks into that easy flow once again, and only then you feel how much you've missed it. you keep talking until your food is nearly gone, just a few meagre fries left. at one point, sam leaves under the guise of wanting to get a refill. but when he returns, he's holding two small ice creams in little cardboard tubs.

you send him an unimpressed look, which deepens into a scowl as he refuses to accept your money. he was the one who'd decided you should have one, not you, which meant he had to pay. or so he claimed.

"so, no game of thrones t-shirt today?"

you look down, realising you'd never changed out of your slightly-more-fancy top from the day before. it hadn't felt like as big of a deal as it had yesterday, but now you're painfully aware that you're wearing it. how it clings to you in ways your spider-man ones certainly don't.

"laundry day." you shrug, a little too quickly, grabbing your drink. some of it sloshes down over the side of the cup, but thankfully he doesn't seem to notice. or, at least, care.

"huh... well, you look nice. it - looks nice, you know, the, uh... colour. suits you."

you watch him, confused. he looks a little shy as he says it, sinking down in his seat slightly. is he flustered? the stammering is usually your thing; while sam isn't arrogant, he does have a particular air of confidence about him. that seems to have dissolved entirely.

as if hoping to save himself, he reaches across and steals a fry from your plate. before you can pry any deeper into this, your face automatically drops into an expression that might be suitable for someone who'd killed your firstborn child.

"hey, i bought them," he says, snickering, and it seems as though the look on your face eases something back into him.

you hadn't even wanted any more of the cold fries, having been about to move on to your ice cream. but you like the way his eyes crinkle in amusement at your reaction. you grab the ice cream now, swirling the plastic spoon around inside, trying not to outwardly react to the fact that there's m&ms added in - which he obviously knows you like by now. you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the flip of your stomach. "this becoming a thing now? you giving me free food?"

"are you complaining?"

"depends. do i ever get to return the favour?" it's bold for you, something that slips out as a teasing remark before you can really dissect what it means. the kind of thing you probably should've thought out in advance - you have a feeling that the lost time worrying will be made up tonight as you try to sleep. you're not sure if you want to take it back.

sam doesn't react much, but you do notice the quick tick of his lips. "name a time. i'll be there."

never mind. you don't want to take it back at all.

when you get back to your room, you collapse against your bed like earlier. only this time, it's with a sigh of contentment. the thought only hits after a moment, as you're staring at some peeling paint on the ceiling, and it's so swift and striking that you feel as though you've been sucker-punched.

hold on - did you just ask sam winchester out on a date?

and did he say yes?

[dipperscavern]

let's talk about warming cregan's cock 😇👫

like you have so keenly established, mf can not sit still. this is the warden of the north we are referring to. the wolf of the north. he is well experienced in battle, a brilliant swordsman and lord of his house. he's used to abstaining during battle and experiencing dire circumstances over patience. surely he'd be able to let his pretty girl warm his cock?

WRONG 🙅‍♀️ someone, please fetch me a comedically large red buzzer to slam. thank you.

he's so restless. your stoic, burly, reserved, and patient man - reduced to ragged breaths and gritting his teeth because he can't sit still. here sits his pretty girl, batting her lashes at him, "cregan, can i please?" and it starts out well enough.

but you're so warm. so sweet. maybe he should be working on something - battle plans or lordy duties that define his bloodline. cregan's got an active mind, ever analyzing and preparing. he's hyperaware of everything in that moment - the way you slightly move your hips, wriggling in his lap. when he makes a comment about it, you just pout, telling him you were "adjusting." 🙄 yeah girl okay you just wanted to feel the godly girth 3000

the way you softly sigh admist the quiet chamber. maybe you do something as simple as sneeze - but when you do, you clench around cregan. and he's losing his shitttt.

can someone please find the meme of the guy sitting at a desk with his blood vessels about to burst as he's sweating? because that is our lord stark.

he tries breathing through it, for your sake. i imagine you would be the one to propose it, for whatever desire and circumstance brought you to the moment. cregan is trying :(( it's just so hard. like him, TEHE. all he wants to do is flip you over and ravage you. just leave little bites and nicks along his pretty girl's flesh :((

this is torture for him.

- 🔄❄️

reverse. elsa. anon. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? BED EMPTY, NO NOTE, WINTER GONE.

okay but seriously i am so so so sorry you got lost in my inbox. please i beg of you, come back!! the ponderer has returned, and we miss u!! REVERSE ELSA ANON IF U CSN HEAR US PLEASE SAVE US i call out to the winds. if you return, you shall never be lost again. this i swear to you 💔✊

ANYWAYS. CREGAN STARK COCKWARMING. here’s your buzzer m’dear 🚨 when you suggest the idea, cregan is a bit perplexed. you don’t want him to make you cum as many times as you want? but you bat your lashes and ask so sweetly, and you don’t ask for much. plus, cregan is a warrior. a hardened, battle surviving lord — he can stay still for his pretty wife.

or so he thinks.

because once you sink down on him, his grip on your hips is like iron. you’re warm and wet and so inviting, and you don’t want cregan to move? gods have mercy. cregan is usually pretty held together, but his breathing turns all ragged and his gaze is glued to where his [REDACTED] meets your [CONTENT DELETED]. and even worse, you’re relishing in his loss of self control.

even so, he tries to be so good for you.

it gets easier over time, and when cregan feels you relax and sigh against him, he thinks it’s not so bad after all. cregan is in control, and things are okay. until a few minutes later, you sneeze. you clench around him, and he grits his teeth, lax grip on your hips tightening once more as he fights the urge to move.

“This is torture,” he breathes, trying with all his might to stay still for you :( <3

[arting-block]

𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 | Eleventh Doctor x F!Reader

❝is that too much to ask for? to have your husband by your side every night, whispering to you in Gallifreyan to lull you to sleep?❞

summary: being pregnant with a timelord's baby isn't for the weak. you tolerated your husband's overprotectiveness, but building a robot to follow you everywhere was the crossing the line. what started as a scheme to gain some privacy turns into a a reflection of the complicated feelings your pregnancy brings.

pairing: eleventh doctor x f!pregnant!reader

warnings: pregnancy (afab reader), the doctor being very dramatic, mild angst, fluffy ending, suggestive comments/allusions to sex, some plot bc i have no self control, reader loves sleeping

words: 6.6k

a/n: another request sitting in my inbox that i tinkered with. i had a lot of fun with this prompt :) im also physically incapable of writing drabbles bc of course i am. slightly proofread. also if you keep up with siasl i am in the middle of getting 2 chapters out shortly!!!

“What about this one? This seems like a lovely lil’ jumper.”

The Doctor holds up the article of clothing. It’s a bright canary yellow, almost burning your eyes. His face is all giddy, practically shoving the small cloth in your face. 

You sigh, grabbing the small sweater from his hands and putting it back on the rack. The Doctor’s pout would’ve been cute if it was the first time he pulled that off. “You already spent half a thousand pounds on clothing alone. Focus, please! We’re here to buy me new shoes. The swelling’s been killing me.”

You gesture to the empty cart and continue walking deeper into the store. The slides you haphazardly threw on did nothing to support the arches of your soles and you have already outgrown all the other shoes you owned. Your feet are dragging your weight as you try to find the aisle you’re looking for. 

“What if she doesn’t like the clothing we got her?” The Doctor resumes pushing the cart, walking in tandem beside you. “Bought nearly every single color there is, but not yellow. What if she really likes the color yellow?”

Stopping next to a pair of sneakers on display, you inspected them carefully. Once you determined they had the right size and decently squishy insoles, you dropped them to the ground. Kicking off the flimsy blue slides you had on, you tried to shove your feet into the sneakers, using your Doctor as a balance. He lets you grip onto his bicep, even though you’re causing him to sway with your erratic motions. 

Still, the Doctor continues on: “Surely she would like TARDIS blue? Everyone does! Did you know blue is considered a soothing color—especially dark blue? Can’t go wrong with a good blue.”

Your foot managed to slip halfway into the sneaker, but you couldn’t get your heel inside. You gave a harsh tug on the Doctor’s sleeve. “Little help here.”

The Doctor is quick to help you to a small bench, letting you lean into him before setting you down. A satisfied groan left you, happy to finally get the extra weight off your joints. The Doctor kneels down, making sure your sock is still snug on your foot, before securing the sneaker. He even made sure the laces were not too tight. You gave your toes an experimental wiggle, happy to see that they fit you perfectly. 

Your husband doesn’t rise from his sport, still lost in thought about colors and your future daughter’s opinion of them. “I’ve always hated red. Didn’t like the way red things tasted, but I bought those little shoes anyway. Kids are more drawn to saturated colors so there’s a chance she might like red…no matter how unsavory.”

“She’s gonna love whatever we give her,” you say. You prop your leg onto the Doctor, who goes to work untying the laces. “Everyone loves blue, and she would be very grateful that you thought of red shoes even though you hate them.”

The Doctor puts on the slide you discarded back on your feet. There was still that distant look on his eyes, one that you often found whenever he worried about the baby in your stomach. “What about the yellow?”

You brush a rogue strand of brown hair, tucking it away from the Doctor’s eyes. When he looks up at you, you see the worry start to melt away. “I’m sure she would let us know if she likes yellow or not.”

— — —

Before your pregnancy, your worries were few and far between. Okay, maybe not so far between, but the Doctor took extra precautions to adventuring the moment you two got married. Your feet would ache from running alongside the Doctor and the Ponds. At most you would suffer a cut or bruise, bouncing back to full health in no time. In the beginning stages of your pregnancy, you could still outrun the occasional alien or keep up with the Ponds when walking around Leadworth. 

Now that you’re in the third trimester, your main worry is getting out of bed without pulling a muscle. 

The only adventure you’ve been going on lately are trips to Walmart for your oddly specific food cravings. Mostly for the selection of spicy chips and cheap cakes. It was all you would want to eat. You tried pulling the “eating for two” card, but eventually the Doctor had drawn the line at vanilla ice cream and pickles. Though, a few heated kisses bribe him to get them anyway. 

Your pregnancy was considerably smooth-sailing all things considered. Adventuring stopped by fifteen weeks and you stayed either in the TARDIS or at the Ponds’ residence. Alien medicine subsided most of the unsightly side-effects. But because your husband was the Doctor and your hormones were crazier than ever, it meant that arguments were (unfortunately) very common. 

How could the Doctor, the most intelligent, most caring, most accommodating husband in the universe simultaneously be the most irritating person to be around?

Privacy and his incessant need to protect you.

You silently hold a grudge in your heart towards Rory for toppling the first domino. As a nurse, he couldn’t help but track everything about your pregnancy. Vitals, nutrients, cholesterol, sleep, etc. To no one’s surprise, the Doctor encouraged it and often compared each other’s notes about the effects of a Time Lord pregnancy. Nerd shit. Whatever. As long as their testing didn’t coincide with your naps, you could care less. 

Then things escalated. The Doctor was suddenly very aware that you were carrying his baby—a Time Lord baby. You don’t know why it took twenty weeks for the idea to settle, but now you wished it never did. He was rightfully concerned about your baby and you didn’t put up a fight when the Doctor got a little clingier than usual. It’s nice to have the Doctor hover next to you like a shadow, his brows pinched in worry and his eyes filled with enough love to put Cupid to shame. But then there comes a time where the Doctor is needed. So Rory and Amy were left to care for you. No big deal. 

By twenty-one weeks? Surveillance of you became a full blown operation. The Doctor made an executive decision to install cameras and mics in every room in the TARDIS. You nearly ripped him a new one when he suggested putting some in the bathrooms. What started as a meaningful demonstration for his care about you turned into an obsession. Paranoia, even. If the Doctor wasn’t in your immediate vicinity, then he forced one of the Ponds to follow you around at all times. 

They were your best friends—your traveling companions. At least they had the sense to leave the room whenever you needed time alone with your daughter. They would engage in conversation and remained silent and out of the room when it came time for you to sleep. 

You tolerated the Doctor’s overprotectiveness because of the loss of his previous family during the Great Time War and past lovers. You can’t begin to understand the depths of his grief of losing countless people spanning hundreds of years. So you gave a little (a lot) of grace towards your Time Lord husband. How can you resist when he hugs you from behind and gently rubs your stomach with so much love and care? He’s just worried and you would be too if you were in his shoes. But the limit to his protectiveness apparently does not exist. 

There was a point where neither Pond wanted to follow you around the clock every single day. You foolishly hoped that their complaints would put an end to the Doctor’s paranoia before it spiraled out of control. But the Doctor also had to leave to go on supply runs and help random aliens across the galaxy you were residing in. The Ponds needed to go back to Earth for their own sanity which would last either a few days to weeks. 

So what solution did your mad husband come up with? Build a robot to follow you everywhere. 

“Mrs. (L/N), are you certain you want to continue exercising?”

You were huffing a storm, trying to keep an even pace ahead of the walking tin-can your husband built to be his personal snitch. The straw that broke your masked indifference towards the Doctor’s overprotectiveness. The moment J-ROD’s systems were firing sparked the end of any privacy you held onto. Years ago, during a trip to a future human colony, the Doctor came across a pile of scraps. It looked nothing like a humanoid robot. You had thought that the Doctor would simply take its salvageable parts and use it for the TARDIS. Apparently your mad husband was always a step ahead, working on his Justice-Robotics Of Defense in secret. You don’t know when he completed it, but you’re certain you’ve heard J-ROD’s muffled voice late into the night and your husband’s all too eager voice responded back. 

You chalked it up to another project he was tinkering with. Little did you know he was crafting up your worst nightmare. 

“You’re programmed to do as I say,” you snap. Your pace slows and you hear the heavy footsteps of J-ROD come closer, motivating you to keep going. “And right now I want to walk.”

Thankfully, the robot is incredibly slow. Unfortunately, you are eight months pregnant. You had barely reached the five minute mark of your “exercise” and the wind has already knocked out of you. Pure spite is what is keeping you from giving out. 

The day started with a frantic kiss on your cheek and the Doctor’s promises to be back before dinner. The TARDIS has a knack for muddling your sense of time. Dinner can mean a blink of an eye or a stretch of time that feels like days. Coupled with the fact that you’re carrying a Time Lord baby meant that you are terrible at judging when the Doctor would be back. 

J-ROD keeps their distance, not because they’re sympathetic to your sour mood, but because their rusty joints keep them from speeding up faster than a slow walk. Maybe if you grabbed a hammer from your husband’s toolbox, you could cave in their knees and keep them locked in a closet somewhere. A cramp emanates from your side and you stop to catch your breath. You can barely walk for five minutes, there’s no way you can muster enough strength to bash through metal. You hear the clank clank clank of J-ROD’s footsteps. 

It is the fact that the robot would follow you everywhere and stare into your soul that irritated you. It was his blocky metal body with brown crusted joints that creaked noisily to the point it drove you insane. The damn piece of scraps would frequently interrupt your naps with its loud voice to call the Doctor for his hourly reports. It’s programmed to stay at a minimum of a 30 feet radius near you. There was no escaping them.

Your husband promised to fix his creaky joints, the loud voice, and fix his programming to call at a time that accommodates your napping schedule. He was very apologetic and did his best to tinker with J-ROD the moment you brought up complaints. But your husband is also the Doctor and he cannot turn a blind eye to beings in need. 

The only reprieve to J-ROD is when the Doctor or the Ponds were around. You knew it was irrational to get frustrated at a rusty robot whose only purpose is to protect the person it was assigned to. If anything, they were the manifestation of your husband’s worry for you. 

But your grace can only go so far before the irritation wins out. You want peace and quiet. It’s been hours. The Doctor is out saving a ship from being pulled into an unseen black hole. The Ponds were back to their daily routine in Leadworth. You are stuck in the TARDIS, heavily pregnant, and narrowly avoiding tripping over your own feet in hopes that you get away from the walking piece of metal. 

“Your heart rate increased by a factor of 5% since the start of your walk,” J-ROD says. Their polite, robotic voice is activating the kill-switch in your hormone-ridden brain. “I believe it is best for you to stop exercising. The Doctor recommends that you keep exertion to a minimum.”

You stop, only because there’s a sudden cramp in your thigh. Your sudden yelp in pain alerts J-ROD. Their laser scan is warm as it hits all parts of your body. 

“My scans indicate that you’re experiencing minor muscle spasms in your right femoral region,” they state. “Sources indicate a good massage can allevia—”

“NO!” you shout. “No, do not come near me.”

“But—”

“You will do as you’re told!”

“As you wish.”

The pain is pushing you to your limits. If this keeps up you’re going to cry yourself into labor. You can’t break down in front of a robot snitch who will tattle to the Doctor. You do not need records of your crying archived. 

But then a lightbulb lit up in your mind. 

The cramp subsided, but you grasp onto it with a sharp hiss, loud enough for J-ROD to hear. 

“Fuck…I think it just got worse.”

J-ROD’s crusted hands attempt to reach your leg. “Allow me—”

You swat his hands away. “You know what would help me? An ice pack!”

“I do not follow.”

“Run to the kitchen and get me an ice pack for my cramp,” you explain with another loud wince. You double over, trying to put on your best performance. “I’m too pregnant and tired to move. So it shouldn’t be a problem to go to the kitchen real quick and come back?”

J-ROD is quiet, trying to process the request you are giving him. His processor runs through each command, making sure it doesn’t go against what the Doctor programmed him to do. 

“The Doctor has requested that I stay by your side at all times.” 

You roll your eyes. “He also said to do everything in your power to help me. I cannot walk back to the kitchen, but I really, really need that ice pack. Please? It would help me so, so much.”

Puppy-dog eyes wouldn’t work on a robot, but you tried to put on your most convincing pained expression on your face. J-ROD is still hesitant. 

“Please?”

A beat of silence before J-ROD’s creaky head nods. “As you wish.”

You contain your victorious cheer until J-ROD is out of ear shot. The kitchen is far enough that it would take a minimum of three minutes for him to fetch the ice before turning back to you. In order for your plan to work, you would need to act fast. 

You close your eyes, concentrating on one room that you would have complete and utter silence. A room that the Ponds had curated with everything you could need during your pregnancy. A clean room with ambient lighting, a large pillow on the bed to support your belly, and a mini fridge next to the bed. The bed was softer than clouds and the blankets were fluffier than a sheep’s wool. 

A small breeze hits your face. When you open your eyes, the soft yellow door to your private bedroom appears in front of you. 

Your smile lights up your entire face. “You’re the best time-spacecraft anyone could ask for.”

The TARDIS clicks open the door in appreciation. 

“Oh! Could you keep me as far away from the robot as possible?” You pause for a moment before adding, “And the Doctor as well?”

The lights in the room flicker twice. A resounding yes. 

— — —

“Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”

“I went to get ice for her leg, but when I returned, she was no longer there.”

The hologram of the Doctor flickers as he runs through his hair in frustration. He had just saved a ship filled with thousands of people from getting spaghettified by a blackhole and not one moment later he gets news that his wife is “missing”. The Doctor doesn’t jump to conclusions just yet. He knows how much you hated J-ROD following you around. He really does take your criticism to his hearts—truly, he does—but he’s been so busy lately. Your pregnancy sparked a tsunami of anxiety he’s never felt before. He distracts himself with other things to keep his mind off of the fact that he’s going to be a father, again. 

He knows you’ve been a bit…antsy these past few days. Your fuse has been rather short and he tries his absolute hardest to appease your every whim. 

Okay maybe not every whim. He was firm in his stance with keeping J-ROD at your side at all times when he’s not there. Not even a strenuous night in bed would budge him (it took every ounce of willpower to stay firm in his decision). 

But the Doctor foolishly underestimated his own wife’s cunning. If you had your mind set on something, there was no law of physics that could keep you from accomplishing your goals. You weren’t really gone, just hiding from the robot.

Once he’s back in the TARDIS, you would come out and have a nice long chat about safety. 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Have you checked our bedroom? Bathroom? Closets? She has a track record of burrowing under the clothes like a cat.” 

“I’ve checked fifty separate bedrooms and bathrooms, the nursery, and the library.”

A frustrated sigh left his lips. 

The main lobby of the ship is lively with various beings, celebrating their survival. The Doctor, however, tucked away in his own corner of the room, overthinking himself to paranoia. You were fine, you had to be. You’re his beautiful, tough, resilient wife. There’s no way you can get lost in the TARDIS. 

But you were pregnant and out of sight from your automated caregiver. 

The Doctor is blunt with his good-byes, shouting at people to “get a move on!”. He pushes through the crowds of people bunched up in narrow hallways. The large cruise spaceship is bustling with vigor at the Doctor’s success. People rush to meet him, to give their thanks, but the Doctor has one thought on his mind. 

He practically sprints towards the TARDIS which he parked near the kitchen. Chefs and waiters jump out of his way, their food trays nearly spilling over the floor. 

“Sorry! Wife emergency!” he calls as he jumps over a trolley of food. 

The staff exchanges concerned glances as the Doctor forcefully slams into the pantry. The TARDIS slots perfectly inside, imposing and glorious in the low light. Some lingering staff peer into the pantry in curiosity. 

“Are you going to leave before the big feast?” one of the waiters asks. His large, bug-like eyes take in the blue space-timecraft.

The Doctor fumbles with this key and manages to get it into the lock. “I’ve got something much more important to worry about, but I’ll come back for dessert!” He slips in the TARDIS and slams the door shut. A half second later he swings the door open again. “Keep a baked alaska for me, would you? Love a fire on a dessert. Well my wife does. Remind me to come back for it.”

With a final slam of the door and click of a lock, the staff slowly inch away from the mysterious blue box. They didn’t get a chance to tell him that they have no idea what the Doctor meant by a “baked alaska”. 

A chef with a fish-like head leans over to his co-worker. “How are we gonna tell him the food’s ready though?”

“I don’t get paid enough to know,” the co-worker replies.

— — —

You nearly forgot how quiet the TARDIS can be without J-ROD or the Ponds constantly nagging you 24/7. 

After a lengthy shower you slipped into the comfiest pajamas. The temperature of the room was set, the lighting was subdued, and the comforter felt like pure nirvana. The pregnancy pillow that Amy bought fit snugly against your tired body. Your head was buzzing with dopamine, excited for a perfect sleep. 

No J-ROD to come to annoy you. Just peace and quiet. 

You get comfortable in the bed, hugging tightly to your pillow and closing your eyes. But there’s one thing missing from your perfect sleep. 

Your husband. 

He’s been gone an awful lot lately. It worries you how much time he spends doing quests across the universe and leaves little time to be with you. Of course you knew that saving people’s lives comes before everything else, but it still stings. The beginning of your pregnancy was wonderfully domestic. The Doctor was extremely caring, doting on you with so much love and attention that you were overconfident that your pregnancy would be the easiest in the universe. 

You noticed his demeanor changed when your bump started to show. His love for you never dulled if your sex life was anything to go by. He wasn’t angry or upset or disgusted by you. It was the fear that changed. The closer you approached your due date, the more protective he became. He’s lost so many. You know bits and pieces of his previous lives and the families he’s accumulated over his very long life. You were not his first wife, his first love, and your child was not his first daughter. 

You are his one true love. He whispers that title into your skin when he makes love with you. The Doctor said it when he first asked you to be his. The Doctor declares it loudly at your wedding. You feel it in the way he stares at you like you are the reason he even breathes at all. 

His tears dripped onto your first sonogram as he laughed with all the joy a father could have. His hands are warm against the growing bump in your belly. He doesn’t regret marrying you or having a child with you. At least, you hoped he didn't.

Behind that joy, you can see the what ifs intrusively pop into his mind. It’s scary to confront the idea that you are only human and that means you are always going to be vulnerable. He’s lost too many, all because they are near him. What does that mean for the closest person in his orbit?

Maybe you were too harsh to the clunky robot. But you wished that the Doctor himself would come to nag you instead of having a stupid robot to do it for him. Is that too much to ask for? To have your husband by your side every night, whispering to you in Gallifreyan to lull you to sleep?

You’re too tired to cry, but your heart feels heavy in your chest. You just wished that the Doctor would stop worrying and enjoy this pregnancy with you. 

It doesn’t take long for your eyelids to droop and the thoughts in your mind to fade. The TARDIS dimmed the lights the moment your heart rate slowed to a steady rhythm. 

— — —

The first thirty minutes of searching didn’t go according to plan.

Checking the cameras for your last known location and wrangling the TARDIS to reveal your room should’ve been the easiest task the Doctor had to perform. Just a couple of clicks, no big deal. 

What the Doctor didn’t anticipate was for the TARDIS to completely override his commands and show him a blank wall of text instead of the camera feeds.

SHE IS SLEEPING.

The Doctor could not believe his eyes. Does the TARDIS sometimes take him to wrong places or stubbornly not work? Yes, but never had she outright communicated that she’s actively defying him. 

“Well could you at least be so courteous and tell me where my beautiful wife is resting in?” the Doctor asks hopefully. “I would really, really appreciate it if you could ease my worry. C’mon Sexy, just for me?”

The text deletes itself before a new phrase appears. 

SHE WILL COME OUT WHEN NOT SLEEPING.

It’s times like these where the Doctor is aware that the TARDIS favors you over him. And she doesn’t make it subtle either. 

No matter, the Doctor is a master at figuring out a solution. It’s his bread and butter. Or fishsticks and custard. 

An hour passes and no sign of you. 

Does he panic? His two hearts are pounding and his clothes feel a lot damper than earlier. But that’s because he’s running around hallways, devising a plan to override the TARDIS’s control over the cameras. He never panics. Never. 

Hour three in for your search, the Doctor managed to land the TARDIS on top of Brian William’s lavender bush. He stumbles out into the yard with a jumble of wires in his fist and suspenders loose on his shoulders.

“Rory! Amy!” the Doctor calls as he barges into the house. 

He walks past a startled Rory, wearing a robe and a cuppa in his hand. The tea sloshes dangerously outside the rim of the cup with how fast the Doctor breezed by him. 

“Doctor? What are you doing here?”

Rory’s words reached deaf ears. The Doctor pulls the cushion seat from the couch, inspecting the inside and tossing the cushion over his shoulder. He walks to the mudroom to open the coat closet, splitting the racks of outerwear apart. “Amelia Pond! Where are you and your husband?”

“Doctor—”

“Not now Rory, I'm busy!” the Doctor interrupts while running up the stairs. 

“Doctor, I'm right here!” Rory calls. “Doctor!”

The Doctor rushes back downstairs and finally looks at Rory. The smile on his face is infectious. “Well why didn’t you say it before?” He walks down and gives Rory a big hug. It’s a miracle that the tea in Rory’s hand is not all over the floor. “Where's the missus? I have a very, very important mission.”

“Important enough to break into my dad’s house and squash his garden?”

The Doctor’s face turns serious. ”End of the world, galaxies imploding, world ending mission.”

Rory wiggles himself out of the Doctor’s surprisingly strong grip. He’s spent enough time around the Doctor to know when his sense of urgency and the dread in his voice are just hyperbole. “You said the same thing twice.”

“It means it’s twice as important to say.” The Doctor opens the cabinets and takes a porcelain mug into his arms. “(Y/N) is missing.”

That makes Rory’s thoughts screech to a halt. “W-What? Missing? As in ‘kidnapped’ missing?” 

The Doctor’s face looks grave, believable enough to have Rory’s stomach drop to the pits of Hell. “Missing as in the TARDIS won’t tell me which room she’s sleeping in.”

All at once Rory’s sympathies fly out of the open yard door. 

“When you said that galaxies might implode, I thought that there’s a Death Star the size of Andromeda that’s pointed at us. Not that (Y/N) got sick of you and quarantined herself.” Rory drops down on the kitchen table, finally getting a sip of his perfect tea. 

“First of all, she’s not sick of me,” the Doctor grumbles.

The Doctor yanks a follicle of Rory’s hair, to which the man jumped in pain. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“I’m the Doctor, she can never get sick. What a preposterous notion. I thought you got through medical school.” The Doctor grabs a slab of machinery from his pocket and puts the piece of hair into it. “And secondly, it is world-ending and galaxy-imploding because without her by my side, my entire universe is at stake! How am I going to be in tip-top shape to save galaxies if she’s not next to me? Think, Rory!”

Rory rolls his eyes, not wanting to give the Doctor more attention and potentially fuel his delusions. It’s nice to know that all these years, the Doctor is still in love and protective over you. However it gets to a point where the Doctor’s eccentric personality can get a bit…much. 

“Oh! Doctor is that you?” Amy asks, walking through the kitchen with her father-in-law in tow. 

Brian’s face lights up at the Doctor. “Ah, my favorite man!”

The Doctor jumps up from his chair with his hands held high. “More people for the cause!”

“I thought I was your favorite man?” Rory questions his father. 

“You’re my favorite son,” Brian corrects with a wink. 

The Doctor rounds the table and gives Amy and Brian each a rib squeezing hug. Amy returns with equal enthusiasm and a peck on a cheek. Brian pats the Doctor’s back with a smile before looking out to where the TARDIS is parked. 

Instantly Brian’s mood sours. “My lavenders! Oh, my poor sweet things.” 

“Lavenders? Really?” the Doctor asks, tossing his gadget at the table. “My wife is missing and all you can think about is squashed…purple…foliage? I think some hydrangeas will be far more fitting for your landscape. Squashing those? Now that would be a tragedy.”

“Wait, (Y/N) is missing?” Amy asks with a mouth full of a muffin. 

“Don’t,” Rory warns. “He’s being dramatic again. The TARDIS is just hiding her away from her mad husband.”

“Don’t listen to him Amy!” The Doctor zips through the kitchen, rummaging through every cabinet and drawer he can get his hands on. “This is a matter of life or death. Well, equivalent to death since it would be very hard to kill me. But it doesn’t mean the pain won’t hurt!”

Brian, Rory, and Amy watch as the Doctor takes miscellaneous parts from their kitchen and connects them to his lump of metal and circuits. Scraps of plastic jut out from the side, a few red and blue wires are exposed, and a shoelace from one of Rory’s shoes is dangling out of it. Rory thought better than to try to retrieve it; silently saying goodbye to his favorite blue shoelace with gold aglets. 

I’ll bully (Y/N) into buying me a new one, Rory vows. 

Amy flicks one of the exposed wires. “What exactly is this supposed to do?”

“Something to override a very smart and very stubborn machine,” the Doctor says, as if it was obvious. “Whenever I try to access my security feeds, the TARDIS scans my DNA and knows that I’m trying to locate (Y/N). The cameras are only accessed by me through the same recognition software. By taking a specimen from Rory, I would trick the recognition software and the TARDIS into revealing (Y/N)! Perfect. Spectacular. Genius, if you will.”

The Doctor presents his gadget with a smug grin and his head held high, like a primary school student showing off their baking soda volcano for their science fair. 

Amy takes one look at the misshapen heap of junk and asks: “Couldn’t you have just asked me or Rory to ask the TARDIS to reveal her location? We won’t need the cameras if we can ask the TARDIS directly.”

The smile on the Doctor’s face is wiped clean off. He mulls over Amy’s question in his head, not wanting to give her the satisfaction that—technically, hypothetically speaking—it could work. But his few seconds of silence and the look on his face told Amy all she needed to know. 

“My way is guaranteed not to fail,” the Doctor insists, snatching his gadget and going towards the TARDIS. 

Amy and Rory share a crisp high-five for her victory. 

— — —

You slept like a content rock for hours. Barely shifting in the bed with how exhausted you were. You would’ve kept drooling on your pillow if it wasn’t for the fact that the TARDIS decided to turn on the lights unexpectedly. 

“Fuck!” you groan, rubbing your eyes. It’s a little difficult to pull your body upright, but after a few tries (and grabbing onto the headboard), you hauled yourself up. “Please tell me you had a good reason to interrupt my sleep.”

Then you hear it.

The yelling. Things moving around. Shoes clacking loudly against the floors. The unmistakable voice of your husband barking orders and Amy’s shrill words directed back at him. 

The door to the room swings open with a disheveled Doctor entering in. His brown hair is flying every which way around his head. His cherry-red bowtie is askew, likely from fidgeting with it from worry. His face is flushed at the cheeks and tips of his ears—a telltale sign that he’s been running. 

When he sees your woken up and disheveled appearance, you see his face light up like a Christmas tree. 

“(Y/N)!” The way he calls your name like he’s coming home from war makes your heart pound in your chest. He gently presses you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “I miss your skin. Have I ever mentioned your hormones make your skin feel amazing, I mean—”

“Doctor,” Amy warns, pointing a finger at him. The last thing she needs to see (or hear) is the two of you getting too lovey-dovey in front of her. 

“I’m here, I’m here, love.” You return his sudden affection, kissing the side of his neck and sighing. “What’s gotten into you?”

Amy and Rory drag themselves into the room looking like they’re one step away from passing out. Amy leans against the doorway, smiling at the two of you and Rory looks relieved for the shouting to be over. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Amy groans. “Over six hours of scrambling around the TARDIS and having the Doctor yell at us.” 

“‘End of the world’ my ass,” Rory whispers under his breath. 

“Language!” the Doctor says, pulling himself away from you. “It’s true. The world was ending—or rather my world is ending. Which still counts since my world and the world overlap, but that’s neither here nor there. Point is…”

The Doctor hesitates. Yes, he knows he was being extremely dramatic and unnecessarily fretting over you, but he can’t help but care so deeply for you. 

Amy nudged Rory, nodding towards the door. “We’ll take this as our queue to leave.”

“And to rest,” Rory says as he stretches. 

Amy tugs her husband by the collar, giving you a small wink as she leaves. 

The Doctor looked like a sad, kicked puppy. His hair is still wild and his posture is hunched as if he’s carrying a heavy burden. His hand cups the swell of your belly, his thumb affectionately along the rounded surface. Your fingers glide through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you tame his erratic follicles. 

When was the last time you got to touch him like you had all the time in the world? He’s always been a ball of energy, going every which way across the universe. You could never keep up with his movements, with pregnancy only slowing you down. Time spent together felt intense, irritating, or simply too emotional. 

You clear your throat, pulling his attention towards you. “I was really upset earlier. I mean really upset. I didn’t like how you would worry so much that I was starting to think that you were having second thoughts.”

“About?” 

“Fatherhood.” You feel the sting of tears in your eyes, but your resolve to get this off your chest won over. “You installed more cameras, you made the Ponds take turns to watch me, you built a clunky robot to annoy me everywhere…you were out there trying to save people but I felt so lonely here. I can’t enjoy my pregnancy if you’re not here with me.”

All at once, the Doctor wanted to grovel on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. You were right, his overprotectiveness was going too far. He knew on some level that he shouldn’t tell his pregnant wife what was good for her. He may be the Doctor, but he cannot control your feelings. 

The hand that was cupped around your belly moves up to your cheek. The Doctor looked at you like you were the most cherished thing in the entire universe. Full of warmth and love that showed he truly meant to have your best interest at heart. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he admits quietly. Rarely does he ever say outright that he’s wrong, but he will push aside his stubbornness for those he loves. “You’d think that after nearly a millennium of time you are prepared for anything. I used to be a father once, long ago, so this shouldn’t scare me. But it did—still does if I’m honest. But there’s one thing I will never, ever regret.”

“Which is?” you hum. 

“Two things actually,” he corrects. “One was asking you to spend the rest of your life with me—”

You snort. “More like begging me to marry you.”

“As I was saying—” The Doctor pokes your side, causing you to squirm and laugh in his ear. “—the second was building this family with you. I was protective of you and our baby girl because you two are the most important things in this universe. Above jammy dodgers and those little rubber ducks that come in all those fun colors.”

“Those two things cannot be your second choices of ‘important things in the universe’.”

The Doctor shifts closer to you, bumping his long nose against yours. “If it were up to me, you would take all the slots in that ranking.”

You lean closer until your lips tickle over his. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

When he finally closes the small gap between you, the last thing on your mind was another nap. 

— — —

The TV in the entertainment room of the TARDIS glowed brightly in the dim room. Amy is tucked under Rory’s arm, stealing handfuls of buttery popcorn as they watch another superhero movie. Amy’s choice, of course, since she was the one who was able to override the TARDIS’s control over the cameras. Rory wasn’t too picky with films as long as there was good enough dialogue. 

“You can put down the umbrella,” the magician says through the screen.

The blonde hero, and lead character of the movie, wearily sets down said umbrella. A wind blasts his face before he is teleported to a different part of the magician’s home. 

Rory points to the magician, who is doing a location spell. “He could’ve saved us six hours of our lives and found (Y/N).”

“Just be glad the TARDIS didn’t spit us back out in space.” Amy sets the empty popcorn bucket down, never taking her eyes off of the screen. 

“I’ve been falling…for thirty minutes!” the deuteragonist yells in anger. 

Rory shrugs. “He deserved it.”

“Totally.”

Just as the main villain of the movie was getting revealed, the door to the entertainment room swung open. Bright light from the hallways spilled into the room, causing Rory and Amy to shield themselves like vampires getting scorched by sunlight.  

“What is it this time?” Amy growls, ready to throw a dense pillow to whoever interrupted her movie. She had to smuggle it from the future for crying out loud!

The Doctor pants from the doorframe. His appearance was more ruffled than they had last seen him, with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and his belt hanging loose on his hips. A few rosy bite marks are visible along his jaw and Amy fights the juvenile urge to gag loudly. 

“Can’t you put some clothes on?” Rory asks, turning away from the Doctor. 

Usually, the Doctor would respond with a snarky quip about how he already has clothes on, but no such quip leaves his lips. 

It takes a second for the Doctor to move his mouth to communicate his shock. When it does, it nearly leaves the Ponds speechless. 

“Her water broke.”

PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, AND REBLOG <3

taglist:

@penumbra-the-unicorn @diligently-metastasizing

[criblovr]

｡‧˚ʚ caregiving for dummies ɞ˚‧｡⋆ - the series

In a world where classifications exist— regressors, caregivers, flips, and neutrals— Agatha has been classified for years, decades. Shocking news for her friends, she was classified as a caregiver. Too bad every little she’s met has run for the hills.

Episode one: The decision

tags: classification au, caregiver agatha, gender neutral reader, cg!agatha harkness x little!reader, social worker lilia

notes: here’s the first episode! i’m so excited to start my very first series on here and hope you guys are too :3 i’ve gotten so much support for this idea and feel so loved! have fun reading, then come to my inbox and tell me ur thoughts :p

It was warm today. The first time in months that Agatha didn’t feel the need to put on a coat. It was still chilly, a little breeze that made you shiver so often, but the sun was out and warmed you right up, after.

Agatha always liked taking a morning walk, she felt so much more awake after.

Today was no different. She threw on an outfit and left for her walk. Sometimes, she’d bring Señor Scratchy in his stroller to accompany her. But her bunny thumped and ran from her, telling her, bluntly, that he wasn’t up for a walk today.

She walked slow, sipping a cup of tea. The warmth of the tea filled her tummy and comforted her. From a distance, she could hear a family laughing together. Shut up.

It was too early for that much noise. They’ll wake the entire neighborhood soon enough. Urgh.

Agatha was such an asshole.

She actually really adored those neighbors kids. Even if they screamed each time Agatha tried to make them smile. Their caretakers would awkwardly smile and speed away. Some neighbors were nicer about it, trying to make a lame excuse why their little yelled ‘witch!’ straight to her face.

Agatha was classified at 22 years old. 28 years ago. She waited until she was nearly 40 to register as CWOA (Caregiver with open arms.) It was a worldwide organization. Of course it had different names for different countries but it was nearly all the same. Once classified as a caregiver, you had a choice to register right then and there or— register when you were ready. Same went for flips and littles.

When Agatha registered, she was full of excitement. Her agent gave her all the paperwork she needed once her home was ‘open’ for potential littles. They sent her pamphlets, magazines, books, and a small gift basket when she was done. All of it preached how wonderful caregiving was, how your life feels complete once you have your little.

Ten years later… her house is empty.

Agatha was optimistic at first. Everyone told her that the first year was just waiting, then the next year— when she got her first call of a potential match— her dreams were crushed.

A little girl, tiny age: 5. Big age: 21.

She approached the little girl slowly, smiling hard. Then… “WITCH! MISS!” The girl called out to her social worker and ran behind her. Her throat felt like it was closing up on her. She wasn’t going to cry, but she wanted to.

After that incident, she rarely got any calls from her agent. They must’ve flagged her status. Potentially ill fit caregiver.

She had a few meetings after that, all went horribly. They were terrified of her. She considered just dropping out. She was just scaring these children anyway. She felt like an odd one out. (Which is true.)

A good amount of West View saw Agatha Harkness as a baby eater, an evil witch, and an outcast. Her town didn’t like her. She embraced it most times, walked through the streets with confidence. And she had a few friends at least.

Wanda.

Which…

She wasn’t a person she’d usually spend time with. Wanda was very upbeat, always giggling. She’s surprised she was classified as a caregiver than a little. But she couldn’t deny that Wanda was a good friend. She goes out to town with her, gives her advice, and respects her. Like Agatha, Wanda, too, has a reputation.

A lot of the townspeople think of Wanda as a lunatic. Mostly because Wanda is a over-paranoid caregiver when it comes to her little. She’s insanely protective, as Agatha would be too.

xxxx

You nearly trip when you attempt to put your shoes on. You were late, as always. Your alarm hadn’t rang at the time it was supposed and now you’re 15 minutes late to your meeting with your social worker. You weren’t even sleeping, you were lying on your couch scrolling through the movie section for an hour straight.

You had been classified last year and hadn’t registered to CWOA. You hadn’t felt like it was the time. (Or if it was ever the time.) Your teachers had always scolded you for being so reckless. So irresponsible.

They made you feel like it was impossible for anyone to tolerate you.

Then you get classified as a little. It made sense, you didn’t hate yourself for it. It was inconvenient sometimes but you handled it the best you could.

As a classified little with no caregiver, you were required to meet with your social worker every month. Sorta like a wellness check. It went well most times, just standard questions.

Have you been eating minimum of three meals a day?

Have you found yourself in a potential dangerous situation while regressed?

Have you kept up with cleaning, laundry, and hygiene?

They want to make sure you are okay with taking care of yourself. The meeting lasts an hour maximum.

With no time to spare, you leave out the door in a rush, catching the bus just on time.

The commute there was about 15 minutes or so. It gave you time to catch your breath and relax. This meeting in particular was going to be different. The month prior your social worker had suggested registering you to CWOA.

It was completely out of the blue. Every meeting with Miss Lilia went quick and right to the point. You hadn’t expected something different from her usual routine.

As the bus moved, you cracked your knuckles, nervously. You didn’t even the thought of it.

It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t particularly fun either.

Once you’re registered with the organization, you’re made a portfolio. All your personal details are put onto several different papers for random caregivers to see.

Of course you only shared what you wanted to share. But still— scary.

Littles get called into the office of the organization to meet different caregivers, sometimes they get to play in the playroom as they wait. Which does sound fun.. you couldn’t lie about that. Still, It felt very weird. It was too exposed for your likely.

But. You trusted your social worker. She was caring and understanding, she didn’t make her meetings unnecessarily awkward or boring. Sometimes, she’d bring along her kitty with her and let you play with her as you both talked.

After getting off the bus, you walked a short distance to the office. There were several of these offices around the state— the entire country. This one was the closest to your home, hence being assigned Miss Lilia when you were classified.

“Hi, sweetheart. You have Lilia at 3?” The front desk lady asked.

You nodded, peeking above her desk.

“Are you looking for some candy?”

“Mmh… yes?”

The lady laughs, sweetly. “We’re all out but I promise we’ll have plenty next month, ‘kay?”

Just as you were going to whine, Miss Lilia peeks her head from the hallway.

“You know whining won’t magically give you candy.”

You turn to her, your ears turning warm. Without speaking, Lilia turns back and starts walking to her office, you following behind.

Once in her office, she sits down behind her desk. The absence of her kitty makes you frown momentarily, then Lilia speaks.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t get a hello?”

Lilia smirks, “Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”

“I feel.. nervous. And I didn’t get to watch a movie before I left, so upset too.”

Lilia hums, acknowledging you as she logs into her computer.

“I’ve given you plenty of movie recommendations.”

“Yeah, but you know I’m super picky when it comes to finding the prefect movie for the prefect time.”

Lilia playfully scoffs and continues to type on her computer. She’s finding your file, based on her focused look on her face. Once she does find it, she looks at you, fully engaged now.

“We’ll go over the usual questions then we can talk about CWOA, or would you like to talk about that first?”

You fidget with your fingers, wanting to whine again but knowing Lilia wouldn’t appreciate that. She does not tolerate whining in her office.

“I’d like to go over the questions first, please.”

The questions went smoothly, your answers not changing from the last time you were here.

“I’ve been skipping dinner…”

“I felt small when I got lost in a parking lot last week.”

“I sleep good! I did fall asleep at 12 last night.. but I was finishing The Little Mermaid.”

Lilia sighed, her hand resting against her forehead. You weren’t clueless, you knew you hadn’t been taking care of yourself the best as you use to. You knew your answers were definitely a call for concern. You just really needed to start picking up your slack. That’s all.

“Honey, what’s happening? You’ve done so well at taking care of yourself. CWOA are going to be banging at my door by tonight.”

You melted into your chair, sighing louder than Lilia. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. Don’t apologize. This is normal, okay? So—what’s changed?”

You look down at the chair you’re sitting in. Its cheap leather is peeling, you pick at it. “I’ve been feeling… lonely.”

“In what way?”

“Um… I don’t know. Lately, when I feel small, I’ve been getting a little emotional… a little smaller than usual.”

Lilia looks to her computer, clicking a few buttons before finding the specific folder. “You’ve been regressing to.. 1-3? By yourself?” Lilia’s face is full of concern.

“Yeah..”

“I believe CWOA is the direction we should take, hon.”

“I don’t feel like doing paperwork today,” you groan.

“It’s just a few signatures and answering a few questions,” Lilia says, looking at you with a no nonsense attitude. “Do you remember the procedures related to it?”

You sigh again, what feels like the millionth time today, “yes.”

After almost two hours, you have a shiny portfolio, a few stickers, and a pamphlet.

Littles don’t usually leave the office with more than that. The more important stuff is dealt with for you by your social worker.

Instead of hoping on the bus again, you decide to walk home. It feels warm outside for the first time in a while. You let yourself drift off to the thought of possibly having a mama.

Your stomach does a flip. A nervous, excited one.

[xuchiya]

Hello! Firstly, thank you so much for sharing your beautiful writings with us online 💕

I saw your post about your inbox being empty and I was wondering if you could write Jongho angst/fluff about his new relationship with reader who likes skinship, so like he gets shy and conflicted at first, maybe even insecure about not being good bf or angry about having to do skinship but then they both work things out and it has good ending? 🥺

I'm in desperate need of Jongho scenarios, maybe you'll bless me and other ribos with one 🙏

If not, it's okay too! Have a good day/night :D

Hello my loves, thank you so much, I'm quite rusty since i have stop writing for many years and this year was the only time I returned writing!! I am happy to always share my works with you ... and feed your delulus heheh 👹kidding my loves. Anyways, your wish is my command my loves.

"I'll hold your hand, eventually" || choi jongho || one-shot

|genre: non!idol jongho. fluff. angst. girlfriend! reader |mentions: fear. self-doubt.

When you first meet Jongho, you notice the way he is conservative. At first you thought he was shy—which you were correct as it took him a lot of time to adjust. You were patient enough to let him bask in the presence and the reality of being in a committed relationship. Meanwhile, inside his head numerous anxious thoughts hit him at once; being in the relationship, skinship does happen in some kind of way. Either it be a choice of savoring in the closeness or sweetness of your partner or by accident closure, either way it happens and he is not prepared for it. 

The air between you and Jongho had grown thick with an awkward tension that neither of you seemed to know how to cut. You put your lips in a thin line as you glance his way before directing it somewhere.

 It wasn’t always this way. 

When your relationship had first begun, everything had felt easy, light, like walking on a cloud. He is gentle with his words assuring you, making his presence a sense of comfort whenever you walk outside to take a breather— to which you both have loved to do ever since.

But now, four months in, a certain weight hung in the space you shared.

It had started with the little small things. One morning, you and Jongho decided to eat breakfast outside since the weather is nice; weather is warm to your skin, the sky greets you with its fluffy clouds and it feels like a good day. Unknowingly under the influence of the beauty of nature, you reach for his hand, a moment you wanted to share with him but it all shattered when Jongho smoothly pulls away from your hold. He thought that you wouldn’t notice when he started pointing things in general to distract you.

You felt it and it left you awkward and embarrassed as you thought you were going way too fast and nodded at his facts and such.

But what you didn’t know is the way he stiffened when you leaned into him on the couch during movie nights. Your favorite routine with him was to watch various shows and anime movies. Howl’s moving castle was your favorite of all time and it always leaves you with a fluttering heart.

“Howl is so sweet, he reminds me a lot of you.” You spoke with a huge smile on your lips as you gaze at the man beside you. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“He looks more like Wooyoung-hyung.” Your lips jutted to the side and nodded, agreeing with him “Yeah well he acts more like you.” 

You watch how he subtly rolled his eyes at you, jokingly to which you threw the small pillow you were hugging at him. He kept teasing you until you narrowed your eyes and moved towards him. The sudden short distance made Jongho’s eyes widen as he subtly moved backwards.

“You still are my Howl.” Even the joke had died and the awkwardness born in the middle of your playful bickering; It made you move away as you mumbled a small apology and kept your eyes on the screen.

That moment hurt you as you notice in the corner of your eyes the way he moved in his seat to make himself comfortable and placed a pillow just between you two. It was embarrassing and painful as your eyes blurred for a minute until you pushed it down and distract yourself, unsuccessfully, on the movie.

The last one was the final straw. He never reciprocated your hugs.

You tried not to let it bother you, knowing that Jongho wasn’t as naturally inclined toward skinship as you were. But the more it happened, the more the doubt crept in. Did he not like touching you? Did it mean something deeper about your relationship? 

You knew how shallow your reason is for distancing yourself from Jongho but it felt like the world was playing with you for finally having the thought of happily ever after. Of course! You promised Jongho and whoever hears it that you will always extend the patience you have within you all throughout your relationship.

But a simple gesture is enough to doubt whatever you have. Whoever you were.

On the other hand, Jongho was battling his own storm of thoughts. He loved you deeply, and that scared him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hold your hand or embrace you—it was that he wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t sure if he’d be good enough for you, if he could meet your needs the way you deserved. The last thing he wanted was for his awkwardness to disappoint you.

The weight of his doubts grew heavier with each passing day, an invisible barrier he couldn’t bring himself to cross. His heart raced every time you smiled at him, every time your fingers brushed him. He wanted so badly to close the gap between you, but something inside held him back—fear, uncertainty, a quiet voice whispering he might not be enough.

It all came to a head one chilly evening as the two of you were walking home from dinner. The streets were quiet, save for the soft crunch of your shoes against the pavement. The glow of streetlights painted golden halos on the wet ground, and your breath mingled with the cold in small, visible puffs. Without thinking, your arm instinctively looped through his, seeking warmth and comfort.

But Jongho hesitated. After a brief moment, he gently pulled away, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. The absence of his touch sent a pang through your chest.

You didn’t want to cause a scene in which he was already awkward with what was happening between the two of you, so you sighed and stopped in your tracks, the soft clink of your shoes on the pavement cutting off abruptly. The suddenness of your pause made Jongho stop as well, his back stiffening as he turned to face you.

“Jongho, why do you keep doing that?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying a weight of emotion that was impossible to ignore.

It was the moment Jongho had been dreading, the day he wasn’t ready to face. And now, he stood before you, caught in the headlights of your question, his throat dry and his heart pounding like a drum.

“Doing what?” he asked, feigning innocence, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew exactly what you meant, but he wasn’t prepared to confront it—not now, maybe not ever.

“Pulling away from me,” you said, your voice quieter now, laced with vulnerability. The look in your eyes told him this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about every moment he’d retreated, every time he’d let his hesitation overshadow the love he felt.

Jongho felt your words like a sharp knife, slicing through the layers of fear and doubt he’d built around himself. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words came. He swallowed hard, frustration bubbling within him as he grappled with the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Do you even like me, Jongho?” The question came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper, but the impact on Jongho was like a thunderclap.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “What? Of course, I do!” he blurted out, the suddenness of his response surprising even him.

“Then why does it feel like you’re always holding back?” Your voice cracked, the dam of your own frustrations breaking at last. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined not to cry.

Jongho looked down at his feet, his hands still buried deep in his pockets as though they could shield him from the weight of the moment. He drew in a shaky breath, the cool night air filling his lungs as he tried to summon the courage to speak.

“I’m scared,” he admitted at last, his voice trembling with raw honesty. “I’m scared of messing this up, of not being enough for you. You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing, someone who isn’t… me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and your anger softened into something gentler, something understanding. You took a small step closer, closing the space he’d put between you.

“Jongho,” you said softly, “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be here—with me.” Your words hung in the air, fragile yet powerful. It has come to you that this is what he has been going through and you instantly felt guilty for not noticing the turmoil he is in; you could have taken it in a way to understand more than just letting your emotions get the best of you. 

Jongho finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was like a weight on his shoulders had lifted and he could finally see the pain of his absence in touch. He would have already you in his arms if it wasn’t for his fear and doubt. But because your simple but impactful words had melted those thoughts away; gradually, hesitantly, he pulled his hands from his pockets, reaching for yours. His fingers trembled slightly as they intertwined with yours, but this time, he didn’t pull away.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but steady. “And I’ll try. I promise I’ll keep trying.”

The weight of the moment settled between you, not as a burden but as an unspoken agreement to face the challenges ahead together. And as you walked the rest of the way home, hand in hand, the silence between you felt different—warm, reassuring, and filled with a quiet hope.

[meimeimeirin]

still on tumblr break, but since i just logged in and saw several asks, i thought i'd clarify a few things here.

regarding me and @/zhongrin

in summary:

zhongrin is privated and archived permanently.

for the two people who asked, yeah, i'm alright.

more utc, but you can skip.

to expand more on the 'sudden' archiving/privating:

i've been debating to archive the blog since last year. to tell the truth, the new theme that appeared in zhongrin since september last year was actually the theme of a new writing sideblog i made. honestly, i had contemplated archiving it since july ー and i've lost count over how many times i created a 'blog archived' post only to delete it, over and over again. i just held on like an idiot and kept telling myself to just post and dip out.

don't look at the activity bar, it's just going to be full of likes. don't look at the notes, i'll just be full of more empty likes. don't look at the reblogs, it won't have any feedback anyway. don't look into your inbox, you won't find any feedback whatsoever anyway. don't look at your dash, lest you'll see other people getting interactions and start wondering if you're the weirdo for not getting any. don't look. don't look. don't look.

i'm just so tired of being disappointed.

it's like writing out a play and 10k people reserved seats to your free performance, yet all you see are thousands of absent seats. all you receive are silent smiles. a few applauses. and less than ten people commenting on the play, most of which are your own friends.

every time i post, i start questioning why did i even bother sharing this. or if i'm even actually good enough at writing. or if that comment was just there out of pity. or if i should have used the time i spent writing, proofreading, and editing to do something else. something that would have brought more joy. something that would result in more than a few strung words on a digital screen that no one thinks is worth sharing.

every time i post, it just feels like i just did something meaningless. every time i do events or bring my ocs to the spotlight, every time i'm having so much fun, people leave and it gets even more silent. my thoughts? my expectations? my joy? my sadness? meaningless. they're all meaningless to these ten thousand people.

why should i keep sharing and doing something that feels meaningless and hopeless?

so i stopped caring and archived. that's all there is to it.

i do have that new writing blog set up. way back since last year. because as much as i loathe the silence, i still love writing. sometimes.

as of today, that blog is still devoid of original posts. i don't know when or if i'll feel comfortable posting my own 'content' again. or maybe i never will. who knows. but if i do, this time, i'm setting things up so i can just be the 'content creator' that readers expect me to be and distance myself from everything.

call me childish. call me jaded. call me a bitch. i don't care. i don't want to try connecting with my readers anymore because tumblr as a community has stopped being a system that can do this. i'm just going to give myself the option of making content and dipping out whenever i want. i'm going to spend my energy having fun with my friends who does care - on a separate, more controlled environment altogether.

this will still be my main since i don't want to bother setting up a new account and re-following people again. but i won't be active here. i foresee i'll be more 'present' in my private blog. for those who does have the url ー please keep it a secret. thanks.

bye, zhongrin. it started out fun. it's a shame it ended on a bitter note. i truly wish it hadn't turned out this way.

signing off once again, meirin.

[kaiserinnessie]

Can i request like this??

Well imma still do it lmaodka

SOO UHMMM HQ OR BLLK BOYS WITH SLAVIC SO???

WELCOME BACK FROM RETIREMENT 🫡🫡

Forgot inboxes were a thing I’ve been gone so long… ANYWAY YES YOU CAN REQUEST LIKE THIS

Because this was slightly vague I will try my best:D thank u btw!!

(No smut in this)

Bllk boys with a Slavic SO!

Head cannons only for the amount ima put here

By all means I am NOT Slavic myself. So if this is by any means wrong or anything is stereotypical please lmk. I did my research for this! You can tell I get progressively more lazy…

Isagi Yoichi

•Super eager to learn about your culture.. he watches documentaries, reads articles, and even asks you random questions about your traditions in the middle of the night. Sometimes gets a little scared when you scold him for keeping you up about it.. makes a note to NOT and you in the middle of the night anymore. If he can help it..

•Tries to cook Slavic food for you once but nearly burns down the kitchen. After that, he just hovers around, watching you cook while sneaking bites. He feels even worse whenever it’s brought up at the dinner table whether it be around family or friends. Poor guy..

•Gets along well with your family. If your parents are around, they see him as polite and hard-working, and they probably joke about when he’ll propose. He gets super flustered but takes the hint. Eventually.

•Terrible at learning your language but puts in so much effort. He practices common phrases and cute nicknames for you. You can’t help but let it slide even when he butchers some words just because of how pouty he gets after. Thankfully though he’s a fast learner as he picks up on the words quickly.

•Gets scared easily by Slavic superstitions, like not whistling indoors or not shaking hands over a doorway. He doesn’t want to risk cursing himself. He’s pretty damn gullible like that..

•Loves the idea of big Slavic weddings and jokes about how he’d fight anyone to catch you in a wedding tradition like the ransom for the bride.

Bachira Meguru

•Thinks Slavic folklore is the coolest thing ever and wants to hear every single creepy story you know. If you mention the domovoi (house spirit), he’ll start leaving snacks out for it. “My monster told me too!”

•Tries to dance traditional Slavic dances with you but moves like a chaotic mess. He spins you too hard, dips you too low, and makes the whole thing a disaster—but he’s having fun. Even if he looks like a fish out of water..

•Mimics your accent on purpose if you have one, calling you cute things in an exaggerated voice just to mess with you. “Oh, моя любовь~” (my love~) while draping himself over you dramatically.

•Eats all the Slavic food you make without question. You could hand him something extremely questionable, and he’d just go. “Cool, let’s try it!”

•Absolutely obsessed with Slavic desserts, especially honey cake (medovik) and piroshki. He eats five portions in one sitting and then collapses into a food coma.

•Plays dumb pranks using your superstitions if you have any, like leaving empty bottles upside-down or putting a broom near the door to see how long it takes for you to notice. Always blames it on his monster after.

•Tries learning your language but only remembers insults and dramatic phrases. If you scold him, he just says, “Ты разбила мне сердце” (You broke my heart) and fake sobs.

Rin Itoshi

•Doesn’t act excited, but listens intently whenever you talk about your culture and actually remembers everything you say. But he would never admit to that.

•Picks up your native language ridiculously fast and starts talking shit to Sae in it so he won’t understand. Eventually grows mad when Sae learns it back just to spite him, coming to you to complain. “That asshole..”

•Finds Slavic superstitions stupid but will lowkey follow them anyway. If he sees you avoid passing things over a doorway, he starts doing it too.. just in case.

•Thinks some Slavic traditions are too much work but does them for you anyway. If your family expects him to do a long toast at dinner, he just sighs and goes, “Za nas” (To us). He’s also maybe doing it because of the harsh glare he’s getting from you beside him.

•Prefers simple Slavic dishes and will casually ask for them like it’s no big deal. “We’re having pelmeni again, right?”

•Absolutely hates large family gatherings, but tolerates them because of you. He won’t admit it, but he actually enjoys how warm and close-knit your family is. And if they aren’t? Better for him, he enjoys your company one-on-one anyways.

•If someone disrespects your culture, he’s immediately roasting them into the ground in your language. Even more so if you’re around.. just to hear you thank him.

Kaiser

•Finds your culture fascinating and brags about it to other people like it’s a flex. But more so as if he’s Slavic himself.. he doesn’t know much about his own German traditions so yours kind of become the filler until you force him to learn about his own. (He’s secretly grateful for it though, even if he never out right admits it)

•Purposely butchers your language just to piss you off but secretly practices it in private to surprise you later. “What do you mean I said it wrong? Isn’t it ____?”

•Will wear traditional Slavic embroidered shirts (vyshyvanka) just because he thinks it makes him look cool and romantic. You scold him about it later.

•Expects royal treatment whenever you cook for him, dramatically praising your skills like, “Ah, I’ve never tasted something this divine in my life.” But it sounds more mockingly than anything.

•Pretends superstitions don’t matter but visibly hesitates if he does something unlucky.

•Loves Slavic fairy tales and compares himself to the charming prince in every single one. But at the same time hates them because of how unrealistic they are…

•Wants to be the center of attention at big Slavic celebrations and somehow becomes everyone’s favorite foreigner by the end of the night.

•pisses you off daily just to see if you will put him in his place.

Nagi

•Too lazy to learn your language properly, but memorizes pet names and compliments. He loves calling you “моя звезда” (my star) in a sleepy voice. (Reo taught him.)

•Takes post-lunch naps seriously and uses Slavic resting traditions as an excuse to sleep more. ANY EXCUSE HE CAN TAKE, he uses.

•Eats anything you give him without question and doesn’t realize how long certain dishes take to prepare. He casually asks for complex meals like they’re instant. Will pout if you can’t make them.

•Doesn’t care about superstitions until something unlucky happens, then suddenly he’s like.. “Tch… maybe you were right.”

•Loves Slavic winter traditions like drinking hot tea with jam while bundled up in blankets.

Reo Mikage

•Tries to become an expert in your culture after one Google search. He wants to impress your family. Ends up actually studying after messing up ONCE and becomes completely fluent in anything and everything. You find it annoying just how fast he can learn.

•Spoils you with Slavic-themed gifts, traditional jewelry, books on folklore, expensive imported treats. Even if you say you don’t need them, especially if it’s just because it’s apart of your culture, he will end up pretending he never heard you. (He will be scolded by you later)

•Respects every superstition, even the weird ones. He once refused to hand you money directly because he didn’t want to bring bad luck. Going as far to make sure Nagi followed them too, at-least whenever he’s around you.

•Loves extravagant Slavic weddings and already plans yours in his head. Safe to say you won’t have to worry about anyone outdoing you guys or being disappointed.

•Gets tipsy at big family gatherings and starts toasting in your language with over-the-top romantic speeches. And you can’t tell who gets teased more after, you or him.

Barou

•Acts like he doesn’t care about your culture but secretly loves it and follows traditions better than you do. Somehow.

•Eats everything you cook but also demands to know the recipes so he can learn to cook it himself. If it’s a passed down recipe he will do anything in his power to obtain it (normally)

•Scares people at gatherings just by sitting there, but your relatives love him because he eats so much. And how he cleans up after everyone..

•Secretly follows superstitions but won’t admit it. You once saw him hesitate before shaking hands over a doorway.

•Admires the warrior mentality in Slavic history and compares himself to ancient warriors.

Chigiri

•Genuinely fascinated by Slavic culture and eager to learn. He’d listen intently when you talk about traditions, even taking notes mentally.

•Respects Slavic superstitions—if you say whistling indoors brings bad luck, he will immediately stop, no questions asked.

•Loves Slavic food, especially borscht and piroshki. Prefers lighter soups but will eat heavier dishes if you make them. Enjoys the ones with lots of nutrients as well

•Absolutely loves it when you braid his hair. If Slavic traditions involve hair significance, he takes it to heart. And he may or may not learn all he can about hair care there because WOAH.

•If your family is traditional, he’s so polite and well-mannered when meeting them. They end up fawning over him immediately.

•Will jokingly compare his speed to famous Slavic athletes and subtly flex his knowledge of your country’s soccer scene.(it’s not really a joke)

•If you teach him some Slavic phrases, he will use them secretly as insults to like anyone but your family. The only way someone notices is by the way he spits them out so sassily.

•If you celebrate name days, he will always remember and surprise you.

Otoya

•Loves hearing your traditional music and will tease you by trying to dance to it. He fails miserably and makes a fool out of himself. Your parents do not like him that much.

•Finds Slavic folk tales absolutely wild—he’ll be both amused and mildly disturbed by the darker ones. Even if he shows no emotion of such.

•Insists on calling you pet names in your native language but mispronounces them on purpose to mess with you. (Atleast that’s what he tells out.”

•Finds Slavic martial arts fascinating—if you know any, he’ll beg you to show him some moves. If you do teach him any, they turn into flirting techniques..

•Enjoys watching Soviet-era cartoons with you, even if he doesn’t fully understand them.

•If you tell him about superstitions like not shaking hands in doorways, he’ll do it anyway just to annoy you.

•attempts and fails to drink on the same level as ANYONE in your family, will be butt hurt about it

Hiori

•Deeply respects Slavic history and will actually research it on his own just to understand your background.

•Loves hearing old lullabies and folk songs—finds them oddly soothing. Especially if you sing any to him.

•Always remembers important holidays and traditions, even if you don’t expect him to.

•Finds Slavic architecture beautiful—if you ever take him to your country, he’d be mesmerized by old churches and castles.

•Prefers lighter dishes like cabbage rolls but won’t refuse food you make.

•If you believe in the evil eye, he’ll secretly carry an amulet or symbol for your protection.

•would try to learn the language but his accent makes it infinitely times harder

•isn’t good under the expectations of YOUR parents if they have any for him, poor guy gets PTSD

Kurona

•Quietly listens when you talk about your culture and never forgets small details.

•Wants to learn your language so he can communicate better with your family. And he might learn a few words.. but it also doesn’t help that he repeats them more than ness scary and the fact his sharp teeth hinder the pronunciation a bit

•If you have special rituals or greetings, he’ll participate even if he doesn’t fully get them. “Приветик.. Приветик..”

•Loves traditional pastries—he has a sweet tooth and will 100% steal a pirozhok when you’re not looking.

•If your country has brutal winters, he will bundle up ridiculously while you’re casually fine in the cold.

Ness

•Extremely romantic about Slavic traditions—if there’s a love-related superstition, he believes it 100%. Even more so when he sees ones about magic.. he’s like a kid from how bright his eyes light up

•Finds the concept of name days adorable and makes sure to celebrate yours. Always.

•If you tell him about protective charms or folk remedies, he’ll actually try them out. And that turns into all the time.

•Loves hearing you speak your language—will beg you to teach him endearing phrases. “Please leibe pleaseeee teach me something!”

•Traditional Slavic dances? He wants to learn. And yes, he will step on your feet.

•Enjoys your country’s fashion styles—if there are embroidered designs, he’ll wear them proudly.

•Might get way too invested in your culture’s soccer teams, just to bond with you.

Yukimiya

•Finds Slavic aesthetics stunning—from architecture to clothing, he genuinely admires it.

•Appreciates the poetic nature of Slavic languages—will ask you to read or recite something just to hear it.

•Respects traditional Slavic values and finds the family-centric culture beautiful. Your family LOVES HIM.

•Loves celebrating unique holidays with you, especially ones that involve big feasts.

•Wants to travel to your homeland and take professional-style photos of the scenery. Especially for his modeling career

•Enjoys classic Slavic literature and poetry, especially if you introduce him to it.

•If you follow old protection rituals, he might quietly participate just because he knows it matters to you. Even if he finds it a bit odd.. he could never say that to your face though.

Shidou

•Loves Slavic folklore, especially the dark or chaotic stories—he finds them hilarious. Loud about it too.

•Refuses to acknowledge superstitions unless he can use them to tease you. Earning a glare from you, always, and he can’t help but giggle at you like a school girl

•Would 100% challenge your family to drinking games during celebrations. Somehow holds his liquor up against most of them?? Becomes a regular after that

•Finds Slavic martial arts cool and will try to fight you for fun. But is always gentle with you until you make it clear you’re into it.

•LOVES the food—he will inhale every dish you put in front of him. Bros a dog. But will refuse anything that looks too weird..

•Will dramatically compare himself to folklore creatures just to annoy you. He loves the angry face you make whenever he does so

•Thinks name days are dumb but will still get you a present.

•Biggest flirt, even around your family. Earning him multiple slaps atop the head. Kicks to the shin. And ice cold glares. “Owww damn okay sorry..”

Sae

•Highly respectful of your culture but doesn’t express it verbally—just quietly participates.

•If you celebrate Orthodox holidays, he will observe and respect every custom. Not without complaining though. Drama queen.

•If you have a big, loud family, he finds them overwhelming but will still visit. As long as you listen to his rants later.

•Prefers modern Slavic literature over old folklore but won’t complain if you tell him stories.

•Watches your country’s soccer leagues just to understand your roots better. And maybe learn more..

•Enjoys the food but prefers lighter dishes. Will refuse anything he doesn’t truly want to eat, making up for it later

•If you teach him Slavic idioms or proverbs, he will use them at the perfect moments to flex on others. But he won’t tell anyone that(uses them on rin time to time)

Kunigami(before WC)

•Deeply respects Slavic traditions—he sees the importance of heritage and wants to honor it. His sisters pick up on it as well.

•If your culture has warrior legends or heroic figures, he’s interested in learning about them.

•Prefers simple, hearty meals like stews and stuffed cabbage—if it’s protein-packed, he’s all for it. Can not say no to your cooking if you cook for him, good or not.

•Very serious about respecting elders—if your family is strict, he’ll be overly polite. Becomes a favorite almost instantly

•Superstitions aren’t his thing, but if you tell him something is bad luck, he’ll take it seriously. Maybe a little too seriously

•Loves name days because it gives him another reason to celebrate you.

•Tries to learn your language but struggles with pronunciation—you’ll hear him practicing under his breath.

•Not a fan of vodka, but he will drink it if your family insists—and he’ll hold his liquor like a champ. Until you guys are alone…

Karasu

•Finds Slavic folklore wild and hilarious—he will 100% make fun of the creepier ones just to tease you. Then feels bad after..

•Loves Slavic curses and insults—if you call him something in your language, he’ll demand to know what it means. And just like a crow, repeats it after and holds onto that knowledge forever

•Not big on superstitions but will follow them just to mess with you—like pretending to test bad luck theories.

•Finds Slavic drinking culture impressive—will challenge your uncles to a drinking contest at family gatherings. WILL lose.

•Absolutely chaotic during holiday traditions—if there’s a festival or ritual, he’s doing it full force.

•Enjoys traditional Slavic dances but turns them into a joke—expect exaggerated spins and dramatic flair. Knows when to calm down when needed though.

•Gets a kick out of how strict Slavic grandmothers can be—if yours yells at him, he’ll take it as a challenge. (Mentally. He will not fight back otherwise.)

Tried my best! I hope you enjoy:)

[shittyassffblog]

In Sickness and In Health

Someone said they wanted noah taking care of Y/N when they were sick and i took that upon myself lol (not at all procrastinating my dissertation noooooo) anyways here. They're married too yay

If anyone wants to go on a taglist for when i post send me an inbox and i'll add you to it!

Warnings: illness (cold and coughing), fluff, any others please tell me.

You woke up to the most annoying sound of your alarm going off. You had never been more pissed at your alarm before and soon you felt it. Your left nostril all blocked up. You groaned out loud and turned under your covers only for the other nostril to be blocked off too now. You opened your eyes to see the other side of the bed empty. Noah must be at the gym.

You got up from the bed to get a shower, hoping that would clear up some of the goo in your nose. As you got undressed, you called your work to tell them you were sick. You put on some calming music and got in the warm water. You lost track of time in there, the warm water being so soothing. You quickly washed your body and hair and got out again. You took your time doing your skincare, rubbing your whole body with bodyoil. You walked into your bedroom to find Noah half dressed, looking through his drawers for a pair of underwear. You hugged him from behind and he juped slightly.

"Hey princess, what are you doing home?" He asked, turning around and hugging you close.

"I'm sick." You said simply, your stuffed nose providing evidence of your claim.

"Then what are you doing out of bed?!" He asked incrediously. You smiled.

"I can shower by myself baby, you go shower." You said and siled at him.

"No?! I'm gonna make you some tea and some good breakfast, and then we will spend all day on the couch cuddling." He said with a firm grip on your arms.

"Okay but could you shower first? You smell." You said and he laughed.

"How would you know that, you can't smell anything." He said kissing your forehead and going to take a shower. You laughed to yourself and went to get settled on the couch with your phone.

You were a good 20 minutes into your tiktok scroll when Noah emerged from the bathroom, wet hair and a pair of black tight underwear on.

"You should never wear anythign else." You said and he grinned.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked and you pondered for a bit.

"Waffles with berries and whipped cream." You said and he laughed.

"Be serious, you can't have that if you're sick. You need healthy food." He said and you pouted. "What about avocado toast? You can have the berries on the side." He said and you sighed through your mouth.

"Alright. But I want juice as well." You said and he laughed again.

"Sure angel." He said.

"Can i have the controller?" You asked pointing to the Playstation 5 controller that was by the TV.

"Of course baby. You want the blankets too?" he asked and you nodded. He wrapped you in the blankets tightly and handed you the controller and turned on the TV, handing you the remote.

"Wait here gorgeous, i'll fix you some food." He said, kissing your head and you smiled as you started up GTAV on the giant flat screen that adorned your wall.

Noah soon returned with the food he promised, placing the plate on your lap and the glass of juice on the little table beside your couch. He plopped down beside you and you handed him the controller to continue the game while you ate.

"You're so trash at this." You said, mouth full of food. He was so concentrated on the game his tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth, turning the controller the way he wanted the car to go.

"Yeah well i was learning guitar when i was a kid i didn't play car games." He said and you laughed. Once you were done eating you put down your plate and drank half of the orange juice. You took back the controller, putting Franklin in the game out of his misery and finished the mission. You then put the controller down and opened tiktok, scrolling a few videos down.

"Aren't you going to practice?" You asked Noah, who was supposed to be in the soundproof basement. He shook his head and pulled you close so your head was resting against his chest.

"No, cancelled." He said squeezing you tightly into his body.

"Why?" You asked looking up at him.

"Would rather make sure you were okay. It's never nice to be alone when you're sick." Noah said and your heart warmed. You truly had found the best husband ever.

"But don't you need to practice some of the new songs?" You asked and he shook his head.

"No we're good. Just relax baby." He said and you turned back to your phone.

-

You woke up to the sound of plates clinking in the kitchen, and you looked out the window to see the sun was setting. You didn't know how long you had been asleep for, you don't even remember falling asleep, but apparently now the sun was setting, and from the sounds of it, Noah was doing the dishes. You got off the couch and walked out to find him, wrapping the blanket around you.

"Baby." You said groggily. Noah turned around quickly and smiled when he saw you.

"Hey sweets. You okay?" He asked as he hugged you around your blanket. You nodded into his chest.

"yeah j's missed you." You said and ge chuckled.

"I'm right here baby." He said as he started to sway you slightly back and forth.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he asked and you nodded. You shuffled back into the living room, Noah right on your heels, and you put on Twilight, which Noah had never seen.

"I swear i'm only okay with this cause you're sick." He said and you looked at him.

"Sure. That's the only reason." You said and laid your head in his hand. He han his large tattoed hands through your hair softly as the events of Bella and Edward took place on the screen. You almost fell asleep again if it wasn't because you absolutely loved this movie.

"Is there more of this?" Noah asked and you chuckled.

"Yes. 4 more movies." You said and he yelped in surprise.

"They made that many?!" He asked and you laughed.

"Yes, it was very popular book series, it made a lot of money!" You laughed as he found the next one.

"You need anything before it starts?" He asked as he ran his hand along your leg.

"A cup of tea would be nice, yeah." You said and kissed his hand. He got up to make the tea and you were suddenly filled with a feeling of complete love and joy for the tattooed man you were sharing your life with. You had never felt so loved before, never felt so cared for and you adored the way he was taking care of you and making sure you felt good. Loving Noah was the best thing that ever happened to you and as he came back and sta beside you, unpausing the movie and being so invested in a thing you really loved, you couldn't stop yourself from kissing him deep.

"Great now I'll get sick." He said, no real venom behind his words, and a big smile on his lips.

"And i will take care of you." You said and kissed him again.

________________

So yeah that's it guys. Hope you like itttt. send me requests and feedback in my inbox <3

[lnfours]

SEQUEL TO HAUNTED W CONRAD! Where she finds out 👀👀

oh fuck. warnings: mentions of death, cancer and mental health

'haunted' | inbox

you hadn't seen conrad at all the rest of the summer. it wasn't like you wanted to necessarily see him, either. what was there left to say anyway?

you had gotten to say bye to jere, steven and belly, but ignored conrad with a cold shoulder. you knew you were wrong, but he had hurt you. you couldn't help it.

this summer, the fishers didn't come to their beach house. steven, belly and laurel weren't there. for once in your entire lifetime, the house sat empty, and it only made your heart hurt more.

the icing on the cake was that your mom had seen a for sale sign in the front yard on her early morning jog that morning. the fishers and the conklins were never coming back, and you didn't know why.

you were laying out by the pool your family had put in over the spring, your phone buzzing on the little table next to you. you picked it up, reading the name at the top of your phone screen.

jeremiah fisher

you swiped it over, pressing the phone to your ear, "hello?"

"hey, y/n," you could hear his polite smile and the sound of wind in the background, "are you in cousins?"

you licked your lips, sitting up, "yeah, why? are you guys finally on your way?"

"no, uhm," jere said, "conrad is missing."

"what do you mean 'missing'?"

you heard belly's voice suddenly on the other end, "look, we checked brown already and his roommate said he talked about going to the beach. cousin's is the only beach conrad would ever go to. i know it's a long short, have you seen him or heard from him?"

you let out a shaky breath, "no, but i can check around the town for you guys, how far away are you?"

"couple hours out, still," jeremiah said, "i'll text you when we're crossing the bridge into town."

you nodded, speaking up when you realized they couldn't see you, "okay, i'll text you with updates."

"thanks a lot, y/n." jere said

"you're the best!" you smiled as belly sighed out of relief. you hung up with your friends, tugging your shorts on and slipping into your flip flops. you left the shorts unbuttoned, letting them sit lowly on your hips and your bikini bottoms sticking out from the top.

you made your way over to the fisher house, spotting conrad's car. you swallowed thickly as you walked up to the front door. you knocked, pulling your fist back as you sighed.

there was no answer.

you made your way through the gate and to the backyard. you looked around, a towel laying down on the grass next to the pool, but no sign of conrad. you thought of the last place he would be, walking over to the side of the house and grabbing jeremiah's surfboard. you made your way down to the beach, tugging your shorts off before you made your way into the ocean. you paddled out on jere's surfboard. you let the waves rock you back and forth as you watched conrad surf, smiling to yourself as he pulled off one of the tricks you had shown him. he looked over at you when you clapped your hands.

"nice job, fisher!"

you swore you almost saw a smile on his face as he paddled over to you. you smiled as he floated on his board next to you.

"hey," he said.

"hi," you said back, his hair wavy from the salt water, "didn't think you guys were coming this summer."

he nodded, sniffling as he looked out at the ocean, "yeah, we're... not really supposed to be here."

you looked at him confused, "what do you mean?"

he sighed, "i've got a lot to catch you up on."

you smiled as you squinted out at the waves, "well, i've got nothing but time. hit me, sea creature."

he laughed softly, remembering the nickname you had called him one drunken summer afternoon when he had seaweed all over him from surfing.

"talk over something to eat? i'm starving." he said. you nodded, following him as you both paddled to shore. you threw on your shorts and carried both of your pairs of flip flops as he carried the boards back. he hung them back up on the side of the house, tossing you a towel from the deck. you thanked him as he wrapped one around himself as well, the two of you heading inside.

it was scarily bare in the normally full of life summer house. there wasn't any food in the fridge or the pantry, there wasn't any of the clutter from siblings leaving their things behind. there wasn't the sound of belly and steven arguing in the living room over the tv, and jeremiah wasn't playing music up in his bedroom.

it was eerie. none of it felt like the home you were used to it being.

"i'm gonna order a pizza," he said, "still like your usual?"

you smiled, "yeah,"

he nodded, pressing the phone to his ear as he ordered. you played with your fingers as you waited for him to hang up.

"so," you broke the silence, "what's up? what is that you have to tell me?"

he let out a sigh, looking down at the floor, "my mom's cancer came back last spring. she died a couple months ago."

your eyes watered as you watched him look back up at you with glossy eyes. he continued, "i found out before everyone else and i couldn't tell anyone. that's why i was so shitty to you last year, i didn't know how to deal with loss when she wasn't even gone yet. i'm so sorry. for hurting you."

you wiped the tears from your eyes, getting up from your seat at the island. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. he happily accepted your hug, holding you tight against his body.

"i'm so sorry, connie," you said, "i wish i had known sooner."

he let out a soft chuckle, "i thought you hated me."

you shook your head, brushing his hair from his forehead after you pulled away, "i could never hate you, conrad."

it was silent for a minute, "there's uh... there's more."

you raised an eyebrow, "there's more?"

he nodded, "i also found out that my dad had an affair the same day i found out my mom's cancer came back."

you shook your head, "what a fucking ass."

he nodded, "i know."

you sighed, "anything else happen?"

he let out a chuckle, "found out yesterday the house was going up for sale. apparently, when my mom died, my aunt julia got the house because my mom's half went to her. she wants to sell it and this is the only piece i have left of my mom. the only place that feels like home without her."

you watched as a small tear slipped down his cheek. you frowned, wiping it with the pads of your thumbs.

"c'mere," you said softly, his front breaking down as he nuzzled into your shoulder. you rubbed his back, your other hand playing with the hairs on the back of his neck.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled.

"no, you don't have to apologize," you said, "it's okay. you were going through all of this alone. i just wish you would've told me so you didn't have to."

he held you tighter, "i tried, i just couldn't."

you pulled back, lifting his head by his chin for him to look at you. you smiled, wiping more tears from his cheeks, "well, i'm not going anywhere now, okay?"

he nodded, smiling softly into your palm and pressing a gentle kiss on the skin there.

"i love you." he mumbled against your soft skin.

he finally said it back.

"i love you, con."

[yerimacoustic]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 ♡ 𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙥𝙨 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

❝𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨��𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ❞🕰️ 🍂

summary: when you and your ex husband receive a mysterious letter, the two of you are forced to confront confusing emotions and learn how to move forward.

content warnings: supernatural au, nonidol au, ghost hunter!seungcheol and reader, 90s au, seungcheol and reader are divorced, angst, cursing, horror themes, eventual fluff, lots of arguments, scary stuff, NO GORE. teaser: 800 wc. full fic: TBD.

notes: this is a TEASER for an upcoming s coups fic!! usually putting out little snippets first gives me motivation to write the damn thing lol but please interact if you like it! feedback is always appreciated

as you approached the front door of your small apartment, the wind assisted you in slamming it shut. the air stayed just as cold even once you found yourself sheltered within the thin walls, but you’d grown accustomed to it. you’d made a habit of sorting through your mail and listening to your voicemails without planning to respond to any of them, hoping that it would distract you from the cold.  

you plopped down at the kitchen table, pressing the speaker button and letting your chin rest in the palm of your hand once the receiver lay across the tablecloth.   

“you have twelve new messages. first message: 

“‘hey, y/n, it’s jeonghan. call me back. or else. okay love you, bye!’

“second message:

“‘jeonghan again! if you deleted the first mess-”

click.

“message marked for deletion. new message:

‘listen, we would all really appreciate it if you could come to bingo night. i know you’ve bailed on us the last…four or five times. or ten times, but who’s counting? anyways, call me back, or else. love you!’ 

you sighed heavily as you listened through the rest of jeonghan’s pleadings and eventually seungkwan’s rants. somehow jeonghan had convinced seungkwan to spam your landline with messages too, hoping that he would help persuade you to join them on their traditional outing. once again, you wondered why you had fallen into the habit of listening to messages without any intention of returning them. 

surprisingly, seungkwan and jeonghan weren’t the only ones lingering in your inbox. there was also a message from your boss, the pharmacy, and..

“‘hey… it’s seungcheol. please don’t hang up. i know you specifically told me not to use this phone number but.. okay, i won’t bore you with anymore excuses.’”

much to your own surprise, you chose to humor your ex husband. you continued to let the message play out. as you sat down at the table, you let the stack of mail fall to your lap while staring at the receiver in silence.  

“‘listen, i’ve been thinking lately and..i have a lot of regrets.’”

you snickered bitterly. 

“‘i know there’s not much i can say to make things better or.. change things that happened between us. hell, you’ve probably already deleted this message by now and i can’t really blame you for that. i don’t have a lot of time, i’ve ran out of change but.. i’d love to talk to you at some point. in person. if you’re up for that then.. you know where to reach me. bye.’

“to replay this mess-”

click. 

“message marked for deletion. your inbox is empty. you have no new mes-”

you slammed the receiver down and let out a heavy sigh. ever since the divorce, you felt like seungcheol had taken a part of you with him. you turned to isolation, ignoring family members and friends constantly in favor of drowning yourself in your work. you were able to keep up with the deadlines, but at a heavy cost.

it’s for the best, you kept telling yourself.

you digressed, flipping through the large stack of envelopes instead of dwelling on your own sadness. you were met with the all too familiar sight of bills, bills, and more bills until a thick brown envelope seemingly materialized from the bottom of the pile. you had no memory of picking it up or even seeing it in your mailbox. 

there was a wax seal in the center of the envelope, a dark red skull. a little on the nose, but alright. you ripped it open, taking note of the gorgeous stationery before focusing on the words written in cursive and immediately cringing at the foreign use of your maiden name:

miss l/n, 

i hope you don’t find this letter to be invasive or frightening by any means, but i’ve heard a great deal about your work. i’ve read a number of articles concerning your cases and i must say i am impressed. i’ve always admired believers of the supernatural, especially in a world filled with skeptics. 

i know you’re probably out of experience, given it's been a year or two since your last job and circumstances have changed, but i would love a chance to talk with you about an ongoing issue in my home. there’s voices, objects moving, frigid winds.. you name it. 

my home address is attached to this letter. please give it some thought and keep in mind i’m willing to pay you handsomely for your troubles.

best wishes to you. 

it wasn’t surprising to know that your mysterious client knew about your divorce, considering it was in most of the papers. at least the stupid journalists were considerate enough to leave most of the details out of their articles. 

but you were almost certain no one knew about your new home address except for your inner circle.

[thoughtsforsoob]

txt - how they propose

a/n: I got inspo to write this when dates dropped for the tour! i am not officialy in posession of a pre-sale code and im hoping to get some good tickets!! i will come back with an update (LA moa's lets talk :) anyways, please enjoy! this piece was meant to be really sweet and even silly at times so please let me know what you think of it! as always, inbox is open.

yeonjun

at a fancy dinner

yeonjun is really excited when it comes to fancy, romantic outings but this one was going to be the best one of all. Of course, that’s because of his proposal plans. He is definitely the kind of guy that sort of spoils it or gives hints because he tells you to go out and get your nails, hair, etc… done. especially emphasizes getting your nails done. He covers it up by saying he loves seeing you all pretty and pampered but deep down, you sort of know what he’s hinting at. Anyways, moving on to dinner. He takes you to a fancy new restaurant that just opened in the city. It was on the top floor of some fancy building. There was a view of the city from where you both were seated at a small booth. He was sitting right next to you and talking your ear off about the day he’d had at work. He didn;t even drink, opting to let you order a drink so he can drive home. He buys you whatever you want to eat and watches you enjoy your food with those adorable, lovesick eyes. You whine at him to stop watching you but he says he can’t help but watch the love of his life. Eventually, he takes you out onto the patio of this restaurant and it was pretty empty since there were only a few more couples around. He takes in the view with you and asks you to take a cute video with him. He sets up his phone at a good angle and presses the record. He goes back to you and kisses your cheek. He takes your distraction as an opportunity to pull the ring out of his pants pocket and when he pulls away, he gets down on one knee and proposes. “Will you do me the biggest favor ever and be my Mrs. Choi?” 

soobin 

at home

Soobin was never one for big romantic gestures and he was happy that you were okay with it. His ideal date was at home, snuggled up on the couch or in a pillow fort, watching movies or playing video games together. sure, he did take you on little outings once in a while but he preferred staying home. When it came to his proposal plans, his logic was to stay home, plan and cook a little dinner and use all the extra money to buy you the prettiest ring he could find. He loved the whole ring shopping process “i know this probably isn't from some of the members. anyways, he tells you of his date plans for the night and you were into it. He tells you to dress normally with one of his hoodies and your favorite sweatpants or leggings (soobin loves your legs in leggings btw. he said so). you come in and he is dressed relaxed as well in those gray sweats you liked and a t-shirt you gave him as part of his birthday gift. He serves your dinners and then he takes you to his bed, getting comfortable together. after one episode of that new anime the both of you had started, he turns over to get something from his nightstand. he shuffles to sit on his knees and reveals the box to you, opening it shortly after. "i know this probably isn't the best proposal but we’ve had such a nice night. I love spending time at home with you. can we be homebodies together, forever?'' You nod and hug him super tight and he returns the hog. He gives you a sweet kiss after putting the ring on your finger and you two go back to watching your show and cuddling.

beomgyu

theme / amusement park

This man is so cute when it comes to a proposal. Let’s just say for the sake of this story that he takes you on an LA trip and you both have a knotts berry farm day! You two decided to skip out on disney because you two have already been together on a previous trip. You both also really wanted to see all of the snoopy memorabilia. You both have an amazing day getting on rides, drinking boysenberry juice and talking to each other the whole time. He loves seeing you so happy so he never says no to you not once that whole day. He lets you drag him to all of the performances happening at the park and even lets you take a picture of him with Snoopy, making finger guns at one another. As the day starts to wind down, you both decided to go souvenir shopping. Huening specifically requested a snoopy t-shirt so you both went to find him one. Beomgyu asks you to pick the t-shirt and he stays behind to find a snoopy plush to include in his proposal. He finds one and pays for it, as well as the requested souvenir you picked. He takes you back out to the park and you both take a seat to rest for a while before leaving the park. You take out your phone and dont notice when he turns around. He takes the plush out of the store bag and the ring out of his bag. He puts it in the plushies hand and turns back around. He taps your shoulder and you are met with a snoopy with an engagement ring in his hand. “Will you marry me, pretty lady?” he says in a high pitched voice and you gasp so loud that people turn around to look. You are absolutely red but you nod and beomgyu makes the plush put the ring on your finger. You call him a dork but he doesn't mind. He's your dork, forever. 

taehyun

at the beach

you and taehyun went to the beach often. it was always so quiet, especially when you two visited at night. These outings were frequent, especially when you both went to travel somewhere different. In this case though, you were both home in Korean. Taehyun was on a small break during the summer time before their next tour and he decided that now was as good as ever to propose. He drove the both of you to your favorite beach at around 8pm. On the way there, you both made stops to get dinner and then to pick up some snacks to enjoy while hanging out at the beach. Once you both get there, Taehyun sets up your beach blanket and you both sit down, starting to snack on some grapes. Taehyun took about 30 minutes before he decided to ask you. He scoots close to you and pulls the little box out of his bag. you give him a confused look and he opens it, looking at your shocked reaction. He wanted to give a whole speech but his words got stuck in his throat when he saw your reaction. you say yes to him and he hugs you, slipping the ring on after.

huening kai

in your hometown / family dinner

I think kai is really big when it comes to family so having your family present for such a big event was important for him. Not only that, it was also really important for him to get along with your family and have their approval. So, during this trip to your hometown over a winter break, he sends you off to go shopping with your close cousin/sibling. He takes this opportunity to gather the rest of your family and ask for their approval to propose to you and of course they say yes! They even help him plan a whole thing. They were excited to see that he loved you a lot and cared enough to ask for their opinions and approval. This especially swayed your parents, who came up to him after and had a little chat with him about what they’d do if he ever hurt you. Moving on….you come back home from shopping and you show kai all your finds! Later on that night, your family is all gathered together in the backyard around a bonfire, having drinks and chatting. After a little while, your family gives kai strange looks and you’re sitting there absolutely confused. Kai looked over at you and smiled, “hey baby. I wanna ask you something. Will you do me a big honor and marry me?” he pulls out the ring and as soon as you say yes, he slips it on your finger and everyone cheers!

[yandere-yearnings]

Shame on me 😰 I swear every time I think of your characters I skedaddle to your inbox, I was just thinking.. Can Sun and Vio sit on my face? Like.. Both are so fine and honestly I DO want a piece of that ass 💕💕

there is absolutely no shame to you for doing so nonnie, actually it makes me really happy to hear❗️❗️ you're always, always welcome into my inbox whenever, even if it takes me a while to respond i do read and acknowledge everything🥺💕 also, ofc they can🩷

NSFW under the cut!

"But... what if you suffocate- fuck!"

Today, you didn't have the patience. Sun's thighs clamped around your head and your fingers dug into the flesh. Good on your tongue, weight that you'd been craving all this time he was locked up in his room — writing, writing. His manuscript was nowhere near complete, but you'd dragged him out anyway, said you missed him because you did. Sun could never say no to you. Sun loved you, and everything you could reduce him to.

Biting his swollen bottom lip, looking down at you with tears in his eyes. Reluctance and desire swirling in brown swathes, his arm out, gripping the headboard for stability you were refusing to give.

"Sun," his name heated on the skin of your teeth, indents into flexing muscle, "let loose, c'mon, just relax for a bit. Don't I always take care of you?"

"Don't wanna hurt you, Y/N," he sniffled, always quick to cry on your loving touch, "'m heavy..."

Kneading his ass softly, coaxing, you whispered, "that's perfect for me, though, isn't it?" His hips stuttered a bit, and you used it as leeway to pull him down completely. "You put it all on me, baby. Make it so you're all I know."

♡♡♡

"I'm gonna fucking fall asleep at this rate," Vio's manicured fingernails clawed at your chest, his hips rocking down while you worked your tongue on him, "you should put in more effort, how do you even get anyone off like this?"

"I'd put in more effort if you'd just shut up," you bit back, words muffled, "you're killing the mood."

Vio's retort was cut off by a sudden moan, and you grinned. For as much as he liked to make a big deal of things, his complaints were always empty. Even if you couldn't see his face like this, you knew well what his expression would be — mouth open, pretty blue brows all scrunched up.

Warm spit and drool, spilling down your chin. The sheets had grown damp from it. Debauchery on the wetted appendage that slipped into him; hit that spot, once, twice, continuously. Vio gasped for you, tried to hide his desperation by covering his mouth, but it was no use when his hands were shaking.

Back arching into a delicate curve, teetering precariously on the edge of ecstasy and pride — his calling your name had never sounded sweeter.

[barleyo]

Your Miguel x Reader fic was so freaking good!! I'd love to read more from you, especially Miguel x Shy!Reader (the personality of y/n kinda ressembles mine lol)! Anyways, thank you so much and keep up the great work!

Next Time.

(Miguel O'Hara X Fem! Reader)

A/N: Sorry, this is just a drabble and isn't nearly as long as my OG fic, but I hope you still enjoy it! Feel free to send a request to my inbox, as my requests are always open.

“No, no, no,” (Y/N) sighed, staring at the broken glass shards in front of her. 

She had been getting better, she really had. With careful supervision by Miguel and a steady hand, she had been able to limit her accidents. However, her clumsiness seemed to always lurk, waiting to strike at the most inopportune time. 

“Okay, maybe I can just pick them up,” she whispered to herself. Carefully, she wiped at the pieces, sweeping the smaller pieces into a nearby waste basket. 

“Everything okay over here?” He walked over, leaning onto her workstation just as she finished grabbing a final large piece of glass. She quickly palmed the piece, clenching it behind her back. “Thought I heard something break, no?”

“No, no, nothing is going on over here, just, uhm, cleaning up. I’m just about to pack up and head home for the day.” (Y/N) squeaked, feeling the shard slice her palm with a sharp sting. 

“Whatever you say,” he said. Unconvinced, Miguel turned around, pretending to walk away. 

Once he made it a few paces away, (Y/N) pulled her hand back around and paled at the blood dripping down her palm. The glass was lodged right in the middle of her palm, jaggedly stuck into it. 

“I knew it,” he groaned, snatching her hand away, “look at how bad that is. Are you kidding me? Come here.” He dragged her out to the hallway until she started to shake him off.

“You’re embarrassing me  in front of everyone, Miguel. Stop, I promise, it’s not nearly that bad, it’s okay! Promise!”

“If it’s not that bad, why were you hiding it? Why is it bleeding? Damn it, you have glass stuck half an inch deep into your hand. Come, now.” He gently swooped her up into a messy bridal-style hold, carrying her into the break room. 

He sat her down on the counter right next to the sink, legs hanging over the side. 

“Duck.”

She bobbed her head down in compliance as he dug through the cabinet behind her, pulling out gauze, tweezers, and disinfecting liquid. Taking the tweezers, he attempted to pull the glass out, wiggling it slightly until it dislodged itself for her palm.

“I just don’t get it,” he sighed frustratedly, “why wouldn’t you just tell me you got hurt?”

“I didn’t want to tell you, I don’t know,” she wiped her face with her uninjured hand, “I was just doing so well, and I messed it up when I broke that beaker.” 

“But why?” He opened the bottle and looked up to meet her eyes, “Hold onto my hand, this will sting.” He drenched the wound and (Y/N) squeezed down onto his hand, digging her nails into it. 

“I guess I didn’t want you to be upset with me, I thought you’d be mad,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, claro que no. Well, no, yes, I am a bit upset with you. You hurt yourself instead of just telling me and letting me help. I would have cleaned it up for you, you know.”

“I thought you were tired of picking up after me.” 

Miguel wrapped her hand up in gauze, keeping it taut and compression-like. “I did say that, didn’t I? I lied.” He let go of (Y/N)’s hand, lifting the back of it up to his lips. “I’ve missed it a bit. My days feel empty when I do not have a little (Y/N) mess to deal with. Makes me feel useful. Feel better?”

“Yeah, I’m alright now. Thanks, Miguel.”

“Hmph,” he turned her hand around, now placing kisses on her bandaged palm. 

“What are you doing?” She giggled as his hair hit her arm while he peppered kisses over her hand.

“I’m just kissing your boo-boo, mi tesoro, let me work.” He smirked into her hand, knowing he was embarrassing her.

“You don’t have to– mm,” she hummed as he made his way up her arm with the kisses, stopping at her shoulder.

He pulled her shirt to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. He brought his mouth to it and teased his teeth over the exposed patch of skin, not quite biting into it. Miguel took (Y/N)’s face in his hand and kissed her, scraping his teeth against her bottom lip and nibbling on it. He slid his tongue over the raw lip, calming the sharp sting.

He baited her to open her mouth, wrapping his arms around her torso and grabbing her ass. She gasped into his mouth as he forced his tongue in, exploring it. 

“Fuck,” he broke away from the kiss briefly, “I can’t take it anymore, I’m gonna take you again in here, baby.” 

“But, people ‘re still in the lab, what if they catch us?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like that?” He pulled her pants to her ankles, working his hand past the band of her panties, and rubbed light, teasing circles on her clit. “Want everyone to watch me fuck you real good, don’t you?”

Her hips bucked into his whispering touches and she let out a guttural moan. “Nuh-uh, can’t let anyone see us, it’ll be embarrassing,” she gasped. 

“No? Then don’t let them catch us then. Keep quiet, muñequita.” He pushed a finger into her and curled it, chuckling at the choking groan she let out. “I know I make you feel good, but you don’t want everyone in the building to hear you, do you?”

(Y/N) shook her head and grabbed onto Miguel’s forearm while he drilled his fingers into her spongey g-spot. She felt his fingers leave just as warmth started to pool in her stomach, whining at the emptiness.

“Why did you take ‘em out?”

“Hey, don’t whine,” he shushed her, “I want you to finish on my dick, okay, baby?” He pulled her down from the countertop, flipping her around so that her ass pushed into his erection. He slipped his dick out of his pants and pulled her panties to the side, pushing his tip into her. “I don’t know if you deserve the whole thing yet,” he teased, “maybe I’ll make you finish with just the tip, hm?”

“No, please, will you please give me the whole thing? I promise, I’ll be good!”

“Oh, you promise?” He continued to slowly pump his cock’s head into her, inching in and out at a snail’s pace. “Gonna be a good girl?” Seeing the back of her head nod up and down, he pushed deeper into her, letting her walls envelope and suck his length in. “Aw, sweetness, I can feel you already clenching up. Gonna cum quick like a lil slut, huh?”

“Yes– God! Feels so good already, ‘m feelin’ so full now.” She rocked her hips, getting herself off on his cock. 

Pressing his hands into (Y/N)’s hips, Miguel took over and slammed her hips back and forth. Skin slapping and wet squelches filled the room. It drove him crazy.

“God, I can hear your wet little pussy so clearly. Mm, she’s talking to me, baby, saying how good she feels.”

(Y/N) threw her head onto her crossed arms, biting down on her own forearms to silence her ecstatic little mewls. “I’m so close,” she mumbled into her arms.

Miguel snapped her hips into her roughly and leaned forward. “Don’t give me that shy shit, speak up.”

She tried to repeat herself, only to find herself a babbling mess as she drenched his dick with her cum, legs shaking while they tried to support her body.

“Good girl, creaming all over my dick.” He groped her tits from the back, pinching them while she rode out her orgasm. “Mm, you gonna let me cum in you again?

“Yes– anything you want,” she arched into his touch, feeling him tweaking and twisting her buds.

He felt his pace become sloppy and rushed. He rutted deep into her heat and came, spurting his load right into her slick walls. “Fuck, ‘s so good,” he sighed, pulling out of her dripping cunt, watching a stream of his cum pool out of her. He picked her up, placing her back on her spot on the counter. 

“Still feel so good.” (Y/N) leaned forward onto his broad shoulder.

“Yeah? Bet I can make you feel even better next time,” he snickered right by her ear.

“Next time?”

“There’ll always be a next time with you.”